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hobidreams · 4 years

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MotH Minis: I

“The rumors are indeed true. I am engaged. Soon to be married.”

His eyes swept across the room, finding various reactions to his words: shock, joy, confusion. Miss Ingram sat up incredibly straight, her fingers smoothing the tresses of her hair. She was smiling, her fan set down upon her lap - sitting pretty, as if she were waiting for her portrait to be drawn, her ballot to be called.

“To Miss Kim.”

pairing: hoseok x reader genre: fluff words: 2.6k contains: victorian au, much banter, mr. jung is all sorts of sweet & way too handsome, mr. min returns, miss ingram gets what she deserves, SERIOUSLY so much softness read the original fic first! // this drabble contains spoilers & starts off right where the oneshot ends.

“Are you prepared, my love?” Long fingers brushed across the thin fabric that covered your shoulder. “It seems quite impossible for your beauty to grow any further, even if we delay our descent.”

If you had been in any state of calm, the deep, intimate tone with which your betrothed poured these sweet words into your ear would have shattered your psyche entirely. But your excited heart had not quite settled back into its normal pattern throughout the entire evening (for good reason), and thus left you in a state of nerves that threatened to hold your tongue.

“As much as I ever shall be, I suppose,” you eventually replied, setting your hairbrush down upon the wooden vanity. It was perhaps a touch of irrationality that bade you to fear the possibility of any of the party guests realizing what illicit activity had just occurred in this private room based solely on the appearance of your hair, but it did no harm to be prepared. “Still, you flatter me, sir.”

“And you wound me with such distant terms,” Hoseok retorted with a laugh. “But even ‘sir’ has a certain charm falling from your lips now.” He captured your hands in his, urging you onto your feet so he could lavish said lips with a tender kiss. “Now, when I truly know where your affections lie.”

“And you will know it evermore,” you whispered, words hot against his handsome mouth. Yours to taste, whenever you pleased. That concept alone could make you dizzy with bliss. “Shall we?”

“Certainly.”

You both agreed it was unseemly to appear for the first time in closer proximity than was allowed, since you intended to maintain your outward relationship of friendly acquaintances. It was proper etiquette to first address your parents before any announcement could be made to the general public. But it seemed even that knowledge could not staunch the smoldering looks he cast generously in your direction as you made your way to the staircase.

You placed a hand on the cool banister. “Mr. Jung, if you continue to be so blatant, they will see through our guise in an instant.”

“Hmm.” He pressed his lips together, contemplating your words but not openly affirming or denying a single thought. You never were able to control him, were you? But he did eventually turn his attentions away, refocusing on the path before him.

The chatter emitting from the open drawing room doors swelled as you approached. Be still, you commanded your heart, they know nothing about Hoseok and I. But it seemed trepidation had machinations of its own, as your fingers began to tremble. Without words, Hoseok covered your hand with his own. A single warm squeeze, his thumb rubbing over your knuckles. It was enough.

“Allow me to enter first,” you said, when there was no more corridor to protect you from the inevitable.

“Whatever you wish.” He gave you one last, encouraging smile.

You stepped into the room. Namjoon’s head immediately turned towards you, though he was still in conversation with Mr. Jeon. He tilted his head to one side in question at your presence. Then he opened his mouth, likely excusing himself from Mr. Jeon. As you followed the walls of the room inside, your brother did the same, meeting you somewhere along the middle.

“Sister. You are here?” He carried a slight frown. “Did the carriage I call for you not arrive properly?”

“No, I… Circumstances shifted. I—I remain welcome here still.”

“Hm? Was there ever a time when you were not? I find it difficult to believe that Hoseok would turn you away, regardless of any ‘circumstances.’” His arms behind his back, he pushed his broad chest slightly further out. “He may be stubborn, but he is certainly not that slow-witted,” he added. His voice was so quiet, you gathered the words were not fully meant for you. “Either way, I am quite delighted you are staying. For the rest of the party?”

“Yes, that seems to be the present plan.” And much, much more.

Namjoon smiled, his cheek caving in slightly at the action. “I would have missed you otherwise.”

The chatter throughout the room was beginning to decrescendo as the steep, cool night drew on. It was almost time to retire for the evening. A few guests were hiding their yawns behind their fans. Miss Ingram had located herself in the middle of the room, her cheeks rosy as she discussed topics that were likely frivolous, with Maria and some other women. Alice was now commanding Mr. Jeon’s attention, her fingers fluttering as she spoke.

But it all quieted when Mr. Jung, your Hoseok, stepped into the chambers and cleared his throat.

“Hoseok!” Mr. Jeon’s voice soared. “Whenever did you return?”

“A few hours ago.” An easy, unaffected smile graced his lips.

You were struck by him even though you had been in those arms just a few short minutes ago. If this was to be your reaction to his mere presence, your impending marriage was sure to be fraught with his teasing of your deep affections. But if he continued to smile like that… Perhaps you would not mind such a thing.

“For what reason did you not come greet us immediately then?” Mr. Jeon pressed, pretending to be highly affronted at the slight.

“Mm. Let me just say that I had much more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Well, we are very glad you have returned, aren’t we?” Miss Ingram broke in, to the instantaneous nods of the ladies around her.

“Thank you, Miss Ingram.”

He fell silent for a spell. Then his eyes suddenly flashed with something you knew too well. “Ah. Before I allow you all to continue your discussions, please indulge me in one matter. I have an important announcement to make.”

Oh? Your lips fell apart. No, he was not about to…

“I shall be holding a ball! On the second to last evening of our party.”

Your every nerve seemed to unravel with relief.

“A ball!” Maria immediately cried, her hands flying to her chest. “Oh, Mr. Jung, you spoil us!”

“How thrilling!”

The voices swelled upwards, but it seemed he was not done with speaking. “It will be—!” he started, waiting until the excitement quieted once again. “It will be in celebration.”

“What happy event are we celebrating?” Namjoon asked.

Hoseok did not even pause before he answered. “The rumors are indeed true. I am engaged. Soon to be married.”

His eyes swept across the room over the murmuring, finding various reactions to his words: shock, joy, confusion. Miss Ingram sat up incredibly straight, her fingers smoothing the tresses of her hair. She was smiling, her fan set down upon her lap – sitting pretty, as if waiting for her portrait to be drawn, her ballot to be called.

His gaze finally fell upon yours. This meeting he held, like he intended to do for as long as you would have him.

“To Miss Kim.”

Looking back at the scene, if you had not been caught in just as much surprise as Miss Ingram, it would have been very amusing to watch how her jaw gaped and how her powdered eyebrows rose so high they almost disappeared into her hairline. Her abrupt gasp was enormously obvious in the silence Hoseok’s words had left. Maria’s head snapped to her friend, seeking explanation.

“M-Miss Kim?” Miss Ingram’s bottom lip wobbled. “You… You mean to marry her?”

“Yes, quite right.”

Alice placed a hand on Miss Ingram’s shoulder, but she refused it by surging to her feet. Her fan clattered noisily to the floor. “What is the meaning of this? Have you partaken of too much wine by mistake?”

“I assure you I am perfectly sober. It is rather simple.” Hoseok’s calm was enviable. “I am in love with her.”

“In love!” At Miss Ingram’s affronted expression, he might as well have said he was going to marry one of the horses!

Your heart thudded in your chest as you watched her stare him down, her fingers curled in the folds of her expensive dress. She was fighting hard to compose herself, but it seemed her less rational side was about to win.

“Why--!” She caught herself, biting back the shrillness. “…I. I plainly do not understand why you would want to have…” she quickly bent her head in your direction, as if she could not bear to look, “her, when you could have something much more tolerable. Considering our families.”

Hoseok’s laugh came naturally, a beautiful sound. “Oh, not to worry, I find Miss Kim exceedingly tolerable.”

It was becoming imminently clear to Miss Ingram that Hoseok was not going to alter his mind and pull her into his arms instead. This… This she did not like for one second. Her cheeks were growing increasingly red with unbridled emotion. You were all aware she was showing too much in such a public space, herself most of all.

She had little choice but to steel herself, shaking stray strands away from her proud face. “I see. Mr. Jung, then I wish you all the best in your marriage. Excuse me.” She held her head extremely high as she walked towards the door, but not towards the one closest to her. Instead, it seemed her intentions to be the door you stood by instead.

You met her crystal eyes and refused to shrink at the noble fury that had been bred in them.

It was with indignance that she took a deep breath. “Though I cannot imagine you will have much fortune marrying down,” she muttered, only loud enough for yours and Namjoon’s ears. Then she disappeared into the hallway, her extravagant dress’ long train dragging behind her.

Hoseok stood still for few long moments longer, surveying the hush left in Miss Ingram’s wake. “My esteemed guests, please, continue your festivities,” he eventually said, his features returning to their regular pleasantness. “Miss Page, would you please look after Miss Ingram?” He asked of Alice, who curtseyed instantly before she hurried off to do just that.

You, who still held your heart in your throat, attempted to portray your best imitation of calm as you watched him take long strides in your direction. When he stood in front of you, merely a foot away, looking at you with such open adoration, you felt a sense of comfort wash over the shock. That is not to say the latter did not remain in your system, however.

“Hoseok, I had thought we agreed to do no such thing!” You exclaimed, though you hushed your tone as much as you could manage.

“My apologies, love. I had no intentions of keeping our engagement a secret,” Hoseok murmured, his tone low and undoubtedly certain. “In fact, I wish the entire world to know that my heart has finally found the home it sought for so long.”

Your lips twisted in what could only be described as a fond grimace as you allowed him to step back into your good graces with such a compliment. (You were both aware that he had never left.)

“Hoseok!” Namjoon’s grin was ever so wide, allowing the charming indents beside his lips to appear. “I have truly long waited to see this day come to light. My darling sister and my closest friend. I am beside myself! Overwhelmed with joy.”

“You anticipated this?” Bewilderment painted itself across your features. “Had you known of our… affections all this time, brother?”

“Mm. A gentleman never interferes with affairs that do not directly concern him,” he said, looking far too pleased with himself. “But neither of you are as prudent in hiding your intentions as you believe.”

Your eyes only continued to widen at his words. Beside you, Hoseok was barely concealing his amused laughter. At least one of you find this to be a positive occurrence. “You could have saved us much trouble, Joon.”

“Ah, but where is the romance in that?” With a final smile, your brother excused himself to refill his tea.

“I am blessed to have such considerate companions,” Hoseok said, watching as Namjoon almost tripped upon a quilted ottoman, but managed to catch himself before he spilled the remains of his cup upon Mr. Jeon. Said gentleman was clearly accustomed to such goings-on’s, as he gave Namjoon a look of exasperated fondness.

“Miss Kim. Hoseok.”

A quiet, polite voice came from beside you. It could really only belong to one man, with a gentle visage and comforting words.

“Mr. Min,” you breathed out.

