#HARROW HAS NEVER MET ANYONE YOUNGER THAN HER | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

bandaigaeru · 3 years

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song of the summer - bang chan

→pairing: ceo bang chan x gn reader

→genre: kinda strangers to lovers

→synopsis: he runs one of the biggest music companies in the country, yet he inducts you to help aid him and his friends, each of them deemed as representatives of the ‘big three’, for their next official comeback.

→word count: 12.5k

→ warnings: swearing, shitty father figure

A single question hangs over the dim conference room you’ve somehow scored a seat in. Does the general public want to see 3Racha? Bluntly, the answer is right in front of you. Glowing against the whiteboard from the overhead projector, the carefully curated slideshow answers the rhetorical question.

One of the dance representatives from the back of the room twirls his pen between his fingers. Leaning back in his chair, he apathetically wonders aloud, “So it’s true, then?”

“What’s that, Mr. Lee?” the marketing representative, a Mr. Choi, holds his remote between both hands as he leans toward the table. The word ‘full’ dances across his face as he steps in front of the projector’s path.

“That they’re making a comeback. A full one?”

Mr. Choi nods, scanning the rest of the patrons’ reactions with squinted eyes as he says, “That would be correct.”

Of course, the three who would walk onstage and perform aren’t here. Mr. Bang is probably running around, abiding by his role as the professional CEO who never skips a beat. Regarding the other two, you’re not sure. They’re not as predictable.

The project is pretty tight in terms of what needs to be met. Summer is around the corner, and everyone and their mother will be fighting to hold that mere title of having the temporary greatest hit. When the general public awaits their yearly easily digestible, flowery songs.

“Keep in mind that we are all under Bang! Entertainment,” Choi remarks, clicking to his next slide displaying headlines questioning the company’s next move. “It should go without saying, but all eyes will be on us as the season turns.”

You stare at the bolded words, trying to digest each of them. Joining the company was likely the best decision you’ve ever made, outside of adopting a cat named Loba. When you got scouted as a producer, you were under a different company. Bang! offered a contract, but didn’t require an interview because they ‘didn’t want to invalidate or question a talent they’ve already seen.’

It was an ego boost.

“I’m sure you all know what your roles are in this,” Choi says, taking glances around the room to make sure each face isn’t lost or distant. This is 3Racha we’re talking about. Everything must be perfect.

You take a glance of your own. A few belong to the dance department, some to hair and makeup; however, you are the only producer here.

You raise a low hand to garner Mr. Choi’s attention. “Why am I here?” you subsequently ask, dropping your hand and crossing it against your chest as before.

“The team personally requested you,” he says.

Connections, you instantly understand. In a place like this, in a time like this, they’re a necessity. Nepotism is practically required in the world of music, hence why it sucks for most aspiring indie artists. You didn’t choose to befriend a guy who happens to be best friends with one of the big three here. So, you cast a blind eye.

It’s all a game of luck.

The meeting doesn’t run much longer. A concluding statement with hints of a threat if anyone messes up rings through your ears. A project end date of July 20th, when the album is supposed to go live. You’re not nervous, per se. Simply blindsided given the lack of information. What’s the song about? When’s the due date? Will 3Racha come to you first, or do you have to take time out of your day to the CEO’s harrowing office? The uncertainties aggravate the impulse of opening a new document on your computer and delving into your producer rituals. You can’t create someone else’s project out of blankness. And that irritates you to no end.

Someone throws their arm around your shoulder in an attempt to throw you off your purposeful stride.

“Congrats,” the belonger says.

You glance over to look, even though you know the voice well. He is your connection, of course.

“Thanks.”

Minho pulls you back to a slower pace. Familiar faces from the meeting pass you to the elevator, a majority in a meaningless chatter. They expected an appearance on this project.

“What are you doing tonight?” he finally asks, stopping altogether and dropping his arm from your shoulder.

You shrug, looking curiously at him. Minho’s not one to beat around the bush.

“Hypothetically,” he starts, “how would you feel being invited to bro night?”

“And actually witness you or Felix puke on the lawn instead of hearing about it? No thanks,” you scoff, making an attempt to abandon the situation by following the distancing crowd.

He grabs your wrist, spinning you back to him. “Please?” His eyes are pleading, glaring back at you like an innocent kitten.

You tip your head and sigh. “Why?”

Instead of cutting to the chase, he sucks in a deep breath and says, “I’ll pay you.”

An eyebrow cocks. Regardless of your amusement—a desperate Minho doesn’t appear often—worries consume you. “What’s up? Why are you acting like this?”

Wary eyes jump around the hallway before they land back on you. “Follow me,” he mumbles.

His steps are calculated as he guides you to the elevator and presses the floor his office resides on. The ride is silent, as is the walk down the hall. You step into the room first, and he closes the door behind him. Despite the urge to ask if he’s about to murder you, you bite your tongue and take a seat on his upholstered couch. Identical to the one in your office.

Gently, he lowers himself into his chair. A few minutes pass of you simply staring at each other. Nerves crawl up your spine and you disguise them with a snarky comment. “Are you going to tell me why you’re willing to bribe me into spending time with your friends?”

In the time he takes to respond, you think about how the only mutual friend you have is Jisung. Sure, you know everyone on a name basis; but it’s not like you’ve known them as long as Minho. He doesn’t have other, more qualified, friends to drag to bro night?

“Chan’s kinda in a mood right now,” Minho’s words are slurred by the breath he releases as he speaks.

“And?” you press.

“I want you to see it before you work with him. And for him to understand you in advance. Y’know. You’re a little,” he hesitates, “forward sometimes.”

You should take this as an insult, but you can’t because words’ owner knows you too well. Minho never speaks unjustly.

“Touche,” you nod. It’s better to own up to your flaws. If you don’t, that’s how you end up walking into a carefully curated narcissistic personality.

His features loosen as he presses his forearms on his thighs. “So. You in?”

“I don’t really have a choice,” you emit a wry laugh. All in one sentence, you’ve managed to prove his point. It’s simple, really.

“You see, I’ve already told the boys you’re coming. Either way, I would’ve gotten you to go. The only other option would have been to threaten you with a knife,” he admits. As you gawk at him in awe, realizing you stand in the same boat, a proud grin grows on his face. With time, you begin to mirror the ones you admire. Friends, for example.

“I think Seungmin will like you,” he adds.

“Why do you say that?”

All you know of Kim Seungmin is that he’s in the vocal department, along with his younger counterpart Yang Jeongin, and that he’s a menace. Minho’s words.

“You’re both evil.”

That’s the last straw. You stand up without a word and stomp for the door.

His laugh echoes behind you, striking a quieter one of your own. Still, you stay in character and slip out into the hallway. Minho has won too many of these scenarios.

ii.

Loba sneaks into the kitchen as you wait impatiently for Minho. Thirty minutes. That’s how late he is. You consider texting him, but acknowledge the possibility he’s stuck in traffic or something. Agitation tells you to do it anyway since he only lives two blocks over.

The orange cat paws at your calf for attention, momentarily distracting you as you set your phone down on the counter. Minho’s chat is wide open. She, too, finds excuses for him.

Her head nuzzles against your palm as you scratch behind her ears. She meddles successfully enough to trick you into feeding her a few treats. While you reach for the top shelf of your pantry, a pair of footsteps sneak up behind you. Heavier than Loba’s.

“Did the cat convince you to spoil her again?”

“Son of a-” you recoil, whirling around to greet the man, the myth, the late bastard.

The familiar appearance of a sly smirk, mischievous eyes, and an outfit that makes him look like a casual runway model, pierce your vision.

“You’re late,” you mutter, stepping past him and scooping Loba up. You rest her head on your left arm, cradling her like a baby. She tilts her head up to stare back at Minho. Traitor.

Minho grabs the bag of treats for you.

“Sorry, I had to pick up Jisung. He’s in the car,” his voice trails as he slips his thumbs between the plastic fold and focuses on opening the difficult seal.

“Damn it,” he curses. Karma arrives faster in deserving situations.

“It took you thirty extra minutes to pick him up?”

He deadpans, “You know he likes to be presentable for the boys.”

When you don’t give him the satisfaction of a single laugh, let alone a change in emotion, he whines, “Oh come on, that was funny.”

“You trick me into going to your stupid hangout, and now you have the nerve to show up late?”

He sneaks a few treats to Loba. “You’re really not mad at me right now, are you?”

“Irritated, at the least,” you admit.

“Well, then I’m sorry. Jisung got off late so I had to wait at Bang! for him.”

The words sink into your skin, but you don’t acknowledge them further. The anger fades on the walk down to the car, a great distance separating you and Minho. It’s practically dissipated by the time you climb into the backseat of Minho’s Kia Soul.

Jisung turns in the front seat and offers his hand at an awkward angle. “It’s a pleasure to be working with you.”

You hold your seatbelt in one hand, accepting his with the other as you force a measly smile. “Same for you. Thanks for suggesting me to Mr. Bang.”

Confusion warps his face, twisting his eyebrows in a weird knit as he shakes his head. “It wasn’t me. Must’ve been Chan.”

Minho drops himself into the driver’s seat, suspending any further questioning.

Jisung returns to his original poise as when you approached the car. Eyes focused on his phone, actively typing something out.

You click your seatbelt into locking. An unnatural feeling plagues your gut. Mr. Bang wanted you on the team? It feels unlikely, but you know Jisung wouldn’t joke like that. Even if he were the type, his acting of unawareness gives away the truth.

Minho glances back at you in the mirror. “Ready?” he asks as his hand rests on the gearshift.

You press your lips into a line as you nod. “Mhm.”

You stare down at your hands carefully folded in your lap. For the first time since before producing, the itch to create is drowned by an intense, overwhelming brew of something lingering in your veins.

The expectation of you has pierced through the roof and is shooting out of the stratosphere.

Chan—Jisung quickly advised you to drop all formalities, so you’re rewiring your thoughts—has a home in Gangnam. Fitting for his status, but smaller than you expected. It’s still able to fit at least four of your apartment in it, though.

Jisung and Minho walk ahead of you up the stairs. The elevators in rich apartments on this end can only fit two people if you really scrunch together. What’s the money for, then?

“Today’s Monopoly night, right?” Jisung examines Minho’s side profile as he cautiously lifts one foot after the other. The stairs here are steeper than any you’ve seen. Hiking sounds better than this.

He hums in approval. “I guess we’ll sort teams later. We probably won’t live through the night with last week’s.”

A brash laugh escapes Jisung’s lips, subsequently echoing against the walls and bouncing back to your ears. “Right.”

You tune out their conversation for the rest of the climb, settling for watching your shoelaces sway with each step.

Jisung pushes on the door for the fourth floor, holding it open until you’re fully into the hallway. “Chan’s the second door on the right,” Jisung nods to one of the identical doors along the hall—appearing more expensive than your monthly rent with its rich stain.

Minho doesn’t bother knocking, instead opting for trying the doorknob. It allows access to the gigantic living space and the loud chatter previously muffled by walls.

You must be the last to arrive, but you probably could’ve guessed such.

“Hey,” Jeongin looks up from his conversation, inspiring a round of greetings from all the others.

“You all know each other enough so I’ll skip the introductions,” Minho glances between you and the group, starting for an empty end of the couch.

When Jisung follows his lead, you take a headcount. It appears everyone’s present except Chan—his birth name still feels awkwardly informal in your thoughts. You glance down the dark hallway to your right, counting one, two, three closed doors. Nature drags you into curiosity.

Seungmin, your alleged evil twin, waves you over.

As you take the empty spot beside him, he says, “Sorry, you looked a little awkward just standing there. Thought I’d save you before Hyunjin said something.” He shoots a pointed nod at the long-haired blond lounging between Changbin and Minho.

“Oh. Thanks,” you force a little smile that imitates gratitude. You didn’t feel awkward observing, but maybe your aura screamed otherwise.

Jeongin leans slightly over Seungmin’s shoulder with an inquisitive eye. “How did Minho convince you to come?”

“Blackmail,” you nod. Not attempting to summon a laugh, but managing so in the process.

“That’s Minho for you,” Seungmin tips his head in a slightly disbelieving manner.

“It’s okay, though. We’ll make tonight fun for you,” Jeongin raises his hand, and you meet it with a high-five.

Bro night might not be as bad as you thought.

“If only Chan comes out from his room,” Seungmin mutters, particularly to himself, as he leans his arm on the back of the couch and twists his body to look back into the hallway.

Questions. You want to ask them, but then Minho’s words return in full, blaring effect. Forward, he said. Meaning: blunt. In your face.

You bite your tongue. Redirect the temptation, you think, as your eyes scan the room. Admittedly, it’s odd seeing all these people away from their respective passions. However, Changbin’s phone is cradled in his hands, and his fingers are typing away potential lyrics. Felix, too, is hiding the fact his fingers are mirroring the directions of his recent choreography. Maybe passions are always a shadow of you.

“Should we just fix teams?” Minho says above the impatient silence.

“We can,” Hyunjin leans his forearms on his thighs. His hair falls in front of his shoulders like he’s some kind of Greek god.

“Team captains?” Seungmin asks.

“Let’s do the oldest of each unit, but since Chan’s God-knows-where, Changbin can represent,” Minho nods, glancing around for looks of satisfaction.

“Sure, rock-paper-scissors for who goes first?” Seungmin pushes a strand of hair out of his eye.

Short story short, Minho wins the first round with a victorious cheer of, “Easy!”

“You only say that because you know they always pick scissors first,” you accuse.

Minho points a finger at you, “Allegedly.”

You land a spot on Minho’s team since he got the first pick of the litter. Then, by Minho’s attempt at matchmaking, Chan lands on your team.

As you’re moving spots, you shoot Seungmin a sad, unmoving look.

He laughs, pushing you towards Minho. “Maybe next time.”

“What?” Minho glances between you. “Are you planning a coup against me?”

“You wish, Lee Minho,” you sigh, falling into the empty space beside him.

After a few beats of silence, for good measure, Minho leans down to your ear and says, “I told you you’d like him.”

“Yeah, he’s like a better version of you,” you turn to see the predictable look of offense on his features.

“Fine then, get Seungmin to drive you home,” he pouts, crossing his arms against his chest and pushing his back into the couch.

“Oh come on,” you nudge his elbow, laughing at his exaggeration.

You see a smile tug at his lips before he breaks, letting a chuckle break through his barrier.

In the remaining meantime that you wait, Minho calls dibs on the cat. Seungmin’s team claims the dog, with an offhand comment from Minho going, “You would choose the dog.” Finally, Changbin’s team chooses the hat.

“Is that a joke because you’re so short? So you can gain a few inches with the hat?” Hyunjin jabs.

Changbin reaches over the couch to try and hit him.

From this end of the couch, you can look directly into the dark, mysterious hallway. You watch as the second door knob slowly turns. You focus on it, and the shouting dispute fades out in your ears.

Chan steps out from the room, carefully closing the door behind him so as to not bring all the eyes on him at once. You fight your facial expressions to remain neutral as you take in his appearance—which is shockingly normal. Suits are his workplace fashion, and consequently, all you’ve seen him in. Now, he wears black basketball shorts and a black tee. His hair is even loosening into curls. Is this the same man who runs a massive music company? Are we sure?

His cover is blown the moment he steps into the light of the living room. Jeongin warily points a finger in your direction, “You’re on their team.”

Chan presses his lips into a makeshift smile as he approaches you and Minho. He pushes out a small ‘hey’ before taking his spot on the other side of Minho.

His reclusive figure makes your heart wrench. You wish you could have talked Minho out of going. To him, you’re just an outsider he has to put a front up for. But, the thing is, he isn’t trying to build a barrier. It appears that he doesn’t have any more energy to try.

You catch yourself staring when Minho nudges your knee with his. “You take the first roll.”

Collecting the die, you notice your hands trembling a little. Not good. You manage, somehow knocking Seungmin’s dog in the process. He feigns shock, whining in an accusatory tone, “You’re no different than Minho.”

The choir of laughter shuffles you back into reality when you glance back at your accused teammate, catching the look of the other. The corners of Chan’s lips are slightly turning up into a smile.

Whew. You’re amazed by the amount of relief that little smile gives you.

iii.

The game trails into the early hours of the morning, and a few times a boy will point at Chan and say, in an attempt to be lighthearted, “This is all your fault.”

To the dismay of the rivals, Changbin’s team manages to win. Jisung, a member of Seungmin’s team, flips the board twenty turns too late at the news. “This game is stupid!” he laughs through his words.

“You’re cleaning that up,” Changbin says as the money flutters to the rug beneath the glass coffee table. A cue for the group to laugh blinks above their heads, each varying in intensity. Hyunjin even claps a few times, for his vocal contribution pales insufficient.

Jisung slumps to the ground, “I know.”

Chan lifts himself from the couch to aid him with a lingering smile from all the laughs. As the night progressed, he seemed to slowly inch into his ‘normal’ state, as Jisung had referred to in the car.

Minho slips his phone out from his pocket. At the single-digit time, nearing close to sunrise, he heaves a sigh and pushes himself up. “Guess I should get you home.”

He extends a hand to help you up.

“You’re leaving already?” Seungmin asks.

“Uh, yeah. It’s like three A.M.,” Minho squints at him, turning his lit home screen at him for proof.

Chan snickers as he stacks all the thousands. “That’s early for me.”

See? He’s even making jokes now. This is a weird normal, considering all you know of him is his status, but admittedly better than whatever funk he was previously in.

“See you on Monday, I’ll just spend the night,” Jisung lifts his hand in a semi-wave.

Chan doesn’t protest. Instead, he looks up at you and sticks his hand up. “Can’t wait to work with you,” and smiles. Dimples indent his cheeks in a way that makes your stomach churn.

You take his hand and mirror his smile, though it’s rather genuine in comparison to the one you offered Jisung.

Minho has the decency to wait to call you out on it until you’re in the soundproof safety of his car.

“I saw that,” he says.

“What?”

“The smile. Don’t like Chan. That’d be way too awkward for me.”

You laugh, examining his twisted face of disgust as he starts the car. “Why?”

You’re not asking out of curiosity. You don’t like Chan, and you don’t see yourself liking him anytime soon. Or in the far future, for that matter. It’s just so easy to mess with Minho.

“Uh, my best friend dating my other best friend? That’s third-wheel central. I’m too hot to be a third wheel.”

Later, as you’re unbuckling your seatbelt to venture into the apartment building, Minho mumbles, “But, I mean, if you like him it’s whatever. I don’t want you feeling like you have to hide anything from me.”

You punch his arm.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“You’re getting all sappy on me again. You don’t have to worry about stuff like that, dude,” you frown. Above anything Minho can say to you, his insecurities taking over his words hurts the most.

“I’ll see you on Monday,” you say, then adding, “Unless you want to come over sometime this weekend. I’ll be home.”

He smiles, though you sense the differing thoughts behind his eyes. “Love you.”

“Love you too,” you say before shutting the door.

iv.

In all the wrong ways, Monday comes too fast. Faster than you can process Friday night, essentially.

You try to scramble your remaining thoughts into order as you walk into the lobby.

Is Chan going to be normal today? Hoping so. Why was that relief so astonishing? Did Minho catch onto something-

“Hey, Y/N!” Jisung intercepts your thoughts.

Your eyes involuntarily widen as he pops out from seemingly nowhere. Your gaze drifts to his outstretched hands, offering you one of the drinks each brandishes.

“I didn’t know which you’d prefer, and Minho wasn’t awake so I couldn’t text him. So, I got coffee and tea.”

You take your pick and nod a ‘thank you.’

“How was your weekend?” you find yourself asking as he leads you to the elevator.

He shrugs, “I did absolutely nothing other than a brain detox for this project. You?”

Despite his back being to you, your chin twitches into a nod. “Same as you, pretty much.”

“I think Chan’s in a good enough mood,” Jisung glances back at you as he reaches for the up arrow on the elevator’s panel.

“Sweet.”

Minho is your gateway to an easy conversation. Of course, he’s not here, but you slightly wish he was. You’re forced to meander in an abrasive silence until the elevator takes you up to the eighth floor.

Eight, because Chan detests the idea of being too close to anyone. He doesn’t want his presence to divide anyone’s attempt at creating their best. An icon in distancing, Minho joked as during your first week under Bang!

Jisung sucks in a deep breath as he turns into a room whose door is partially cracked. “Here goes nothing.”

On the far side of the room is an L-shaped couch. Resting upon the vertical side as if he were in his own bed is Changbin. A laptop sits in his lap, closed, but his phone is inches away from his face as he types.

“It’d be more effective if you used that laptop,” Jisung comments, resting his drink on the coffee table and sitting by Changbin’s feet. Giving Changbin the perfect opportunity to wedge his foot between the younger’s ribcage. A cry of pain shoots out of Jisung’s mouth. Truly, he should have seen that coming.

“Dude!” he shouts, jumping to his feet and clutching his side.

“I told you not to mess with me,” Changbin’s eyes narrow into a warning gaze, but Jisung laughs anyway.

“You are not scary, bro.”

You start for the opposite end of the couch, pressing your back into the armrest as you watch the scene unfold. Cupping your drink with both hands, you’re unsure if the warmth stems from it or the sibling-esque fight before you.

Changbin slides the laptop off of his lap and pulls himself to his feet. He stands before Jisung, closes his eyes, and takes a deep breath. Then, as his eyes flutter open, he brings his fists up.

“Come on. Fight me.”

Jisung takes a step back. “You have got to be kidding me.”

Changbin shakes his head. “I’m not.”

Jisung’s eyes flit around the room for help. It would be that when the muscle man wants to fight, the only person physically capable of pacifying him isn’t here. Pure, unadulterated luck.

“And when you break my arm, then what?” Jisung’s eyebrows raise in taunting interrogation.

“Then I break your arm? What about it? You can perform with a shattered humerus. Right, ace?”

By chance of a higher being granting Han Jisung a break, Chan enters his office with a manila folder in his hand. Only a few steps into the room, he has to halt. His hand finds his hip, releasing a big sigh as he clutches the folder. To no surprise, he’s wearing a perfectly tailored suit. Black, of course. But with a surprising navy undershirt, which you give him credit for.

“How many times do I have to tell you not to cause injury in my office? Can you imagine the lawsuit? Would you do that to your beloved friend?” he asks a stream of questions.

He seems relatively happy.

Changbin drops his fists to his sides, gaze dropping back to his abandoned laptop. He scoops it up before reclaiming his spot. To fully conclude the argument, he opens the laptop’s lid. “Jisung started it.”

The accused boy looks at Chan and silently pleads his case. His hands clasp into a prayer.

Chan waves him off with a smile and a breathy laugh before starting for his desk. He acknowledges you with a small raise of his hand.

“Ah, where to begin?” he asks, to no one in particular, as he tosses the folder onto his desk and sinks into his chair.

“Han, can you turn the projector on?” Changbin takes the initiative, reaching over the couch’s back to grab a white USB cord.

He does as told, warily trying to avoid another pseudo-fight, before rushing to the light switch and fading the room into a mass of darkness. Chan must not like having his blinds open. Black world he lives in.

Changbin’s screen presents against the vacant wall across from him. A pre-written document appears, with the title ‘TT Ideas’ and a dashed list. 1.5 spacing, you admire.

“Okay, I did my homework,” he sighs, dragging his cursor over the highlighted ideas for the title track. “These are my personal favorites, but I’m up to debate.”

Jisung shivers at those words. Debate. Meaning: duel.

In the darkness, Chan steps in front of you. He sits halfway between you and Changbin, resting his elbows on his knees as he studies the list. You notice that his lips pout as he focuses, and his eyes squint a little.

You shift your own attention, for you’ll lose pacing if you stare at Chan the whole day. Changbin has highlighted unrequited love, turning the aura of summer into a song, unique abilities, and simply ‘flexing our equities’.

“Yeah, I definitely think that last one will go over well,” Jisung sardonically comments.

Changbin sighs in defeat and drags his cursor over his beloved idea, hitting the backspace in pity, “I knew you’d say that.”

“Can you elaborate on the unique abilities?” you ask, quieter than anticipated but still reaching its aim.

“Not to tute my own horn,” Changbin starts, running a hand through his hair, “but we’re sought after. When people see our names on tracklists, they immediately know the song is going to be good. They don’t sit and wonder if they’ll be disappointed, because they know with 3Racha that’s unpalatable. Hell, I saw someone tweet the other day that their favorite artist was spotted here, and the fandom went fucking crazy.

“People know what they expect from us, and that’s excellence. We deliver. You can’t say the same for a lot of producers. Doubt is inevitable for a lot of them, even if it’s only personal.”

“Couldn’t have said it better,” Jisung smirks, leaning his extended hand out to Changbin for him to high-five.

“What if we did it with an,” Chan hesitates, tilting his head at the screen to try and ease out the right words, “unnatural sound.”

“An experiment no one else could attempt,” you mumble, not expecting him to hear. His head snaps over to you, snapping, pointing a finger, and nodding.

“Exactly.”

The boys look between each other, bobbing their heads in agreement. “We can do that,” Jisung grins.

“You know, I had a feeling you would say that,” Changbin slips his phone out of his pocket, swiftly unlocking it and opening his notes app. “So I’ve already written my verse.”

“No way,” Jisung cocks his head at him.

“Okay,” Changbin mutters, “I had verses written for all the highlighted ones.”

“You are insane,” Chan chuckles, but not in an insulting tone.

From here on out, it’s smooth sailing.

Until Jisung pats the pockets of his jeans two weeks later. “Shit,” he mutters, glancing back at the elevator you had just come from.

Midnight was around the corner and Jisung had promised Minho they’d go see the late-night showing of the latest horror film.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

He turns to you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. “I think I left my phone in Chan’s room. I’m gonna be late. Minho’s gonna kill me.”

You cease his rambling by putting a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll go get it. Just tell Minho to text me when you’re done so you can pick it up. ‘Kay?”

So what if Loba’s waiting for you at home, probably pawing at the front door and meowing like, “I’m hungry”? You have a profound soft spot for Jisung. And not because Minho threatened you if you ever showed any disliking. Plus, Loba’s spoiled in all other walks of her life. She can handle you coming home a little later than usual for one night.

He breathes a sigh of relief, looking up at the high ceiling in some kind of grateful manner. “You are a lifesaver, Y/N.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” you smile, starting back to the elevator as he continues his path.

The company is rather unsettling without its daytime bustle. It’s even worse on the eighth floor. A usual ghost-town, except with an increased darkness and an odd chill trailing down your back.

The hallways feel stuffy as you get close to Chan’s office, your gaze set ahead. A sniffling sound seeps into your range of hearing, though you don’t think much of it. You can get colds in summer.

Naive to think a man as esteemed as Mr. Bang would succumb to a measly cold.

As you sneak your head between the cracked door, placing your hand around its width and slightly pushing forward, the view sends your heart crashing into your stomach. Chan’s head is lowered, either hand cupping his head as incessant tears drip from his nose.

Awkwardly stepping forward, you clear your throat.

His glossy eyes, rimmed with red and slightly puffy, jump up to you. Instinctively, he attempts to discard the evidence.

“What’s wrong?” you ask.

“Nothing,” he croaks, pulling his sleeve over his hand and gliding it across his damp cheek.

That’s something he could learn. If someone’s a witness, you can expect them to ease into questions. It’s only nature.

“Do you need a hug?” you attempt. Don’t be forward, don’t be blunt, don’t be mean. Minho’s reminder blinks across your vision.

He laughs, “Maybe.”