This was the first time you were speaking directly since his proposal last night, and the slight guilt at having to turn him down still remained ever present. It must have been incredibly rude to announce such a thing in his presence only a day after. You felt the urge to apologize. “Mr. Min, I am—”

“Please. Accept my warmest wishes on your engagement.” Mr. Min shook his head slightly, as if already knowing what you were about to proffer. “You have found an excellent partner, Hoseok. In the short time I have known her, Miss Kim has made quite an impression upon me.”

“Oh, Yoongi. Thank you. I know this perfectly. She has an affinity for sticking in one’s mind, though by perhaps unconventional methods,” Hoseok said cheerily, no doubt thinking of the first time you met as children. He had taken a ball of snow to the face, courtesy of your mistaking him for your brother.

Mr. Min let out a brief laugh, his smile small but affectionate, showing just the hint of pink above his teeth. “You are well suited for each other.”

“Yes, she keeps me in line, she does.” Hoseok stole a touch, brushing the back of your hand ever so briefly with his thumb.

“Even though you make it as difficult as possible!” You retorted.

Mr. Min had averted his gaze, finding the piano in the corner of the room. “Allow me to play you a song. Anything you wish.”

“What, not going to threaten to charge me this time?” Hoseok teased, patting his dear friend on the back.

“No, for this singular exception, I will waive any such payment and consider it… a sending off gift.” His expression waned for the slightest second, his eyes blinking slower than was usual. But then his geniality returned as quickly as it had gone. “Next time, I shall not be so generous!” He warned, without any real spite.

“Then let us have something lively!” Hoseok declared. He spun towards you as Mr. Min made his way to the piano. You held your gazes together, something lovely and warm settling into your silence.

The first notes of a plucky, undoubtedly joyful tune filled the air.

“That Yoongi has excellent taste. Now, I wish to dance a few rounds with my beautiful lady, if she will allow me the honor?” Hoseok knelt slightly, offering his upturned hand and a grin so dazzling that you wanted nothing more than to break decorum and kiss him.

The truth was, you never once thought that such happiness could find a suitable home in your wild heart. But now, when you could no longer deny the rush of reciprocated affection as you placed your hand in his, you realized that happiness had been waiting patiently for you for a long, long time.

Your smile came with ease, as it always did around him. “You have only but to ask.”

He laughed loudly and wholeheartedly, throwing his head back, eyes alight with brilliance as he began to lead you to the dance floor. “Then I shall be asking you for the rest of our lives!”

a/n: i really wanted to give you all a huge blow out but it just wouldn’t have fit the time period D: i hope you enjoyed Miss Ingram’s outrage all the same! it would mean so much to me if you left a comment or sent an ask & let me know what you think 🥰

huge thanks as always to my beta readers @hoseoksdior & @mypurplelamp 💕

#ficswithluv #bts fluff #hoseok fluff #hoseok x reader #bts reactions #bts imagines #jung hoseok #bts scenarios #j-hope fluff #bts fanfiction #rain writes #matters of the heart #i missed these babes

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wavesofinkdrops · 3 years

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FenHawke (Dragon Age), Rated: M

"Elves’ ears are the target of much derision from people across Thedas − Fenris knows that. So it's surprising to him when Hawke, on the other hand, can only find delight in them."

A/N: Sorry for the extensive notes at the start, this does need to be said first! Okay so, number one: HELLO! It's been forever, I know, I haven't written fic in at least over a year, maybe more. So if you're still here, welcome back! If you're new to my works, I hope you enjoy any you find! Now for a first disclaimer: I have not played a single Dragon Age game. I hope there's no glaring mistakes in plot or characters because of this, though. Small (more serious) disclaimer on the actual content of this fic. I'm fully aware that much of the comments and discrimination faced by elves in DA is linked to what indigenous peoples face. I am not Native American, and I am not North American in general. I have read up on and stayed up-to-date on indigenous politics relevant to me as well as those of the States, but I can't guarantee my discussion of the themes involved is perfect. I'm not going into my personal identity, so please do not ask about that. If there is something I could have dealt with better or differently, please let me know! I'm happy to grow, but I will not take personal questions. I've tried to deal with the topic in a way that is respectful, with Fenris reclaiming features he's been shamed for his entire life. At the end of the day, I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this!

Warnings: Mentions racist comments, internalised racism, and some mildly suggestive content. Overall, though, this is fluff and learning self-acceptance. Without further ado, enjoy!

Fenris knows humans don’t like elves’ ears. They consider them strange. Unnatural. It’s likely why all of the insults and slurs aimed towards them usually have something to do with said ears. He’s heard all of them in all their forms, at this point, so they really don’t phase him—he’s learned to ignore them.

He’s learned to accept he will never be considered on the same level as humans because of such a small feature as his ears. He’s learned all of it over years of living in Tevinter as a slave, and even later as things he’s had to face across the rest of Thedas. Just because Tevinter is the only place where slavery is openly admitted and accepted hasn’t meant it’s much better elsewhere.

And Fenris thinks Hawke has noticed it. He wouldn’t necessarily call it embarrassment over them, they’re just perhaps not his favourite part of himself. They’re not what he wants others to notice first about him, but of course they do. But Hawke has noticed this resignation, this quiet shame.

Hawke’s persistence in ensuring Fenris knows just how much he loves his ears is thus entirely surprising.

That’s why he’s confused when they’re lying in bed and Hawke traces the pad of his thumb across the shell of Fenris’ ear. His movements are gentle, and when Fenris looks at him the only thing he can see is easiest described as love. There’s a small, thoughtful—almost lost—smile on Hawke’s face, his eyes as if admiring instead of disparaging or even curious. Fenris lets him.

That’s when another finger accidentally tickles behind his ear, and Fenris lets out a small noise. Hawke’s eyes widen.

“They do that?”

Fenris furrows his brows in confusion. “Do what?”

“Your ears just… flicked.”

Fenris blinks at him. “Yes, sometimes they do that.”

At that, Hawke’s face lights up with a wonderful smile. Fenris adores that smile—it’s one he sees whenever Hawke has found something entirely delightful. Usually, though Fenris would never admit he noticed it since the thought flusters him, it’s a smile always directed at Fenris.

“Can I do it again?” Hawke asks quietly, now propped up on an elbow, his hand cupping Fenris’ jaw.

Fenris can’t help it when some of his bafflement slips into his words. “Yes?”

It’s not long before Hawke’s fingers are behind his ear, and gently move against the skin. It lightly taps against a nerve, and Fenris’ ears flick again. “Maker…” Hawke whispers. Before Fenris can ask what Hawke means, Hawke’s gathered him into his arms again and pulled him against his chest. “And just when I thought you couldn’t get more perfect.”

Fenris doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just remains quiet. He’s too confused to even notice the blush that spread on his cheeks.

———

It’s another while before there’s another “incident” with his ears. Calling it an incident is perhaps a bit too ominous, but Fenris isn’t too sure what else to call it. So incident it remains.

He’s reading a book, trying to wade through every slow and difficult word, but refusing to back down until he’s finished the chapter. He’s reading out loud to Hawke, which despite the initial embarrassment of stumbling over every word, becomes easier with every step. Voicing the letters helps give them more life.

Hawke suddenly interrupts him. “Fenris.”

Fenris looks up in confusion, certain he’s made a mistake somewhere. Or perhaps Hawke is tired out for the evening. After all, he’s read this children’s story twice already, at least until they find another book for him to read through.

Hawke just smiles, that soft, unbearable smile, one Fenris doesn’t know what he’s meant to do with. “You’re beautiful when you concentrate.”

That takes Fenris by surprise. It seems only to delight Hawke further as he sits up, his smile brightening further.

“Pardon?”

“You’re stunning when you concentrate.” Hawke reaches over, taking a hand between his own. “The way your brow furrows, your nose lightly scrunches when you make a mistake, the determination in your gaze?” Fenris stays silent, not knowing what to say to that. “And even moreso when compliments take you by surprise. Your ears perk up, as if you just… want to pay attention to every second of every word you’re being told. And then they droop gently, when you’re blushing.”

“I hardly blush,” Fenris insists, though the certainty of the words falters even in his own ears.

Hawke kisses the inside of his wrist, a motion that Fenris will never tire of. “None of this is a bad thing. They’re all parts of you—things I love about you. All of them.”

Fenris gives a small huff, accompanies it with an unconvinced smile. “Even my ears?”

Hawke’s unabashed honesty makes the breath catch in his throat. “They’re one of the best parts of you.”

Fenris finds he has no words, after that.

———

They’re in bed again, Hawke presses him deeper into the mattress. The dinner they shared with the others got languid, so they excused themselves and instead headed to a more secluded location to continue the game that had been going on between Hawke’s hand and Fenris’ thigh under the table for the better part of an hour. So now, Hawke’s mouth leaves his own, peppering kisses across his jaw, his cheek and—

Fenris moans, louder than he expects—louder than he’s ever heard himself moan. His hand comes to cover his mouth, his cheeks warm from surprise and arousal. Hawke draws back, a wolfish grin on his face. With any more clarity of mind, Fenris might’ve thought it ironic that it’s Hawke who plays the wolf.

“I’m sorry, you caught me by surprise—” Fenris starts, hand moving from his mouth to cup Hawke’s jaw in an apologetic motion.

Hawke shakes his head. “I don’t want you to apologise, Fenris.” He presses a chaste kiss to his lips. “I’ve never seen you just… let go like that. If you enjoy yourself, why not let yourself do that?”

Fenris thinks about it for a second, but can’t come up with a reasoning. “Neighbours?” was the half-hearted attempt he gave it.

Hawke laughs, a deep rumble in his chest. “Be as loud as you’d like, Fenris, that’s what we’re here for.”

Hawke moves back in, slowly but gently teasing the shell of Fenris’ ear with kisses, before actually lightly nipping at it. Fenris lets a whimper escape at that, the motion making him incredibly aroused. Hawke continues, drawing out various noises as he teases and kisses and bites at his ear, his neck, his jaw. It goes on forever, and Fenris is almost begging him by the time they get to the main act.

Well, maybe he can yet be convinced his ears aren’t awful.

———

He’s tempted to go about it with a fork and a wall. Somewhere, sometime he’d heard that’s an effective enough method to pierce another’s ear. On the other hand, Anders informs him it’s inadvisable, which normally would only have encouraged him. But when Anders describes the potential failures of the plan he takes his suggestion to do it the proper way.

So instead he finds himself sitting on a kitchen stool, Anders passing a needle through a sterilising flame. He’s never been a fan of needles, and it probably has something to do with the ritual that branded him with lyrium, despite his few memories of the event. Anders tells him to lean his head, and Fenris does. With no warning, the needle pierces through the lobe, and Fenris hisses—though he admits that Anders’ lack of warning means it’s over before it really even began. Isabela walks in, a pouch in hand.

“Found some jewellery for the pretty elf,” she announces with a grin, dropping the pouch on the table. “All of them polished and primped and cleaned, don’t worry,” she assures Anders at his look of concern.

“Well, that’s good. Could you pass me a suitable earring, then?” She does, and Anders finishes sanitising the piercing before inserting it.

Anders steps back. “It doesn’t look half-bad, I’ll admit.”

Fenris resists the urge to make a snide remark at Anders, remembering he’s still helping him. He stands, and goes to the small mirror they brought over for him to check his appearance in. The small gold ring in his ear looks… really good, even if he admits so himself. It almost feels… well, like he’s taking back something he’s been taught to dislike.

And hoping that Hawke will appreciate it too makes it all the better.

He turns to Anders again. “Next one.”

Anders raises an unconvinced eyebrow. “We already did one, is that not enough for the day?”

Fenris returns to the stool, shaking his head. “I wanted two or three, in total, so hopefully I can count on you to finish the job. That way I don’t have to ask Isabela to pick up a fork and stab my ear with it. I heard it works—”

“Alright, alright, I do not want to hear Hawke’s rage if he finds out I let you do that. I’ll do two more, then. And we hope they don’t all get infected at the same time.”

“The only reason I’m even here, mage, is because the only thing I just about trust you for is being good with medicine.”

It’s Anders who rolls his eyes, Isabela eyeing the banter in amusement. Anders continues with the process, each time cleaning and sterilising and Fenris hissing with lack of preparedness. In the end, there’s a golden ring at his lobe and one near the tip of his ear, next to a small glittering stone. A chain links from the stone to the lower ring, and altogether, for the first time in his life he finds himself liking how his ear looks.

He can’t wait for Hawke to return.

———

It’s perhaps another two weeks before Hawke returns, and the piercings have begun healing well already. Anders, for all his faults, was a decent healer.

Fenris is there to greet Hawke when he comes back from one mission or another, but he’s taken out the earrings for now. Instead, Hawke kisses him and Fenris welcomes him back, before quietly telling him to prepare for a surprise that evening.

Hawke’s intrigue is obvious on his face, and Fenris just leaves it at that before heading to his own tasks and business. Before long, dusk washes over, and he heads to their bedroom to find where he put the jewellery. It’s only been a few hours since he took them out, but Anders had warned him not to keep them out too long for fear of the holes closing. He puts them back in, before sitting into the armchair in front of the large window, facing away such that when Hawke enters he won’t immediately see the ear in question.

Fenris hears the door to their room open, Hawke humming some tune as he walks in. There’s very little the man does quietly, though Fenris appreciates that—it’s difficult to spook someone when you can be heard coming from a mile away. He’s grateful for it, whether it’s a habit or he’s just picked up on doing it from noticing Fenris prefers it.

Hawke walks over to Fenris, leaning down and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

“So, what’s this mysterious surprise of yours?”

Fenris grins to himself, before standing and facing Hawke as he draws him into a gentle kiss. Then he smiles up at the mage, before drawing slightly back from his face, tilting his head just so that Hawke would immediately notice.

Hawke’s eyes drift to the golden ornaments, before widening and his hand coming up to feel the rings and chain there.

“You did this while I was away?”

Fenris hums. “I wanted to surprise you. You like them so much it’s almost contagious, and I wanted to do something to make them… look nice. Plus,” his grin turns mischievous, “I hear they can also assist other ways.”

Hawke laughs. “You… you are amazing and full of surprises, aren’t you?” He observes the jewellery some more, fingers flicking the chain and Fenris’ ear flicking in return.

“They’re still somewhat sensitive, so gentleness is advisable, but soon enough they’ll be fully healed.”

Hawke merely shakes his head, smiling broadly, drawing Fenris into a kiss. “I didn’t know you could get even more beautiful,” he whispers, tugging Fenris even closer than he already is. “And here you are, doing exactly that.”

“I’m glad you like them, then,” Fenris says softly, hands tracing Hawke’s shirt.

“And I’m glad you do, as well. I want to cherish every part of you until you come to love all of them.”

Fenris shakes his head but can’t help the way warmth spreads in his heart at those words. Perhaps Hawke knows already just how much it means to him. And if his intentions are any indication, perhaps he knows even better than Fenris did.

#fenhawke #fenris #hawke #dragon age #fanfic #my writing #character study #mentions of internalised and externalised racism #suggestive themes

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lofitowns · 4 years

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fireworks - mammon

❝ I OFTEN THINK THE NIGHT IS MORE ALIVE AND RICHLY COLORED THAN THE DAY ❞

in which a certain white-haired demon keeps pulling you away from his brothers (gn! reader)

fandom ; obey me!

word count ; 2085

warnings ; n/a

(y/n) - your name

this is based on the recent summer festival event :) i love mammon with my whole heart

this isn’t the best thing i’ve ever written, considering i haven’t written in a while, but i hope you like it! it’s my first time writing for obey me, so i hope i did alright. i tried hard to find mistakes, but if i missed any, don’t hesitate to tell me!

You couldn’t contain your excitement as your feet hit the pavement and lights danced in your vision. It had been a while since you had been to a proper festival.

You walked past countless booths, each one seeming more incredible than the last. The games didn’t look all that different from the ones you had in the human world, which surprised you. There was buttery popcorn and sickly sweet candy, the smells were intoxicating.

Mammon, the ever spirited boy, was jumping around. The smile on his face was one of radiance, you wished it would stay like that forever. It nearly brought you to tears.

“I’m so psyched!” He exclaimed, tugging on your sleeve with a faint blush on his cheeks. You heard Beel’s deep laugh behind you, “We haven’t even started yet, and he’s already fired up!”

Once your booth was set up, each of the boys was beaming at their handiwork. It was nice to see them all working together for a change.

Lucifer explained the outline of the evening. You would all rotate between cooking and selling based on the lots you drew earlier. There would be two cooks and two salespeople while everyone else was free to wander the festival.

According to this system, you’d be selling first alongside Mammon. You felt a sort of tingling sensation in the pit of your stomach as your lips quirked up.

Ever since you arrived at the House of Lamentations, you felt the closest to the white-haired demon. He made you feel safe and comfortable. He was your first after all, and he never failed to remind anyone and everyone. His brothers always teased him because of this, but you didn’t mind. You thought it was cute.

“I guess you and me are up first for sellin’, (y/n). Think ya can manage?” Mammon questioned, moving so he stood behind the counter.

“You can count on me!” You assured him, even if you were a bit nervous. You had never done anything like this up in the human world, but the only way to learn was to do.

He let out a soft chuckle, “That’s what I like to hear!”

It didn’t take long for a few customers to walk by, stopping to gaze at the bright pink sign Asmo had painted. You had suggested making it stand out, to which he wholeheartedly agreed.

“Welcome!” Mammon greeted, drawing out the second part of the word, “How about a deliciously sweet candy apple? The sugar coating’s crunchy, and we use only the freshest apples!” His words seemed to draw people in. He had always been charismatic, it seemed almost second nature to him.

The couple nodded, placing an order for two apples.

“Way to go!” You complimented him with a smile after handing the two their orders.

“What, are you in awe of the Great Mammon’s sales skills?” A scoff left your lips, “I ain’t gonna lose to anyone when it comes to stuff like this!”

It was mere moments before another demon stopped in front of your booth. Mammon shoved you forwards, “You’re up next, (y/n)!”

You took a deep breath and greeted him, leaning over the counter, “Hey, handsome!” That sure got his attention, “Come try out glossy candy apples!” You finished it off with a big smile.

“That’s it! And here’s two for you, sir! Please come again!” Mammon handed over the apples before turning back to you, “You nailed it!”

It went on like that for a while, you and Mammon would take turns trying to lure in customers. After a while, it seemed to come naturally and you were almost sold out.

Lucifer came forwards to let the two of you off on a break, meaning your shift was halfway over.

“Here, have a drink. You’ve earned it,” The white-haired demon’s hand outstretched to you, holding a small paper cup.

Both of you took a drink, you using the opportunity to take in the figure in front of you. While you always thought he looked handsome, he looked especially so tonight. The lights cast by the red and white lanterns gave his smile a glow that felt, ironically, heavenly. The gold, white, and red colors of his yukata were vibrant against his tanned skin, making you almost drool.

“You did pretty well,” He spoke, breaking you out of your trance.

“Thanks to you, Mammon.”

Your words brought a bright blush to his cheeks, you had to hold back your laughter. He was so easy to fluster, it was adorable.

“Wh-What’s with the cute act? You lookin’ for a kiss?”

It was your turn to turn red. You could feel your face heating up, flowing to the tips of your ears. Your eyes danced with mirth, taking a step closer to him.

“Yep.”

His eyes widened, it seemed like he thought you would have said no. “Fine! But only because ya want it so bad,” He tried to play it off, but his face had definitely gotten redder.

It seemed like he was going agonizingly slow, waiting for you to back up if this was a joke. You reached your hand up, placing it softly on his face. He nuzzled his nose into it.

Your lips pressed against each other’s soon after. They were a bit chapped and tasted like the candy coating of your apples. What were mere seconds felt like an eternity. You always felt like time stopped when you were this close to him.

His eyes were still closed when you pulled back, the red still evident on his face. A soft sigh fell from his lips when he opened them and smiled. The two of you held each other’s gaze for a few moments before he broke the comfortable silence.

“Okay, I’ve got my pep back! Rest up, then let’s go sell some more apples!”

The pair of you worked in sync, one greeting and taking Grimm while the other handed apples out.

“Mammon, (y/n), it’s almost time to switch,” Lucifer finally announced, causing you to turn your gaze over to him.

“Finally! I’m exhausted,” The demon next to you let out a huff, reaching his arms up and arching his back as he stretched.

-----

You didn’t see much of Mammon until all the candy apples sold out. After that, you had to take your booth down, it felt like you had only just put it up. The night was going by so fast!

With all the brothers finally free, you took the opportunity to walk around with them. It was a struggle to try and keep up with how energetic Mammon was. He would often take your hand, trying to lead you off somewhere else but the rest of them were always close behind. They weren’t about to leave you alone with him of all people.

When music filled the air, you were all drawn to a small plaza filled with people dancing. You watched in awe at the couples twirling and laughing, it seemed like they were having a great time.

You reached over, grabbing Mammon’s hand, “Come on!” You laughed, a smile gracing your lips.

He happily agreed, holding onto you tight so you wouldn’t slip away.

Mammon switched between twirling you around and holding you close, but he never once let your hand go. As he looked down at you with those cobalt eyes, you felt like you two were the only people in the world.

Every so often, his brothers would try to cut in, claiming it was their turn with the human! He was hogging them! Mammon would swiftly pull you away, shaking his head at them and sticking his tongue out. This caused you to laugh, setting your forehead on his shoulder.

The two of you ended up gently swaying, his right hand rubbing up and down your back while his left held your hand in his. He opened his mouth to speak but quickly shut it again, looking away while his face flushed red once more.

“What is it?” You inquired, reaching your hand up to brush away the bangs that fell over his eyes.

“I... I was just gonna say ya look really... Nice right now.”