A pitiful smile creeps onto your lips as you step around the desk. Your arms link semi-awkwardly around his shoulders. He presses his cheek against your collarbone, silently crying a little. You take careful breaths, trying to stabilize your chest for him.

“Does anyone know?” Your hand rubs soft circles against his back. He shakes his head against your body. A small hiccup shakes his frame.

“You can tell me if you want.”

“I don’t want to burden you,” he manages through his tears.

You pull back a little for him to look at you. “I will smack sense into you if you say some stupid shit like that again.” In spite of his eyes crinkling into a smile—looking at you like you’re a childhood friend who he knows like the back of his hand—you try to recover. “I swear, you won’t burden me.”

He takes in a shaky breath. A blaring thought curses the forefront of your eyes. “Do you mind if we go to my apartment, though? I have a hungry cat waiting for me.”

Your arms retreat to your sides as he nods and drags the back of his hand across either cheek. “Yeah, no problem.”

You glance over at the couch, and the object of your mission stares back at you. For a second, you swear it’s glowing gold and screaming, “Your quest ends here! Bring me to my owner!”

You shuffle for the couch and scoop it up. When Chan looks at your hand in confusion, you offer, “Jisung left it. I’m the delivery service.”

“Right.” And he smiles. Comfort engulfs your body when you notice the flood has stopped.

Since you normally walk or ride the bus to work, Chan drives. His shiny sports car looks rather alien beside your used, well-used, car.

“I should warn you,” you turn to him as you push your key into the lock, “Loba’s a cuddler.”

“Sweet. I’d feel bad asking you for more hugs,” he jokes.

Sure enough, Loba is lying before the door. She scrambles to her feet and stares up at her guardian and the new intruder. Conveniently misplacing her cries for food, she scopes out the new man.

“What’d you say her name was again?” Chan asks, squatting in front of her and scratching behind her ears.

“Loba,” you say, opening the fridge to dish out Loba’s expensive special food. Adopting a cat with stomach issues, am I right?

“Loba?” Chan repeats, stifling a laugh.

“I didn’t name her,” you turn to him in defense.

Chan lowers himself, crossing his legs as Loba climbs into his lap. The love-hungry cat doesn’t even notice when you set her ceramic bowl next to her water station. She’s too absorbed in her newfound friend.

Rather than forcing them to relocate to the couch, you sit offset from them on the tile. Smiling down at the orange cat, you admit, “She’s not even like this with Minho.”

“Really?” Chan’s amused face stuns a vibration in your chest.

You appeal confirmation.

“That’s crazy. I’m a dog person, normally,” he coos down at the lovebug.

Don’t let this distract you from the task at hand, you remind yourself.

“So,” you drag. How do you say this without tempting the tears again? Admittedly, it would be nice if you had an ounce of insight. You’re walking into a minefield without a blueprint of where they lie.

Chan sighs, acknowledging his cue. “My dad doesn’t really like me all too much,” he wryly laughs.

“He seems stupid then,” you offer, not thinking further than trying to comfort him, “You’re very likable.”

“Thank you,” Chan drags his tongue against his bottom lip.

He continues, “Moreso, he dislikes his father. The one who skipped a generation when trying to continue his legacy. By association, I kind of take the brunt of it.” He looks at you through blurry eyes as he bites the inside of his cheek.

“If it makes you feel any better, I think you were the only person who could have continued the company. Your dad seems,” you hesitate, “insolent. You, on the other hand, are an ace.”

“I try to tell myself that. He makes me go to all of his business parties to keep his reputation up, as well as mine in a way. You don’t want the broken family running a huge corporation,” he mimics what he’s been told.

“So you can’t tune him out,” you echo.

“Yep,” he drags the word out, prompting a heavy sigh.

“I’m not really good at the whole comforting thing,” you study the creases of your palms. “But I’ll say that you are, by far, the most amazing person I could work for. You’re really admirable. Plus, Minho really likes you. You’re kind of like the brother he never had.”

“God, you’re gonna make me cry,” he laughs, staring up at the light as he pulls a hand away from Loba to wipe at his waterline.

“I’m serious,” you chuckle. “Would I blow smoke up your ass if you’re crying on my floor with my cat in your arms?”

When he hesitates to respond, you do it for him. “The answer is no. I don’t even do that for Minho.”

“That’s comforting,” he admits.

“I’d hope so. Now, hand me your phone,” you stick your hand out.

“Why?”

“So I can give you my number. Text me if stuff goes downhill, now that I’m in the loop.”

He looks at you quizzically.

“What? Do you think I’m going to let you suffer in silence now that I know?”

He leans to the side, cradling Loba protectively, as he draws his phone from his pocket. Unlocking it before he hands it to you.

As you type in a new contact, you say, “Do you want something to eat? I can order a pizza.”

vi.

Unfortunately, peace is temporary. Always and forever.

When you enter Chan’s office a few weeks after the father debacle, prepared to start the official recording of the album as decided on the previous day, you’re met with two confused men. Admittedly, you’re a little late, but not enough for them to be lost.

Changbin looks up at you as you cross the threshold. “Have you seen Chan?”

You shake your head.

“Heard from him?” Jisung follows.

Again, you shake your head.

“Shit,” they both fall back against the couch cushions in defeat.

“What’s wrong?” The grip on your bag tightens. Despite your inquisitive words, your gut gives you a fair answer.

“We haven’t heard from him since five this morning,” Changbin looks at Jisung for confirmation on the details.

“No one’s seen him?” you follow up.

“No one. He won’t answer our group chat either.”

Your foot taps against the floor as you try to remain composed. He texted you last night about his dad’s upcoming gala but was sparse about details. Or about the fact he would straight up disappear. Obviously, you can’t offer this information to them. A promise is a promise, even if half unspoken.

“Should we work through it? Get his parts whenever he decides to show up?” Changbin speaks.

“We can’t exactly meander anymore. Tracklist goes out at noon,” Jisung shakes his phone as annoyingly clear evidence.

“And you still need to learn the choreo for the title track,” you add. There’s only a month left. You bite your tongue, allowing the pain to slightly calm you down.

“God, what horrible timing,” Jisung laughs, but no joy laces through his tone.

You point harsh eyes at them, heavy steps leading you to the microphone stand designated for recording. “Come on then. Let’s get ahead before we can fall behind.”

vii.

You leave work the moment recording is done for the day, a discovery pulling you from focusing on anything else. Chan shared his location with you a few days ago when he offered a reciprocal to what you’ve done for him. “So you can always find me,” he said via text.

Though not for the right purpose, per se, you’re going to find him. And when you do, you might have to smack sense into him this time. With love, you convince yourself as you pull up to the stadium.

Who in their right mind rents an indoor stadium for an evening party? Rich people, evidently.

You find Chan’s car, among its shiny counterparts, and park as close to it as you can. As you get out, you pull your phone out of your pocket and call him. Not expecting him to answer, honestly.

“Hello?” his voice penetrates your ears.

“I’m outside,” you say, fighting the heavy heartbeat echoing in your head. Your hands tremble at the thought of him here, all dressed up and acting like nothing’s wrong.

“What?” he mumbles.

You look up to the big screen above the gate. “Gangnam Public Stadium, right?”

The background noise slightly fades as he says, “Wait where you are, I’ll come meet you.”

“Parking lot,” you offer before he hangs up.

You step into the shade and lean against a brick wall.

Today’s one of the finer days of summer. It’s mid-June. The solstice is just around the corner. A light breeze brushes against your skin and gently ruffles your hair. It probably helps that you’re surrounded by wealthy cars. A mood booster, in a weird way.

Quick, heavy steps draw closer. You turn your head to the source.

Chan drops his hands onto his knees as he pants. “You shouldn’t be here,” he manages.

“You should’ve told someone why you wouldn’t be at work. We all have our regrets,” you nibble on the inside of your cheek as you stare at him.

“God,” he mutters, straightening himself before standing next to you against the wall.

“You’ll get your suit dirty,” you comment, but he doesn’t care.

“You should leave.” His eyes, heavy with an emotion akin to irritation and sadness, scan over your face.

“I’m not leaving until you tell me why you did this,” you stand your ground. Just like Minho would hate in a moment like this. “To get to a person, you have to ease them into it,” he guided at one point. Frankly, you couldn’t care less right now.

He avoids your eyes as he tries to flatten his staggered breathing. In due time, he composes himself and finally looks at you. His features have loosened, and you note his brow is no longer creased.

“I didn’t want to lose my cool in front of them,” he admits.

“Scared to?”

He nods. “It was scary enough having one person see me cry.”

The place between your heart and ribs begins to pulsate heat.It begins to spread across your bones and through your muscles. For once, you have to think about what to say next. You can’t be mad at him, for his reasoning makes more sense than it had before. God, this is irritating.

“Let’s make the song of the summer, then,” you reassure him with a curt nod. “Pull you out of this monster field around you and let’s make history.”

The dark surrounding encasing him cracks away as an unbelievable smile finds its place. One like you have never seen. One that pierces your heart with its joy. “Let’s do it.” And he drags you into a hug. Despite the roles taking a quick turn, you feel comforted. But he’s squeezing the life out of you.

viii.

You’ve done all you can do for 3Racha within the next week. The album is complete, as far as instrumentals and lyrics. All that’s left is promotion, along with all the theatrical elements left to be discussed. But that’s separate from you.

It feels bittersweet that it’s come to an end. You know that sometime in the future you’ll return to the studio with them, working alongside creative geniuses to invent a piece. Together. That’s the key. But it feels so far away.

You sit in your empty office, staring at the broad window as raindrops fall down the glass. Recounting the process in your head with distant gratitude. Title track: God’s Menu. You’re proud of it, viewing it as your child. Watching it grow into a real song, with real words and sounds attached to it. Wow. You catch a glimpse at the meaning of life as you watch two raindrops race down. It’s this: blossoming art from a tiny idea. Admittedly not entirely your own, but the principle remains.

The other tracks enlist an equal amount of precious memories for you. Late nights felt normal with the unreal energy coursing through your veins. You notice the products of effort as you consider all those extra hours. Admiration shoots through your body, leaving it numb.

It was all them, though, you acknowledge. You were only there as a caretaker, offering your own hint to mark the music.

3Racha is like a shooting star. It's fantastic, in a sense. Not everyone can say they’ve seen a shooting star in the same way not many can say they’ve witnessed the production process with three of the most talented producers in the game. They’re unreal.

A knock against your doorframe shocks you out of your thoughts. You drag your foot against the floor to turn your chair.

Chan, dressed in an outfit similar to that of boys’ night, awaits your attention. Sweat lines his forehead, glistening his skin. You can guess where he’s been.

“Hey.”

“I need your help.” His words were trailing your simple greeting so close you could say he interrupted you. Seriousness brings his face into a dimness, slightly intimidating you.

“With?” you prompt.

He leans against the frame with his arm, replaying his words in his head over and over before spitting them out, “I kind of told my dad I’d bring a date to his next party.”

“Oh?” you say, slowly realizing. “Oh.”

“Will you do it?” His features twist into a nervous reflection.

“Sure, if you pay for my outfit.”

You say this as a joke, but he fails to convey it this way. “Deal. I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Does Loba need a cat tree by any chance?”

He doesn’t await your answer as he slips back into the hall. Was that conversation even real?

An indistinguishable whiplash conquers your body into a sudden realization. You turn to your desk, scooping your phone into your hands and texting Minho, beginning with, “When you see this…”

ix.

Certainly, Chan is a man of his word. From the mere month you’ve known him, you should have gathered this. But as you stand in his living room, decked out in some outfit he carefully chose for you, it blares against all of your senses in bright, evident clarity.

Minho’s message buzzes against your palm.

Lee Knows: Loba’s conked already, two minutes after she ate. Have fun ;)

You: Lol thanks again for taking care of her.

Lee Knows: Of course. Anything for my bestest friend in the world. Now, a night of yearning!

The only way to describe this feeling rooted in the base of your stomach are the words: raw emotion. It’s a cluster. Jitters mixed with a blend of uncertainty and a weird elation? To be fair, you are about to lie your way through expensive drinks and hors d’oeuvres. What even are those?

Regardless, one thing is certain. Minho was right. It’s...discouraging to admit. Frankly, you’d ignore it for as long as possible if you could. But adoration is difficult. In your face. Forward, some would refer to it as.

God, this is all Minho’s fault.

“Ready?” Chan’s shoes click against the hardwood as he departs from his dark hole of a room. He looks stunning, though his attire isn’t much different from his office wear. A small sign of rebellion appears in his appearance, which ignites a flame in your chest.

Chan brings a hand to where your eyes are burning a whole into—his hair. The curls are there, less accentuated than bro night, but evident. “Ah, I didn’t really want to straighten it. I’ve already had fried hair one too many times in my life.”

“It looks nice,” you smile. Your throat tightens as you swallow. “You look nice.”

“Same for you,” he allows a prolonged scan of you. Sheepishly, you do one of those cheesy twirls you always see in the romance movies before Prom night or whatever expensive evening the protagonists are attending. Sincerely, with all the love rampaging through your chest, you’re going to kill Minho for cursing your life like this.

He snaps out of his trance, starting for the door. “We should get going.”

Aside from the quiet hum of the radio, the ride to the venue is silent. It wouldn’t be complete without hitting every redlight, either. Jisung’s luck must have rubbed off on you when you had that group hug.

You sit at one now, red gleaming against your face as you stare out at the sidewalk vacant of pedestrians. No one’s even at any of the other lights.

“You okay?” Chan asks.

“Yeah,” you turn back to him.

“Good,” he nods, instantly averting your eyes.

Perhaps you should have found a way to decline. Even Loba would have been a better date option. At least she has chemistry with him.

To no one’s surprise, the venue is huge. Potentially larger than the stadium. From ceiling to the carpeted floor, decorated properly with the black tie theme.

Chan reluctantly grabs your hand before you tackle the crowd. If you were cold, the warmth radiating against your palm is sufficient for heating the rest of your body. Unluckily, though, you aren’t cold. Your hand feels clammy in his. If he wasn’t attracted to you before, he certainly isn’t now.

You stare at your shoes as you follow.

“Just a heads up about my dad,” he glances over his shoulder to make sure you’re still there, despite the tether between you, “he most definitely thinks we’re dating, so be prepared for questions.”

“Oh great,” you mumble. How do you cure a lovesick heart? What an ambiguous question offering up to a plethora of potential answers. One incorrect answer, though: acting out romance. In real time, too.

“Sorry, I probably should have told you sooner. Kind of slipped my mind,” he squeezes your hand in apology.

Even when you break out into a free space, his hand doesn’t pull from yours. Instead, he slightly tightens the hold as he approaches an older man. Without any prior knowledge (ie. not Googling his dad after he cried on your kitchen floor over the bastard), you could guess this is his dad. They practically have the same face. Striking differences, however, given some context.

“Hey,” the man grins, eyes shifting curiously between you and his son.

You dip your head in respect. “Nice to meet you, Mr. Bang.”

His hand claps your shoulder as you look up. “You don’t have to be so formal with me.” Silence hangs onto the end of his sentence as he glances at Chan for help.

“Y/N,” Chan offers. Your name sounds pretty coming from him.

“Y/N,” his father repeats. You want to sock him for saying your name.

“Well, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you. Would have been nicer if Chan had given a little notice,” he laughs for you, alternatively offering a subtle, but not unnoticeable, glare to Chan.

Reflexively, your unoccupied hand clenches until you feel your nails pressing sharply into your skin. Discreetly, you nudge Chan’s arm with your elbow as a sign that you’re here. Slightly, his hand loosens in yours as his nerves slowly ease.

“Sorry, it’s kind of recent,” Chan laughs. His eyes crinkle into a faux delight.

“Of course,” his father nods. “Haven’t seen any articles about it yet, which is good. You might not want this being exposed to the GP.”

“Wouldn’t want that,” Chan manages through gritted teeth, albeit hidden in a way only you could notice.

Then, as if the attack didn’t have a cooldown, he reaches up and tugs at one of Chan’s curls. “Your hair looks...interesting.”

It’s really difficult trying to remain neutral in the face of backhanded advice and compliments. Especially in front of this man, who shouldn’t even be given a title as esteemed as that. He’s scum stuck to the back of your old, rusty car that won’t go away in spite of however many power washes.

“Mr. Bang,” a waiter appears behind him, stealing his attention long enough for you to drag Chan in the opposite direction. He’ll find his way into a business conversation soon anyway. With no recollection of what he said to his son whatsoever. Considering his words will always stick with Chan, your face heats up.

You ignore Chan’s repelling tug, and his words that go in one ear and out the other. A hidden area near the bar is the only place where he has enough courage to stop you. But only because you let it happen.

“If we stayed there much longer, I would have caught an assault charge,” you huff.

“You handled it well, though,” he admits, “Even if you were about to break my hand.”

In the face of anger personified, he manages to smile and crack a laugh.

“Sorry,” you mumble, finally pulling your hand away from his.

“Do you want something to drink?” he asks, glancing back at the bartender serving an established looking woman a margarita. Likely strawberry from its tint.

You shake your head, “I’m good. Thank you.”

“Well, then, I’ll be back,” he reaches out to rub your shoulder before slipping back into the crowd. You’re jealous of the effect he has to just become invisible.

You pull your phone from its hidden spot and open Minho’s awaiting text.

Lee Knows: Has he made a move yet?

You: Why would he?

Lee Knows: Idk you’re kind of obvious.

Before you can answer, an incoming notification from Seungmin pops up.

Seungmo: Is it true that you like Chan?

Minho. Lee Minho. You grimace.

You: No comment.

Seungmo: Sweet. Jeongin owes me twenty bucks. But ew. Who would romantically like Chan?

The text really ties together with the barfing emoji.

“Who’s that?” the subject of both text logs peeks his head over your phone.

You snatch it back, instinctively turning it off. “Seungmin.”

“I didn’t know you were friends with him,” Chan observes, placing the black straw between his lips. His drink is also tinted pink, but not in a margarita glass.

“Minho built the bridge during bro night. Now we plot behind his back,” you joke, promptly making Chan choke. He coughs, covering his mouth with his sleeve as he sputters.

“Don’t do that when I’m drinking!” he laughs.

Your chest heaves as you try to stifle the laugh building up in your chest.

“Oh come on, you’re even gonna have the nerve to laugh at me?” he tips his head to look at your quivering frame. He finds this funny, but he can’t just not tease you. That’s not in the rule book.

“I’m not laughing,” you try to convince him, lips pressed into a fine line as quick breaths leave your nose.

“Right,” he rolls his eyes.

If he were being honest with you, he was doing this as a ploy to take your mind off of his dad. Honesty isn’t one of his finer points, though. So he stays quiet.

“Do you want a sip?” he offers the fruity looking drink to you.

“What is it?” you ask, but accepting the glass anyway.

“Just a strawberry mimosa.”

Again, if he were honest, he’d tell you he only got it to share with you. It was a shot in the dark, neutral enough. But, again, not one of his stronger urges. Minho would refer to this as him ‘making a move’, unbeknownst to you.

You take a quick sip. Humming in approval, you hand it back to him. “It’s good, I can barely even taste the alcohol.”

He fixes his hair absentmindedly as a passing conversation arises. Subject: Minho. Goal: offering both parties ammunition for his next offhand comment or prank.

“Did you know that Minho talks in his sleep?” you laugh.

Chan pulls at a curl, pulling it straight. “He seems like the type.”

You reach up and flick his wrist.

“Ow! What was that for?”

“Stop thinking about what your dad said,” you scold. The nerves in your stomach dissipate as your hand ruffles his hair, fluffing it out. He looks more relaxed as you pull away.

“Sorry,” he whispers.

“Don’t apologize, or I’ll punch you next time.”

“I can see why you and Minho get along so well.”

xi.

By the time you’re set free from the hell of socializing with all of Chan’s dad’s friends who last saw him when he was ‘this high’, the effects of the single mimosa wear off. Luckily for Chan, you drank most of it, so he’s set to drive.

“My feet hurt,” you complain. Maybe it would have been smart to break in the fancy shoes Chan invested for you before the event.

“Do you want me to carry you?” Chan asks, turning to you.

Against all voices inside of you screaming to decline, your pain receptors answer for you. “That’d be great, since you're offering.”

He bends his knees slightly and holds his arms slightly out. When you jump onto his back, he doesn’t even react.

“Do you religiously workout or something?” you joke, though true curiosity shines through your words. You’re pretty obvious.

“Duh. Every breathing moment I’m not working or crying over my dad. It’s a stress reliever.” Your arms, hanging from his neck, feel each vibration in his chest as he laughs.

As he readjusts his hands beneath your thighs, maintaining a steady hold of your body against his, your body grows warm and you can envision your cheeks glowing red. Minho was so right. And the field day he’s going to have with the upcoming weeks until the joke grows stale. You shiver at the thought.

“Are you cold?” Chan asks.

“Oh, no, I was just thinking about Minho.”

“Scary,” Chan mimics his own shiver at the mention.

You press your cheek against his shoulder, his steady steps drawing your eyes shut.

The silence you find is unparalleled to the one in the car earlier. This one is comfortable, homely even. So much so that you feel yourself fall asleep.

xii.

When you get to his apartment, he nudges your shoulder.

Your eyes slowly open, fighting against the dull light from the roof of his car.

“You can spend the night at my house. I’m not confident in pulling a sleeping body out of a car. Putting you in was hard enough,” he chuckles.

You manage a smile and hazily push the passenger door open. From the rest, your feet should be fine walking to the elevator (since there’s one less body than bro night, you’ll fit) and to his apartment. Still, he wraps his arm around your shoulders to steady you all the way up to his front door.

“I’ll grab you some clothes,” he says as you fall onto his couch. You didn’t acknowledge how comfortable it was just from sitting on it. Honestly, it feels like a normal mattress.

He returns from his room quickly with a pair of sweatpants and a shirt. Both black, as you could have guessed.

You walk to the bathroom and sleepily tug your fancy outfit off, careful not to ruin it. As you pull his shirt over your head, a rush of his cologne hugs you. You fight off the ‘I could get used to this’ comment that floats through your head.

You don’t remember walking back to the couch. But you remember Chan pulling a blanket up to your chin.

xiii.

Chan pokes your cheek, drawing you away from your precious dream of living in a cottage on the seafront—conveniently with him. You whine, pulling the blanket over your head in an attempt to ward him away. Dream Chan is waiting for you.

“Y/N, come on. You can’t sleep on my couch all day.” The worst part is: you can hear the faux pout in his voice. And potentially worse: you definitely could sleep on this couch all day if your life depended on it. Even if it didn’t, to be honest.

“Go away,” you grumble.

He sighs. His presence beside you disappears for a few moments, long enough for sleep to momentarily return. The bubble of peace pops eventually.

“Hey, Minho,” his voice returns, slightly muffled by the distance and the cloth pressed against your ear.

This is enough to spring liveliness into your bones. You sit up, hateful eyes shooting in the direction of the voice. When you see him laughing, his dark phone pressed against his ear, you reel. “One of these days, I’m gonna leave your company and then your stocks are gonna plummet,” you groan.

“Is that the best insult you can come up with?” he counters, dropping his hoisted arm to his side.

“I have more, but they're still closed off. You know, since you’ve rudely interrupted my sleep.”

“I’m sorry. Not really, though. It’s like noon.”

“And?”

“I can’t leave you here alone,” he laughs.

“What, do you have a date to attend?”

Awaiting his response, you reach for your phone on the coffee table. Two missed calls. A few Snapchats from Seungmin, likely pictures of his new puppy, but no matter.

“I wish. I have to meet up with Jisung. Pressing news he has to tell me, too confidential to be told over text.”

“He’s gonna confess,” you shoot him a look.

“Yes, because Han Jisung would be in love with me,” he starts for the kitchen. An extended arm pulls at the fridge, and he pulls two waters out.

“To be fair, if I were Jisung, I’d probably be in love with you,” you say, obviously without much thought behind it.

Okay. In your defense, you were a little too focused on reading Minho’s latest string of confusing messages. Trying to decipher the code, Chan’s response passes right through you like a ghost.

Lee Knows: Y/N you won’t believe this.

Lee Knows: Loba’s gonna be so happy.

Lee Knows: I know you’re probably cuddled up with Chan or whatever but call me ASAP.

Chan lowers himself beside you, tossing the cold water in your lap. He peeks over your shoulder. “Huh. That’s pretty much what Jisung said to me.”

“Why are you invading my privacy?” you glare at him, considering elbowing him precisely between the ribs. Ultimately deciding against it, of course. Through tense internal conflict.

“Really? You’re sitting on my couch, in my clothes, refusing to leave, and you wanna talk about privacy?”

Just because he has a point doesn’t mean he should voice it. Plus, he offered the clothes. And the couch for you to sleep on. It really just seems like a self jab to you.

“Should I call him?” Your finger glides across your bottom lip as you look at him for an answer.

“Sure, why not?” he throws his hands up in defeat. “Let’s see what Jisung and Minho have conspired this time.”

The ring echoing sparks a nervous pit in your stomach. You pick at the sticker of the water bottle. It feels like forever by the time he answers.

“Morning, sunshine,” Minho’s sweet voice reeks of sarcasm.

“You’re on speaker, by the way,” you close your eyes to avoid looking at Chan’s burning eyes.

“Oh perfect, you are too,” Jisung joins in, a dry laugh escaping his throat.

“We have some questions,” Minho begins, but fails to continue.

“Such as?” Chan prompts.

“Are you guys dating yet?” Jisung bluntly jumps to the case.

Your heart rams against your chest. That ‘yet’ tugs at your insides.

“Uh, no,” you draw out.

“The media sure thinks otherwise,” Minho jabs.

Chan’s already searching for the articles by the time you can react.

“Fuck.” He throws his head back against the couch in frustration, tilting his phone towards you so you can see.

CEO Bang Chan Lands a Date Weeks Before Comeback.

Bang Caught With Employee?

Bang Chan, CEO, Makes a Striking Appearance at Dad’s Gala.

“What? Did you really think there wouldn’t be journalists there? Come on Chan, do better.” You never knew Jisung had this cutting edge to him. If the words were aimed at you, you know you’d break down. It’s a miracle that Chan is this composed.

“Can you calm down? My god,” you say without realizing. “It’s not like we can’t fix this.” How, though, you ponder?

“If it makes you feel any better,” Minho reluctantly says, like this sentence could put his life on the line, “you looked cute.”

“Thanks,” you mutter. In any other circumstance, you’d be quick to mock him. Well. At least he’s not outwardly making fun of you. Another one of Minho’s late night insights seeping into your thoughts: see the positive.

A text notification drops down against your screen. Despite having the luxury of using his voice, it’s Minho.

Lee Knows: Would now be a bad time to out you?

You: Horribly.

“Well,” Jisung draws in a sharp breath.

“Good luck,” Minho finishes for him.

After he hangs up, promptly after letting you know he fed Loba this morning, you pick up the water bottle and place it against your cheek. The shocking chill redirects your nerves momentarily.

You try not to look at Chan, but you know he’s looking at you.

After a moment to catch your breath, he sighs, “I have an idea.”

It takes an effort to pull your attention to him. A war against yourself.

“Play along with me for a second,” he says, pulling his leg beneath him as he repositions himself beside you. Fully facing you, taking in your entire being—which doesn’t help your burning skin. You’d give anything to be invisible right now.

“What if,” he starts, “we go along with it?”

You laugh in his face. “Are you sure that wouldn’t blow up even worse? Imagine people finding out we faked it. That wouldn’t be good for you.”