A genuine smile grew on your face, letting your hand drag down his cheek. “I think you look incredibly nice right now.” He finally gained the courage to look at you, a bright grin growing on his lips.

“Of course ya think I do! I am the Great Mammon after all!”

You laughed as he returned to his normal self. You leaned up, rubbing your nose into his cheek, placing a soft kiss on it.

“H-Hey! What do you think you’re doin’?” He stuttered out but none the less, he brought you closer.

“Ah, it’s almost time for the fireworks...” You heard Lucifer comment, causing you to pull from Mammon’s embrace.

“Oh, that’s right! Hey, (y/n)! Come with me. I know a great spot for watching the fireworks!” Mammon took your hand in his once more, starting to pull you off in a direction opposite his brothers.

It wasn’t long before you heard your name being shouted behind you, but you were too giddy to care. Voicing your curiosity, you asked Mammon where he was taking you.

He answered with a simple smile, quickening his pace.

The scene in front of you was striking. He tugged you up a hill which overlooked the whole festival. The fireworks started soaring off into the sky as you took a seat next to your demon.

Your eyes filled with wonder and amazement as you took in all the lights, colors, and smells in front of you. “Wow, Mammon.”

“Yeah, pretty, ain’t it! I knew you’d like it, I am your first man after all!” He grinned, proud of himself.

“Yeah, you are,” With that, you wrapped your arms around his waist, nudging his arm over your shoulders.

There was an undeniable heat radiating off of him, fueling the redness in both of your cheeks.

The lights danced in the sky, letting off sparks of red and green and yellow.

Mammon turned his head, raising a hand to grab your chin. He tilted your head to the side so you were facing him.

The look of utter admiration in his eyes was enough to give you butterflies. The tickling in your stomach increased every second he looked at you, you felt like your heart might beat out of your chest. You had never had anyone look at you quite like this before.

“Can I... Can I kiss ya?” His voice was soft as velvet, searching your face for any kind of hesitation. You had never had anyone care this much about you either.

Your words were stuck in your throat, so you simply nodded.

His touch on your cheek was tender as you watched his eyes flutter shut. You were in the process of shutting yours when you heard loud voices and rushed footsteps. A soft growl left Mammon as he pulled back.

“They’re up here, I know it!” Levi exclaimed, scrambling up the hill.

“Mammon! You can’t just take the human off like that! You’ve had them enough today!” Asmo cried as the six demons came into view.

You turned your head to look at the brothers and, suddenly, your quiet filled with the sound of raised voices.

“Come now, Mammon. You know you can’t have them for yourself.”

“That’s not fair!”

“Hey! They wanted to be here with me!”

"Yeah, right!"

You sighed, shaking your head as you grew tired of their silly fight. It could be annoying, but it's not like you had seven cute guys fighting for your affection in the human world.

“How about we all watch them together?” You suggested, looking from one brother to the next.

It took a few moments for them to process what you said.

Mammon was the first to speak, grumbling, but in agreement. “Alright, fine. If that’s what my human wants.”

You weren’t sure how much of the firework show was left, but you were okay spending it with all of them. You’d have to get your kiss later.

Seven bodies surrounded you, Mammon to your right, and Belphie snuggling up to you on the left. You took a look at all of them, smiling to yourself contentedly.

Mammon was sulking next to you, not at all happy that his time with you had been interrupted. You reached your hand over, lacing your fingers with his, giving his hand a light squeeze. He looked down at you, his eyes immediately softening.

You leaned up, pressing your lips against his chin.

“Hey! Wait! That’s not fair!”

thank you for reading :) have a good day!

#gracewrites #gwom #obey me #obey me mammon #mammon x reader #obey me shall we date #obey me imagines #obey me x reader #mammon imagines #mammon x mc #om #obey me mammon x reader #fluff #writing #mine #imagines

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mithranqueersmusings · 3 years

Text

The Night Before XV

Chapter: 15/15

Rating: U

Summary: Ringo hangs around after the club closes and meets a stranger.

Tags: Smut, Slow Burn

Pairing: George Harrison/Ringo Starr (Background McLennon)

AO3 link here / Fic masterlist here

Ringo was quickly getting accustomed to the routine of waking up beside George, it was definitely a pleasant sight to open his eyes to first thing in the morning. Although it was rather strange being in someone else's bed, he couldn't deny that George's flat had a real warmth and cosiness to it. He thought back on the previous night fondly, scolding himself for ever being so concerned that it would've been anything less than perfect. Unfortunately it wasn't long before George was waking up too, meaning it was only a matter of time before they would have to break out of this peaceful serenity, the thought of returning to his flat alone again was already upsetting Ringo.

"Morning." George grumbled, evidently feeling very groggy.

"Morning." Ringo repeated, an instinctive smile forming on his lips.

George let out a groan as he stretched his body out, it didn't take Ringo long to learn that every morning was a struggle for George to get out of bed at a decent time. As George twisted and turned, Ringo noticed the marks on his wrists that had been left from the restraints, without much thought he caught one of George's arms and rubbed his thumb against the aggravated skin.

"It doesn't hurt does it?" Ringo asked, concerned.

George didn't realise what he was referencing at first, once he caught on he let out a casual laugh "Not at all. Even if it did, it'd be worth it."

Ringo held onto George for longer than necessary, eventually giving into his instincts completely and pulling him closer for a gentle kiss. The longer Ringo could drag out their time in bed together, the better. George was more than happy to oblige, lifting his leg to overlap with Ringo's hip so that they were pressed together even closer. Ringo slipped his hand under George's shirt, just to feel the warmth of his skin against his fingertips. George pulled away first, though didn't move too far as their noses were almost touching.

"I didn't take it too far did I? I was worried I'd be kinda throwing you in at the deep end." George rested his hand against his face.

"Not at all." Ringo chuckled softly "Don't get me wrong, I wasn't expecting it at all, so I was definitely shocked. But I was surprised how into the whole thing I was."

George hummed satisfied "You surprised me too. At least I know I can maybe turn it up a notch or two next time."

"There's more?" Ringo scoffed "Jesus, George... I'm really starting to think someone's paying you to torture me."

George paused, a knowing look on his face "I'm not gonna make the obvious joke here, as much as I want to."

"You don't have any plans today, do you?" Ringo asked cautiously, unable to look George in the eye so instead focused on his collarbones, trailing his finger along them.

"None at all, why?" George responded in kind.

"Well, not to run the risk of overstaying my welcome, it'd be nice to just chill together." Ringo spoke quietly "If you want to, of course."

"Of course I want to." George smiled, washing away any fear Ringo had "No sex, though... I need at least a day to recover from all that."

"You and me both." Ringo chuckled.

George reluctantly rolled out of bed, making his way over to the wardrobe to find something decent to wear. Ringo enjoyed the view, George peeling off his shirt so that he was stood there only in his boxers. Colours and patterns popped out from inside the wardrobe, Ringo couldn't help feeling rather bland in comparison as he watched George pull out a variety of options, each item of clothing more impressive than the last. Looking around George's room, it was clear that his unique perspective extended far beyond merely what he wore: the furniture was covered in imagery, whether it was from a multitude of stickers, crude drawings or more artful painting. Everything just screamed George, no corner of the room seemed to have been neglected. Ringo supposed he could get used to being in an environment like this.

"Planning on getting out of bed today?" George asked with an eyebrow raised, having thrown on some patterned trousers.

"If you give me a reason to, sure." Ringo responded playfully.

"Well I'm not about to serve you breakfast in bed, I'm not your maid." George took a few steps closer to the bed, hands on his slim hips.

"Shame, you'd make such a pretty one." Ringo pouted.

Despite his jokes, Ringo did manage to pull himself out of the comfort and warmth. He fished for his clothes in the living room, finding them dotted around the floor, before returning to dress himself. George already looked ready for the day, his hair brushed out and a black crop top thrown on to cover his chest but leave his stomach exposed.

"Have you always dressed like that?" Ringo asked, slipping back into his trousers.

"Like what?" George knitted his eyebrows together quizzically, clearly wanting to hear Ringo's description of his dress sense.

"Just very- Expressive." Ringo treaded carefully, George laughed at his caution.

"Not always." George finally answered "I just think fashion should be fun, you know? Everyone's so serious about everything..."

"Couldn't agree more." Ringo smiled.

George led the way into the kitchen, which was filled with even more houseplants than the living room. There were a few music posters taped to the wall: Bob Dylan, Jimi Hendrix, Roy Orbison to name a few, it reminded Ringo of his teenage bedroom.

"Your place is incredible." Ringo said, a little taken aback, as he slid to sit at the small table.

"Thanks." George replied with his head in the fridge "I want to move soon, though."

"Really? I can't image why." Ringo continued noticing small details in the room: the novelty salt and pepper shakers, the aged recipe books piled on the counter.

George began starting work on breakfast "Well, I do love it here but I really want a place with a garden. I'm starting to run out of space for these guys." He gestured broadly to the plants.

"Yeah... I've never met anyone with so many before." Ringo chuckled.

"Safe to say I'm a little obsessed." George focused on the food, but the warmth never left his voice "I work at the garden centre, actually. If you were curious."

"Oh, that must be nice." Ringo admired George from where he was sat "I don't think I've ever been, actually."

"What?" George almost shouted "We have to go!"

Ringo laughed, a little caught off guard "Is it really that good? I thought it was just a bunch of old people."

"Well, that's not untrue." George began cracking eggs into a pan "It's not really that special, I just like it there. I get a discount too so if you wanna get any plants, which you should want to, I can sort it for you."

"Why do I feel like you're threatening me?" Ringo chuckled.

"Maybe I am, just a little." George snickered.

They continued talking and joking over their breakfast, luckily for Ringo no under-the-table action occurred this time. Not soon after they were relaxing on the sofa, flicking through the variety of terrible daytime television on offer. They settled on a show about home renovation, always commenting on whether the end result was even an improvement at all, as though they were both experts in the field.

After George got up to put the kettle on, he decided to invade Ringo's space on the sofa by cuddling up into his front. Ringo couldn't deny that there wasn't really enough space for this kind of intimacy, but he allowed it all the same, running his hand over to George's stomach to keep him in place.

The hours soon passed by, neither of them wanting to acknowledge how late it was becoming. Ringo wished he could've stayed here forever, but he knew that was taking things a little too far. As the daylight began to fade, he had to face the fact that he had work in the morning and couldn't really afford to spend another night with George. He decided he should at least have a shower, just to prolong the amount of time he could spend here. When he re-emerged, George was spread out on the bed with a book in his hand.

"So... I should probably get going." Ringo announced, drying off his hair roughly with a towel.

George set his book down and frowned "Suppose you can't stay here forever."

"No, unfortunately not." Ringo sighed, both of them looking at one another but saying nothing further.

The moment dragged on for a little while longer, neither saying anything but it was fairly clear what they were both thinking.

"Before I go, though, I wanted to ask you..." Ringo began, doubting the words as soon as they left his mouth.

"What?" George asked expectantly, sitting upright on the bed.

"I don't want to rush into anything, but- I just wondered what you thought about maybe, only if you want to, maybe making things a little more... exclusive?" Ringo cursed his ineloquence.

George laughed and for a second Ringo worried he'd misread everything entirely, until George spoke "Ringo, if you're gonna ask me out you're gonna have to do it properly."

Ringo paused then tried once more "George, do you wanna be my-"

"Yes." George cut him off with a grin.

"Great." Ringo exhaled with a nervous laugh.

George slid off the bed, approaching Ringo with a familiar look in his eyes "You're not about to leave your boyfriend without a kiss goodbye, are you?"

"Of course not." Ringo whispered as George moved in closer, locking their lips together.

Ringo had to use every ounce of restraint in his body to pull away from George, or else they'd no doubt be repeating the scenes of last night before long. It nearly broke his heart to leave George like this, knowing that both of them would do just about anything to spend more time together, but he could leave satisfied with the knowledge that this was only the beginning of what was hopefully a long relationship.

Things had already been fairly eventful, and it hadn't even been a month that the two of them had known each other. Whatever else was in store, Ringo unabashedly looked forward to it, for the knowledge that George was now his own, made him feel like everything was going to be perfect from here on out.

#the beatles #Beatles #beatles fanfiction #beatles fanfic #George Harrison/Ringo Starr #george harrisonxringo starr #george harrisonxreader #ringo starr/george harrison #starrison

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kingsombraisbestvillain · 3 years

Text

A Chance at Peace Part 3

Nearly two hours after the princesses announcement, nearly all of Canterlot was dead quiet. As the moon hung in the air a chill breeze filled the streets. Soldiers stood guard at every entrance and exit to the city. The walls were lined with hundreds of guards who stood ready, everyone one of them filled with a sense of unease and dread. Princess Celestia and Luna stood together in the hall of history, filled with stained glass windows that depicted major events in Equestria’s history. The two royal sisters stared up at one of the glass windows. It showed the fall of the Crystal Empire. Millions of ponies disappearing all at once. Lost in time, all at the hooves of a mad stallion. A depiction of Sombra dragging the Empire down with him below the ice. The shadow of Sombra had fallen over the Crystal Empire, and now it fell over Canterlot and all of Equestria.

“It is nearly midnight sister.” Celestia spoke up filling the void of silence.

“Yes, the bewitching hour as it's been called? When it's said that all sorts of dark and mysterious forces grow strongest and monsters come out and roam the night.” Luna said. “Couldn’t ponies have come up with something a little less intimidating for my night?” Luna joked.

“Now sister we both know that’s not your fault. If anything its because of beings like Sombra that caused such panic.” Celestia said trying to console her sister.

“Or Nightmare Moon.” Luna retorted, Celestia looked to her sister in concern. “I am fine Tia, just venting some pent up stress. This whole business with Sombra has turned my holiday that was supposed to celebrate scares into an actual nightmare.” Luna sighed, Celestia put her wing over sister and pulled her close. “I know the feeling Luna. It's times like this I miss being asked for approval over minor and snobbish things from the nobles, rather than being told how many lives Sombra has put in danger.” Celestia chuckled, Luna seemed to lighten up on that.

“Do you really think he wants peace?” Luna asked. “He’s never done anything like this before, and if he truly does then what do we do? We can’t just let him run free, and I highly doubt he wants to be reformed like Discord was.” “I don’t know sister….I truly do not know. But whatever the future may hold, we shall face it together.” Celestia said, pulling her sister close. The two sat in silence for a while before Celestia started to chuckle.

“What's so funny sister?” Luna asked, curious of her sister's sudden cheeriness.

“Oh, it's just that I was hoping to have retired by now and let Twilight take my place.” Celestia giggled.

“Tia you must be joking correct?” Luna said confused.

“Oh no I’m very serious. I was hoping that I could finally hang up the crown and relax. Perhaps travel the world like we did in our youth.” Celestia sighed. “I was hoping you could join me of course, if you desired too.”

“Hmph, while the idea of retirement sounds nice, I still have to make up for lost time sister. And while I have no doubt Twilight is capable of leading, she’ll need more than just the friendship lessons she’s learned to be a wise ruler.” Luna said before chuckling herself. “I mean you can’t friendship your way out of dealing with taxes, trade deals, and negotiations.” “True, though I have yet to see something that friendship hasn’t been able to overcome.” Celestia teased. “ ‘Prepare yourself taxes face the power of the rainbow of friendship!’ ” The two laughed at that, a reprieve from all the stress and headaches they’ve had to deal with over the past year.

“Not to interrupt your little ‘sisterly bonding time’.” Discord’s voice spoke up. He appeared in the stained glass window in front of the two. He chuckled as he added a mustache to the stained glass Sombra. “But Mr. Smokey and dreadful is about to arrive.” Discord said before snapping away. The two looked to each other and nodded, their expressions turning serious.

“Go inform Twilight and the others, I shall prepare the throne room for the meeting.” Luna nodded and teleported away. Celestia sighed as she looked out the window, in the distance she could see a purple glowing light draw closer and closer to Canterlot. “Let us see what you want Sombra.”

*POV Sombra*

From his window, Sombra could see Canterlot in the distance. He grinned as he passed over the nearby town of Ponyville. He could sense the terror in the small town skyrocket as his ship flew over. The roar of its magical engines waking the town as it passed by. The machine was sleek and firm as the wind passed over its metal exterior. It was colored a dark purple with black. Nearly invisible in the night sky save for the red glow of the crystal engines. The ‘Black Phantom’, flew beautifully toward Canterlot.

“My King, we are detecting numerous magical barriers around the mountain.” A voice spoke out from his ship’s radio channel. “Our ships will remain hidden as we pass through, but if we make any move to attack or lower our cloaking spells…”

“Then the alarms will go off.” Sombra groaned. “Send out drones to scan the city, they should be small enough to remain undetected. But still use the utmost care to stay hidden. I don’t want any slip ups.” “Yes my King.” The voice said as Sombra zoomed toward the city. Lighting up his horn he felt his ear piece.

“Grogar, Bray? Do you two read me?” Sombra asked, checking his device.

“Loud and clear my boy.” Grogar responded. “Heh, we should be able to hear everything that's happening on your end. But for precaution we’ll be going dark, so as to not rouse suspicion.” “Good, then all is going according to plan.” Sombra said as he approached the main city. The large magical shield glistening in the moonlight. “I’m going in, be ready to haul flank if things go south.” Sombra said.

“Roger that, and Sombra?” Grogar said, the king’s ears perked as he listened to his former teachers last minute advise. “Don’t go exploding again. I do not want to have to cast a resurrection spell.”

“Heh, always the joker.” Sombra said. His ship slowed to a halt as he waited for the shield to open up. He could see the city through the magic bubble, guards at all stations. All staring up at him with mixtures of fear and contempt. Finally an opening appeared and Sombra flew in.

*POV Third Person*

Twilight could watch in marvel as the strange ship flew over the city. The ship was nothing like the air ships of the Storm King. This thing appeared like some kind of small metal flying monster gliding through the night. The sound it made as it passed overhead made her fur stand on end.

“Incredible, such design. Such machinery, its like nothing I’ve ever seen!” Twilight spoke up as her mind started to race with ideas.

“Hold yourself Sparkle, remember who’s piloting that vessel.” Luna spoke up snapping Twilight from her trance.

“Eh it's no big deal, I bet I could fly circles around that tin can.” Rainbow boasted. “Still its design has much left to be desired. I mean purple and black? Yuck!” Rarity grimace.

“It looks so scary…” Fluttershy whimpered.

“It would definitely give a dragon pause.” Spike gulped.

“Ooh imagine all the parties I could go to in that thing!” Pinkie giggled as she bounced up and down.

*VVVRRRRAAAMMM* The machine roared as it passed over head making the group jump in alarm.

“Maybe after we make it sound less spooky.” Pinkie said as the ship came to a stop in mid air. It descended slowly on the open castle plot in front of the group. Guards swarmed the ship and stood ready to attack. Luna held up a hoof to keep them at bay.

youtube

With a hiss a small part of the ship opened up. Blowing out steam from the pressurized interior a ramp descended down to the ground with a clang. No one dared say a word as the ship settled.

*clank*

The sound of metal against metal echoed out from the ship. From out of the Smoke Sombra trotted out clad in his silver armor, his red cape draped over his back. His black mane and tail moving in the nonexistent wind. A dark parody to the royal sisters' own flowing manes and tails. His blood red horn shined in the moonlight as his crimson red eyes pierced through the smoke and into the hearts of the ponies in front of him.

“Good evening Princess Luna. Have you had a happy Nightmare Night?” Sombra spoke as he gave a fanged grin. His voice smooth as silk and deep cutting through the quiet night. “I hope I didn’t give you all too much of a fright?”

#Mlp #King Sombra #Event #A chance at peace #youtube #star wars #if you know where the image is from than congrats! you get a thumbs up from me #Part 3 #I'm probably gonna continue this tommorow #because i'm tired

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ghostmartyr · 4 years

Text

SnK 126 Thoughts

Doctors hate him.

Local man faster at finding new fingers than modern medicine.

It’s nice that we never have to wonder which parts of the story Isayama finds interesting. Clearing out all the titans after a hundred years? Dull. Uninspiring. Have a beach day laced with sadness. Announcing the identities of the Armored and Colossal Titans? We got a fight to get to, chop chop.

We have several groups of people who all think this is a terrible idea but have internal disputes and distance issues that interfere with them collaborating and making a feasible offensive?

-looks for the fast forward button-

Like. Part of me -- a very considerable part of me -- finds this hysterical. In a good way.

I have spent the last... more months than I feel like counting slowing writing my way through a oneshot only I care about. It is taking a long time to write, in part, because of pacing. I am very worried about making sure the pacing of the story stays steady, so all of the beats land right.

Some of the additions such care requires are not my favorite things to write, but for the good of the story feeling like something I can say with confidence I’ve put my best effort into, they’re necessary.

So I’m in flabbergasted awe, here, that someone is out in the world, getting paid to skip everything they evidently find too boring to actually spend time on.

The worst part is it’s really hard to even fault the logic.

Presenting our resolved conflicts!

Is Connie going to kill Falco???

Making Falco and Gabi’s island getaway even more traumatic for the dozenth time even though they’ve had all their character development for it??????

Is Armin going to get make it in time to stop Connie from committing a murder that will definitely happen????

Will Gabi hate everything all over again!?@?!12?

The answer to the first question is no.

It has been no since the concept was introduced.

Even Sasha’s dad is all, “Yeah, it’s probably fine that Connie kidnapped this child.”

Is Jean on Floch’s side now?

No, he’s had that character development already.

Is Mikasa on Floch’s side now?

No.

Is Mikasa doing anything at all or joining Reiner in his depression nap on the floor?

Mikasa joined a rebellion but didn’t have a depression nap on the floor because she was given a bed and also only like five people can sleep with all the rumbling going on.