He messes with his fingers, suddenly finding an intense interest in the linework of them. He rubs his thumb against the crease of his ring finger. “I don’t think anyone would have to find out it’s fake, per se.”

“How are you so confident?” You look at him in awe. Even when he’s spewing absolute nonsense and under pressure, he looks like a god. Calm as ever. It’s horrifying for your heart. And for common sense, but that’s not as important right now.

“I don’t think Minho would lie to me.”

“What does Minho have to do with this?”

His dimple shows itself as a measly smile crosses his lips. “He may have told me.”

Regardless of what he may have spilled, you know instantly. “You’re kidding me,” you huff. What was the point of his dramatic message, then? A distraction, maybe.

“I mean it’s okay. It’s not like it’s not reciprocated or anything.”

“You are unbelievable,” you shake your head. “How did you know and not say a single thing?”

His hands shoot up in defense. “To be fair, I didn’t find out until after you fell asleep last night. For the second time. He texted me with this whole ‘I know something you don’t’ facade. I wasn’t going to act on it until I had a stupidly romantic plan, but then this happened,” he gestures around the room, as if it’s the decor’s fault. He’s quick to add, “And I couldn’t do that as soon as they said anything about the articles. That’d kinda ruin the mood, don’t you think?”

So Chan’s probably not good with looking amazing under pressure—he very well could be, but you wouldn’t know that right now. Which slightly irritates you, but no matter.

“Well,” you sigh. “I guess that solves the problem.”

He nods, looking at you solemnly.

“Your dad’s gonna be pissed, though,” you comment, and he laughs.

“I know.”

Funny. As soon as the problem jumped at you, the imminent solution scared you just as fast. Your head hurts from the whiplash. That must be a pattern with him.

“You know what’s kinda perfect about this?” he says after a moment.

“Tell me.”

“We can write love songs together now. Isn’t that cool?” The sheer joy in his face shatters any aggravation left in your veins. A smile creeps up on you.

“You’re such a nerd.”

“And you’re madly in love with a nerd so I don’t see what your point is.”

You pull the pillow out from behind your back and chuck it at his head.

“Oh so you’re trying to kill your beloved love interest? Real classy, Y/N.”

“Please just shut up and kiss me already,” you lean over halfway and wait for him to meet you.

Kissing a major CEO doesn’t feel much different than kissing a normal person, but there’s a striking flare of passion to it. Maybe that’s a personal thing.

His lips fit against yours in a way that makes your soul instantly tethered to him. You hope he can’t feel your heartbeat against your lips, for it’s pulsing rather loud and antsy for you.

Chan radiates warmth in every piece of his body, extending all the way to his aura. If it wasn’t for your pesky lungs running out of air, you’d never pull away.

xiv.

In spite of his idea for a romantic confession going down the drain as soon as he decided to think one up, he makes up for it with incessant gestures. Bringing you snacks when he should be in meetings. Buying you sweets when you get stressed. Purchasing Loba a huge cat tree, even though she doesn’t need to be spoiled further. Spending the night at your house even when his is way more comfortable for the sheer reason that Loba would feel lonely.When you mention taking her with you, he’d say, “I don’t want her to feel uncomfortable with the new environment.”

He even postponed bro night because you got sick and wanted to be the one to take care of you.

You don’t need reminders that he loves you, but it’s all the while heartwarming when he says it.

Even now, with his arm wrapped around your waist and his chin propped on your shoulder, he’s thinking aloud in romance land. “What if we went on a vacation to France for Christmas? Isn’t Paris the city of love?”

You watch the TV, but his voice drowns out all of the dialogue. “I don’t know, Chan. Why can’t we stay here?” you shift in his arms to roll over and face him. This close, as you’ve grown accustomed to these past months, you can count all of his eyelashes. And you can see tiny freckles scattered across his cheeks. It must be an Aussie thing.

He presses a kiss to the tip of your nose. “We can stay here. I’m fine with that.”

Loba jumps onto the bed, her collar jingling with her sudden movement to warn you she’s arrived. You pull away from Chan a little to make room for her between you. “Here comes the princess,” you feign disappointment with a sigh.

She claims her spot between your chests and curls herself into a ball, burying her face in Chan’s chest. Per usual. She often forgets who feeds her around here.

“Anyway,” Chan leans over her, kissing your lips gently, “I’m okay wherever. As long as you’re with me.”

After a beat of silence, you cup his cheek delicately and say, “Let’s go to the moon.”

“Yeah,” he grins, “Let’s go to the moon.”

xv.

He leans over and presses a kiss to your temple, setting a bottle of water in front of you.

Jisung gags from across the room. “Get a room,” he complains.

“You are a grown man and you can’t handle a couple being affectionate?” Changbin criticizes. “Get a life, dude.”

“Yeah,” you chime in, “Just ‘cos you live a poor, single life doesn’t mean you can hate on us.”

“Jeez, I didn’t sign up for slander on this Monday morning.”

“You definitely asked for it, but let’s get to work.” Chan draws his phone from his pocket and prepares for the official meeting regarding 3Racha’s next comeback.

God’s Menu was well received from the public, sending Chan’s dating scandal into the shadows. Minho basked in the compliments on the choreography. Seungmin whined when no one on Twitter noticed he was the vocal coach—and Minho didn’t make it much better by rubbing his glory in Seungmin’s face every chance he got. And you couldn’t get Chan to stop showing you funny Tweets and praise for nearly a month. Likely longer.

Here you sit in Chan’s office at the beginning of the new year. A lot of things can go south during six months, but things can shoot north too. Generally, for you, it’s been pretty north.

This time around, Jisung has calculated his homework and broadcasts his thoughts onto the wall.

“I already know what you’re gonna choose for the title track, so let’s choose B-sides,” he adds the disclaimer before anyone can mutter a peep.

“I don’t know about you all,” Chan dips his hands into the pockets of his trousers and leans against his desk, “but I’d say I’m pretty confident in writing a love song right now.”

You groan alongside Jisung. “Stop talking.”

Here we go on the hunt for the song of the new year. Conquer the competition before anyone has a chance. Like you did in creating the song of the summer.

#skz au #skz imagine #skz chan #skz #stray kids chan #stray kids imagine #stray kids x reader #chan x reader #chan au #bang chan x reader #stray kids au #stray kids scenario #bang chan #skz bang chan #chan oneshots #skz oneshots #stray kids oneshot

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numptypylon · 3 years

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For today, I thought I would share a bit of a super early days WIP idea that won’t leave me alone, so I suppose it’s very likely to be my next long story, after I finish Upside Downtime and Down to Earth, which is drawing close now.

It’ll be an early canon divergence story, where Sarai survives, causing a greater rift between Harrow and Viren as the years pass, culminating in civil war, Harrow being killed and Viren taking throne of Katolis. Sarai flees to Xadia with her boys, since Ezran has a big ol’ target on his back, and they find shelter and more in Rayla’s childhood treehouse. Starring Sarai, Callum, Ezran, Rayla, Runaan and Ethari. ‘To a Halt’ is just a working title, may change.

I’ll share a few carefully-cropped-to-be-non-spoilery sketches, and an excerpt from when Rayla first encounters the little human family.

Rayla heard the voices from the meadow up ahead before she saw anyone… just little bits of things.

“Callum… they like it snug!”

“-told me! You keep not belie-”

“Ez! Raccoons! Nuff said!”

“-boys not-”

Rayla wanted to know what a raccoon was, and people didn’t always tell her things, and besides, assassins were supposed to be sneaky.

So, she dropped to the ground, creeping forward, making no sound.

The voices got clearer, as she got closer.

There were three people there, a woman and two boys, she thought, one a lot younger than her. She didn’t recognize them, which was weird, she knew everyone in the Silvergrove. And they talked all funny.

“Mom, we can stay for a bit longer, right?” The older boy. “It’s so nice here.” A pause, before he spoke again, and it was like… there was something more in what he said. Something heavy. “And… Ez really likes it here.”

‘Moooom’. All drawn out and weird.

“We have to get going soon.” The… mom. She sounded worried, even though it was a nice evening and the Moonshadow watched over this area and it was safe as anything, here.

“But the poofies need their home! It’ll be dark soon, and we’re almost done! And I can understand the poofies and am a really good delegator, and Callum is a really good grass-weaver, so it works out to a top-notch poofie-house-team!” The younger boy. He wasn’t that young though, and who knew the word ‘delegator’, but not what an adoraburr was?

He sounded sweet though, wanting to make a house for the adoraburrs. She did sometimes, too. But one Rayla had not made a good poofie-house-team.

Maybe she could join theirs?

Pfft.

She was 15, and training to be an assassin and that thought had really popped into her head?

“We’ll be quick, Ez. Mom is right, we can’t stay.” The older boy… Callum… sounded sad about it. Maybe they needed shelter? Maybe they were Earthblood and that’s why they talked all weird? They definitely didn’t sound Sunfire, but Earthblood elves passed through here sometimes, she knew, she had just never met one. “The poofies will be okay. They live here.”

The younger boy sniffled. “They’re lucky. Living here. Living… anywhere.”

“Hey!” The older boy again, an illusion of being happy. But Rayla could tell he was scared. “We’ll be okay, too. We’ll live somewhere. Someday. I’ll weave you a big house made of grass. This little house is just practice for the big one that we’ll live in, one day!”

Rayla’s heart hurt for the sweet, wee boy without a home and his big brother being so brave for him, and she stood up before she could think, because of course they could have a place to live, at least for a bit, Ethari would never turn away anyone- “Hey, you can stay with us-”

A lot of things happened at once.

#rayllum #rayla #the dragon prince #runaan #sarai #callum #ezran #tdp #numpty art tag #numpty fic tag #wip wednesday #to a halt: working-titled sarai refugee au

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ollie-ollie-oxenfreee · 3 years

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goodnight, goodnight

Awkward Attempts at Parenting... 2! Featuring a scene from a River bubble, the Reverend Daughter’s truly abysmal self-care skills and the Fifth House’s foremost endearing busybody!

“Reverend Daughter, I must once again ask you to reconsider.”

“Lady Pent, I must once again ask you to mind your business.” Harrow shuts her book with a decisive thud and turns to look the woman who’s apparently taken it upon herself to become her nursemaid full in the face. “I understand that I am younger than many of the other postulants, but I am more than capable of taking care of myself.”

“Why, then, do you insist on not doing it? You’re shivering. You’re pale. You haven’t left this room in days, and I know for a fact you haven’t been sleeping - the bags under your eyes could carry water. I wouldn’t let one of my students walk around like this, and I’m certainly not about to let you.”

A tiny, petulant voice at the back of Harrow’s mind whimpers why not?, but it’s quickly stifled by the indignance brewing in the hollow of her chest.

“Your students may have appreciated your fussing, but I can assure you that I do not. Now if you’d please let me get back to -”

“No. Not until you’ve slept.”

“Why is it any of your concern? ” Harrow snaps, that bubbling hum of anger reaching a fever pitch and warping her voice into a frigid shrill. “I am not of your House. I am not your responsibility. My well-being has no bearing on the success of your research, or your efforts to combat the Sleeper, or - “

“It’s my concern because you’re a ready mind, and you need to be kept sharp. It’s my concern because your contributions to our group effort are worthwhile, and we would be set back a great deal without you. It’s my concern, truthfully, because you’re young, dear, and you’re hurting, and by virtue of being a person you’re worth caring for. Is that really such an outlandish idea? That someone might care about you and want to see you well?”

Harrow, who in all her life has never been anyone’s dear, freezes. The anger leaves her all at once. She distantly feels her folded hands begin to shake - hears the gentle clack of rattling bone as her bracelets knock together. Her voice is weak and thready when she says at last, “I have only just met you.”

“No matter.”

“The things I’ve done - I’m not some innocent child - "

“No matter.” Pent smiles - a profoundly weary thing, but warm and gentle, crinkling up her deep brown eyes. “Leave it to the past, Reverend Daughter. Rare advice from the Fifth, I know, but it’s for the best for now. There’ll be time enough for dwelling and making things right once you’ve rested. Now, on that topic - “

She swishes about the cramped alcove of Harrow’s makeshift study in a flurry of brown skirts, gathering up the blankets and dusty sheets that puddled sadly on the floor after Harrow’s last fruitless attempt at “sleeping like a functional human being.” The lady of the Fifth presents them in a neatly folded bundle of patchy black fabric and presses the bundle into Harrow’s arms when she falters.

“Go get yourself set up. Somewhere warm, please. I know daughters of Drearburh are well used to the cold, but being used to something doesn’t make it any more pleasant, and you deserve a moment’s comfort at the very least.”

Ushered along by the mothering hurricane that is Abigail Pent, feeling younger than she has in years, Harrow does as she’s bid. In her sudden tiredness she can only manage to spread her blankets out over a clear section of floor and twist them into a sloppy nest before giving in. As she curls up on her side in the center of the heap, a sense of - not comfort exactly, but distant familiarity settles over her, warm and hazy. She presses her painted cheek into her pillow, eyes fluttering slowly shut, and in her last moments of wakefulness she just barely hears Abigail murmur, “Rest well, darling. We’ll get this all sorted out soon."

***

It takes a while for you to get your bearings when you wake. You stare up at the interwoven iron struts of the ceiling for a long, long moment, blinking blearily, trying to figure out where you are. The chill of lavender satin sheets against your skin clues you in at last, but the sense of warmth that must have come over you in your dreams doesn't leave you. Strange. If only you could remember what you were dreaming about.

#the locked tomb #tlt #harrow the ninth #my favorite comment on this on ao3 described harrow as a 'hissy feral kitten' and i think about that a lot #a hissy feral kitten parented by a very persistent motherly hurricane #my writing

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tiadres · 3 years

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30 Day Dragon Age OC Challenge

Day 18: Companions

Josephine: Anwen quickly falls for Josephine and the they are an excellent match for each other. I will talk more about her (and Lace) tomorrow on Day 19: Courtship.

Dorian: Dorian is Anwen’s best friend. There’s something about him that made Anwen have a good feeling about him when they first met, and that feeling was confirmed during their harrowing adventure in the bad future. Anwen thinks that Dorian is incredibly smart and so much fun to have around, and she has learned a lot from him. At first they had some clashing opinions - you know, Dorian having grown up thinking that slavery is just a normal part of life for some while Anwen very much hates the idea -, but their discussions about it were civil and in time, Dorian’s views on certain subjects adapted too. Anwen is very excited for him when he tells that he wants to change his country to better, and very much supports him however she can.

Cassandra: Cassandra and Anwen had a bit of a rocky start, but by the time they get to Skyhold and the Inquisition starts properly, they have learned to know each other better and have a mutual trust and respect. Over time they become good friends, and they have a little book club where they read romantic literature.

Varric: Anwen and Varric quickly become friends, and she enjoys talking to him a lot. She is happy that Varric wants to stick around and see the whole Corypheus thing trough even if his first loyalty will always be to his best friend Hawke, which Anwen respects and appreciates. Anwen is very touched when Varric as the new Vicount of Kirkwall grants her a title and a property in the city, and goes to see it in person after disbanding the Inquisition. She stays there whenever she visits Kirkwall.

Blackwall: Blackwall is a sort of dad friend to Anwen. She respects him a lot, and thinks that he is what a Grey Warden ideally should be like. When she learned the truth about his past and identity she was shocked, but not even for a second did she consider abandoning him. While she normally thinks that the truth should always come out, in this case she fabricated Thom Rainier’s death and decided that after the war with Corypheus, Blackwall would actually go to the Wardens. He was very happy with this result, and surprised that Anwen was not angry at him for having lied. Solas did not get the same forgiveness later because well, instead of destroying the world Blackwall has been and continues to try to make it a little bit better by helping people.

Iron Bull: Anwen finds it easy to get along with Bull. She loves hanging out with him and the Chargers, especially Krem. If Anwen knows she’s going to face a dragon in a fight, she always takes Bull with her because she knows how much he enjoys it.

Sera: Anwen sees Sera as a rebel kid sister. At first she is confused about a lot of things in regards to Sera, but over time learns to understand her better and becomes friends with her. Anwen very much appreciates the whole little people thing. She is disappointed and surprised to hear how Sera feels about her own race, but learns to avoid the subject to keep the peace. Sometimes Sera makes comments about how “elfy” Anwen is, but Anwen lets it go.

Cole: Anwen loves her adopted spirit son, and defends him from anyone who thinks he’s a demon and danger to everyone. She was a little bit torn on whether to follow the advice of Solas or Varric when Cole was dealing with his identity, but in the end decided to leave the matter to Solas because she trusted his expertise on spirits. So in the end Cole turned out to be more spirit than human, and seemed happy that way.

Leliana: Leliana and Anwen are good friends, especially after Anwen helped her be inspired in her faith again. Anwen has great respect for Leliana and is overjoyed when she becomes Divine Victoria. The two of them are a very powerful duo: when Anwen was younger she was always focused on preserving the tradition, but with her in charge and her friends by her side, the Inquisition becomes a force that profoundly changes the world. Making those changes and ensuring that they stick would be impossible without Leliana, who is one of the most amazing and inspiring people that Anwen has ever met.

Cullen: Anwen is initially a little wary of Cullen because he used to be a templar and she was always taught to avoid them, but Cullen is very polite and friendly from the start and makes Anwen feel like she can count on him. Sometimes she ambushes him with questions such as “what would you do if I got possessed?”, which makes him uneasy as he would prefer not to think about such a grim scenario. Anwen recognizes that while Cullen still has some healing and progress to be made, he’s working hard to redeem himself and she fully supports him in this. She is actually a little bit surprised when she realizes that she truly considers Cullen, an ex-templar, her friend. The feeling is probably mutual.

Solas: Even though Anwen doesn’t like the attitude Solas has towards Dalish elves, they quickly become friends as Anwen loves to hear about his experiences in the Fade and his opinions on matters related to magic and Corypheus. Sometimes she wonders where he came from, as he’s obviously not Dalish but also doesn’t really fit any other backgrounds that she could think of and he’s quite vague when asked about it, but she trusts him and lets the matter be. She is very hurt when the truth about him is revealed, and angry that even after all he’s experienced with them he’s willing to destroy the whole existing world in order to bring back something that was lost a long time ago; a very extreme version of “things were better back then”. Anwen sort of understands why he’d feel like that, but thinks he’s going way too far and should instead just focus on living in the current world and age. Anwen is not a very vengeful person in general, but this is so big that in order to keep everyone else safe, she vows to stop Solas at all costs.

Vivienne: Anwen would love to be able to be friends with everyone in her Inner Circle, but the best she could do with Vivienne was to be civil. While both mages, the two of them come from very different backgrounds and have a great difficulty in understanding why they see certain matters very differently. They’ve argued a lot and when the Inquisition moved to Skyhold, Vivienne’s attitude towards Anwen was hostile. This legit scared Anwen just a little bit, because despite everything she does in a way respect Vivienne and recognizes her strengths, and Anwen certainly didn’t want to have an enemy like her. Over time Anwen was able to mend their relationship so they could be at least on neutral terms, but they never became true friends. It is understandable considering that many of Anwen’s big decisions - such as making the rebel mages full allies and supporting Leliana as the next Divine - basically destroyed the foundation of Vivienne’s political power, which she is definitely not happy about.

Want to do the challenge as well? Here are the prompts

#da #dai #dragon age #Anwen Lavellan #30dayDAchallenge

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msotherworldly · 3 years

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Blame for Bethany

Title: Blame for Bethany

Fiction Type: Fanfiction

Fandom: Dragon Age 2

Warnings: Minor swearing, mention of death

Prompt: “I’m not saying I told you so...”

“I’m not saying I told you so...”

“That’s funny, because it sounds like you are.” I smirked. The clink of tankards surrounded us. There was a low hum of voices, and the smell of nug shit. It was home sweet home—at least for him. Face turned only half to the fireplace, he looked older.

I frowned. How old was Varric? Admittedly, I didn’t know much about dwarf aging. I’d always assumed they aged as quickly as humans or elves, but...

“Get it off your chest.” He sipped his drink, eyes sparkling.

“Another day.” I sank into a chair.

He shook his head. “It’s bad to pent shit up, Hawke. I knew a fella in the carta who got by weeping into his pillow every night. It had a nickname and everything. Of course, when the other carta men in his squad found out, they filled his back with knives.”

“Thanks, Varric.” I waved the waitress for a drink. “You always know what to say to make me feel better.”

“That’s my specialty. But seriously, what’s eating you?”

“It’s just a conclusion I’ve had. We’ve survived the Deep Roads. I’ve made enough money that I barely have to work. And Mother seems happy. I thought it would go away, but it hasn’t.”

The dwarf raised his eyebrows. “Go on.”

“I think...I have to talk to her about this.”

“I’m going to say it again. If it’s bad, dump it on me. Your mother’s been through enough crap.”

“And deprive you of the chance of another ‘I told you so’ speech?”

Varric sighed. His chair creaked as he leaned back. “We’re not talking about an ogre this time, Hawke. We’re talking about your mother. Maybe give her some time before you hit her with something heavy.”

“I’ve given her time!” I laughed. “Varric, I’ve had this thought since I started work with Athenril. I’ve been carrying it around for two years now.”

“Do you need a shrink? I can recommend a good one I know. He works in Darktown.”

“He’s not a healer, is he?”

Varric grinned. “No, but I know a healer there who I’ve also recommended to see the guy. To be fair, he did attend one session.”

“But?”

“But it’s probably better if you don’t mention you’re a mage.” Varric’s face darkened. “Since that lovely therapy session, Briggs has a paranoia of being lit on fire. That tends to happen when you try to do therapy on a Fade spirit.”

“Maker.” I shook my head. “I think I’ll pass, Varric, but...thanks for the tip. Why Darktown?”

“If you talk to a therapist in Hightown, they might gossip. Any therapist there will likely be a noble looking for extra cash or a fun time, and well, you know your neighbours better than anyone. All they care about are scandals and social clout. If it got out that Marion Hawke was having mommy issues, it would be the talk of Hightown for at least a month.”

“I don’t have mommy issues.” I rolled my eyes. “But I see your point.”

“I’m not saying you do. It’s what they would say.” He winked. “Trust me, Hawke. I have a good read on people.”

“And a vivid imagination.”

“Exactly! If I say something is going to go wrong, it will likely go even worse!”

“And here I am, taking advice from the guy who loosed Anders on a therapist. Do wonders never cease?”

Varric chuckled. “I know you don’t listen. Hell, do any of you? But be gentle with her, Hawke. She’s had a hard time.”

I was halfway to Lowtown before I remembered my new home. I kicked a stone, and turned around. Would I ever get used to this? Even after three weeks, it felt strange to walk into Hightown and think I belonged there. In my rough leather jacket and scuffed boots, I felt as much like a ruffian as I’d always been. When I drew the key from my pocket, I had the unnerving feeling I’d stolen it from someone—or, as was more often the case, killed someone for it.

Smells of flowers and greenery washed over me. Mom had filled the manor with potted plants. Three shattered pots in the corner gave evidence that Sandal had managed to destroy half of them just as fast. The dreamy eyed dwarf looked out over the balcony; was he planning to swing from the chandelier again?

I dropped my satchel at the foot of my bed. When I emerged from my room, I was clean and dressed in finery. I drifted down the stairs, frowning.

“Is there anything I can get for you, my lady?” Bodahn bowed. “Name it, and I’ll be happy to oblige.”

“Just a bottle of wine, Bodahn, and a glass.”

“Right away, my lady.”

“It’s Marion.” I sighed as he ambled off. “There’s no need to be so formal.”

Mother sat by the fire, embroidery in her lap. Her wrists flashed with silver, and her hair was pulled into an intricate braid. To look at her, one wouldn’t have known at first glance that she had spent twenty years tilling earth or bathing a Mabari coated daily in mud. Still, I could see it—in the wrinkles around her eyes, and the whitening of her hair, I saw a harder life. Most of the nobles who were Mother’s age looked ten years younger.

“Mother.”

“Hello, dear.” She gazed into the flames. “Have you heard from your brother?”

“Mages and templars aren’t friends as a general rule.”

“He’s your brother.” She grimaced. “It’s just as well. He needed space. It could be a lucrative career for him.”

“Hunting people like me? That’s a ‘lucrative career’?”

“I’m sorry, Marion.” She glanced up, and smiled. “I’m just trying to make the best of things. He’s been discontent for a long time. If this brings him happiness, I’ll be grateful to the Order for that much.”

I pulled up a second chair. Bodahn left the wine on a small round table of polished wood. I filled my glass. The liquid was a deep red.

I studied the flames, seeing shapes, seeing houses, blackening ruins crumpling as darkspawn swarmed over them. Did Mother see the same thing, or was the fire a mere comfort?

“He might have joined the Order in Fereldan too.” I picked up a poker, and jabbed the logs. “After being kicked out of the army, that is.”

Mother chuckled. “I suppose it would have been a matter of time. Carver always did find trouble. I hope he’s settled down now.”

I frowned. “It would have been natural if...”

Mother glanced at me. “If what?”

If you had been strong enough to do what you should have.

I stood up, setting my glass down. My heart thrummed. I bit my lip.

Be gentle, Hawke. Varric’s voice was low and smooth in my head.

I wheeled to face her. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”

“I’m sorry I said that, darling. I never meant it. Not really.”

“Even after you apologized the first time, I still believed it was. I played it over in my head. If I had gotten to the ogre sooner, I could have knocked it down. If I’d thought to throw fire, I could have distracted it. But I wasn’t the only one there. If it was my fault, it was Carver’s fault, Aveline’s. We were surrounded. Everyone was just trying to survive.” I shuddered. “It wasn’t my fault that Bethany died.”

Mother reached for me.

“It was yours.”

Mother flinched as if I’d electrocuted her. Then she bowed her head. “You wish it had been me instead of her. If the ogre had grabbed me instead...”

“I don’t wish that.” I sat down. “But I was angry at you. When we were at Gamlen’s, what did you do? You stared into the fire and you didn’t move. You didn’t even take in washing to help us pay the rent. You didn’t try to sell fruit. You didn’t offer to stitch up clothes for a couple of coppers. You didn’t do anything! You left it to Carver and I. You’ve left it to us since Dad died.”

Mother’s eyes watered. She closed them. “After she died...after your father...each time, it was like another part of me, somewhere in my chest, had just been ripped away. I couldn’t even think. I was sad and angry, and I couldn’t see anything else. Then, when Carver left, I thought I was having a heart attack.”

“But he didn’t leave, not truly.”

“I realized that.” She took a breath. “When I realized he was just going to be on his own, with a job he might enjoy, I even felt a little better. I know you tried with him...but he needed to find his own way.”

“I didn’t want you to take Bethany’s place, Mother.” I took her hand. “I was angry because you could have prevented it.”

She met my gaze.

“I never wanted to go to the Circle. I liked the feel of grass under my feet. I savoured looking up, and seeing the sky. I even enjoyed the constant reek of filthy Mabari.”

She chuckled.

“But sometimes I wondered about the Circle. I thought of all the books there I could be reading. And I thought of Bethany, on those winter days when we had less to eat, being able to have her fill. They get three meals a day at the Circle. There was one winter where I even considered sending her off myself. It was a chance at a richer life for her.”

“But not you?”

“Not as long as you needed looking after.” I shook my head. “It’s just...if you had sent us, she would still be alive right now. She was capable. She would have survived the Harrowing. She might have even attained a position, become a senior enchanter. She might have written books, had friends...been safe.”

Mom slumped over. “I’ve made so many mistakes.”

“We could have stayed together. If you had been well, if Carver was there, I might have gone with her. And if Carver had joined the Order, he would have been able to send decent money your way. He would have kept us together with letters and stories. When he wasn’t watching over his sisters, he could have visited you, seen you were alright.”

“And all three of you could have been safe.”

“I shouldn’t have said this to you. Keeping us free wasn’t the wrong decision. Not really. You couldn’t have known the Blight was coming. If it hadn’t, all of us would still be in Lothering now. Poorer, but alive.”

“I’ve thought too much of myself.”

“Mother.”

“No, I have. You’ve played it through your head, too. You’ve watched Bethany die over and over. When you look into the flames, do you see it like I do? The homes falling, burning, being swarmed?”

“It’s all I see.”

“I wish I could look after you now.”

“But you don’t have to anymore. We’re set for life.”

“There must be some way I could be useful.” Mother pursed her lips. Her eyes glinted. “I have old friends from my childhood here. Many of them have their own children. Perhaps I could set up a meeting with some of them? I know Sir Laurence is very handsome.”

I laughed. “No, Mother. Thank you. I’m sort of already...seeing someone.”

“A noble?” Her voice was critical.

“Not at all. I have too much of my mother in me.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

“He understands, Mother. If I married a noble, how could I be happy? I’d have to hide all the time. I’m so tired of hiding.”

“Is he...like your father?”

I nodded. “Like mother, like daughter.”

Her lips thinned into a severe line. She opened her mouth, and then she shook her head. She chuckled. “Well, it’s just as well I’m not like my mother. You can rest assured I won’t disown you. But be careful, darling. If you’re talking about who I think...well, he can be a bit wild.”

“You’re just upset he trailed that weird mud over the floor from Darktown.”

“Whatever it was, it had red stains!” Mother shuddered. “But it’s just as well. If you’re happy, I won’t get in the way.”

I stood up: I pulled her into a hug, folding her in. I was a head taller than she was. I stroked her hair. “I don’t mind looking after you, Mother. It gives me something to do.”

“Is Anders interested in children?”

Maker, I’ve said too much.

I blushed. “I...don’t know.”

“Well, grandchildren would give me something to do.” Mother drew away, beaming. “I could teach them how to curtsy, dance, sew, cook, sing!”

“After you were done teaching them not to light the house on fire.” I grimaced. “With their genes, it’s certain they’d all be mages. You could handle several apostate toddlers?”

“I handled two, didn’t I?” Mom puffed herself up. “I’ll figure it out.”

I bet.

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, Marion.” She pulled me in for another hug and stroked my hair.

#fictober21 #fictober #fanfic #dragon age #dragon age fic #writing #creative writing #writers #writeblr

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

Text

Lighthouse (CS AU)

Short oneshot where Emma is the Princess and Killian is her longtime love. He’s serving his last deployment in the royal navy and she is eagerly awaiting his arrival. Available on AO3 Here and FF Here.

A/N: This is a fluffy drabble that was prompted FOREVER ago by a lovely reader. They wanted the song “Lighthouse’ by Collabro and the story to include a Lieutenant Duckling Reunion fic. It has been so long since I’ve gotten to write something like that, and I have really missed it, so here is my attempt at some cuteness for you all. Thanks for reading, and thanks so much to the awesome reader who suggested this!

Please let him be safe. Please let him come home. Please let him return to me.

The silent prayers were ones that Princess Emma had begged for more times than she could count. Over the past year, while Killian was out at sea, serving in the royal navy, Emma had been beside herself with worry. It was bad enough to be separated from the man she loved, but to know that he could be in danger all this time pained her heart in shades of sadness she’d never be able to vocalize.

If she had her way in this scenario, Emma would be down at the docks, watching the horizon for any sign of his ship in port. No, forget that idea, she’d be on the ship with him, facing whatever harrowing adventures the high seas might call for without a drop of fear. When she was with Killian, nothing could touch her. The magic they shared was a barrier against anything bad, a fortifying force that protected them both, and Emma felt steadier and at peace. But alas, her destiny was written already, and it held no space for seafaring voyages or long treks on the open ocean.

As the one-day heir of the realm, Emma was expected to put on a brave face and attend to her duties. The people looked to her and her family for leadership and guidance. They all played a part in the health of this kingdom, and her birthright was to inherit all of this someday. At some point in the not too distant future, when her mother and father were ready to step aside, it would be Emma who took the throne, but all the grandeur and the power meant nothing to her, not without Killian to share it with.

Every spare moment she thought of him, and imagined what it would be like someday, when this was all behind them. This was his last deployment under the careful watch of his elder brother Liam, and prior to his going, he’d already received her parent’s blessing to marry her, though not before asking Emma for her hand herself. She’d accepted in a heartbeat, failing to let him even finish the romantic question when she understood his intent. She was desperate to be his in every way, and remembering the smile he’d bestowed on her and the kisses that they shared when she’d agreed, it was obvious that Killian felt the same.

Almost a whole year had passed since that miraculous night, and not long after he was sent away, sailing for the edge of the known world to see what lay beyond. It terrified her to think of what danger may lurk in what was unknown, but Killian reassured her that it would all be fine. He and Liam knew what must be done. They understood the sea and their mission, and Killian swore to find his way back to her just as he had so many times before…

“I just wish that you didn’t have to go,” she’d said, unable to hide her tears in the early morning hours before his ship set sail. They’d run off together to the guest house in the garden, a special spot of theirs since they met when they were younger. For years it had been their hideaway. Killian called it their sanctuary, and Emma always thought that was an apt description.

“Believe me, love, if there were any way around this, I would see the course. You know I’d give anything to be here making you mine as soon as may be. But my brother needs me, and your father has been clear. We need these alliances for the good of the kingdom, and the safety of the people, you most importantly.”

“I know,” Emma agreed, understanding more than most how precious their alliances were with the kingdoms of all realms. This voyage, though long and arduous, would protect them for years to come, and was the last request of Killian’s brother Liam before Killian exited the navy. “You just…”

“I just what, love?” he asked, cupping the side of her cheek and watching her with those beautiful blue eyes of his that always made her dizzy. They were so focused in on her, as if the universe began and ended with what she was about to say. In a world where she was important but never felt truly seen, she’d grown addicted to such attentions. Killian truly knew her and still loved her, and she was more herself with him than with anyone she’d ever met. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes, breathing in the scent of him and savoring the warmth and electricity that came when he was close.

“You just made me love you so much, that letting you go feels like losing part of myself.”

The murmured curse he let loose before devouring her lips made Emma shiver with delight, but she was hardly cold. His touch was like a fire, sizzling through her and marking her as his, just as much as she was marking him as hers. She didn’t know how long they stayed like that, wrapped up in each other, but it felt mere seconds later when they pulled apart. The brightness of the room and the daylight that was breaking signaled much more time had passed than seconds, but it wasn’t enough. No amount of time together ever would be.

“There’s nothing in this world or any other capable of keeping me from you, Emma. My love for you is constant. Not just for this life, but every one from here to always. Have faith in me, my love, because I promise I will be home to you as soon as I am able.”

Though the words were whispered so long ago, Emma still felt them wash against her skin as the sun began to sink over the tree line. Out here, in the back woods of the palace, she was totally alone, but if she couldn’t be with Killian, that solitude was all she could accept. She closed her eyes and allowed herself to fantasize that he was here. Autumn’s chill was back once more. The year was up, and so too should his mission be. In a perfect world she’d hear the gentle crunch of footsteps and catch the subtle scent of ocean waves. The footsteps would approach with precision and determination until the moment just before he reached her where heat flared through her system. She fended off tears at how good her imagination was becoming, and then she felt him, the undeniable press of his body on hers that was so much more vivid than any daydream ever could be. Her eyes popped open and her heart took flight.

“Emma,” he said, nuzzling into her neck as he held her tight and the sound that came from her chest was one of desperation and relief. “Gods how I’ve missed you, love.”

“You came back,” she said, spinning in his hold and seeing that this was truly real. Killian was here and alive. He was somehow even more gorgeous than when he’d left, and he was looking at her with even more affection and love than he’d had before. Tall dark and handsome did no justice to all he was. He was perfection, and he was all hers.

“With a light like yours to return to, there was no other option, love. Trust and believe in that.”

He whispered the words of affirmation as her hand came over his chest. She felt the racing of his heart, and she knew, without his admitting it all that things had been the same for her him as they had for her. She may have been here, and he may have physically been worlds away, but her heart could not reside in a space without him. Now they were together again, and she was whole, happy, and unwilling to ever let him go.

Pulling him in by the collar of his navy coat, Emma almost wept when their lips met after so long a separation. His taste was just the same, his arms, holding her close, the warmest and most soothing home she’d ever known. She was safe here and hopeful, finally believing that the worst was behind them. From here on out things would be different. She and Killian would be together, and there’d never be cause for such sad partings ever again.

“I thought for certain that the love we shared before was as big as it could be…” he murmured, running his hands through her flowing hair and smiling at her, as if he was trying to convince himself that this wasn’t all a beautiful dream they’d both soon wake up from. “How wrong I was in such a thought. This love grows deeper every day. It can’t be quantified. It just…”

“It just is,” Emma echoed, and he agreed, kissing her again and grounding her in a happiness that had been missing for twelve long months. Only when they were breathless, did they break apart, but even then his forehead rested against hers, his arms surrounding her, giving them space to breathe each other in and surrender to their feelings.

“I’ve brought you something, Emma,” he finally said, and she could see the pride in his eyes at the mention of this gift. “It’s something I hope you’ll find worthy of a woman like you.”

Emma knew she’d cherish any parcel from her sailor, but the preemptive affirmations died on her lips as he pulled out a small velvet pouch. Inside the compartment was a ring with a band of white gold, and a green blue gem unlike any she’d ever seen. In the royal vaults there were many treasures belonging to her family, but none that looked like this. It was a sapphire, but colored in such a vibrant aqua hue it didn’t look like any stone she’d seen before. Yet it wasn’t the first time she’d seen this iridescent shade. In fact, it was one that always seemed to find the two of them some way or another.

“Killian, it’s gorgeous,” she said in awe, amazed at how much it looked like the lightest flecks of color in his piercing blue gaze. She knew that in her own green eyes there were flecks of this tone too, a shared sample of their souls, indistinguishable and utterly spectacular. “But you didn’t need to bring me anything. All I need is you, you know that.”

“I do, love. Believe me, a man doesn’t forget such miracles when he’s as blessed as I am. But you are to be my wife, and after searching for some time, I finally found the ring I know was meant for you.”

With gentle ease, he took her hand in his and placed the ring on her finger. It was a perfect fit, and matched the modest white gold of the band he’d given her in promise before he left. Emma knew he’d had the choice of any ring in the castle for his proposal, but he was determined to find something special just for her. She didn’t need anything more than the wedding that would come, but when he shared the origin of this particular gem, she felt its significance.

“I found this treasure at a time of great pain. I missed you so dearly, that even the sea could offer no distraction. Twelve weeks into a twelve-month journey and I was homesick, as I’ve never been before. I walked along the beach in port and found this in a tide pool, underneath a rising moon. Liam gave most of the crew some leave for the first time in ages, but there was nothing that I wanted when I knew you were waiting for me here.

“My brother insisted I get off the boat, despite my attempt at protest, and so I wandered for a while, thinking only of you. Of your beauty and your brilliance and the future you deserve, the one I will do anything to give you. The waves in that water are notoriously unruly and sporadic. They rage along the coast and filter into tide pools unlike our shores here, but the locals claim that the sea bring treasures and tricks alike from far off places. Needless to say I didn’t care about these stories. All I cared about was you. I was thinking that maybe I should come home, even though the mission was not over, and then I found this, glistening in the water just below.”

Emma looked down at the stone and their hands intertwined. She imagined each point of his memory, feeling it so surely, it was like she had been there too. It helped in easing the pain of separation, and she settled in the fact that soon their being parted would be just a distant remembrance, never to be repeated.

“The first time I held you in my arms for a dance, you were dressed in a gown of this shade. I’ll never forget that night as long as I live.”

“Neither will I,” Emma agreed, recalling her public debut. She was a girl of sixteen and Killian was the brother of one of her father’s most trusted Captains, a whole year older than her but already in her eyes so much more mature. Now, so much time had passed, but when he smiled at her the same boyish charm was ever present, and she fell under his spell, stepping into his arms as she would to share a dance. Out there, in the setting sun he held her close, guiding her though there was no music, and she tried not to cry the joyful tears that threatened to spill as he twirled her, eliciting a laugh and making her feel lighter than air.

“Finding this felt like a sign, that even we were parted, we would always be together. I carried it every moment since, knowing someday it would end up here, with you.”

“And now it’s here, and so are you,” she whispered, stealing another kiss from him and halting their dance. He was the sweetest man alive, of that she had no doubt, but suddenly that sweetness was not what she needed. What she needed was love, the love that only they shared, made real in a stolen, private moment.

Reading her mind and her wants with precision, Killian pivoted from dancing to sweeping her up into his arms. She laughed aloud at the motion but didn’t pull back far. Instead she clung to him as he strolled through the back way. A few minutes later, when they arrived back at the garden house she was in no way surprised. She hadn’t been out here since his leaving, but it was just as she remembered, and immediately her sense of inner peace solidified. This was everything she’d wanted and more.

The kiss he pressed on her once they were shut away inside was filled with heat and desire, and soon kisses devolved into so much more, a merging of two people who had missed each other fiercely and we were intent on tying themselves together once again. It was perfect, hard-fought reunion, and Emma would cherish the memory always. But perhaps no part was as special as the glow that came between them when she was wrapped up in his arms hours later, safe and happy as the dawn of a new morning began to break. The world was not bright enough to have created such vibrancy, that was all thanks to them and their true love. As a product of two soul mates, Emma had inherited a bit of magic herself, but that magic was always the strongest in the arms of her Killian.

“Gods above, Emma, you are my light, my truth, my home,” he murmured, his words placed between the lightest kisses that sent thrills of pleasure dancing across her skin. “I’ll love you forever, I give you my word.”

“Good,” she replied, silently affirming that she felt the same with a gentle kiss before finally giving in to the tiredness of her body. And luckily for both of them, the sweet dreams that came of their reunion were nothing compared to the joy of their life together. For they had found something better than wishes – a love so real it would live forever, and a bond so sure it would always lead them home.

………………

Where ever I am Where ever I go Whatever happens, this year I know That you'll be with me to the end When the cold sets in Like you told me all those years ago You hold my hand Where ever I lay And you guide me through come what may Bring the silence through the noise I still hear your voice I remember what I heard you say I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Whenever I feel I'm all by myself And every word is a cry for help I just think of you and then I'm safe again I feel you close though you're somewhere else I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Do you remember What we used to say? I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home I'll be your lighthouse Shining bright from dusk till dawn I'll sing a song aloud So you'll hear a voice you know You'll find that somehow Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home Where ever you are, where ever I am Is home

Post-Note: Wow, so first and foremost, if the person who requested this even still reads my fics (because it has literally been something like 4 years since they asked for this), I hope that you enjoyed the chapter. I am so sorry for making you wait so long, but I am also so grateful for your lovely prompt. What happiness this fic created for me as I wrote it. I hope you all get to share in that too as you read the story. I’m also shocked at how close I am getting to 200 chapters of the mixtape. I can’t tell if it is something that I should put on hold, or make a volume two perhaps, but in the meantime, thanks so much to all of you for reading, for commenting, and sending me amazing songs to include. It has meant the world to have your support, and I hope you’ll continue to join me on this slow but steady journey in cute CS oneshots!

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180, Part 181, Part 182, Part 183, Part 184, Part 185, Part 186, Part 187, Part 188, Part 189, Part 190, Part 191, Part 192, Part 193

#captain swan #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #captain swan au #cs fic #cs fluff #cs cuteness #cs ff #cs au #cs one shot #lieutenant duckling #sailor killian #princess emma #prompted fic #cs mixtape #captain swan mixtape #Mixtape #lighthouse

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adler-obsessed · 3 years

Note

I never really understood what the Nightmare taunted Vivienne about - why does he point out her age lmao? It was so random and I really didn’t understand why Vivienne was so shaken about it.

Okay so for anyone who hasn’t taken Vivienne out into the Fade, this is what the Nightmare says:

What’s it like living as an apostate, Vivienne? Do you really think you’ll reclaim your power at the Circle...at your age?

And Vivienne replies with, “Not one word.”

The first part is rather obvious, so I’ll just skip straight to the bit about her age - for reference, I believe Vivienne is around 44/45 during the events of DAI, so not really very old.

I think the fear of her age hindering her future successes comes from what we learn of Vivienne from codexes/other tidbits:

she is the youngest mage who survived her harrowing that we have met

she managed to transfer to Montsimmard at 19

she secured the position of Imperial Enchanter likely only four years later

she became First Enchanter at an insanely young age

Ultimately, Vivienne is someone who has always succeeded far younger than anyone thought possible - it is likely that she fears she may not be able to do the same now, when the old world establishment that she thrived in is crumbling around her.

To be honest, I do think they could have done a better taunt for her, as it’s only something you pick up on if you’ve properly paid attention to her codex, but there is some context for it?

As to why she doesn’t taunt the Nightmare, if there is another hidden fear that Vivienne has, it is demons - she’s unlikely to want to engage further with it and thus mostly ignores it, rather than taunting it.

#vivienne #vivienne de fer #meta #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #da #dai

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chickensarentcheap · 3 years

Text

Never Gonna Be Alone- Chapter 14

Warnings: possible body dysmorphia, mentions of past trauma and abuse

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @alievans007, @innerpaperexpertcloud, @tragiclyhip

Author’s Note: I have a serious case of extremely low self esteem (thanks anon hate!) and I can’t promise when the next chapter will be out. I’m hoping within the next few days. Fingers crossed! So I’d post the one I was holding ‘hostage’.

“I’m not too sure about this, Des,” Esme grumbles from behind a change room door in Bloomingdales.

It’s the last stop of the afternoon before a well deserved lunch; highly praised Thai food at a restaurant near Rockefeller that Desi had to book weeks in advance. It’s been years since she’d been THAT engrossed in a shopping trip; her feet aching and her cheeks hurting from laughing so much and dozens of bags in her possession. For twelve years she’s been caught up in her role as a mother; putting her own needs and wants on the back burner in favour of always making sure the kids never went without. Even with a ridiculous amount of money in the bank, she’d never concentrated on herself; perfectly content with her quiet and unassuming life in Australia, living rather simply and not needing much more than shorts, t-shirts, a small selection of bathing suits and a handful of jeans. It feels strange to be out in something other than her normal and preferred attire; used to choosing comfort over actual style and doing little more than throwing her hair up into a ponytail or messy bun. It had been nice to experience all of that again and had found herself most missing those younger days. When she’d pass the time with hours of window shopping and mindless browsing; daydreaming about all of the designer clothes and shoes and handbags she’d one day purchase if she ever won the lottery. But back then, it had been just that: daydreaming. And she can’t help but feel slightly guilty for splurging and buying things just for the sake of having them; outfits she may likely never wear and will hang in the closet with their original price tags still attached.

It’s hard to break free of that line of thinking; easily remembering the hard times when there’d been hardly any food in the cupboards and there’d been real worry about whether the utilities would be shut off or not. When Millie was still growing inside of her and she’d been trying to adjust to her new life in a new country; living with a man she barely knew but she already was already falling madly and crazily in love with. Materialistic things have never truly mattered; never heartbroken when she couldn’t afford brand new clothes or when their little apartment was filled with mismatched second hand furniture. Despite the financial concerns, they’d been truly happy. Engrossed in a ‘honeymoon stage’ of unbridled passion and lust; finding themselves thoroughly exploring and enjoying one another’s bodies while getting to know each other. It hadn’t been the most conventional of lifestyles; two broken people finding solace and healing in one another in Dhaka, an unplanned pregnancy, and quick and hasty cohabitation. And there’d been hard times; little quirks and hangs up the other had that annoyed them, heated arguments over stupid things, lingering trauma and plenty of nightmares thanks to their harrowing experience in Bangladesh. But somehow they’d made it work; a temperamental and moody Australian and a feisty and over emotional American. Falling in love despite their often enormous differences and making something so beautiful and lasting out of almost nothing.

“I don't know if this dress is my thing,” she frets, and smooths her hands down the side of the ridiculously expensive dress. It’s far more than she’d ever imagined paying for a single piece of clothing; immediately checking the price tag and having a small coronary when Desi had shoved the garment in her direction. Money is of no concern; in a thousand lifetimes the personal bank account will never run dry, nor will there never be a steady flow of impressive income coming in. But it just isn’t who she is; a woman with her wardrobe filled with designer apparel, far more comfortable in sweats from Target and one of her husband’s ratty t-shirts. “I’m just not too sure about it.”

“What is there NOT to be sure about?” Her friend’s voice filters in from the waiting area. “It’s Herve Leger. One of his best pieces yet. And it’s fabulous and it will look even more fabulous on you.”

“It’s too short,” she laments, and tries in vain to pull the hem down closer to her knees. “I don’t have the legs for this.”

“You don’t need legs for days to slay in that dress. And Big E, I’ve seen you in shorts. I know you’ve got killer stems. You can definitely pull this off. You’re worrying over nothing.”

“But it’s too tight. Way too tight.”

Desi sighs in exasperation. “It’s supposed to be tight. It’s a bandage dress.”

“It shows my rolls.”

“Excuse you? WHAT roles? Like you have rolls. Bitch, please.”

“I’ve had seven kids. Believe me, I have rolls. I’m twenty pounds heavier than when I first met Tyler. Twenty-two, actually.”

“And does he give a shit? No. I bet he likes the curves. I don’t see him complaining. Or looking at other women. He only has eyes for you.”

“Most biased man on earth,” she mutters, and studies her form from all sides. Easily remembering what her body had looked like almost thirteen years ago; thin and toned and extremely fit. A far cry from the ‘softness’ she possesses now; dips and valleys and curves where none had ever existed before.

“Isn’t his opinion the only one that really matters? Doesn’t he find you a straight up hottie?”

“That is not the point. He could be just trying to spare my feelings, you know.”

Desi gives a derisive snort. “Isn’t he still tripping over himself trying to get into her pants every available chance he gets? Quit your bitching. You’ve got a beautiful man that worships at the temple of YOU. Now get out here and let me see you.”

“Rolls, Desi. I have rolls.”

“Bullshit. And even if you did, that dress is like a corset. All the different bands built in? They hold everything. And I doubt you have anything to hold in the first place. Don’t make me break down the door and drag you out here. I am not above creating a scene. You should know this by now.”

“Don’t you dare go full queen diva on me.”

“Oh, I will. I will kick that door in and drag your tiny ass on out here for the world to see. Desmond Brownell does not play games. He’s on a mission. And his mission is to see you in that Herve Leger. Don’t make me pull a mommy move. Don’t make me count to three.”

“I tend to go with five, but…”

“Five then. Don’t make me go that direction. Because it will not end well for you. Or me. There’ll be tears. And not on my part. And most likely security guards tossing us both out on our asses. So we do this either the easy way or the hard way. And believe me, you don’t want the hard way.”

Sighing heavily, she smooths down the back and sides of the dress and once more tries to pull the bottom closer to her knees. To no avail. It is so far out of her comfort zone; a woman that insists on always covering her bathing suit with a t-shirt and refuses to remove it. “I am going to sneak into your house at night and kill you in your sleep,” she declares, as she undoes the hook latch on the door and swings it open. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into this. Keep your eyes closed. Until I tell you to open them.”

“I can’t believe YOU don’t realize that you’re a bonafide MILF. Even if it’s not for you, how bad could it be?”

“Ever seen a sausage when you try and stuff too much into the casing?”

“Have you ever talked to a shrink? You do not look the way you think you look. What DO you see when you look in the damn mirror?”

“I see gray hair, wrinkles, and stretch marks. I see frumpy and plain and boring and just…” sighing, she steps into the middle of the waiting area and frowns at her reflection being cast in several different mirrors. “...old. I see old.”

“I think you’ve done lost your damn mind. Shred brains cell with every baby you had. Because you sure as hell don’t look old. Not even close. Can I look yet?”

“Do you want to be traumatized?”

“Do you WANT me to beat your ass? Tell on you? I’ll tell your hubby. Don’t underestimate me. Then both of us will get on your ass and then what?”

“He’s hardly a good judge. He’d tell me I look good in a garbage bag. He is proof that love IS blind.”

“He is proof that there’s good men out there. Good loyal, faithful men. That love every inch of their woman. Inside and out. You know how lucky you are? To have someone like that? Do you see anyone strong enough to drag him off? I’m sure he’s had plenty of opportunities.”

“If the thirsty housewives back home and the new neighbour had their way, he’d be getting all kinds of ass. All kinds of variety.”

“What new neighbour?”

“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you over lunch. But yeah, he’s got a harem of women that would love for him to be tapping it.”

“But he loves tapping YOUR ass. And only your ass. Does he have a brother? Have I ever asked that? A gay brother by chance? Or a gay friend? Bi friend? Help me out here.”

“No brothers. No siblings at all. No gay friends. Not that I know of. But you know who WOULD have a gay friend? My sister in law.”

“I thought he didn’t have siblings?”

“Not Tyler. My sister’s wife. Shaena. She’d for sure have gay friends. And hot ones. You’ve met her.”

“Both her and your sister are fine as hell. I wouldn’t mind getting in the middle of THAT. Hook a brother up. Make it happen. I’ll be at your little Aussie Christmas. Score me a date for then. In the meantime, can I open my eyes now? Don’t leave a brother hanging.”

“As long as you promise you won’t laugh.”

“I am calling you a psychiatrist. You need help.”

“Fine,” she turns her back towards her friends, hands perched upon her hips. “ Look. But no smart ass comments and no laughing. My confidence can’t take it.”

“Your confidence needs a serious makeover. Now let me see.”

She watches through the mirror as his eyes flutter opening; slowly widening as far as they possibly can, followed by a dramatic collapse back into his seat and a hand placed over his heart.

“Fuck…” she grimaces. “...that bad?”

“That bad? That GOOD. Desmond Brownell approves. You look…” he gives two chef’s kisses. “...delicious. I’d bang you. And I have high standards.”

“I’ve seen some of your dates. Your standards are questionable at best.”

“You wound me, Big E. Mortally wound me. That…” he nods in her direction. “...was made for you. Your body is tighter and hotter than you obviously realize. Curves like a back road. And there ain’t nothing wrong with that.”

“You don’t think it’s too much? Or should I say, too little? I am forty-one.”

“Who gives a shit? You look amazing.”

“I’ve had seven kids.”

“Especially amazing for someone that’s popped out that many crotch goblins. Sold. The dress is sold. This isn’t up for debate.”

“I can’t buy something like this. It’s just...not me.”

“It damn well is YOU. I’ll buy it for you. A little extra Christmas gift.”

“A thousand dollar dress is hardly a little Christmas gift. And it’s a little pricey, don’t you think? For fabric?”

“Honey, you really need to get out of Target and up your shopping game. I know how much money you all have, I know you can afford it. I know you could probably afford this whole store. And then some.”

“It isn’t about money. It’s about me. And being out of my comfort zone. I don’t dress like this. I live on the beach. In Australia. We wear shorts and tanks and never wear shoes. Where the hell would I wear this?”

“Date night.”

“Like we have places I could wear this to. I mean, I guess we could go to Cairns. I’ve seen women in some pretty expensive clothes there. I could always talk him into a weekend away. It wouldn’t be hard. And we are going to Santorini in April.”