Will she find her scarf?

Who has her scarf?

Is it the last person seen with her scarf?

Is it the last person seen with her scarf who idolizes Mikasa and first met Mikasa when she was wearing that scarf?

Who also idolizes Eren, who gave her that scarf?

Does Louise have the scarf?

scarfscarfscarfscarfscarfscarfscarfscarfscarfscarfscarfscarf

Mikasa found her scarf.

Louise found it first.

As with most things lately, Eren was a bastard about it.

Mikasa has her scarf.

Is Annie going to reunite with the gang and cause shenanigans?????

Sure, why not?

Is Reiner being left in some building somewhere with food no one is making him eat going to result in something bad for Reiner?

Nope, Armored Titan. Plot included.

Is Reiner ever going to wake up?

Yep.

Are the two volunteers with names in any real danger?

Yes, but Floch’s probably not likely to shoot them now.

Is Falco going to find out that his life got even sadder while he was asleep? :(

Yes.

Are the people of Paradis going to get used to their new Titan overlord just like they got used to the walls, leaving the majority to figure this is not their problem and creating the kind of moral squalor that led to their new Titan overlord completely losing his shit in the first place?

Yep.

Does the plot’s chronic abandonment of Hitch imply a good future for her?

Totes.

Are any of the conclusions to these events surprising in a way that would require more buildup to provide understanding of what is going on?

Nnnnnot really?

Fantastic, let’s not waste time on it. We’ve got a volume to end and a badass crew we want looking pretty.

(Also, Levi still really wants Zeke dead.)

It’s really important that all of these high stakes that the audience is so concerned with are dealt with so we can move into the final arc without any lingering thoughts about things that might get in the way of actually writing the final arc.

I think the worst victim here is Connie’s subplot, because things move too quickly for the emotional weight to come home. At the same time... Connie was never going to kill Falco. There’s only so much suspense you can put there when half of Connie’s thoughts about killing Falco are how maybe he shouldn’t be killing Falco.

Armin’s inclusion and the callback to Serum Bowl likewise doesn’t have much meat on it. Armin feeling inadequate is nothing new, and his complicated feelings on who receives Titan powers are likely always going to be complicated. The only conflict to really resolve here is the physical one of getting Connie away from Falco before some dumb accident happens.

That conflict happens, and squared away it gets.

More, “You betrayed me, Mr. Kru -- I mean Connie, :( :(” doesn’t actually benefit the plot at all. More time given to Falco to react to something the audience has known for months doesn’t really benefit the plot at all. Less time with Gabi and Falco being sad little munchkins arguably does benefit the plot, with how many times they’ve been called on for that role.

Connie cooling down and being pals instead of perpetually angry was going to happen at some point. Throw it in with the rest. Armin needing someone to lean on without melodramatic childhood bonds fits right in. Throw it in.

Did we need Louise?

I would argue I wanted more of Louise, but my opinion seems to matter very little in these things

Mikasa needs Louise. Louise is someone Mikasa inspires into following Eren down the wrong path. Louise is the mouthpiece that tells Mikasa that Eren, who promised to wrap her scarf around her as many times as necessary, wants nothing to do with it anymore.

Louise is someone Mikasa protected, and she’s dead.

One last nail in that awkward coffin.

And I guess we just don’t like children anymore and Falco and Gabi have all the survival tokens, so yeah, throw Louise on the pyre too.

What else, what else... oh, more Floch and speeches. Because he’s still allowed to talk. More happy voices about how no one has to worry about dying anymore because everyone who would think of killing you is going to be murdered.

Uhhhh. Annie could conceivably be there, right?

Yeah, sure.

Annie’s here now.

We all are agreed that was always going to happen, right? No problem?

Public executions in front of an angry mob?

For one morally bankrupt religious nut and one Good Boi who deserves the chance to punch Floch in the face a few times before shooting him?

Yeah, pile that on. Make it really clear that if Eren was going to destroy the world, he might as well have taken out the island too, since we’re doing the whole party anyway.

Give Onyankopon a really solid moment, too. Someone in the chapter has to represent that genocide is bad. Well, Connie sort of implied that already. But Onyankopon has been screwed over the most for doing absolutely everything right, so he deserves the chance to point out that everything is fucked and also fuck you this is terrible you were supposed to be better.

Then like, uh.

That gives us a cast, right?

We’ve got Jean, Magath, Pieck, Yelena, Onyankopon, Hange, and Levi on one side, and Reiner, Annie, Falco, Gabi, Connie, Armin, and Mikasa on the other.

Fourteen!

One over thirteen!

That’s like lucky, right?

Can we do the plot now?

Can we, can we, can we?

It’s amazing.

It’s abominably paced, but oh wow is it incredible. Need everyone on the island who has an interest in stopping this in agreement? Well, here’s a chapter for you. Now they are. Now we can actually maybe like. Do stuff. Against Eren.

Good luck figuring out how, but we’ve at least got everyone assembled now.

Except Historia.

Because you know, fuck the Queen.

...Does anyone on the island remember they have a Queen?

This is a serious question.

Like no, this is amazing. It’s like, well, we could have a bunch of chapters slowly building up to this point while everyone starts counting Wall Titans in the background and wondering when we’ll get on with actually fixing this massive problem instead of just detailing it further for the hundredth time.

Or.

We could just admit that we all basically knew this was coming, so we can skip to the good stuff. Good? Good.

Only we make sure to draw it all out so there’s no argument over how it went down and no one does anything dangerous like apply imagination while a hasty time skip patch job takes hold.

Because that’s probably next chapter.

SHOUNEN POWERS ACTIVATE.

Team Fuck Zeke vs. Team People Die When They Are Killed And We’re Not About That (right now).

Pray tell, do any of you have the power to do literally anything about this?

I do wonder if that’s some of why we’re zooming through these points. While I think there’s a slightly legitimate case to be made that extra time on things we all realized were going to go down is not needed (...it... is needed, for like. enjoying things, but you know let’s just not), part of that hinges on the complications they’re about to face.

Stopping Connie from child murder eats up time. Finding Annie takes time. Confirming Mikasa’s scarf reunion takes time. Confirming Levi and Hange are alive takes time. Confirming Magath and Pieck are willing not to murder them immediately takes time.

I don’t think Levi and Hange’s side is too badly harmed from the pacing. It’s fast, but it’s working with the backing of time. They’ve been absent for a while, and catching us up on where they are and what ground they’re standing on proceeds smoothly. Without the rest of the chapter being what it is, I don’t think the starting scene would feel particularly unusual.

Even the rest of the chapter with its speedrunning ways isn’t too terrible once your brain is expecting it.

...I can’t really excuse Annie.

Unless Rule of Funny comes into play. But even then, yeah. Wow.

Anyway, what I’m getting at is that despite our full cast of degenerates assembled, we still don’t have a workable plan in sight. Five of the nine Titans are working together against Eren. One remaining is missing in action, but also generally anti-Eren at this point.

Then we’ve got nine humans.

So what?

One Colossal Titan with a baseball enthusiast destroys the Survey Corps, and only dies due to human error and someone’s willing sacrifice.

Eren’s got more than we can count, and the stegosaurus behemoth he’s using as a body now.

It’s all very nice and good to form a united front of fourteen people deciding to kill a god, but what does that actually mean?

Even if we’re generous, and include Shadis and his allies in the available forces, how does that actually help anyone? Does anyone have a good idea of how to get to Eren, let alone stop him? Has anyone in this group had a single stable conversation with him since he set out on his own?

If we took an extra couple of chapters to settle down all of the live wires this one grounds, those issues would still be at the front of the main plot. Drifting into the side pools doesn’t damage the story, but it does interfere with momentum.

Stories are hard. Balancing a story’s pace between what the completed work will look like and what the audience is currently experiencing is a nightmare.

This story has the largest conflict it will ever probably face, and a bit of a list of things to check off before it can get around to dealing with that. So it goes with the option of speeding through the list and skidding to a halt in front of the main show.

I don’t exactly approve of it, but given that this is what was chosen, it’s hard to turn away the benefits. I didn’t really want to read about Connie’s shenanigans with Falco and Armin turning into more shenanigans when they come across Annie and try to figure out if they have to kill her, then yet more with --

There is a lot going on. Consolidating that into a lot going on, but with everyone on the same side proactively working together... I like where this lands us.

It’s just really, really funny.

I don’t think I have another example of an author not wanting to write something, so just. not. This whole chapter is like, “oh wait I wrote myself into a hole well now I’m just going to erase that hole and move along.”

From a writing standpoint, it’s hard not to find that endearing. Wiping the slate clean is something you can do endlessly in unpublished works, but with published works, once you ink yourself into a situation, that situation tends to demand attention.

These situations got a little. As a treat.

But back to the state of the story, the primary conflict is pretty firmly locked in, “Well now what?”

Ideally, you lace, “Well now what?” in with all the subplots you have going, and then upon their conclusion you have a solid, “What has arrived!” moment, and everything plays together beautifully, but this has chosen not to do that. Except with the emotional resolutions.

Team Fuck Zeke.

Team People Die When They Are Killed And We’re Not About That (right now).

-underlines the clears philosophies of the teams-

Wait Yelena doesn’t fit in on Team Fuck Zeke. Unless.

But yeah, so now what?

Does all of this friendly bonding help?

I mean. Maybe Magath and all of his highly influential Marleyan politics can land the good people of Paradis (aka the ones not enjoying their coup) a deal with the rest of the world to unite in taking down Eren?

Or something?

(Seriously, how many countries are looking at this and thinking to themselves, “If they hit Marley first, that’s one problem solved”? I do not think anyone has forgotten they hate Marley, they just hate other things (Eren) more right now.)

While we’re at it, maybe Armin and Mikasa shoot beams powered by friendship into Eren’s stegosaurus skull.

The story potentially still has a lot of downtime. Mixing that in with all of the subplots would absolutely be preferred, but doing that while keeping enough of the main story going to keep the tension up regarding the end of the world...

It gets tricky.

I am sympathetic to the difficulty.

Amazing.

What a chapter.

#Shingeki no Kyojin #SnK 126 #shingeki no spoilers #SnK spoilers #spoilers #tl;dr #chapter post

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thorin-is-a-cuddler · 4 years

Text

Music composed - Clint’s day

A/N: Day four of the avengers tickle fic week and we keep counting. :) It’s my favorite day of the week since it’s Clint Barton’s day. This features Clint and Thor, also Steve, Tony and Natasha.

“I despise long car rides.” Steve couldn’t help the small startled reaction at Thor’s sudden approach in between the two front seats of the car. He gave him a half-sympathetic, half-ironic smirk - yes, only Steve Rogers could pull that mixture off - before focusing on the road again.

Natasha had called shotgun, so obviously she was on the passenger seat. Her eyes were fixed on the trees, an almost dreamy look in them.