“That’d be perfect for Santorini. Hell, just wear it in the house. In the bedroom. Just to spice things up a bit. I’m sure he doesn’t see you dressed up very often.”

“Try like never,” Esme laughs. “Okay, maybe that’s a lie. I DO wear makeup when we go out. And cute little sundresses.”

“What about when you got married?”

“I wore something off the clearance rack at a bridal store in Sydney. Cost a hundred bucks. It was nothing fancy.”

“But you wore a little tiara and veil and all that, right?”

“It wasn’t that kind of wedding. I was five months pregnant with Millie. It was a little wedding chapel. We had six guests. It wasn’t fancy.”

“E, you’ve been robbed. You need that bride moment. What about the first time?”

“Las Vegas. Even more casual. Zero out of five stars. Would not recommend.”

“Oh no, honey. No. That’s wrong. So wrong. You deserve so much better. You deserve a big day. You deserve to be a bride. A REAL bride. Poofy white dress, little bling in your hair, fancy little shoes…”

“Seven kids and I’m going to wear white? I think not.”

“I’m having a serious talk with that man of yours. Vow renewals are a thing you know.”

“He’s brought it up. A couple of times. Which is weird, because I never thought he’d ever think of something like that. This is Tyler we’re talking about. This is a man that can kill people with his bare hands. Who has his own brand of romance. Which I love, by the way. But it’s very odd he’d bring up something like that. Getting married again.”

“Maybe he wants to see you all done up. Looking like a bride.”

“Trust me, Des. Tyler doesn’t care about that stuff. That isn’t him.”

“Maybe he’s come to care about that stuff. Maybe he’s getting a softer side to him. Or, his soft side is getting even more soft.”

“Don’t ever tell him that. He’d kill YOU with his bare hands. Do you really think I should get this dress?”

“I think you’d be stupid not to. And you, are NOT a stupid woman. Treat yourself. You deserve it.”

“You know what? I do. I DO deserve it. And I think he’ll really like it. Maybe I’ll even give him a little sneak peek later. You know, to judge his reaction to it.”

“Oh I think I know what his reaction is going to be. Don’t wear any underwear. Just let him yank the dress up and have his way with you.”

“Maybe you know him better than I realize,” Esme laughs. “Fine. I’ll buy it. But if he hates it, I am totally throwing you under the bus.”

“Alright...alright…” Desi holds his hands up in surrender. “...I’ll take one for the team. Now get your little ass in there and get changed. This big man needs to eat.”

*****

“So this neighbour you mentioned,” Desi says, as he nods his appreciation at the hostess who seats them at their table, then gallantly pulls Esme’s chair out and waits for her to sit. “What’s that about?”

She rolls her eyes. “Natalie. She just moved in a few doors down. Her and her little girl.”

“Are you talking about the blond that has the goddamn gall to wear real fur?” Desi slides into the seat across from her. “The one that needs a chisel to take off her makeup at the end of the night?”

“That’s her. The one who looks like Sephora threw up on her face. Too bad you can’t apply makeup on the inside to make something more attractive. Because she is a real peach.”

“Bottle of your best house red,” Desi requests, and then flips open the leather bound menu placed in front of him. “How’d you meet her?”

“Well, it turns out she doesn’t just have the gall to wear real fur. She also has the gall to go after married men. And in this case, MY man.”

“Uh oh. Something tells me this didn’t end well.”

“I’m very protective of what’s mine. Maybe some people would call it possessive.”

“I definitely would call it that. Not that I blame you. I’d be the same way. Hell, I’d probably never let him leave the damn house.”

“I know what a good thing I have. I know how hot my husband is. I’ve seen him naked. Many times. What’s underneath? Even better than what’s on top. And what’s on top? That’s really damn good, know what I mean?”

“I know what you mean. And I’m just saying, I wouldn’t protest if you sent me nudes of him. Our little secret.”

“My husband IS hot. And he’s beautiful and he’s amazing and he’s this walking study in masculinity. But he’s just that. MY husband. I don’t share. With anyone.”

“Tell me about it. I’ve spent three years begging you just to let me cop a feel.”

“So I don’t appreciate some thirsty female from five doors down, honing in my territory. No one is pissing in my front yard. No one. And it’s not just that I’m possessive and there’s no way in hell I’m sharing great dick, but Tyler isn’t like that. He doesn’t do shit like that. He is a lot of things, but a cheater is not one of them. That is one thing I’ve never had to worry about. He is loyal. Fiercely loyal. And he’s had his chances. If he wanted to stray, he would have. Easily.”

“Never struck me as the type who would. He’s way too in love with you. Way too faithful. I see the way he looks at you. Stars and hearts in his eyes. He definitely thinks rainbows and butterflies fly out your ass. So this Natalie…”

“They met at the park. He took Tanner there; after their morning out. And this Natalie was there. Tyler made small talk. And small talk is even exaggerating. Tyler doesn’t do small talk. Any talk, for that matter.”

Desi nods in agreement. “Took me damn near a whole weekend just to get him to say two words. That voice though? Woody. Instant.”

“Well I guess Natalie took his small talk for something else entirely. Which I don’t get, because Tyler is civil, at best. He’s just not a people person. He tries. But you know what he’s like. How he comes across. He’s very rough around the edges and doesn’t take shit and doesn’t care for formalities. He’s a man of very few words. Whatever words he said, she read way too much into. She showed up at the house. Looking for him.”

Desi looks up from his menu, a scowl forming on his face. “She did not.”

“Oh, she very much did. And get this. She made him cookies.”

“What kind of cookies?”

Esme stares at him pointedly.

“I like details. I’m detail oriented. I can’t help it.”

“Oatmeal raisin.”

“The most traitorous cookie out of them all. For shame. I’m disappointed. If you want a man to climb in your bed, you don’t lead with oatmeal raisin. Please tell me your man don’t like that shit.”

“Rest assured, he hates them and your opinion and lust for him can stay intact. But you can believe that? She came calling on my husband. She brought him cookies. And I’m pretty sure if he’d been home, she would have offered him HER cookie.”

“Probably just as nasty as the ones she makes. Probably got cobwebs and dust bunnies and all that shit. Maybe even a barbed wire fence blocking the entrance. So what happened?”

“Well, she got the cold shoulder and snarkiness from Millie first.”

“That’s my girl.”

“And then I talked to her and she was bitchy and off hand and she’s lucky I didn’t throat punch her. She had all kinds of snarky things to say. About my name, about my appearance, about having so many kids. I let her know that I wasn’t having any of her shit. That I was onto her. I told her I didn’t know what kind of married men she was used to, but my husband isn’t one of them. That he wasn’t...and never would be...interested.”

“And?”

“And she left. We fed the cookies to the dogs. Or tried to. Even they didn’t like them. Man’s best friend, indeed.”

A waitress brings the wine; cheerfully introducing herself before taking their orders. Desi waits until she leaves before uncorking the bottle and filling both glasses. Offering a toast to a warm and safe Christmas holiday and the perks and perils of love and friendships. And they’re in the middle of sharing stories of his last trip to Australia -his encounters with the both the ‘friendly neighbourhood Aussies’ and the wildlife that so freely roams and enjoys their stretch of land- when her cell phone loudly vibrates within the confines of her purse. Had Tyler not been out with all of the children and it not been a common thing to often run into some kind of issues with handling so many bodies, she would have just ignored it. And she wishes she had; frowning at the number splashed across the screen and then dropping the phone back into her bag.

“Your mom again?”

Nodding, she takes a swallow of wine. “Third time already today. Only four or five more to go. Maybe she’ll even make it an even dozen before sundown.”

“Can she not read the signs? It’s quite obvious you don’t want to speak to her. What’s her issue?”

“It’s probably easier to ask ‘what isn’t her issue?’. There’s many. So very, very, VERY many.”

“I already know about what she was like you when were growing up. I’m surprised you turned out as normal and sane as you are. It’s more than that?”

“So much more, Des. Where do you want me to start?”

“Start with the biggest one. Or most recent.”

“She hates Tyler. With the passion of a thousand fiery suns. The seventh layer of hell? I don’t think that even burns as hot as her hate for him.”

“Why? He’s a good guy. Treats you right, loves his kids. Will fight like hell to protect what’s us. Die for it, even. What’s to hate?”

“So you know how Tyler and I met. The whole ‘pretend husband and wife’ thing.”

“Yeah, to find Ovi and save him. What about it?”

“Well you also know what happened. During those five days in Dhaka. Between Tyler and I. Believe me when I say that I’m not normally like that. Spend nearly a week banging a guy I barely know. Unprotected, at that. And at the risk of too much information, Tyler was only the third guy I’d ever been with. Sexually speaking. So what happened between us? Totally uncharacteristic for me. It was unconventional. How we met. But, it worked out. We wanted more. We wanted to get to know each other. See if we could make something out of nothing. And we did. We made a life. A beautiful life. And seven little human beings.”

“And she’s got a problem with that because…?”

“After what happened on the bridge, I decided to stay. At the hospital he was flown to in Mumbai. It was touch and go and he didn’t have anyone else and if he wasn’t going to make it, I didn’t want him to be alone. He deserved better than that. And a week later they brought him out of the medically induced coma and he was breathing on his own and he woke up and he was so happy to see me. You should have seen how he smiled at me, Des. He has a beautiful smile. But that? That smile he gave when he realized I was real and I was actually sitting there? By his bed? I had never seen anything like that and I’ve never seen anything like it since. He was happy and relieved and he wanted me there. He even said he was scared to close his eyes at night because he was afraid I wouldn’t be there when he woke up.”

“He was already head over heels for ya. Guess that was his way of telling you.”

“When the hospital said they were shipping him to another back in Australia, he asked if I would go with him. By then I was already invested. I mean, it was three weeks later and I’d already spent time helping him feed himself and getting him on his feet and to the bathroom and taking him to in-patient physio and all of that. I was already in love with him. Of course I was going to Australia. It was never in doubt.”

“And let me guess, it ruffled your mother’s feathers.”

Nodding, Esme takes a long sip of wine. “She wasn’t in control. Of me. And she couldn’t stand it. Neither she or my brothers no longer had in any say in how I was going to live my life. The Esme they knew? She died on that bridge. Or maybe she was left behind. I had a chance. To make a new life for myself. And I took it. I went to Australia and I decided that was where I wanted to be. I wanted to be with HIM. So I took what money we had and I got us an apartment and he put me in charge of handling everything; medical decisions, financial stuff. And then, I found out I was having Millie. Which, to be honest, wasn’t a huge surprise because what do you expect when you spend five days having totally unprotected sex? And I told Tyler and I gave him a choice. If he didn’t want me or the baby, I’d walk away and I’d go home and I’d never contact him again. I told him I didn’t expect anything from him. And I didn’t want him feeling obligated to me or the baby.”

“That must have went over well.”

“Well, needless to say, he wanted the baby. And me. So I stuck around. I was by his side through his whole hospital stay and through all the therapy and his stint in rehab and then we settled down in our new life. And we got married and had Millie. My family? They couldn’t stand it. They couldn’t accept it. They couldn’t accept HIM.”

“All because you decided to make a new life for yourself?”

“That was it. Tyler became public enemy number one. My mom convinced everyone that he stole me away. That he was manipulative and abusive and that I was scared to leave him.”

“Jesus Christ…”

“Right? Tyler is so far from manipulative or abusive. He lived that life. He was on the receiving end of that. And he’s tried his hardest not to walk in his father’s footsteps. And believe me, he’s nothing like his old man. Not in the slightest. But no matter how much or how hard I argue, she doesn’t listen to me. She sees him as this horrible person. That took her baby girl away. And when he had the nerve to stick up for me? Against her and my brothers? That made things worse! You think they would have been happy. I found this amazing man who’s totally in love with me; who sees past all my bullshit and my ugly parts. That should have been enough for them. A guy that’s made me the centre of his universe. Who makes me happy and who I love more than I ever thought I COULD love someone. Who helped me make seven incredible little human beings. Why isn’t any of that enough?”

“I don’t know,” Desi says. “I wish I did. I wish I had the answers. ALL the answers.”

“Yet they practically idolize Mark. It makes no sense. They knew what he was like. They knew he was abusive. And they enabled him. They gaslighted me just as much as he did. And I would have left a thousand times over had they not constantly pressured me into giving him another chance. Had they not convinced me that everything was my fault. My mom stayed friends with him. Right up until he died. What kind of sick person does that? Stays friends with their own kid’s abuser?”

“You hit the nail on the head. A sick one.”

“Constantly kissing his ass and making him out to be some kind of white knight yet having all this shit to say about Tyler. They hate him because he refuses to be like them. Because he stands up to them. Because for once, someone loves me enough to have my back. That’s it. That’s why they hate him. And the things they’ve said? Especially since finding out he’s a mercenary? Constantly wishing death on him? Saying him dying would be the best thing to happen to me and the kids? Who says things like that? I almost lost Addie because of her. I came back from Ireland because I found out I was pregnant and my mom got on her bullshit and I almost lost my baby. Tyler came all the way back just to make sure I was okay. He wouldn’t have done it if he’s even a fraction as evil as they claim he is.”

“You realize it that isn’t really about him, right? That it’s all them. Because they don’t have that control. Over you.”

“I thought it would be all over and done with when we kicked my brother to the curb. I thought once he and Tyler had it out and Tyler kicked the shit out of him, that would be it. That we’d never hear from any of them again. You know how peaceful it’s been? Five years of no phone calls, no text messages, no emails. Five years of pure bliss. And now this…” she nods down at the purse sitting in her lap. “...her on my ass every day, multiple times a day. Isn’t it enough that I acknowledge that the kids received their Christmas gifts? That I showed appreciation and I said they’d send thank you cards? You think that would be enough. Our lives have been so good. Quiet and happy and peaceful. And it’s like she knows that. It’s like she knows how good things are and just has to screw it all up.”

“Normally I say just ignore them. Just wash toxic people out of your life and keep them out of your life. But if she’s as determined as she is, it’s only going to get worse. She won’t stop trying to get a hold of you. And as hard as it’ll be to talk to her, that might be the only way to get her to stop. Let her know. Say ‘thanks, but no thanks’.”

“I can not allow her back into my life. OUR lives. I can’t allow any of them back in. I will NOT have my kids surrounded by that ugliness. I will not have people around them that talk shit about their father. Because you know what? I know he’s not perfect. I know he has his issues. He’s the first one to admit it. But he is an amazing dad and he is totally devoted to those kids and they love him beyond all comprehension. And I won’t allow people to talk about him like that. I won’t allow them to break my kids’ hearts…” her voice cracks with emotion, and she takes a swallow of wine to clear away the lump sitting square in her throat. “....I won’t let anyone talk about Tyler like that. He’s not a perfect man, but he’s a good man. And he loves me and he loves his kids. He saved me, Des. In every way a person can be saved. And I won’t let anyone disrespect him like that.”

“Tell them that. Tell them EXACTLY that.”

“I have. I have said it until I was practically blue in the face. They don’t care. They say I’m ‘defending my abuser’. In what alternate universe is he considered an abuser? He has never...ever...raised a hand to me. He’s always said he’d kill himself before he ever let things get that out of control. That he’d never be able to live with himself if he even thought about hurting me like that. And maybe in a way, I DO understand some of the way they think. He’s lived a hard life. A violent life. First the military, then as a mercenary. Yes, he’s killed people. With his bare hands. But he’s never done it because he wanted to. Or because he enjoyed it. He did it because he HAD to. Because it was either him or them. He is not a monster. Regardless of what they think. Or even he thinks sometimes.”

“You’ve never been scared of him?”

“Never. And you know what? If he WANTED to, he could do some serious damage to me. He could kill me. No question about it. But that thought has never, ever crossed my mind. I’ve never been afraid of him. Not even at his worst. When he went back to drinking all the time and abusing the pain meds and we fought constantly. And yeah, there were times he DID lose it. Where he put a fist through the wall or grabbed me trying to stop me from walking away or trying to calm me down and talk some sense into me. But I’ve never been scared of him. Because even at his worst, I knew he loved me. I knew none of his issues were about me. That was him and his brain and not knowing how to cope. And they just don’t get it. They think he’s somehow frightened me into sticking around. That he’s been forcing me to have children. Because it somehow keeps me around.”

“Sounds more like they have the issues. Not you guys.” Desi reaches for the bottle of wine, refilling both their glasses.

“We’re not perfect. And Lord knows we have had some really shitty times. Where we didn’t think we were going to make it. But you know what? We did. We fixed our shit and we made things work. We both busted our asses to change. And he still busts his ass every day to make up for all the bad. We work at it, Des. Every day we work at it. Because we love each other and we both know what it's like to be from a broken home. And we won’t do that to our kids. We won’t let them grow up like that. So we work at it. And it hasn’t been easy. But there’s been more great times than bad times.”

“You two are strong. What you got is strong. No one can deny that. I’ve seen it. With my own two eyes.”

“I will not let my family ruin us. They tried. And in Colorado, they almost succeeded. But we got away. We moved back home. Our REAL home. And we never looked back. I won’t let them destroy things for us. Not when we’ve worked so hard to get where we are.”

“You’re going to have to deal with her, Esme. She isn’t going to go away. Not from what I’ve seen.”

“And I will. I WILL talk to her. After Christmas. I just want to get through the holiday. I just want things to be happy and peaceful. Especially for the kids. I don’t want anyone ruining Christmas for them. Once it’s over and things calm down, I WILL talk to her. But right now? I can’t do it. I just can’t.”

“It’s all going to be alright,” Desi assures her, and reaches across the table to give her hand a comforting squeeze. “Everything’s going to work out.”

“Tyler isn’t perfect. He’s the first one to admit that. In the same way I’m not. But you know what? We’re perfect for each other. And in the end, that’s all that matters.”

*****

When she arrives home she finds the three littlest fast asleep; tightly snuggled together on the area rug in front of the Christmas tree and covered by the knitted throw usually draped over the back of the sofa. Saju and Mac nap close by; curled up together in front of the front of the fireplace and merely blinking their eyes in a form of acknowledging her presence. She can hear Millie and Alannah upstairs; giggling and chattering, their feet stomping overhead as they play a dance game on the XBox. The three oldest boys are out in the backyard; laughter drifting inside as they hide behind ‘fortress’ walls and lob snowballs at one another. It's rare to see the three of them enjoying time together. Tanner normally not comfortable with the more raucous play and choosing quiet time; up in his room reading a book or writing stories or building intricate lego scenes in front of the fireplace.

She stands in the sunroom and watches them; smiling at how jovial and lighthearted they are. Their faces bright and happy; no cares in the world aside from the balls of snow and ice being tossed in their direction. Despite everything they’d been through, they’re spirits so brilliant and bubbly, continuing to love the world and everyone in it. Tanner and TJ (along with Millie) are able to remember the more difficult times in Colorado and being whisked to Mumbai under false pretenses; told they were going on a family vacation only to be sent back to Australia without either parent and then told their father very well might never come home. They still talk about it from time to time; how scary it had been to be away from both mom AND dad and how worried they’d been when they thought their daddy may never make it back to them. They’re able to vividly recall visiting him in the hospital; the scars and bruises on his face that had been in various stages of healing, the sling keeping his badly wounded and surgically repaired shoulder in place, the ‘cage’ that had encased his right thigh, the tremendous amount of weight and muscle he had lost. It HAD been traumatic; more than two months without their father under the same roof and seeing him so wounded and vulnerable.

They’d needed their own therapy; the trauma manifesting itself through moments of rage and aggression and troubles sleeping at night. A child psychologist recommended to them by Doctor Klein had done them all a world of good; disguising therapy with music and play and helping them express their emotions and their fears. And within six months they were back to their old selves; grades climbing and their social skills improving, the rage and aggression diminishing. It still haunts them from time to time; a fear that returns whenever daddy has to leave home for work. But for the most part they’ve healed exceptionally well; full of energy and light and humour and possessing enormous amounts of compassion and empathy.

She finds Tyler in the main floor office; a central area of the main floor that had been the previous owner’s sewing and craft room. It’s close enough to keep an ear out for the kids; able to hear them both inside and out. And a security system enables him to keep an eye on any area of the house; live images cast back to the flat screen television mounted on the wall above the desk. Five years years ago she would have called him paranoid for insisting on such measures. Overprotective, even. But that was until someone had gotten close enough to Addie to steal a stuffed animal right out of her crib. Had the culprit wanted her, she would have been long gone in the middle of the night. And they most likely never would have seen her again. The terror of that night is still very real; the thought of someone reaching across her tiny body to take something so simple in the course of sending a very clear message.

After that, Esme had vowed to never call him paranoid or overprotective again. Evil had gotten too close. WAY too close. And she now understands his fierce and rabid determination to do whatever it takes to keep his family safe.

She watches him from the doorway; intently working at the computer. Admiring the glasses perched upon his face and the lines of his profile; the strong, stubbled jaw and the curve of his lips and the bump in the bridge of his nose. The scars that had long ago become part of him. Marring the left side of his forehead and by his left eye; old wounds that he’d possessed when they’d first met. A handful of others have been added since then. The edge of a metal shovel cutting wide and deep; the scar travelling from the very corner of his right eye and up his forehead and snaking up into his hairline. And the ones left behind from Nathan. The one above his eyebrow thin and faint, the one below his eye much wider and jagged and stretching all the way to his temple. That one had been the worst; deep enough for the knife blade to hit bone and cause irreparable damage to nerves and muscle. And while most would see them as blemishes and flaws, she sees it as adding to his beauty; souvenirs of not only a hard and dangerous life, but of survival.

“Hey,” she greets as she wanders into the room. “What’cha doing, handsome?”

“Just some shit that came up. I would have ignored it, but…”

She stands at the back of his chair. Fingers and thumbs rubbing at tense shoulder muscles before wrapping both arms around his neck; leaning over him and presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, followed by his temple. “Everything alright?”

“Koen ran into some issues. On the job he took. Not going as smooth as we’d hoped it would. Just had to send him some extra cash. And put him in contact with someone who could get him some extra gear.”

“He’s alright though? He’s not in any trouble?”

“He’s fine. Nothing he can’t handle. I know I said I wouldn’t bother with work stuff until we go back home, but…”

“Sometimes it can’t be helped. It’s the nature of the beast. It isn't the most predictable of careers. I’m glad to see you survived your day out with the spawn. Is your sanity still intact?”

“What was left of it. I don’t know how much I had to begin with.”

“I also noticed all seven AND Alannah made it back. Success.”

“They were good. No trouble. They all behaved themselves. Shockingly.”

“Your feral offspring all behaving at once? Hell must have frozen over.”

He gives a small chuckle, then turns his face into her and presses a chaste kiss to her lips. A frown tugging at the corners of his mouth as he pulls back to look at her.

“What’s that look for?”

“Why do you still have your hat on? It’s fucking boiling in here.”

“It’s part of my surprise. I have something to show you.”

“Yeah?” A slow grin begins to spread across his face. “I’ve already seen you naked. Many times. Not that it’s not awesome each time it happens. I’m not complaining.”

“As much as I’d love to just drop my clothes right here and rock your world, it’s something else. I did something. While I was out.”

“New ink?”

“Nope.”

“You got something pierced, didn’t you. Something naughty. Something very naughty.”

“You wish. Those days are long behind me. But it is a surprise. And I want you to promise you won’t freak out. When you see it.”

“How bad is it? Usually when you tell me not to freak out, it’s pretty fucking bad.”

“It’s not bad. It’s just...surprising. You ready?”

“Is it a good thing I’m already sitting down?”

“It’s probably for the best. Turn your chair towards me and close your eyes.”

“Esme…”

“Tyler…”

“What the hell have you done?”

“Just do it. Humour me. Please.”

“Fine.” Turning his back towards the computer, he closes his eyes. “This isn’t where you tell me you want to try pegging is it? Because I thought I’ve already made it perfectly clear that there is no fucking chance of that happening. EVER.”

“I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it’s nothing sexual. Get your mind out the gutter, sheesh.”

“I’m sorry, have we met? It permanently lives in the gutter.”

“Never mind viagra. Maybe they can give you something to calm your dick down.”

“You’d miss it. Don’t deny it. It would hurt you just as much as it would hurt me. Are we going to do this surprise sometime today or…?”

Removing the knit beanie from her head, she tosses it out the desk and then runs her fingers through her hair. She feels naked and exposed; the dark tresses that had once reached the middle of her back now shorn and styled into a side parted, sleek bob that skims her earlobes. “Promise you won’t freak out.”

“I promise I won’t lose my shit.”

“Okay...open them...but remember, no freaking out.”

“I don’t know what the big deal is. If it’s nothing dirty or kinky or piercing of some kind…” His eyes flutter open, then slowly widen as the reality of what’s before him sets in.

“You hate it don’t you.”

“I don’t hate it. I just...wow...that’s...NOT what I was expecting.”

“You do, don’t you. Hate it. I knew you would. You always hate when I do something with my hair. Like when I decided to get bangs.”

“In all fairness, I didn’t hate them. I just wasn’t a fan.”

“But you HATE this? This haircut. You hate it being so short, don’t you.”

“Actually…” he slides the chair closer to her and lays his hands on her hips. “...I love it.”

“Yeah?” A smile replaces the nervous frown. “Really?”

“Really. I wouldn’t lie to you, Me. That’s not who I am. Not anymore, anyway.”

“You sure you like it? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“I think you look beautiful. It suits you. You got this cute, tiny little face. Your hair shows it off. I really do love it. You look amazing.”

Placing her hands on the sides of his face, she leans down to kiss him. “It was time for a change. Something different. Something I didn’t have to spend hours on when we go out. You’re sure? One hundred percent? You really do love it?”

“I do. You look beautiful.” Laying a palm on the back of her head, he pulls her down into a kiss. And she laughs into his mouth when his free hand latches onto her hip and she loses her balance and topples into him. “You’re beautiful, Me. Always.”

“I really was worried you wouldn’t like it,” she says, as she settles herself sideways on his thighs. “So you’ve made my day. My year, actually.”

“It suits you. You look amazing, baby. I wouldn’t lie about that.”

“Speaking of making my year, I’m about to make yours.”

“We’re talking about butt stuff, aren’t we.”

“No!” she laughs, and playfully tousles his hair. “I mean, maybe later. When the kids are out.”

“Where are they going? You banishing them to the backyard?”

“Desi offered to take them.”

“All of them?”

“Every last one. Even Alannah. He’s going to take them out for dinner and to Central Park. To see Santa and the reindeer. Maybe do some skating. And then, he’s going to take them to his place. They’re going to have a camp out. In the living room.”

“So we get the house to ourselves? All night?”

“All night,” she confirms. “And well into the morning. You know what that means?”

“Butt stuff.”

She sighs in exasperation. “I means you don’t have to wait until New Years Eve for wild and crazy AND noisy sex with your wife.”

“We might have to tone down the noise. The kids will be right next door. They could still hear us.”

“That’s a fair point. So noisy is out. But wild and crazy are definitely in.”

Tyler grins. “I can do wild and crazy.”

“Oh, I know you can. You’re a master at it. A master at anything sexual, now that I think about it. Man, did I ever luck out. Landing you.”

“I don’t know, I think I’m the lucky one. Girl like you putting up with my shit? You’re one in a million, babe. No doubt about it.”

“I love you,” she says, pressing a kiss to his ear and then nuzzling his temple with the tip of her nose. “More than you could ever know. And thank you. For being you. And for loving me the way you do.”

Smiling, he turns his face into hers and places his lips to her brow; a hand coming up to comb through her hair, palm settling on the nape of her neck. “You’ve made it pretty damn easy.”

#Tyler Rake #Tyler Rake fan fiction #Extraction fan fiction

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jadethest0ne · 4 years

Text

When the Moon meets the Morning, Chapter 3 - A Sense of Familiarity

Summary: Raphael is going on missions with Captain Jupiter as he always does when he meets an orange-wearing turtle yokai who feels oddly familiar.

Word Count: 2690

Ratings/Warnings: General Audiences; some minor harrowing moments, but mostly fluff, emotional overload, emotional manipulation, self-deprecation

Notes: Longer chapter this time, but lots of good brotherly bonding! Big thanks to @undercoverwizardninjaturtle, @fraymotiif, and @frasierverse for helping me workshop this (especially to Charmy for the “friend-cheese” exchange). Also, special shout-out to @dovelydraws for creating the concept art for Infinity the phoenix and Buddy the aurax.

Read on AO3 For the RotTMNT Fantasy AU

———-

Raph thought that going on a trek with Mikey would help him understand the kid better, but it only proved to make him even more confused. A few of Raph's initial assumptions about Mikey were correct. He was indeed a turtle yokai - a box turtle to be exact. And he was only about 2 years younger than Raph making him 15. And the reason why he was so far north, despite apparently coming from the Soothing South, was that, like his attire suggested, he was a courier. But between those things, Raph was left with more questions than answers.

For one thing, Mikey was really good with animals. When Raph first introduced him to his aurax, Buddy, Mikey was enamored with what most people took as a rather large and intimidating cattle beast. But Mikey immediately started complimenting his fluffy curls and powerful stature, begging Raph to let him braid his fur. Buddy himself, who, while usually quite friendly, often had trouble distinguishing between roughhousing playtime and calm pets, and yet seemed to understand that Mikey was someone that he should be gentle with. The curly-horned creature even relented at Mikey's touch and flipped over onto his back to beg for belly rubs, which Raph had never seen him trust anyone else to do besides himself and Red Fox. Even the Captain had trouble getting on Buddy's good side sometimes.

Not only that, but it turns out Buddy wasn't even needed all that much to carry the packages, since Mikey owned a phoenix, an actual phoenix, to help him with his cargo and carry Mikey around. The large beautiful bird, he called Infinity, with iridescent feathers of reds, purples, and golds, snuggled up with Mikey often when they slept during their journey. He'd never heard of a phoenix being so close to another being before - yokai or human.

The other thing that really confused Raph was Mikey's personality. The kid was just so trusting.

"You don't even have a sleeping bag?" Red Fox asked when they were packing their supplies.

"Well, I DID have one, but there were these guys in purple who asked if they could borrow it a while back. They took some of my other supplies as well and said they'd meet me after I ran an errand. I came back at the meeting time, but they took so long and I had to deliver another package, so I had to leave. I felt bad for missing them so I left a note with a drawing. I hope they're okay," Mikey explains in his usual long-winded way.

Raph starts to say, "Are you sure they didn't just steal--" before Red Fox cuts him off. "I'm sure it's fine, sweetie, I think I have a spare that you can use."

"Really?! Thanks! Oooh! It's orange! My favorite color!" Mikey says, happily taking the sleeping bag and hugging it as though it was the best gift he had ever received.

Raph was just perplexed how he hadn't been robbed completely or had something worse happen to him. Then again, another mystery about Mikey was that it was really difficult to say no to the guy. He had somehow perfected the puppy dog look and turned any conversation, even the more negative ones, into something positive and light.

"You mean you somehow convinced the owner of a castle to let you use it whenever you wanted?" Raph says incredulously.

"Yeah! He liked my cooking so much he said I could use his summer home in the Soothing South, too!"

"Man, Mikey, do you have some sort of niceness power?"

"No, that'd probably be Todd - he's the nicest guy I know! Taught me practically everything! But that's why I wanted to travel! I wanted to learn more!"

Raph pushes past the fact that he has no idea who Todd is and asks the more pertinent question. "Aren't you afraid of, I don't know, thieves or people tricking or hurting you along the way?"

"No, not at all. Besides, if there was danger, then Infinity's instincts would let me know!" He gives the large bird he's riding a friendly pat, to which the bird replies with a cheerful squawk.

Raph highly doubts that Infinity, who seems to be as cheery and naive as Mikey, would be able to sense anything like that.

Then there was the question of why Mikey seemed so familiar. After thinking back on it, Red Fox did often talk about the people she helped guide through the mountains, but he'd rarely met any of them. And he had a hard time conjuring up a memory of any time that he'd met Mikey with Red Fox in the picture. He almost felt closer than that. Like a friend he hadn't seen in a while. Mikey himself certainly kept acting like they were long time friends; constantly hugging him, invading his personal space, grabbing at his belongings to ask about them. Even Raph was beginning to think they had known each other for a long time. Then again, Mikey seemed to act like that with everyone.

“What do you think of this?” Mikey asks Raph after they had set up camp, suddenly shoving a spoonful of the meal he is cooking into the snapper’s mouth.

“Mmnghrff--” Raph says intellectually around the wooden spoon and hefty portion of meats and hearty root vegetables that it held. He chews slowly, at first trying to think of some helpful feedback, but then just to savor the flavor. He closes his eyes and hums in pleasure, as the savory sauces roll over his tongue. Raph could see why that one guy let Mikey have free use of his castle and summer home.

“Mikey,” he says with absolute seriousness. “This is the most delicious thing I have ever tasted.”

“Really?!” Mikey says sheepishly. “You don’t think I went a little heavy on the cumin?”

“No, it’s perfect!” Raph says, even though he’s not exactly sure what spice cumin is.

“Ah great! Well, then dig in!” Mikey says handing some plates over to Red Fox and Raph. As they take the plates, Red Fox chimes in, “One of the reasons why it’s such a joy to guide you on these treks is that I get to taste your cooking again, Mikey!”

“Aww shucks, Red! Thanks!” Mikey grins widely.

Raph thinks to himself that maybe it was Mikey’s niceness that kept him alive. His naivety was worrisome, but he was also really good at lots of things like that - caring for animals, cooking, and after all, he did help save him from the fire, which brought Raph to a question that he finally voiced out loud on the third day of their trek.

"So how did you do that thing with the fire? You were in the middle of it all and then you like, ate it?"

"Oh, I'm a fire mage!" Mikey says while riding atop Infinity as they make their way through the mountain paths. As a way of demonstration, Mikey cups his hands and produces a tiny ball of fire within them. He holds the fire gently, almost as if he's carrying a tiny animal in the palm of his hands. “Fire doesn't hurt me and I can use it to help with cooking and stuff. It's also why I can keep pretty warm in the winter.” He lifts up his palms and lets the small flame dance in the air. Infinity explores the flame with her beak and nips at it, but Mikey maneuvers the fire just out of her reach. He twirls the small fire around her and she tries to catch it in her beak. He giggles and she squawks happily as they play their little game.

Raph smiles at the display. "Thanks again by the way, for helping out back there."

"No problem! I mean, you had a lot of it handled by yourself. You saved a bunch of people! I'm surprised that you didn't make it into any of the Aetherwave announcements or the news clippings. Just some guy named, er..., Jupiter Jim, was it?"

"Uh, it's Captain James Jupiter, actually." Raph fails to hide his appalled tone. "And of course he was talked about! He saved everyone! He's a famous hero!" Seriously for all his travels, how did Mikey know so little about James Jupiter?!

"Did he, though? I mostly just saw you and Red Fox while I was trying to stop the fire. I saw another guy in some sort of hero suit, but he was mostly staying outside of the forest."

"He was leading! Everyone would've been a mess without his guidance!" Raph tries to bury the annoyance bubbling up in his chest with his adoration of the Captain. "His strong, guiding hand of justice makes us all feel safe!" Raph tries to gain validation from repeating the mantra often used by the Captain himself, but he felt more upset and defiant - as if he was trying to defend the Captain. The Captain shouldn't need defending. Obviously he was great! So why did Raph's stomach twist in such a way?

For once Mikey has something less than a smile on his face. Instead his eyes wander around Raph's entire frame as if seeing something new on him he didn't like.

"I just..." Mikey hesitates. "I just think you should get the credit you deserve. You pulled like three families out of that fire, and at one point you were carrying almost ten people." His face shifts back into a smile. "That's pretty heroic if you ask me!"

Raph eyes him warily. Something about his statements don't really connect at first in Raph's mind. The Captain is the one who is the hero. He's just a student at best. But why did happiness flutter in his untwisting stomach at being called such?

"OH MI GOSH I JUST REMEMBERED!"

The sudden shout makes Raph jump, and a small yelp would've escaped his mouth if Mikey weren't immediately in front of him squishing either side of Raph's face and beaming at him excitedly.

"’Remembered...?’" Raph tries to ask between squished cheeks.

"What I wanted to tell you!" MIkey threw his hands in the air, releasing Raph from his hold. "I wanted to tell you that I like your cape!"

"My cape?"

"Yeah it's like super heroic looking!"

Raph looks at his cape as if trying to see what Mikey sees.

"Oh, and I wanted to know if Buddy knew any female aurax's that could make friend-cheese for me,” Mikey continues.

"Oh, um, thank you?" Raph lets out a small chuckle. "Also, I could, uh, ask around when we get back to town about… ‘friend-cheese?’" Raph thinks a moment before continuing. "Why was that so important though?"

"Because friend-cheese is Todd's favorite, because of the method of farmers asking aurax’s nicely before they milk them."

"N-no, not that." Raph can't help but smile; man this kid's attitude is infectious. "Why did ’ya have to ask about my cape?"

"Because I thought it looked really cool with the flames and the moon and your powers and I wasn't sure then that I'd get a chance to tell you again." Mikey beams brightly enough to show off his gap tooth and rear molars.

"Well, thank you." He's still not used to so many compliments.

He looks to Red Fox with a confused expression, but she just smiles back and says, "He's right, it does make you look rather heroic."

Before Raph can sort his thoughts out on the image of himself as a true hero, he suddenly feels something land on his neck hard enough that he jumps and nearly goes on attack mode, until he sees Mikey's legs trail down the side of his neck. Raph looks up to see Mikey craning his head downward looking at him with round, inquisitive eyes. "Can I ride on your shoulders for awhile? I wanna give Infinity a break," Mikey asks.

Raph gives Mikey a soft smirk and a quiet chuckle. This guy really does have some sort of niceness power. "Yeah, sure," the snapper says.

Mikey punches both fists in the air and his legs stick out as he shouts out a triumphant "Yes!"

"Hey Mikey, we've still got another hour or so before we make our first stop," Red Fox says. "Why don't you tell us one of your stories from your travels?" She then says as an aside to Raph, "He's a very good storyteller by the way; he was able to keep me entertained on our previous trips through the mountains, as well as many other folks along the way."

Mikey looks at her with joyful, watery eyes. "Red Fox, you really think I'm a good storyteller?!"

Red Fox nods sweetly.

Mikey bows as best he can while perched on Raph's shoulders. "Aw shucks! Why thank you, my friend."

The rest of their trek for the day is filled with Mikey's melodious voice recounting several strange tales which continue to add questions to Raph's mind.

---

Mikey's storytelling stopped only long enough to deliver his first package. It was to a local store in a tiny grouping of houses nestled in the mountains. Afterwards, they went to the barely-a-village's tavern to get something to eat before resting for the night. Once in the tavern, and in between mouthfuls of food, Mikey continues to tell his stories to the patrons, which seem to grow in number as the evening wears on. Raph guesses that they don't get many travellers here this high up in the mountains, because they're all enraptured by Mikey's tales. Raph is just finishing up his dinner and he is feeling rather content, allowing Mikey's voice and the patrons' reactions to drift into background noise when he perks up at the mention of his name.

"What?" Raph snaps to attention looking to where he was called.

"Mikey is right, Big Red was indeed quite heroic." Red Fox gives him a pleased look.

Before Raph can figure out if Red Fox is playing some sort of joke on him, Mikey glides over to Raph's side and puts an arm around his shoulder. "And that's when I saw him under the blood moon, with glowing eyes and glowing arms, picking up an entire family of squirrel yokai!" Mikey says sweeping his arms wide. The patrons’ eyes are all on Raph now, and the attention has his heart pounding, though out of sudden stage fright or pride he's not sure. Either way, Raph is sure his face is burning more than it ever had in that forest fire. But luckily the patrons quickly turn back to Mikey as he continues his story. It's weird for Raph to hear Mikey talk about something he did in a similar way that the Aetherwaves trumpet the stories of the great Captain Jupiter. Raph is not worthy of such a grand retelling, but Mikey is so excited about it that Raph just puts on an easy smile and focuses on his theatrics, drinking a bit from his cup to hide his face.

When the story ends the people in the tavern clap in amazement, some even patting Raph on the arm, offering congratulations, but he respectfully waves them off. He's caught off guard a little bit by the look Red Fox gives him. There's a twinkle in her eye and an earnest smile on her face, wrinkling the scar above her nose. Raph buries his face in his cup again before getting up to start pitching a tent for them to sleep in when the tavern keeper insists that they stay the night free of charge as payment for Mikey’s wonderful stories.

Raph feels bad for the tiny hint of suspicion that he has at that moment that maybe Mikey is actually using some sort of niceness spell or something, but he quickly changes his mind when he looks over at Mikey. He's not unhappy, per se - the kid is still smiling - but there's something in his face that falls almost imperceptibly at the suggestion that they stay at the tavern. Noticing Raph's observation of him, his smile brightens and he thanks the tavern keeper for his generosity.

<–previous /// next–>

#rottmnt #rottmnt fantasy au #rottmnt mikey #rottmnt raph #when the moon meets the morning #marcus moncrief #jupiter jim #captain james jupiter #red fox #brotherly bonding #my fic #my writing #jadethest0ne #fanfic

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theholycovenantrpg · 3 years

Photo

In the beginning was CADE BEKKER, a GIFTED loyal to the cause of the MORTALS. He is said to be THIRTY-THREE and uses HE/HIM pronouns. In this New Testament he serves as a MEMBER of the ROUND TABLE. Blessed be his name.

THE INDELIBLE MARK.

The fire that was lit within Cade during the Blood Plague never quite went out. In fact, it seemed as though it had found a pyre within him, kindling to create the only ever-lasting flame known to mortals. While he was being consumed by the plague, his caretakers thought that he would surely die from his feverish temperatures alone but when he awoke, it seemed that—while he did stabilize—the temperatures did not abate. His skin is always warm to the touch as though there is a living hearth within him, but what was all the more astounding was his ability to manipulate fire. It listens to his will like a loyal dog, ready and willing to bite and snap at his say-so; all he ever need is a spark or a flint to set the whole world aflame if he so desires. No one can truly say whether this gift might be one granted by God or the Devil—all anyone knows is that it is a dangerous weapon to be placed in the hands of an equally dangerous man. And, although he tries not to show it, it can be a rather costly weapon to wield. He can become easily dehydrated and, with every use of his gift, he finds it increasingly difficult to control the flames -- to the point where no one is surprised if he has new scars every week or so. The scars that were left by the Blood Plague are rather unique -- his hands look charred up to the elbows but instead of scarred flesh, it looks as though obsidian has healed where the skin should be.

THE HISTORY.

His story was always meant to be a grand one -- one of those great, exciting tales that parents tell their children at night when the fire is dim and their threadbare blanket can no longer stave off the cold. Though they might fall asleep with empty, aching stomachs, they would, at least, have rousing dreams of the great and godless Cade Bekker. Their parents might not be able to offer hope, but Cade might. The Bekker family was once of great prominence—the heirs that were produced were intelligent, charismatic, innovative and talented, although with each generation it seemed less so. Cursed by God or by the Devil, who is to say which? All that was known was that Cade’s mother was their last, fleeting hope at societal redemption; how could she be anything but when she was so vivacious and engaging, so sweet and kind? But the fool of a woman dared to marry for love rather than obligation. From them, she fled, the threat of death hounding her footsteps as she tried to escape her family’s desperate attempts to dissuade her from ruining them all. But if they couldn’t have her, then neither could the man who had claimed her heart—so they ripped it from his chest. Thankfully, though, they could not rip the young babe from her stomach. He had not yet taken his first breath and already, it was a harrowing beginning for the godless boy.

His mother was never meant for a long or lasting life—and if she was, then it was stolen away by Cade the moment that he opened his blood-covered eyes. He was passed from hand to hand, first by some kindly nurses, then by some old crones, only to be left to the dirty streets of the Holy Land once he reached the age of twelve. Perhaps it was because he had a penchant for pinching sparkling jewels and loose coins from the pockets of the lords and ladies of the land, or perhaps it was because he knew he would never truly thrive in the monotony of a stable household. Although he’d never admit it, the truth of the matter was that households full of warmth only left him feeling colder; the farce of a family only ever made him feel the blunt edge of melancholy and loneliness. On the streets a boy his age could find adventure, unpredictability, and—above all—absolute freedom. And it was with the promise of this that he managed to entrap others into his gambit, light-fingered little devils that felt that same coldness, that same blunt edged loneliness that he did. Wide-eyed children with the twist of hunger in their belly and the same stubborn, undying blaze in their eyes that promised to give the world a reckoning. With them he founded his own family, one that was earned and rewarded in unconditional loyalty and love. It was, perhaps, the first true taste of love that he had ever known in his life.

So, of course, it had to be taken away. The Blood Plague swept over his merry crew of criminals like a wildfire through the countryside, leaving nothing but wreckage, ruin, and despairing tears. He was the only one that survived it and—though he won’t admit it—it was a curse more than anything. Life hardly seems worth living when all that you care for is gone, when you are forced to watch them wither away in a bloody mess of tears. There was a burning that overtook him when the plague descended upon him; the fever washed over him, burning away the pieces of his soul that one might have deemed soft or precious. As he recovered he realized that this burning would never leave, it would always remain within him like a festering, aching wound. Living on the streets, building his little empire, had taught him many things—but shouldering the pain and weight of such despair is something that few are ever taught and even fewer know how to carry on with. So, with his newfound gift, he carried what remained of his shoddy kingdom, determined to remake himself in the hopes that it might ease the pain of his loss. Cade knew it was in vain, but still he hoped that, should he become a new man, the ghosts of his past might forget his face and name.

He became a reputable fighter, a figure of the people that fought only for the people—not the demons nor the angels who might think to stake their claim as citizens of the Holy Land. His tale was one that was whispered about, a walking, talking legend of a man who paid no mind to any God, Devil, or monarch that might think to stand in his way. They painted him a figure of hope when, in truth, he stumbled along like a child clinging to a wall in the dark, grasping and groping in the desperate belief that there will soon be light to guide him. Cade had knocked the angel down because he loathed the contempt that they had shown the poor, weakened beggar. He had held the knife to the demon’s throat because they had dared to drunkenly strike a mortal in his presence. For fleeting moments of wrathful justice they lauded him and declared him a representative to sit at the Round Table. They had all but given him a crown to wear—and now they called for him to sit on the Mortal throne, hoping to hail as the next great Star. Godless, they called him in the hopes that he might be their new deity, to guide them and take them under his mantle. How can they dare ask him to be their guiding light when he can’t even find his own?

THE CONNECTIONS.

RYUK: Tool. Cade is quite aware of the power that they hold—not only as a Horseman but as an individual entity. But there is something distinctly lacking; they may be an infamous individual, a mark of the Old World that has extended into the present one, but they were created for their legend. Cade, on the other hand, rightfully earned the many titles and monikers that he has been given and it was not because God had some predestined notion for him, it was because Cade himself had made it so. And though he feels as though they treat him with an undeserved amount of contempt, he tries to pay it no mind because they are, and will prove to be, quite useful to him. Though he cannot be quite sure of it, he knows that there are those who would profit more from his loss than his ascension and what better protection can he have than that of Death itself?

JUDAS: Headache. He never quite understood what was meant by “the grinding and gnashing of teeth” in the aged references to hell until he met Judas. The demon seems to take copious amounts of pleasure in being present when Cade has been at his most unhinged; the exact events being the ones that earned him the ire of the demons and angels and the laudations of the mortals. Judas seems keen on placing himself in Cade’s good graces, but Cade has no interest in the simperings of a creature whose name is synonymous with betrayal. But he has never been a wasteful man and recognizes the usefulness of even the most obvious of sycophants—so Cade has taken to keeping him on a rather tight leash.

JASPER RICHE: Best Friend. It is not unexpected to find comradery among those who sit at the Round Table -- they all have to earn their seat there, after all. But there are few who are able to get Cade to live a little—and Jasper has a particular gift for getting Cade to live a little too much. The two are as thick as thieves and many have noted that they are far more brotherly than Jasper and Luca who are literal brothers. Although Cade pays no mind to rumors, he can’t help but feel the slightest bit concerned about this because he himself has never understood the idea of a blood-bonded family, but doesn’t want to take it away from Jasper when it seems like something so rare to come by. There are times when he has seen Jasper glower at his younger sibling and he can’t help but feel the unease knot within his stomach when, in a flash, it dissipates. The worst part is, Cade can’t seem to find it in himself to be too bothered by this. After all, to him there is no loss; he only has a true brother to gain.

EPHEMERA: Farce. He doesn’t quite know what it is about her but there is something that does not quite strike true to him. Ephemera carries herself like she is the epitome of righteousness and virtue, but he knows that no God has ever made anything truly good, which leads him to the conclusion that whatever goodness there is in Ephemera only extends so far—at her core she is rotten, just as they all are. All the angels hail her as a truly reputable and noble person; what a glorious thing it would be to dash all their hopes right before their eyes. To do so would force the angels to confront the reality that he has always known to be true: they are no better or any worse than the rest of the mortals and demons. All they need is for the best among them to be toppled from their lofty pedestals—and he is always looking for a new project to engage in. Why not this one?

Cade is portrayed by Martin Sensmeier and was written by ROSEY. He is currently OPEN.

#literate rp #lsrpg #fantasy rp #rpg #biblical rp #m #g #cade bekker #o #om

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packsbeforesnacks · 4 years

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Inside You There Are Two Wolves || Adam, Cece, Darwin, Nell, Ulfric, & Winn

[Part One | Part Two] [Side B]

TIMING: Sunday, July 19th, 2020, Sunset LOCATION: A clearing in the Outskirts. PARTIES: @walker-journal, @thebickedwitchoftherest, @wardinasrani, @nelllraiser, @big-bad-ulf, & @packsbeforesnacks SUMMARY: The ritual to recover Winn’s memories goes very, very wrong. WARNINGS: None.

Everything was in place, the way it was meant to be, in the small clearing Winn had chosen as the place for the ritual. At first Darwin had been a little hesitant: a memory journey was always tricky, even with just one mind to explore, but travelling through two minds? So many things could go wrong that he refused to think about it, let alone share his doubts with the participants. At least Darwin wasn't alone: granted, he'd guide the ritual, he'd keep the connection stable, but two others would fuel his magic, and the help of Nell and Otto had been invaluable, really; the procedure was fairly simple, but knowing he wouldn't have to rely only on himself made Darwin's task easier. Darwin looked at the four unconscious bodies of Noah, Arthur, Mercy and Winn, carefully arranged on the ground in a sort of cross, their heads touching. Right now they looked peaceful, sleeping a dreamless sleep thanks to the magic they casted, but Darwin knew that was going to change soon.

“Well, here we go.” Darwin addressed Nell and Cece, his lips a thin line. “I'm going to join them. I don't know what we'll find inside, but whatever happens, you two will need to keep the flow of energy going. If the magic stops we could be trapped; it doesn't have to be a lot of energy, but it has to be stable. I, of course, will do my best on my side, but... Like I said, we can't foresee what will happen there.” Darwin wasn't a fan of putting his mind in the hands of others, but Nell had proved to be reliable, and at least they had backup. Speaking of, he turned to Adam (another person he knew would take his task seriously) and Ulfric. “To make this journey possible there'll be lots of magic involved. And we're not dealing with simple humans here, so... Be ready for anything. I'd like for us to still have a body to return to, if you know what I mean.” Sharing a meaningful look with the other magic users, one that let them know he was about to begin, Darwin sat down between Mercy and Winn, and placed one hand on each of their foreheads. “Wish us luck,” he murmured before closing his eyes and focusing, ready to begin.

Certainly, Nell wasn’t Winn’s biggest fan, but she also wasn’t one to stand by and let someone have their memories locked away while wanting them back. Still— the entire memory debacle with August had left her apprehensive when it came to do any magic that might even be remotely similar, and it had only been under the reassurance that she’d be more power source than anything that she’d agreed to partake. After all, her track record with memories and magic wasn’t exactly squeaky clean, and the last thing she wanted to do was make things worse. Nevertheless, she let her magic flow through her to join Darwin’s and Cece’s. “We won’t let you guys get lost in there.” As for possible complications cropping up, that was something Nell had more confidence with. “And we’ll make sure he’s got enough fur on him to survive the winter when it’s all done,” she joked with a deadpan look. Then she was silent, letting her own eyes drop closed as she focused only on giving Darwin the power he’d need, glad that her magic had recovered decently enough after all of the recent debacles.

Adam glanced to Ulfric, feeling the ice-hot burn of the larger man's inhuman presence, a twin to the constant discomfort Winn produced in Adam’s Hunter senses. He had no idea what this guy was, but hopefully the ginger giant was strong enough to deal with whatever Total Recall craziness was about to go down without also being hungry enough to eat the sleepers.

Regardless, Adam listened to Darwin’s explanation of the proceedings carefully, having come to trust the Demonologist’s expertise during a particularly harrowing assignment to close a Hell Rift. This was a complex ritual to say the least. On one hand, it was interesting to see all the folks that’d turned up to help when Winn had… like… a forced brain transplant into Mercy because of bird bookends or something. Most of them, Adam knew, some in contexts that’d given no hint to the abilities on display here.

Nothing like some communal lobotomy to bring folks together.

The axe holstered at Ulfric’s waist hung heavily, seeming to absorb the weight of the situation. In this clearing, the familiar tool would become a tool of execution. There had been more formidable options to choose from in the buried stash of weapons the werewolf had found amongst Celeste’s parents' things, but if the worst occurred here he did not want Winn to go out by a hunter’s blade. In fact, he would’ve preferred not to bring a weapon at all, besides his natural ones. However, there were too many others assembled for this ritual, some of whom he’d never met before and more still who weren’t aware of his true nature. It wouldn’t have been wise to expose himself even if there wasn’t a high risk that shifting would result in the rest of the attendees ending up as collateral mincemeat.

He glanced at Adam, hoping that Winn was right about the boy’s ability to defend himself and the sleepers. The younger werewolf hadn’t given Ulfric any reason not to trust his judgement recently, but he couldn’t sense any shifter in Adam, which did raise questions about why he’d been chosen to take up the role of bodyguard opposite him. Returning his gaze to Darwin, he paid close attention to the spellcaster’s words, wanting to keep the chances of anything going wrong as low as possible. He’d never even considered taking a fellow wolf’s life before Winn’s request, and he was still vehemently disinclined to cross that threshold. “Lykke til,” he nodded solemnly to Darwin to indicate that he understood both the content and gravity of his instructions, wishing him luck as he joined the four in their slumber.

Winn sure had assembled a ragtag group of people together to get this job done. Cece recognized a few of them. Mostly, Cece was just happy to not be the one leading the charge for this mental magic. Cece had more experience with taking memories than piecing them back together. She was fairly confident that she could do it, if required. But having someone specialize in it was way more helpful. Plus, as far as safety went Cece would much rather be chilling outside of Winn’s body instead of roaming around in that head of his. She didn’t need to know all that information.