“Some music. Might help.” Tony had talked in half sentences ever since they had started the ride from the Tower to SHIELD head quarters. He was squeezed to the left window, Thor’s giant shoulders taking up most of the space in the middle of the backseat. Clint was pretty quiet on his seat behind Natasha. Like her he was gazing out of the window.

Steve noticed that he wasn’t wearing his hearing-aids. He hated it when Clint left them out. You just never knew what the day might bring. Therefore he stretched his right arm out behind Natasha’s seat and squeezed Clint’s closest leg, making the archer jump in his seat. Clint wrapped his hands around Steve’s with a desperate smile and tried to pull it off his sensitive body immediately. Steve had totally forgotten about Clint’s ticklish legs for a second there and couldn’t help himself. Smirking he continued tweaking and prodding at his knees, getting more and more defensive kicking out of his friend. Clint didn’t like making noises when he couldn’t hear himself. Therefore he made a whiny face at Steve after several tweaks had brought him close to laughing. Steve’s hand retracted then, so the supersoldier could tap his ear with a meaningful look.

Clint rolled his eyes and grabbed the hearing aids out of his jeans pocket to plug them in. “You feel better now, tickle monster?” He asked, exasperatedly.

Steve grinned, obscenely proud of that name, and raised his thumb appreciatingly.

“Tell me again. Why didn’t we take the jet?” With his phone in his hand Tony tried to distract himself from the situation he was caught in. Even though his eyes didn’t meet Steve’s, the supersoldier could hear the frustration in his voice. Ever the impatient genius.

Despite being a major believer in “eyes on the road” Steve just couldn’t resist the urge to roll them. “We can’t just grab the jet and fly everywhere, Tony. It’s literally just an hour’s drive to SHIELD. Taking the jet for ten minutes? Doesn’t that seem a little off, even to you?”

With the glare of the century Tony met Steve’s eyes in the rear-view mirror. “Music. Now.”

Natasha sighed and turned on the radio. A male voice summed up football game happenstances. The Black Widow immediately turned the radio back off. She searched for a CD, a tape, an iPod and didn’t find anything. “Whose car is this anyway?”

“Bruce’s.” Steve responded, getting annoyed with the general hostility.

Tony snorted. “Not surprised there isn’t much pop lying around.”

“Bruce prefers the classics.” Thor agreed - obviously having stolen that line from some previous conversation that had taken place among the Avengers who knew what the classics were. ... What were the classics? “You mean Pink Floyd?” Natasha asked and looked back.

“I mean...” Thor hesitated, realizing he had forgotten the name of the composer Bruce had told him about. He chuckled insecurely and ... guessed. “Beehiven.”

There was a beat. Steve furrowed his brows in wonder, Tony looked up from his phone, Natasha turned around to face him disbelievingly. And Clint? This man tended to lose all self-control when he was around his friends. He only took a second to process Thor’s mistake and then burst into a bubble of laughter. It was always incredibly infectuous hearing him laugh. Steve tried to cough it away, while Natasha shook her head with a smirk. Even Tony had to grin.

The god of thunder actually blushed and pushed Clint against the window with one giant forearm. “Do you want to experience my wrath?”

Hawkeye giggled cheekily, not very impressed with Thor’s threat. “I’m so glad I had my hearing aids in!!” Then he was lost to another laughing fit.

“Isn’t Beehive correct?” Thor dropped his hands, only to raise them angrily again when Clint practically started crying with laughter.

“BEEHIVE!!” Natasha hid her grin behind her hands while Steve desperately tried to remain serious. Tony was shaking ever so lightly on Thor’s other side, covering his smile with his phone.

The god of thunder did not like being laughed at. What he absoutely double-disliked was the urge to join into the laughter. Imagine the picture of a quite thoughtful young man (Clint) with a rather traumatizing deafening event in his recent past suddenly breaking out into the laughing fit of the century. It could get to you. Even if you were the reason for mentioned laughing fit. Thor figured this was the perfect moment for two things: 1. keep the archer laughing and 2. make him pay for his moment of shame.

“Oh, you want something to laugh about? How about that?” Thor grabbed for Clint’s legs the way Steve had done before, kneading and squeezing away at them, forcing the most adorable squeaky laughter out of the archer,

“NOOHOOHOHO!!! I’M SOHOHOHORRY!!! B-BUT BEEHIVE!! BWAHAHHAA THOHOHOR STAHAHHAP IT!!! THAT TICKLES!!!” Clint really started squealing when Thor leaned in to move these big hands that could cover his entire thigh with one grasp up his sides and ribs, getting at literally every spot that kept Clint in stitches.

“I have seen the Captain do that to you many times before. I know just how much it tickles you.” Thor announced, his voice softening already at the noises he was tickling out of his friend.

Steve rolled his eyes softly - yes, Steve could do that softly - and allowed himself a short glance in Natasha’s direction. She was beaming. Clint’s laughter was really a music genre of its own. Tony watched the scenario happily, finally getting some distratction from the bleak car ride.

“HEEHHEHELP!!! HEHELP ME!! I’VE GOT- EHEHEHHE NOHOHOHTHING ON HIIIM!!!” Clint cried out in laughter as Thor’s fingertips furiously wiggled into his armpits, causing him to basically fidget into Thor’s lap in an attempt to protect himself. Which worked out great of course, leaving Clint’s middle out in the open, inviting Thor’s fingers to dive all over his belly. Natasha chuckled when one of Clint’s purple converse hit against her headrest. Steve wondered whether Clint’s seatbelt would hold. Obviously they were not going to help him.

“This’ll teach you not to laugh at me, you little worm!” Thor growled playfully, dearest fondness in his words as he watched the archer flail and shriek in his grasp. Clint had by now managed to trap Thor’s hands under his arms, regretting it badly when he realized that the fingertips caught in his armpits still tickled more thoroughly than he could handle as they wiggled around as much as they could. He couldn’t move his arms away though since the ticklish pits would then be completely out in the open. The sensations were already overwhelming when Thor decided to add even more to the game. With a shriek Clint tried to push his shoulder to his ear when he felt Thor’s beard tickle at the back of his neck.

“NOHOHOOH NOOOO!!! PLEHEHHEASE!!! DON’T DOHOOH THAT!!! I HAHAHAHTE IHIHIT!! THOHOHOR!!”

“I am not doing anything!”

“YOU WILL BLOOW ON MY NEHEHHECK!!!”

“No I won’t.”

Steve knew that Thor was totally going to do it. The god of thunder was copying all of Steve’s tickle attacks, from the squeezing of Clint’s legs to the coming raspberry on his neck, the one thing that always finished the archer. As you might notice Steve was in fact the tickle monster of the team. It had become his go-to-move when he didn’t want to hurt anyone with his strength yet still have some fun with them. Only months ago, Clint had repetitively provoked Steve into those tickle fights during sparring matches, always glowing up with giggles whenever Steve had playfully overpowered him. This had stopped after his accident. The loss of his hearing had taken some of Clint’s humor away. To hear his carefree booming laughter now was a pretty emotional experience for the team after they had spent so many hours worrying.

Thor gave a fake regrettable sigh, a smirk on his features. “You’re right, Clint, I totally will.”

With a disbelieving shriek Clint raised his arms, doubling over with laughter when Thor’s fingertips started dancing around in his armpits. It tickled so much that he could not focus on protecting his neck anymore. The raspberry on his nape felt like lightning bolts were sizzling into his nerve system - and maybe they were which would have been a really mean way to intensify the ticklish effect. He could barely breathe anymore as tears started to glisten in his eyes.

“EHEHEHHEE NOHOHOOT THAHHAHAT!!”

“You mean this?”

“ThOOHOHOOHOHR!!” Clint complained, howling with laughter as the second raspberry hit its mark just underneath his ear. His eyes were squeezed shut by now as he kicked and twisted around in his seat, laughter going silent. Thor could have gone on forever.

If it hadn’t been for Steve sending Thor a reprimanding glance in the rearview mirror, reminding him that Clint was only human and could probably explode when tickled too much. Thor acknowledged it with a chuckle and leaned back slightly, slowing down his fingers on Clint’s sides, but not quite taking them away yet.

“I believe you have learned your lesson, youngling.” Thor exclaimed extra formally as Clint slumped down into his seat with a sharp intake of breath still fidgeting and giggling a little at the remaining spidering tickle traces Thor was drawing down his sides.

“Then staahahhahap pleehhease *EEK*, Thohoor!!”

“I will. But first, tell me the true name of the composer I have mentioned.”

Clint’s laughter turned up a notch at the memory which Thor copied by tickling him a little harder again. “OKAY OKAHAHHAY!! IT’S BEETHOVEN!!!”

Mercy was finally upon him as Thor took away his hands and made a low recognizing noise at the mentioning of that name. “Yes. Beethoven.”

“Beethoven.” Natasha added unnecessarily as she turned around to get a better look at her best friend who was gasping, wheezing and just about shining from all the laughter. “You good there?”

Clint giggled, still a little hysterical, but in the best way possible. He gently nudged Thor who showed him the biggest smile in return. “I’m really good.”

“Does this mean,” Steve asked ironically, “I can “cheat” again during our training sessions?”

“You will do no such thing!” Clint exclaimed without any harshness or seriousness or really any kind of persuasion in his voice. “And leave away the air quotes, Cap! It is cheating when you tickle someone into calling defeat!”

Steve just hummed with a smile.

Tony raised his voice. He looked happy. “I have to say, this is not the music I had asked for. But it was definitely some kind of music Thor has just composed there.”

Clint crossed his arms in front of his chest, two strands of hair falling into his forehead, making him look a little tousled. “Well, we will not hear it again!”

Steve, Tony and Natasha all gave little disappointed “Awe”s at that making Clint roll his eyes sheepishly. He put his head on Thor’s shoulder. The tall thundergod gave him a fond look and gently patted his hand in return.

They drove on in companionable silence when suddenly Clint started snickering again. He was trying to suppress it, but it just wouldn’t work.

“Spill it, Barton!” Tony demanded, narrowing his eyes at him.

“I just thought that...” Clint shrinked when Thor sent him a threatening glance, but he continued giggling.

“Yes?” Thor exacted in an overtly soft voice.

“Oh, you know, who has composed this music Tony just spoke of?” Clint dared to go on with sharing his thoughts.

“Well, it was I!” Thor said, furrowing his brows.

“No. It was Thor Ode’n’Song!”

Steve hit the wheel as he started laughing at that, Natasha and Tony joining in quickly. Clint nervously looked at Thor’s hands as he himself chuckled at his own joke. But Thor couldn’t keep up his glare for long. Soon enough he was laughing just as much as the others.

None of them would have expected the car ride to be as cheerful as it had turned out to be. And all that thanks to a laughing archer who had fortunately had his hearing-aids plugged in.

Steve was right. You just never knew what the day might bring.