Luckily, this Darwin fellow was taking the lead and Cece was more than happy to be a power conduit. She sat cross-legged on the forest floor, peaking an eye open at the group surrounding Winn. Into the dreamworld they go, Cece supposed. “Just a heads up to any non magic users,” Cece glanced over at Adam, and probably Ulfric, “If you haven’t been in any spells like this before. We know you don’t use magic, but we can still borrow some of your strength to help the spell. So just keep calm and focused with us. All of us will be happy and healthy at the end with everyone participating.” If things went smoothly. Did things ever go smoothly?

Wind blew through the forest as the ritual thrummed to life. The bodies of the sleepers were illuminated in the late afternoon sun cutting through the curtain of the trees overhead. The air buzzed with the presence of the magic, and, if anyone had been watching Winn’s face closely, they would have noticed a frown on the werewolf’s face.

Then, the crackle changed, the mood of the energy shifting down into something darker. Mercy’s face, previously serene, was frowning now, too. The ritual was underway, and the sleepers were making their way through the dreamscape. But then, the unexpected happened.

Winn sat up, and opened his eyes. There were no signs of life from him, other than the steady up and down breathing of his chest, the unblinking stare into the middle distance, and the way that, if you looked closely, his fingernails were lengthening, slowly, into claws. Behind him, something like a black mist rose from the centerpoint of the spell, covering the ground like rolling fog.

The forest had gone cold.

Even though Nell wasn’t the most comfortable with memory magic, she could feel the way it was shifting between them as Darwin worked, feeling it take form and shape as she quite literally powered on, keeping her intentions in line with what they were trying to accomplish here. But her eyes opened as she felt the twist in it, a potential unwanted result coming to fruition bringing her own little frown to her lips to unknowingly mirror Winn’s and Mercy’s. “Something’s happening,” she said aloud, eyes already scanning the faces of those that had been put under for this mission for anything that might tell a story as to what was going wrong. As she watched, she locked onto the claws sprouting from Winn. “Adam,” she spoke with a warning tone in her voice, tilting her head in the direction of the werewolf’s hands. “His claws.” She wouldn’t tear herself away from Darwin and Cece just yet, not when it seemed there was still the potential to keep things under control.

Adam, sage of the arcane that he was, could generally identify a couple key indicators of when wizard shit was headed sideways. For example anything with creepy children or dramatic laser beams into the sky was like DEFCON 1 as far as Satanic tailgate parties went. Bloody writing on the wall in ancient languages was a good indicator that someone needed to be shanked back into their home dimension, as were well-endowed chicks with psychic powers making narcoleptic predictions about the ‘master’s arrival.’

Black mist? Bad Sign.

Hot Turkish girl saying his name in a way that really made Adam feel….

Oh wait, bad sign today.

Damn it Nell.

Clearly Adam’s secret wolf wrassling skills were needed and the Hunter was quick to hustle to Winn’s side before the sleepwalking…sleepslashing?...of other participants could transpire. He attempted to hold Winn’s arms in place.

Ulfric winced at little as the blonde witch, who he deduced must have Cece, called on them to ‘lend some of their strength’. He’d only just managed to win it back, and with the new moon looming he still only possessed a fraction of what he would when it was full. But if there was anything he’d be willing to lay it all on the line again for, it would be another wolf, one he was bonded to in both word and blood. Bowing his head, he concentrated on keeping his thoughts centred on the desired outcome of the spell, just as he had the last time when he’d been helping Ariana and Celeste before—Focus. That is not focus. He internally chided himself for letting his mind wander away from the present moment, just as Winn jerked upright, claws extending.

Ulfric rushed to his other side without any further thought. The balance of magic had been disturbed and knowing whether his slip in intentions had contributed to it wouldn’t save his friend. “Come on, Woods, you told me yourself you can control this,” he urged the young werewolf, grabbing one arm so Adam could focus his efforts on the other. “You know how!” With his words and thoughts, he willed it to be true, willed that the memories Winn already had access to would triumph over the ones that had been locked away.

“Son of a bitch” Cece sighed. Wolf Winn clearly didn’t want to cooperate as much as person Winn did. Whether this was some alter ego lashing out at the idea of recovering memories or just a reaction to whatever was happening inside of that fucked up head of his, things would turn dangerous real quickly if Adam and Ulfric couldn’t calm him down. “Keep the spell going,” Cece spoke to Nell, breaking off for a moment to rummage in her purse and pull out a vial of powder. She popped the lid off of the vial, pouring the powder onto the ground. She grabbed for her keys, pressing the point against the tip of her palm. She pushed deep, twisting the key until she felt the skin break. She made a fist over the powder, squeezing tightly until blood dripped from her hand and into the powder. She pressed her finger deep into the mixture, mumbling Latin to herself until the new substance began smoking, then she dragged it across the ground, forming a barrier around herself before moving towards Nell.

“This should keep things out for now, but it won’t work forever, if he breaks free and comes after us.” Cece spoke mechanically, not wanting to break Nell’s focus, simply inform her of what Cece had been doing. As far as protection spells went, this wasn’t the strongest. It was purely for emergency situations only. It wouldn’t hold up against an onslaught by wolves. “You can step out, but nothing can get in. Unless they break it.” That cheery thought out of the way, Cece jumped back into her circle and sat back down, joining back in on the spell.

Magic crackled through the air with warning, the fog of the black mist had engulfed the clearing, settling on the ground in an ever-present wash — save for the circle Cece had created. Though, perhaps, outside, the sun was still shining, the rays of ‘light’ coming into the clearing through the trees were violet, the trees themselves becoming twisted and black. The grass beneath Cece’s feet was still green and lit by the sun, unaffected, but darkness fell on the rest of the assembled friends, painting the world in grim tones. Winn, or Winn’s body, was still, for a moment.

But then, Winn let out a gasp of pain as a thicker, darker mist pulsed out of the epicenter of the spell, his form trembling. Eyes that had been glazed over lit up with panicked recognition, as he surveyed the scene before him.

“Get away,” Winn said, fast and quiet, his body shaking against the force of Adam and Ulfric’s hold, now. His breath was golden-hued, slipping out when he spoke. “No time. They’re… coming.” The golden breath, time, was rapidly running out, and the new mist began to curl in and around Winn’s form, covering his skin with a sticky, black-blue liquid. His hands, the first to get covered, curled inward, and began to change. Into… something.

“It’ll… get…. you… too,” Winn grit out, trying to keep the mist from sliding down his throat, infecting him with its magic. His unfocused eyes hinted that the werewolf hadn’t ‘woken up,’ so much as been able to communicate, somehow, through the spell. And then, as the last of his breath wisped away, he coughed and gasped, inhaling a lungful of the mist. It came more quickly now, spurred by this invitation, and Winn’s body, with a growl, began to transform more fully.

It wasn’t the wolf, not quite, there was something… off, about it. Something that seemed to cut angles into Winn’s form that shouldn’t have been there. Elements of both of the werewolf’s forms made it in. The strong, lupine claws, golden eyes, a coat of black, black fur, and big, vicious teeth. But it was lithe, coiled, like a human, and, as it ripped its arms from Ulfric and Adam’s grasps — with a firm snap, like it had broken something — it leapt across the clearing, landing to stand, the mist clearing from its body, but not dissipating, no.

The mist poured out from the creature born from Winn, and into twin pools of black ink. Here, at the confluence of the ancient magic, the sheer power of the assembled casters, hunter, and wolf, the valkyrie’s kindling, and… something deeper and darker, buried in the fabric of White Crest itself, they could come free.

Winn’s dreams gave them form, these half-shadows, and they warped into grisly manifestations. A human, with slashes down his exposed chest. A werewolf, transformed, dripping black blood from its neck. They spared a single, venomous glance at the creature that had once been Winn Woods… and then rushed Adam and Ulfric with inhuman speed.

Nell knew the magical black mist couldn’t have come from their end of the spell, which made her assume this was simply a manifestation of Mercy’s abilities, subconsciously fighting back on this breach to keep their hold on the memories that they were trying to unlock. For a moment, she thought back to Erin’s father and the wish magic they’d faced there, wondering how she’d managed to get caught up in two fury debacles in the last few months. But that didn’t matter now.

Winn’s words and the wolf’s leap didn’t bode well for their bunch, and Nell turned her back on the magic for a split second to launch a blast of magic towards the wolf’s side in an attempt to knock it off balance, hoping to give Adam and Ulfric any time they might need to prepare themselves for the apparently imminent fight to come after the wolf had wrenched itself out from under them. The rest of her magic was still focused on the spell, continuing to be the battery pack that Darwin needed in this moment as she looked over her shoulder at the action, deciding whether or not she should give Cece the reins for a few moments.

Given the tendency of magic to stick a taser up physic’s asshole without using a safe word, Adam hadn’t brought any firearms to Winn-intervention (Winntervention?) just in case bullet trajectories went all non-Euclidean.

Thus, Adam drew two silver versions of modernized Ka-Bar tactical knives, weapons of straightforward brutality and cutting edge material’s science that would’ve made good on Adam’s promise to make Winn’s death as painless as possible.

But even as the lupine nightmare made manifest charged, Adam had a flicker of hesitation in the tunnel-vision that so often overcame him in the thick of combat. Was this thing connected to Winn somehow? Could they hurt it without harming Winn too?

Adam was pretty sure shanking Winn in the soul violated Bro-Code.

Rather than the disemboweling slashes to the vulnerable underbelly that would’ve been standard procedure when face a lupine adversary, Adam met the creature’s charge by rolling to the ground beneath the creature and delivering a superhuman kick to straight to the gut to throw it off-balance and break its stride.

“Can we hurt this thing without hurting Winn too?” the Hunter shouted, flipping alacritously back up to his feet as the wolf manifestation’s claws ploughed deep grooves in the forest floor right where Adam’s had just been seconds ago.

Ulfric only had a fraction of a second to be relieved Adam had gone for the more wolf-like manifestation, before it was nearly on him. He unsheathed his axe and gripped its handle tightly, ignoring the dull throb in his right hand. Unleashing a war cry, he pulled the axe back, in anticipation of striking the shadow man’s side and slicing through his softest parts to fell him like a tree. But Adam’s yell caused him to hesitate, the battle cry withering in his throat as the surprisingly heavy vision collided with him at full force and knocked them both to the ground. Timber! “Yes… a head’s up on that front would be… appreciated!” the werewolf called out to the conscious spellcasters between grunts as he wrestled the manifested figure, pinning its wrists to the wilted grass beside him, the axe dislodged in the fall.

With an almighty thwack! Ulfric headbutted the shadow man and rolled out from underneath him. Regaining his footing and his axe he assumed a defensive stance again, this time he turned it round to the blunt side, ready to dole out non-lethal blows while he waited on the official word from the witches on how to proceed.

Fucking hell, there were dream demons now? What the hell was going on? Something else had to be feeding into this magic. If this was just some form of mental magic it would be easy enough to cut off. Cece poked an eye open, witnessing the scene unfold as her and Nell tried their best to focus on the spell. If they were cut off and the others got trapped, well, that would be hard to explain.

“Kill those things!” Cece yelled out to the men wrestling them. “Just don’t kill Winn. We don’t care about the other things.” It probably wouldn’t have any bad effects on Winn. It totally most likely wouldn’t. Maybe. “Nell, you got any fight in you?” Cece and Nell seemed to be juggling the power by this point. Keeping the spell wouldn’t be easy alone, but it was still better than being mauled by an angry wolf of his horde of fucked up nightmares. “I got this if you want to tag in.”

Winn observed the scene unfolding in front of him without worry. He snarled, rushing towards the circle that the damned witches had formed to protect themselves, and started slashing and clawing at the barrier. His ‘claws’ broke off, faded into mist, and then came right back to settle on his paws. Eventually, he would knock this barrier down, and kill both of them. He would feed his bloodlust.

The wolf felt its own claws scrape into the dark ground, blood dripping and sizzling the grass where it fell. Adam’s assault had winded it, but, given it didn’t need to breathe, this wasn’t much of an issue. The knives — silver. But… Silver couldn’t hurt it. Not anymore. Not since… It howled, a strangled, gurgling sound in the darkness, choked off and dove for the boy, dripping maw bared as it went for the hunter’s side. Tearing into his flesh would be the revenge he deserved. After all, Winn Woods had killed his brother. Why not kill Winn’s friends?

The man, for his part, was faring well against Ulfric. He had been trained to hunt werewolves since he was a child, and, before Winn had taken his life, he was good at killing the beasts. If it hadn’t been for his children, watching, the wolf would have never stood a chance. With fury and power, it reached to grab the axe, black tendrils wrapping around it as its twin appeared in the man’s other hand. Excellent. He slashed at Ulfric, going low, trying to cut into the soft skin of the werewolf’s legs. A wolf that couldn’t run was as good as dead.

Nell didn’t need to be asked twice when it came to joining the fray as Cece held her spells. “Just keep draining me, too!” she called to the blonde, knowing the spell needed power to stay aloft. She knew the men could hold their own, but there was still safety in numbers, wasn’t there? Besides, with Winn’s shadow right up against their barrier, it’d be better to head him off right now rather than wait for him to break through. Not for the first time, Nell cursed the fact that she hadn’t yet gotten her summoning tattoos redone after the skin of her arms had peeled off, knowing this would have been much more to the point if she could have brought in her hellhounds or cockatrice. But it didn’t matter, she was confident she’d be able to take him on her lonesome.

Still she’d had the same thought flitting through her mind of whether or not any bodily harm done to this version of Winn would manifest on the man once this was all said and done. If she could, it’d be prudent to take him down with minimal damage done, just as she aimed to do when she’d been bringing in beasts for the Ring. Before she could do that, she needed to get him away from the barrier before he broke it where it stood. Well— no better way to do that than giving him what he wanted, right? Casting a spell over herself that would temporarily enhance her speed, she darted out the other end of the barrier, away from Winn in hopes of getting him to play a little game of chase. “Come and get me, mutt!” Sorry, Ulf, she mentally apologized should he happen to hear.

So there they were, two sorceresses, sleeping beauty wolf, timber wolf, shadow wolf, evil wolfish wolf, man wolfish wolf, and Adam.

In other news, Adam had just gotten bitten in the side by a dream. Was he infected with imaginary lycanthropy now? Did he now have Winn’s emotional hangups in his bloodstream? Sin rabies? What would he tell his family when he turned into a were-dream?

The Hunter might’ve given the issue more thought if he wasn’t in so much pain. Admittedly part of that pain was from where the dream wolf's maw had sunk into his chest and back. The other half of pain was that these silver knives seem to be doing jackshit as Adam football tackled his adversary from the side to try and knock it off balance, trying to plunge his daggers deep into its underbelly.

Ulfric had the shadow man in a holding pattern, keeping the strangely solid figment of Winn’s subconscious at arm’s reach with the blunt side of the axe. But it was getting tiring, so he was relieved when Cece gave the go ahead to just kill the meddlesome manifestation. That was, until it manifested an axe in its hand out of whatever substance dreams were made of. “Ugh, Drit og dra,” he swore under his breath. If he hadn’t resorted to bringing a weapon along with him, would the shadow man have been able to arm himself without copying his?

He didn’t have much time to contemplate that, as the shadow-axe swung towards his legs and he jumped back narrowly missing the blow. Growling, Ulfric swung the axe at the man’s neck only to be blocked by the handle of his. The two axe-heads caught on each other and the werewolf used the stall in the shadow man’s momentum to charge into him and knock him to the ground, before following through with a savage blow that drove the wedge of his axe into his skull. He dug his boot into the man’s neck as he yanked on the handle to dislodge his weapon from the bone it was caught in, and then left it there as took stock of the battlefield. Cece and the rest of the sleepers remained safely inside the circle for now, with Nell holding Winn off while Adam wrestled with the wolf manifestation.

Ulfric’s first instinct was to assist Nell, since he knew and trusted her and had never gotten round to thanking her properly for how she’d assisted him and the Bennetts. But the boy looked to be in more immediate need of assistance, even if the werewolf was reluctant to throw himself into the fray with anyone wielding silver. “Can you handle yourself?” He called out to the young man, when he finally pulled the axe free, glancing between him and the dark haired spellcaster for any changes in the tactical situation.

Chaos had erupted around the group. While Cece had always been pretty adept at tackling insanity and violence with a more level-headed and calm approach, even she had to admit she was getting a bit nervous as Winn barreled towards the barrier. It hadn’t been made to stop a creature as strong as a werewolf. Luckily, Nell had distracted it and led it away, keeping the barrier as well as the spell safe for now. But things weren’t looking especially optimistic at the moment, with Nell facing down Winn’s werewolf, Ulfric and Adam both dealing with their own troubles and injuries. All while Cece was forced to sit in her little bubble, bored and trying to remain focused.

“Hey could you guys wrap this up? I’m trying to focus here! You’re being really loud!” Cece fucked with the trio outside of her bubble, mostly out of boredom. She wished she could drop a message to the group inside of Winn’s brain to hurry the fuck up as well. They were the ones actually lollygagging. Take any longer and their bodies were the ones that would be getting the real shit end of the deal

Winn turned his attention away from the barrier as Nell darted out, but no sooner had she done so that Ulfric’s axe was buried in the skull of the shadow man. In that moment, both of the other shadows seemed to almost glitch, and Winn cried out in pain as the shadows faded back into mist and wisped into him. He twitched, growled, stood stock-still as the mist covered him. The edges were a little sharper, now, claws longer, looking less and less like a werewolf and more like an abomination. Winn set his sights on Ulfric, chasing him down, claws first, fast and furious with wild abandon.

The wolf, meanwhile, howled in pain as Adam’s daggers sunk into its underbelly, rolling over and up again. It grasped at the daggers with its claws, using its newfound resistance to silver and tearing them out of it, and tossing them haphazardly towards the witch. The hunter had some bite to him, did he? Well… It feinted towards the hunter, before turning and barreling towards the witch, hoping it hadn’t been slowed too much by the wound.

“No good fucking wolf,” Nell cursed under her breath as Winn seemed to give up the chase from her as soon as it had started. Still, at least he’d been lured away from Cece and the magic. And perhaps this gave her more of an opening now that he was distracted by Ulfric. Cursing herself for not thinking of it or bringing them in the first place, Nell whispered a quick few words under her breath to Summon forth what would hopefully be her saving grace when it came to the werewolf— wolfsbane, grown in her own greenhouse and crushed until it could be fit into pill form. She’d dropped the capsules into many an unsuspecting wolf’s drink in a bar while she distracted them, and they’d worked wonders when it came to bringing in fighters for the Ring. Of course...none of those werewolves had been in a raging dream state. What was she supposed to do with Winn? Slather the thing in peanut butter and hope he gobbled it up?

She didn’t have a chance to think further on the matter when a sudden, searing pain erupted from her thigh. Huh. A silver dagger seemed to be sticking out of her, much to her annoyance. Looking up, she saw the last of the knives the wolf had tossed headed her way, and her hand instinctively raised, magic pulsing through the air to stop them in their tracks, and turning them back on the charging wolf.

“I’m good, man,” Adam told the lumberjack guy in the midst of wolf wrassling.

Or at least things were fine until the wolf faked him out and made a beeline (dogline?) over towards...

…where Nell giving Winn diet pills? Sleep aids? Now with 50% less chance of wolfing the bed at night?

Holy shit she just got shanked.

Adam didn’t didn’t really have to give that matter any more thought as he sprinted after the wolf-thing, attempting to football tackle the wolf from behind.

Ulfric nodded at Adam’s assurance and did pause as he hurtled himself in Winn’s direction, swinging his axe in a wide berth to keep the creature that had grown from the man at a distance. It wasn’t enough to keep his unnervingly long claws from scraping along the flesh of his arms leaving bright, burning trails. But the older werewolf kept at it, pushing Winn back in Nell’s direction so they could take him on from both sides. Noticing the vial of what looked to be pills in her hand, he realized her intent to get him to swallow them. Chances of getting that done without feeling the full sting of Winn’s fangs were slim, and even if it wasn’t the full moon, he wouldn’t have blamed the humans for being hesitant to risk that. From the way things were going, hesitancy wasn’t something they could afford. “Toss it,” he called to Nell, jerking his head back to indicate that she should go long as he dodged another swipe of Winn’s talons. “I can do what needs to be done.” Soon Woods wouldn’t be able to brag he was the only one who’d gone and got himself deliberately bit. That alone would make it worth it, even without the bonus hopefully putting an end to the nightmare the ritual had unleashed.

Things were getting pretty boring, leaning back and supplying power while all the others were battling werewolves and dream demons in shit. Not that Cece would rather be battling it out with any of them. That shit looked hella dangerous and- did Nell just get impaled with a dagger? Damn. She didn’t let it bother her though, and kept on trucking. They seemed to have a plan. Or a semblance of a plan at least. Cece had a guess what Nell had summoned, but it didn’t matter much at this point what it was as long as it worked. If the group could get that shit inside of Winn, then they may have a chance at calming the asshole down. Honestly, Winn was even more unbearable asleep. From her bubble, there wasn’t much Cece could do to help the group rangle the wolf. But she might be able to distract it, as long as she could multitask.

Sound spells weren’t difficult. Trapping noise within a certain space was easy enough. It was helpful for keeping conversations private and blocking out noise. Cece used to use it to focus, it beat the discomfort of noise cancelling headphones. She split the power between Darwin and Winn now, taking a moment to focus on the wolf that was attacking the rest of the group. She drew a circle into the dirt below her while chanting to herself, trapping the sound within a small barrier around the wolf. It wasn’t hard to tell that the other two weren’t exactly normal humans, the last thing she needed to do was blow out Adam and Ulfric’s eardrums too. Once she was confident the noise would only affect Winn, she positioned her fingers at her mouth, mumbling “Heel boy” and laughing to herself before whistling. It wouldn’t look like Cece wasn’t making any sound at all, unless they were in Winn’s bubble, where the high pitched noise must have been deafening to a creature with enhanced hearing.

The wolf went snout first into the ground with the force of Adam’s tackle, struggling against Adam’s grip. It wouldn’t die. Not here. Not like this. Not again. And certainly not to a fucking whelp of a hunter. It gnashed its bloody teeth, still fresh from the blood it had already taken from Adam. It was slowing down, it knew, a side-effect of the wounds the hunter had inflicted. Was this its last gasp? Was it to be forgotten, again?

Winn snarled, then howled loud and deep as the whistle from Cece — fuckin’ witches — pierced his monstrous ears. Fuck, fuck, fuck. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t move. He needed to fight, needed to escape, needed to kill. But try as he might, he was immobilized. The shadows clung tighter to him, but he couldn’t breathe.

With the knives landed on the wolf, and Adam tackling the dream creature from behind, Nell was free to magic the wolfsbanes pills straight into the hand of Ulfric, leaving no room for error as the glass vial rocketed towards him, making a beeline for the ginger wolf. Ulfric would be alright to get in down Winn’s throat, right? There was a kernel of worry gathering in her gut, but she didn’t have the time to pay it any attention while there was still a shadow wolf gnashing away, currently connected to Adam. Looking back to the pair, she couldn’t help but wonder when the wolf had gotten hold of the Hunter, another flicker of worry flashing through her as she saw the initial wounds that had been dealt to her friend. Mental note. Healing party after all this bullshit is done.

Speaking of healing, the fucking knife was still lodged in her damn leg. Maybe she could use that, though. Sure, you weren’t really supposed to take knives out of wounds until you were ready to heal them, but the sooner they ended this— the sooner she’d be able to stitch herself and the others back together. Gritting her teeth, Nell pulled the dagger from her thigh, stifling the gasp that wanted to break free from her as pain once again made itself known. “Adam!” she called out before tossing the knife his way, figuring it might be a welcome sight in dispatching the wolf. The silver hadn’t seemed to hurt the thing, but Ulfric’s shadow man had withered away under the axe, right? First the vial, now the dagger, she really should have looked into more shot put in highschool with the way this scuffle was going.

Adam knew that there were two main methods to kill wolves. One was slow and cruelly tactical, a painful crippling that permitted an inclined hunter to track the victim back to other prey. This was typically accomplished with heavy jacketed AP ammo, though a serrated tactical knife could serve with some freakish strength behind it. The prey would typically panic in the agony of the steadily worsening wound and their instinct to run would in fact seal their demise, as circulation did the Hunter’s work for them.

The second method was the to maximize internal tissue trauma in the shortest period possible, singular swift brutality. Softer tipped bullets were usually employed for this, as they mushroomed inside the body cavity and killed very quickly. But this method was admittedly much harder to accomplish with a knife.

Earlier this year Adam would’ve likely gone for the first method, maybe even enjoyed the savage simplicity of it. Growing up, Adam had been warned in vain to not get addicted to the adrenal rush of combat. A Hunter is merely a servant fulfilling a duty, and taking pleasure in regrettable necessity was the quickest way to fall from grace. After dad died, Adam had backslid in a big way. The consequences spoke for themselves.

As he’d been taught, Adam mentally visualized a six inch deep wound through the chest into the hard knot-like heart. The Hunter locked his legs around the wolf-beast he was wrestling, pressing down on its lungs. With one hand, he lunged directly under the wolf’s jaw to grab its throat directly on the trachea, muscles knotting and straining like bruised wire as Adam tried to twist the nightmare-thing’s unnaturally large maw away from him, grimacing as its thick moist breath sent hot splittle across his face.

Ignoring the searing pain of the seeping lacerations the wolf’s thrashing claws had raked open during their wrestling match on the forest floor, Adam called upon the rote mental exercises of training while his breathing settled into a staccato tempo. Pain, the filth caked mud, the ritual, the other combatants, and Nell’s blood still sliding down this blade all faded. For a moment Adam and the wolf seemed completely alone, nothing else existed. Almond shaped amber eyes met the human’s cold jasper stare in a split-second of understanding before a dagger’s plunge snuffed out their light.

Once the frigid metal of Adam’s dagger was the only thing left of the wolf’s form, the air shifted, again, the black mist of the creature fading back into Winn. Winn howled, once more, in pain, as though this much power was too much for him. He fell to the ground, writhing, twitching as the force of the shadows overcame him, the force of the screeching from Cece’s spell blistering in his ears. Howling cut through the sky, through the clearing.

There was a hand in his mouth, shoving something down his throat, and Winn chomped down hard into the skin of Ulfric’s arm, but the deed was done.

Winn’s body convulsed as the wolfsbane took effect, not even magic able to overcome the werewolf’s weaknesses. Eventually, the shadowy form collapsed, maw first, onto the forest floor. The woods were silent, the mist was fading. Winn Woods was facedown in the dirt, bruised and bloodied, but breathing.

And the dreamers were waking up.

Blinking, Noah opened his eyes, the adrenaline of their kissing making him grin. “Winn?” Noah called out to his boyfriend next to him, rolling over to poke the other, before panic overtook him. Where was Winn? Something was wrong.

#wickedswriting #para #Adam #Cece #Darwin #Nell #Ulfric #Inside You There Are Two Wolves #Chain of Memories

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camillasgirl · 4 years

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A speech delivered by HRH The Duchess of Cornwall at the WOW (Women of the World) Festival

Charity begins at home. But so does domestic violence.

Three-quarters of violence against women happens in a place where a woman should feel safest – her own home. And just imagine: one in four women in this country will suffer domestic violence in their lifetime. One in four.

I find it almost impossible to think that any friend of mine might be living under that horrific threat, without my knowing it, but that is the power of coercive control and violence in the home. It is characterised by silence – silence from those that suffer – silence from those around them, and silence from those who perpetrate abuse. This silence is corrosive; it leaves women, children and men carrying the burden of shame. It prevents them from speaking out about the abuse and it prevents them from getting help. And at its worst it can be fatal. Through my work, I have talked to many women who have lived with coercive control and domestic violence and, thankfully, come out at the other end as the victors not the victims. They are some of the bravest people I have ever met. Their stories are harrowing and have reduced even the toughest of their listeners to tears. That is why it is so vital that these survivors should no longer feel any shame or any blame. We all welcome the new laws on coercive control, but laws alone cannot change behaviour. The dial is moving forward, but last year, two women a week were killed by a current or former partner in England and Wales alone. Domestic abuse has devastating consequences on millions of lives. We are in 2020, and still these abused people all over the country cannot feel secure and safe at home. What can be done? We must bring this taboo subject out in the open and talk about it. We all need to understand what coercive control is, how insidious it is, and how often it leads to repeated violence. At a recent SafeLives event, Suzanne Jacob said “we need to change the conversation from, ‘Why doesn’t she leave?’ to ‘Why doesn’t he stop?’”. How right she is. Of course, it is not only men who abuse and it is not only women who are abused. Let’s not forget that this is a complicated issue. And we need to acknowledge that society also plays a part. Maybe it’s too simplistic to say that it fosters a culture of violence and early sexualization. But the society in which we live is the backdrop for our behaviour. Young people don’t set out to become abusers. We need to teach our young men and women what healthy and loving relationships are, and that it is never ‘OK’ to treat anyone with less than respect. The campaign to end domestic violence needs the voices of men as well as women, challenging the cultural, economic and political context in which we all experience the world. We will all benefit from building a society which will simply not tolerate this heinous crime any longer.

For these reasons and more, it is absolutely fitting that “Domestic Abuse: Everyone's Problem” is the opening event of this year’s Festival. As President of WOW, I must confess that I am delighted you have chosen such an important topic to focus on first. I believe discussing domestic abuse is just one example of WOW’s ability to bring us together to talk about things that matter. Each one of us must play our part and WOW can show us the way. On this tenth anniversary, as WOW’s proud President, it’s a huge pleasure to be here today. But I’m also here as a woman in her seventies, who (as a somewhat ancient technophobe) is not always familiar with some of the jargon younger people use today, but I do know about ‘hashtags’! And now I am using my very first one: #everyonesproblem

Domestic abuse is everyone’s problem and the solution must be too. And speaking of solutions, I can’t leave without saying a few words about Jude (who as we all know has a solution for most things!) Without her vision, creativity and boundless energy WOW festivals simply would not exist. She has the audacity and determination to bring together all the right people to make it happen. Typically, she has praised the women and girls taking part in this festival as ‘fearless, inspirational, dogged, hilarious, modest...’ Can I suggest, Jude, that these words could also describe you...? Thank you, Jude, and thank you all for making the WOW Festival the glorious success it is today.

And don’t forget: #everyonesproblem

#duchess of cornwall #quote #speech #wow #domestic abuse #everyonesproblem

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angelcfdvth · 4 years

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𝚒’𝚍 𝚔𝚎𝚎𝚙 𝚊𝚗 𝚎𝚢𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚖 ; that there is JAIDA KING , notorious for being ( irritable ) and ( deceptive ) , but there are times when she can be ( compassionate ) and ( adaptable ). i've heard that she could pass as a LOGAN BROWNING doppelganger , but i don't see it . the ( thirty six ) year - old FEMALE has been in town for ( seven months ) and they are a ( defense attorney ) by day and murder suspect by night . they tend to spark images of cigarette smoke laced with the thick scent of candy ; the crisp feel of old, dusty library books ; shredded converse shoes paired with bomber jackets with too much wear and tear ; grass stained knees ; the last wisp of smoke from a burnt out candle ; the dying heat of a bonfire ; the crunch of the leaves of fall ; the first blinding rays of sunlight after opening the curtains in the morning ; arriving early with fresh black coffee ; the burn of your first shot ; walking into the sharp edge of a desk ; the heaviness of the sky before a storm . you’ll know when they walk by because they always seem to be blasting bad dream by RUELLE. it truly explains why they're known as THE FINAL GIRL.

Though Ronald King and his two children, Jaida and younger brother belonged to the third and fourth generation of Kings to call Taunwick home, they were the first to break the new found tradition, and became the first, to leave it.

Raised in a moderately respectable household, there was nothing overly exciting that ever really crossed their front porch. Nothing that would cause rumor or doubt to flourish of the community man Ronnie had always been. An upstanding citizen that never sought to brush even slightly closer to the depravity that found so many. A family man who never believed in the concept of a means to an end, and saw every blemish as an opportunity for something better. A passing wisdom that he ensured his children both understood and practiced with every new day that met them with the rising sun. Perhaps, one might have believed he’d have considered a thing it a good things when something far darker than a silver lining cast a shadow over their home the year their mother, Leona had an affair with a coworker and inevitably moved to the other end of town as if any of them could just, pretend it never happened. Jaida witness a certain light die out in her fathers eyes. One that she was convinced would be eternal for as long as he held the warmth of family within his grasp. Unlike some, her first experience of heart break, was watching her fathers. A sturdy man, caught within the headlights of an oncoming train that made no sound, the loss of his marriage was something she wasn’t certain he’d ever recover from.

But sturdier men had never been built. Though it was rough, such an uneasy time brought a then fifteen year old Jaida and her eleven year old brother closer than ever with their father and they got through the harrowing rift of a broken home together. Mending the missing pieces with anything and everything they could form memories with - anything to distract from the gaping hole their mother left in a once complete home.

Between helping raise her brother and making sure her father cracked a smile, Jaida had high hopes for what she might find beyond high school. The hours spent skimming through design magazines had been purely a fluke that etched itself in her system merely one thing among many that she found herself deeply entwined with.Though she wasn’t overly popular in school, her fluency in sarcasm and an unabashed affinity for a healthy argument often enough to turn some away, she had a hand in a little bit of everything. Along with the two part time jobs she worked after school, throughout the years, Jaida joined cheer, the homecoming committee, helped with the yearbook, tutored and still found the time to be as social as anyone truly could be. Unwittingly, the majority of it was indeed, to keep her distracted from the whole new family her mother had settled down with, an effort to ignore the broken pieces of her family, but truly, she couldn’t help herself, with an inability to turn down any opportunity, before long she couldn’t really handle having nothing to do at any given moment. Never quite straight edge enough to be considered a loser - and not twisted enough to go off the deep end, she fit in everywhere - and nowhere at all.

All of which might have been a lot, even without adding to it the untimely passage of falling in love. Blindsided by the nature of something she hadn’t even considered among other things, when Harry St Francis had come calling for a way to win over Kayla, her best friend, she certainly didn’t expect the fleeting feeling that coiled in the pit of her stomach to become a fully fledged feeling. One that had hands, fingers, a voice that could pull her from any state and features that she could inevitably trace out on paper, in the dark. That the state in which she landed on the very real feeling that felt almost crippling at first, would be something reciprocated in any capacity - and yet, Harry, despite his unyielding flaws, became a pillar in her life that, though terrified to lean on, was all consuming.

Despite whatever bigger dreams she might have had, Jaida settled on the bitter truth that Taunwick was a place that she always intended to stay. Her whole life contained in one place - It was home and there wasn’t really any singular place that could have been better than that, regardless of whatever lay beyond the town borders. It wasn’t necessarily enough to break her, the idea of leaving her brother and father for any reason at all seemed absurd. They were family - the three of them against the world and it might have stayed that way, if It wasn’t for a visit from extended family at Christmas. Images her cousin described so vividly about New York and the Pratt Institute School of Architecture in Brooklyn was far more than she’d ever truly expected. The turmoil that built within her chest enough to make her sick with envy for those that could sever ties to childhood and family to follow a greater path .. but really all she needed was the grades and cash to move out and make it on her own.

For some, perhaps dreams were meant to remain elusive, like smoke through fingertips. With the world crumbling around her once more, the gut wrenching truth of Harry’s extracurricular activities, Jaida had found herself with the bank balance she’d needed, and on the precipice of her own graduation, she wondered whether everything she’d once amounted home to, was simply a childish truth to cling to. With her brothers encouragement and her fathers praise, intention had been to cancel all plans and spend the night tracing their way back through their childhood together - their favorite places, their favorite movies - food orders, shakes, their lookout. A night filled with the King family treasures - moments and memories in time, relived knowing that Jaida would soon find herself in a whole new city, with all the promise of the world But, perhaps dreams were meant to remain elusive, like smoke through fingertips....

Awaiting their father, who’d promised to finish work earlier than usual and meet them, Jaida and her brother had taken to tossing the football at the high school, just shy of the heavy covering of trees that led towards the hideout. A timeless pastime and one that she’d cherish for far longer than she ever believed.

In hindsight, it was the last moment that, despite her heartache, she felt whole.

The scream that tore through the air chilled her to the bone, wrought icicles in her stomach and caught both her and her brother with such shock that she’s not sure they ever went back for the football. Again, it rippled the air around, eerie and hallowed. Her brother made a break for it - towards the car, towards his phone. The possible overreaction unheard of, the pair knowing all too well that, that sound, was something they’d never be able to brush off as someone fooling around. Before she knew it, she’d breached the tree line, her first thought being that perhaps someone had fallen, broken something.. But the harrowing silence that followed such a piercing scream crept across her skin like insects, scratching for something beneath the surface and finally, in the thick of trees... she’d never felt more alone.

Except, just as her father had told her, over and over and over again --- she was never alone. The glint of silver in the rising moonlight through the trees was barely enough, the blade slicing through her palm, crimson splashing across brittle stones as she spun and clawed her way back towards the school. Never quite out of reach, and never, ever alone. By the time feet found the softened touch of grass; her voice was hoarse, her own screams echoes of those they’d already heart. Vision blurred and clothing mottled with more blood than not, Jaida couldn’t tell how long it was before she blacked out - how long it was before the far off sound of her brothers voice faded from reality and etched itself into the makings of a nightmare that would never let her rest. All she knew, was darkness.

In the weeks to come, the knowledge of Chasity’s murder added insult to injury - her friends life cut so short while her own spared felt.. unforgiving somehow. Yet despite it all, she remained as strong as she could. Willed herself to remember as many details as possible for the authorities, relentlessly swore that she’d testify if and when the time came - and when it finally did... It marked a milestone in her life. The end of her home as she knew it. It was with her father, and brothers blessing that the King family moved from Taunwick, saying goodbye to what was once every warm memory, now tainted and wounded. A life in New York would see to it that she’d find something more - find something that could help her heal from wounds and demons that she couldn’t feel, but knew existed. But dreams were elusive, and Jaida never made it to Architecture school, instead finding herself on the path to truth - to justice, and even then.. things never quite turned out how she might have planned. Nothing did.

The nights grew colder, no matter how many days passed to put time between real life horrors, they never let up their grip of her. Every session and therapist that she sought out as useless as the last until finally, the facade she’d held up for almost twenty years snapped within her grasp. A world no longer held up by sticky tape and glue crumbled and buried her in the rubble. The feeling of home gone from within her bones and a warmth missing for entirely too long, Jaida put in for her vacation time.. and incidentally extended it with a further grievance leave, moving back to the one place she knew all things existed, that wouldn’t quite slip through her fingers.

Statistics. Pinterest.

#taunwick.intro #adultery tw #murder tw #blood tw #assault tw #violence tw #anxiety tw #death tw #this is utter garbage but i wanted to get something out for everyone

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orsino-the-enchanter · 4 years

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Dungeons and dungeons

Few things frightened Jowan more than being returned to the Circle Tower, but Amell, despite his best efforts, could not spare him the Guerrin family’s sentencing. But...Amell did what he thought was the only thing that MIGHT save Jowan’s life, despite the fact that if Jowan had to spend even one more day in the Circle Tower he would set the place ablaze.

He never even got a chance to cast a spell after he awoke from the Fade though. His life was spared on the condition that he would be returned to the chantry’s custody upon the Warden’s return to the castle. True to their word, the Templars did not run a sword through the apostate’s chest on sight, but that /did/ beg the question-just what should they do with him??

The answer was unclear even to Irving. Making him Tranquil was the most...obvious choice. But Jowan had defeated a demon in the Fade in single combat-which technically matched the accomplishment of a Harrowed Mage. That would make the Rite of Tranquility an unjust and illegal move. And Irving knew Amell well enough that if he found out his former friend was branded, Jowan would die anyway. A mercy killing by Amell’s hand was still a promise broken.

So while the good folk of the Chantry bitched and bickered over what to do with Jowan he awaited sentencing in the dungeon at Kinloch Hold, no one visited him save for the Templars who so graciously offered him stale bread. Not eating was better than giving Templars the impression he was vulnerable. Maybe Jowan would even be stubborn enough to die. Amell has claimed to care for him but at the end of the day, the man had betrayed him to the First Enchanter and THEN attempted to get him a stay of execution?

Ohhh what a cruel game the system played with weak mages. It was the only reason Jowan was locked up, probably forever. He was believed to be weak. A weak mage wouldn’t save a child’s life, now would he? He was only a smidgen bitter. At least no one was beating or torturing him like Isolde had. He’d expected more cruelty in that regard.

But what he hadn’t been expecting was his sentence to be a transfer. To Kirkwall’s Circle. The gallows. Ultimately it was his choice. The gallows or tranquility. (He guesses a Harrowed mage could be made tranquil as long as it was “voluntary.”This was such a no brainer, as soon as he was given the chance to speak Jowan had already made his choice.

“I choose the Gallows.” He said, in a voice he almost didn’t recognize as his own. There was determination in his tone. A sense of stubbornness too. He refused to let anyone know how terrifying this turn of events was for him. At least he’d never hear from Amell again, though, right?

“You are braver than you look my boy. Very well. The Templars shall arrange transport -but I must warn you, and offer you one last chance to change your mind...you will be sent to the Gallows upon the condition that you will remain in their dungeon for six months. More if they deem it necessary.”

Jowan gulped at Irving’s words. But he stood fast, forgetting the ever present Templars who held his arms despite the fact that his hands were bound in heavy chains.

“Pass me from your dungeon to theirs then. Fine. I wanted to prove to you and yours that I’m not weak or evil-I’m well on my way to doing that. Send me to the City of Chains. At least tell Amell to never contact me or visit me.”

One of the Templars sighed loudly and Greagoir nodded to his escorts.

“You will need to learn to curb your tongue there, Jowan.” Irving pinched the bridge of his nose and turned away.

“Goodbye to you too, Irving. You know, I regret a lot, but I will never feel bad telling you that you bow to the Chantry’s every whim.” With that Jowan was led away, and he didn’t struggle.

The journey through the Blighted land was long and slightly terrifying for Jowan but the Templars did a good job keeping their group safe from darkspawn at least. The wagon was harsh in its movement and the cage in the bed of the wagon held Jowan for most of the journey, but he spoke to none of the escorts. It didn’t matter, they wouldn’t listen to him and he imagined if he talked too much, even just to himself, they’d gag him. So he didn’t bother. It was several days before they reached the sea. He enjoyed breathing in a few desperate breaths of fresh sea air before they cut him, poured magebane in the wound and threw him, hands still chained tightly, into the brig.

The ship was creamy and Jowan was at least allowed better food on this journey. But he usually threw most of it up if the sea was unsettled. Once in a while, before the cut on his arm healed he would be re-doses with magebane. That stuff put a huge damper on the former apprentice’s spirits and it made him ill most of the time. By the end of the journey he was so happy to be off that ship he could sing. But the Templars would likely gag him and/or beat him for that. Spoilsports. His journey ended when the gates of the Gallows closed ominously behind him and the small army of Templars they’d sent with him dissipated into just four or five. Two Gallows Templars met them at the doors to the inner quarters.

“Do the knight commander and First Enchanter wish an audience with this new mage before he is taken to the dungeons?”Jowan’s head escort asked.

“That will not be nesessary Ser Knight. We will take him from you. This is the Ferelden apostate we were expecting, with a history of dabbling in blood magic?”

“The Redcliffe one, yes. He’s been real quiet on the trip here. Might be a good idea to keep him isolated from the other mages until you know he isn’t planning anything.” His escort replied nonchalantly.

“Quiet, eh? We can change that. Knight commander has ordered a flogging for him on arrival, regardless. We agree that a problem mage must be made an example of? Don’t we?”

He felt all eyes turn to him. He was terrified and now the Templars could probably see it in his eyes. His face went very pale.

His escort nudged him roughly. “I agree with that, but I believe that question was directed at you, lad. Answer when spoken to.”

“Sorry. Irving told me to curb my tongue.” Jowan replied with a solid frown about his normally gentle features.

The Templars laughed and then one of them kicked the back of his calves, putting him on his knees.

“You insolent little bastard. You will learn to respect those above you. Now I think that flogging is long overdue?” The Templar in charge of the Kirkwall group asked.

“Want someone to gag him, Ser Karras?” Another Kirkwall Templar asked.

“No, let the boy scream.”

Jowan was struggling against the men holding his arms now. Not begging or pleading, just scared and stubborn. He was dragged to a metal stake cemented into the ground. His hand bindings were fastened into place hmwith it and then someone unsheathed a knife.

Jowan’s heart was racing.

He didn’t handle pain well even when he’d used blood magic. His shirt was cut off and then he heard who ever held the whip give it a test crack.

Then he was blindfolded. Jowan panicked. No one knew how afraid of the dark he was except Amell ... he pulled at his restraints uselessly.

“All right. Let’s get this done.” Someone said.

“Yeah Karras, stop making it into a show. Bad enough you gotta punish the kid.” A younger female voice retorted.

“Silence. Anyone who objects to this maleficar’s treatment gets the same as him. Including you, Recruit Shannon.”

He heard a sigh after that and he reminded himself to pray recruit Shannon never became like Ser Karras. One less horrible inhumane templar in this terrible place. Why hadn’t he chosen Tranquility again? Oh yes. Not giving Templars and first enchanters what they wanted. Speaking of which-

-CRACCCK-

Jowan didn’t make a sound.

-CRACK-

He was screaming by the fourteenth lash and when it was over, or he at least thought it was over, cold water was poured on his head to revive him so Ser Karras could continue to beat him.

He made it to...twenty nine? Before he passed out again. By fourty it was over,truly this time. Then he was dragged down to the Gallows’ dungeon. He was unconcsious but fully aware that his mana was sucked away the moment he entered the hall. He whimpered in Recruit Shannon’s arms as she carried his dead weight through the hall and his mana supply weakened down to nothing.

He let out a loud cry as she placed him down on his side on the lone cot in his cell. No blanket or pillow. Just a cot. Jowan was still seeing stars under the blindfold they hadn’t bothered to take off, but he swore he heard her say “Sorry you ended up here, lad. Good luck.”

Then he was alone. He drifted in and out of consciousness for a long time before the door opened again. Maybe it had been hours. Or days. He couldn’t tell. He was feverish for sure. His wounds weren’t healing and he couldn’t tend them himself even if he was able to cast spells -he was too weak. And afraid. And his hands were still bound anyway.

_________________________________________

Way above the Gallows’ courtyard where a metal stake was casting its ominous shadow waiting for its victim to arrive, another battle was being fought.

"I have questions, Orsino.” Meredith’s expression was more grim than the sight of the stake down below and her careful choice of words did nothing to conceal her irritation; however the determined stare from across her desk would not waver. “That maleficar who is responsible for almost killing Arl Eamon is being transfered here... and noone thought to inform me of this travesty?”

The First Enchanter kept his expression neutral as he replied, "I assume you mean apprentice Jowan." Meredith nodded impatiently, gesturing for him to continue. “If noone had informed you, Knight Commander, we wouldn’t be having this discussion right now. You did receive a letter concerning today’s transfer, did you not? It is on your desk this very moment.” The envelope with Knight Commander Gregoir’s signature was indeed laying on the desk half open like a smile that seemed to mock them both.

The Knight-Commander's eyebrows drew down, a sure sign she was displeased with the answer she received. “You do not need to state the obvious. This letter, Orsino, arrived only this morning. The maleficar is supposed to arrive in any minute, and I knew nothing of this.”

“Too bad. Gregoir should have sent a raven, then.” Orsino casually replied, with a shrug that irritated Meredith even further. “Apparently he does not share your overzealotry and thought there was no hurry in informing you. I still do not see how-”

“ORSINO!” The yell that cut the elven mage’s sentence was loud enough for the templars outside the office to hear. “It was not your decision to make!”

“It was not yours either. First Enchanter Irving and Knight Commander Gregoir had their hands tied when it came to the fate of the particular mage, until Senior Enchanter Uldred made the suggestion that he should be transfered here because the Templars are more vigilant in case he dabbles in blood magic again. I just happened to send a very persuasive letter in favor of Uldred’s suggestion, nothing more. The final decision belonged to the Ferelden Circle of Magi and the Arl Eamon, the injured parties of the mage’s endeavors and they were both in agreement to send him here instead of killing him. Jowan made his choice too.”

“And how did you know of this and I did not, until an hour ago?”

“I have no obligation to disclose the nature of my informants. As for you, you never asked so I never told you.” he replied smoothly. Meredith just huffed. This was proving to be a lost case, as it seemed there was nothing she could do to prevent the arrival of this maleficar. This accursed elf’s ability of fade-walking could be his informant for all she knew, but even if her suspicions were right, there was no way to push the First Enchanter into a confession, unless torture was involved. A Maker-destined pleasure for another time. The last thing I want is to make a martyr out of him.

“I just want to know how you persuaded Gregoir to agree to this.” she eventually said without bothering to conceal her murderous intent. “It must have been via blood magic.”

“Blood magic through a letter? Your underestimation of my diplomacy skills wounds me.” Orsino faigned a shocked and hurt expression.

“My fist will wound you more if you keep this up.” Meredith warned.

“He’s going to remain in the dungeons for six months, Meredith. Six months. It will take him at least one more month before he’s able to cast again, even if your templars -he uttered the word as if it were a curse- treatment of him is amiable. Speaking of which...” The moss green eyes darkened. “What are you going to do to him?”

“Seeing that I cannot kill him or send him back? I will make him regret he was even born.”

“I expected no less from you.” Orsino commented dryly. “I was hoping for a little more specific answer, though.”

“Why, you dislike the taste of your own medicine? I’m not-” Meredith scoffed.

“You are.” Orsino cut her off solemnly. “Bringing him here was out of your hands and you have every right to resent me for it. But when it comes to punishing my people, Chantry law gives me the right to ask and you the duty to answer.”

It took Meredith a while to reply, but when she did, her eyes were cold as steel.

“I will make sure he never thinks of doing blood magic again. They gave me six months with him in the dungeons. I will make the most out of it. Fourty lashes for starters. Then we’ll see.”

____________________________________________

~CRACK~

Orsino gritted his teeth and resisted the urge to turn away from his office window at the sound of the first whiplash coming from the courtyard below. Instead he steeled himself and gripped on the thick bars of his windows with white-knuckled resolve. It was one of them they were torturing; one of the very people he advocated for. It was his duty to watch and feel his pain as if it were his own.

He hadn’t lied to the Knight Commander, but in true Orsino fashion, he didn’t reveal the whole truth either. Neither he or Meredith had much say on the matter, and yes, this wasn’t the first mage that had been transfered to the Gallows due to bad conduct, but it was not the same. Meredith knew that; that was why she was furious. Being able to save a criminal like Jowan from death sentence was in itself something of a miracle, and even Orsino didn’t expect he’d be able to make it. It seemed Meredith had indeed underestimated his prowess in diplomacy; although having friends in high places and excellent knowledge of the Chantry Law didn’t hurt either.

Uldred, Jowan’s mentor in magic, was to be praised for this victory as much as he were. There was no doubt in Orsino’s mind that everything Jowan knew on blood magic had come from him; he had taught him many things on the matter as well; albeit years ago. The older man seemed to have a soft spot for the young apprentice, and was concerned about his safety even long before things went downhill. Orsino had promised him that if anything were to happen he’d look after the boy for him by taking him to the Gallows. Sure, he were the youngest first enchanter in the history of Thedas and the third elf to reach that position, but he already knew never to give his word lightly and always to keep it. If he wasn’t like that perhaps he’d be living a much easier life as a mage. Now, however, that Jowan’s pained cries reached the First Enchanter’s window, he was starting to doubt whether bringing him here was the best option.

I’ll make him regret even being born, that was what Meredith said. In that respect they were quite similar, for the Knight Commander was as good as her word too. With thirty years of Gallows experience under his belt, Orsino had no doubt that there was no shortage of Templars who would be more than glad to follow her orders on the matter... fenedhis; as if there weren’t enough incidents of abuse even without official authorization; some of which not even he was excempt. The templars were too afraid of him not to remind him constantly. Good. That meant he still had some power over them. It was now his job to prevent them from proving Meredith’s statement true. Jowan being whipped with nothing he could do about it was admittedly not the best start, but still, better whipped than dead, he forced himself to remember. We should take our small victories no matter where he find them.

Eventually it was over. The Templars untied the half dead by now mage and carried him to the dungeons. Orsino’s first instinct was to immediately follow, but he restrained himself. He needn’t see Jowan’s injuries to know how bad they were, and the mage would probably be half starved too. The elf first went to the kitchens and instructed the tranquil in charge to prepare a basket of food suitable for an ill mage, then to his chambers for a healer's kit and blankets. The basket of food was ready when he came back down, and so laden, he gave the tranquil the request to inform the spirit healer to meet him at the dungeons and headed into the dim lit stairway that led deep into the Gallows’ guts.

It was an intimidating walk, each archway guarded by seasoned templars, faceless in their helmets, glaring at him through the eye slits. At one point Orsino was forced to stand and wait while one of the guards went through his supplies and searched him. It was humiliating; the templar was rougher than he needed to be and seemed to enjoy the power he had over the First Enchanter. The worst part was, this was nothing unusual. He went through it every time one of his mages was shut away down here. "He's clean," the templar finally said, sounding almost disappointed. The elf was allowed to continue past. It was freezing cold in the dungeon, and the cells down here drained mana constantly, so casting was nearly impossible. Orsino wasn't sure if the Tevinters built it this way, or if it was something the Chantry added later. Either way, there was very little documentation. He supposed the Tevinter magisters must have built it though. If the Chantry had found a way to drain mana, every Circle would be built with nothing but.

Finally he was there, The templar accompanying him unlocked the cell and he pushed the iron door open, cringing at the creak the old hinges made. Jowan was huddled on the floor, torn robes pulled tight around her for warmth. His hands were still tied up as the First Enchanter noted, but the blindfold...? He cursed internally. That was utterly uncalled for. One more exhibition at the extra length some templars would go to cause more suffering to his people. This must have been Ser Karras’ handiwork... or perhaps Ser Alrik’s? At this point he was just glad he had Ser Thrask, Samson and Recruit Shannon on his side. At the sound of the door opening, the young mage crawled back, terrified. "Peace child. I've come to check on you," Orsino said softly, placing down the basket of food and medical supplies he was carrying and removing the offending blindfold from Jowan’s eyes. He nodded to the templar and he retreated, leaving them alone in the dungeon’s semi-darkness.

#orsino speaks #dungeons and dungeons #jowan #rp #submission

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