#avengers tickle fic week #tickling #avengers #ticklish!clint #thor #tony stark #steve rogers #natasha romanoff #clint x thor #mentions of brotime between clint and steve #god i fear i went a little overboard with this #;___;#i hope you guys will like it

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missbrightsky · 4 years

Text

Chasing Tails

Fics Masterlist

Chapter 1: Rhysand

Golden light poured out of the tall sandstone house; a string quartet wove a melody between the rays. Carriages crawled up the long, curving driveway, halting to let their passengers pour out. A rainbow of colors swarmed the front steps, ladies preening in their new gowns made especially for this event, gentlemen sporting crisp waistcoats and towering top hats.

Gems glittered in the ears and on the hems of skirts, lace curved to draw attention to places where eyes should not wander. I lazily took in these details, but it was nothing I hadn’t seen before. Life was slow in Velaris, the only source of amusement was balls and galas, dinners and dances thrown by the town’s gentry. It was a nice, quiet life but tedious. It was only until recently when a new breeze blew through the town, bringing with it an intrigue to delight the masses.

Two months ago, the house that had stood empty for years had finally found a new owner. Miss Feyre Archeron purchased the lonely estate that was a mile out of town. It sat on one hundred acres of good land and had space for twelve tenant families.

For the first month, only workers had bustled around the estate, cleaning up the house and renovating it for its new owner. Anyone who had questioned the workers only received vague answers for who they were working for, only that she was very generous and treated them well. No one could tell if they were hiding a dark secret or if they were extremely loyal. New orders were placed almost every day in the town’s stores and with their craftsmen. Fabric for curtains, linens, and bedspreads. Entire sets of furniture for the dining room, parlor, library, and bedrooms. Groundkeepers to tame the wild gardens and grocers to fill the kitchen.

Tenants were sent ahead and given anything they needed to start their lives there. Velaris was a wealthy town but the new blood breathed fresh life into the economy, and into the gossip wheel.

Finally, the new mistress arrived. And no one saw her. It was like she had appeared from thin air. The only reason anyone knew was because a worker at the tavern had mentioned that she had requested lemon tarts for breakfast one morning.

And that’s when the chaos had begun. Anyone who tried to call on her was politely turned away, citing that their mistress was busy at the moment or not in the house. When another caller returned from a failed attempt to meet the new lady, the citizens took to the streets, searching for a new face in the crowd, hoping that her being out meant that she had come to town.

That had been the first week. The second was when things took a turn for the nasty. Gone were the curious stipulations as to who this new person was and where she was from. Rumor after rumor flew around. Someone’s cousin heard that she was terribly disfigured after a childhood accident and lived as a recluse. Another person’s business partner who just arrived from the big city said that she was hiding from an abusive ex-lover. The workers from the estate came to town less and less, tired of being harassed for new information and the endless questions.

Why was she not receiving callers?

Why hadn’t she reached out to Velaris’s most prominent socialites, inviting them to dinner?

Why? Why? Why? Why.

I had listened to everything mostly passively, only offering my opinion when pressed directly. Mor had cared for a bit but when it was obvious that no new information was being shared, she lost interest and turned to other relevant topics. We were at the height of the trading season; everyone was flush with money from summer crops and business was booming. I could hardly keep my store and warehouse stocked before it was cleared out again. Miss Archeron certainly did not help with the massive influx of orders she needed for her estate. But who am I to complain about good business?

And then an invitation arrived at every household in town announcing a ball at her estate. The gossip wheel spun again, and orders increased tenfold as everyone claimed that this would be the social event of the year. This was the event to see and be seen at as the new mistress would finally introduce herself to polite society.

Cassian shifted across from me, ready to hop out and begin to flirt with whatever lady caught his eye tonight. Azriel was more composed, per usual, the picture of a well-bred gentleman. Mor was to my left, straightening her necklace for the thousandth time.

“Don’t tell me you’re nervous?” I chuckled.

Mor answered with an elbow in my side, “No, why would I be? She’s probably the same breed of airhead as everyone else in this town.”

“Present company excluded of course,” Cassian smirked.

“No,” Mor deadpanned, “Especially present company.” Azriel let a ghost of smile play along his lips while Cas turned ten different shades of red. I was honestly surprised steam didn’t start pouring out of his ears.

Any response he could have snapped at her was cut off as our carriage finally arrived at the front of the line. A footman dressed in a smart red coat opened the door and bowed his head. I exited first, turning to help Mor down, followed by Cassian and Azriel.

There was no time to closely observe the front of the house, there were many more carriages to arrive and the crowd was anxious to sweep everyone indoors.

I led the way up the steps, people shifted out of the way to show their deference. It was ridiculous that so many people in the town feared my family but if it made everyone give them space, then I wasn’t about to change their minds.

Inside was almost as packed as the driveway, I had no idea how everyone would fit inside the household, but if I remembered correctly, this house was quite capable of hosting this town and the one next over.

Chandeliers sparkled, throwing diamonds and rainbows along the ceiling. Rich carpets cushioned every footfall while paintings covered every inch of the walls. Incredible brushwork detailed landscapes and portraits as well as a few abstract scenes. Each work carried a fresh point of view, making the viewer take a different stance on mundane objects.

Normally there was a line where guests could be greeted by the host, but it seemed like there was no such thing at this party.

I filtered through nearby conversations, picking up that everyone was astonished that Miss Archeron was not there to greet them. With a mental shrug, I decided that our best bet would be to find a table to eat and drink until we were sufficiently tipsy enough to start dancing. If I had to go one more dance with Ianthe sober, there was a good chance Mor would be inheriting my entire business.

The others followed me as I found my way to the buffet, taking a small plate and filling it with meats and pastries. Mor opted for all sweets while Cassian and Azriel stuck with the hearty foods. Each of us picked up a flute of champagne and claimed a table that was to the side of the ballroom floor.

Here, tall ceilings arched far over our heads and even larger and grander paintings adorned the walls that didn’t have massive windows. On the far opposite of the hall, there was a balcony that jutted slightly over the floor, partially filled with shadows.

How mysterious, I mused. It seemed that the mistress had a flair for the dramatic.

Cassian noticed it too, “Ten pieces of gold that Miss Archeron will make her first appearance there.”

“Fifteen that she will opt for the grand staircase in the main hall,” Mor countered.

“Twenty that she doesn’t appear at all,” Azriel said.

They looked to me for my bet, “I have to agree on Cassian with this one, it’s too perfectly set up.” Cassian settled for a smug smile while the other two rolled their eyes.

Until she decided to join us, we continued to drink and make small comments about who was in attendance that night. It appeared to be everyone, even the small shop owners that had no large means even got an invitation. Miss Archeron had a generous nature it seemed, even if she wasn’t too sociable.

The string quartet continued in the background playing waltzes and local country dances. Only a few couples milled the dance floor, the main festivities hardly beginning. Waiters circled the crowds, keeping everyone’s glasses filled.

I was beginning to feel a pleasant buzz when sharp nails trailed over my shoulder. Judging by the looks on Mor, Cas and Az’s faces, Ianthe had finally found me.

“Mr. Night, would you do me the honor of dancing with me,” her words passed my ear in a hot breath tinged with alcohol. Mor worked hard to keep a sneer off her face while Cassian was choking down some bread in an attempt to keep from laughing at my misfortune.

I gently laid my napkin down on the table and carefully stood, controlling my urge to turn her down.

“Of course, Miss Prion,” I said, offering my hand. I lead Ianthe to the dance floor, standing opposite of her. I answered her curtsy with a bow, allowing muscle memory to take over my body. She tried to force me closer by digging her nails into my shoulder, but I managed to keep us at a respectable distance as the waltz started up.

We swept around the dance floor, delicately weaving through the steps.

“So, the evasive Miss Archeron has yet to make an appearance,” Ianthe simpered, trying to draw me into conversation.

“It would appear that way,” was all I gave in response. Just because I had dance with her doesn’t mean I have to engage in conversation too.

“It is extremely rude of her to invite us all here and still not deign to show her face,” she prattled on. “Obviously she has money if she can afford all of this but honestly show a little decorum or else no one will accept you into our society, no matter how much money you have.” Ianthe carried on, making small barbs at the invisible hostess, trying to draw a stronger comment out of me but I continued to deflect her.

I released Ianthe for a spin around another couple, limply offering out my hand to receive her again. Only a few more minutes of this torture and then I’ll need a whole bottle of champagne to recover.

“Oh, come now, my party cannot be that unbearable,” a new voice greeted me.

Ianthe now spun away with a different partner while a new woman took her place.

My voice dried up in my throat. Blue-gray eyes sparked with humor; a full mouth curled up in amusement. Her brown hair hinted gold in the gaslighting, piled into an elegant bun. She was soft and warm under my gloves, causing me to instinctively pull her closer, a complete opposite to Ianthe.

“I… ahem, I didn’t mean to say that out loud,” I managed to get out, my cheeks reddening at my mistake of uttering private thoughts aloud.

She laughed, a clear sound that warmed my core more than any alcohol. “That’s what I thought, but tell me honestly, is my party that bad? I tried to make it as current as possible.”

And that’s when it clicked in my head. “You’re Miss Feyre Archeron,” I gaped.

“Last time I checked,” she responded. We were still traveling around the dance floor but it seemed that no one had noticed that the hostess was right in the middle of them.

My manners finally fell into place, “I’m pleased to meet you, Miss Archeron. My name is Rhysand Night.” I bowed my head as much as possible in polite greeting, seeing as we were currently engaged in movement.

“And I am pleased to meet you, Mr. Night,” she returned, laughter lacing her words, amused at my flustered state.

“Shouldn’t you, umm…” Get it together you fool “be greeting your guests?”

“I could be but then I wouldn’t have been able to rescue you from your partner. You looked to be in such pain that I could help but step in.”

“Then I must thank you for that, Miss Prion is not the most… pleasing partner.”

“Then I must aspire to be better,” Feyre said, she straightened her spine even more and relaxed into my grip, causing her steps to become more fluid and graceful.

“So, Mr. Night, you have yet to answer my question about my party.”

“It is everything a modern party should be and more. The food and music are exquisite and the company even more so,” I smiled down at her.

She accepted the compliment with a nod and a blush. “And does the champagne take away the pain of unpleasant partners?”

“I will let you know at the end of the evening.” We both chuckled, it seemed we had both had our share of tedious dancing partners.

“I must say though, this house is beautiful but what really brings it to life are the paintings. You simply must let me know where you acquired so many of such vibrant pieces.”

“That is an easy request, I painted all of them,” she said proudly.

I nearly stumbled with shock but held it together. “You painted everything on this estate?”

“Is that so hard to believe, Mr. Night?” she challenged.

“No! No, of course not, I’m merely astounded by how many there are and the detail of them,” I hastily backtracked, “I did not mean any offense by it.”

She let out another laugh, “None taken, I’ve been painting most of my life, they add up to quite a lot after a while.”

The waltz was wrapping up, final flourishes brought our conversation to an end.

“Thank you for the dance, Mr. Night.”

‘Thank you for saving me, Miss Archeron,” I bowed at the waist to my savior, but when I looked up again, she had vanished. I cast my eyes around the room but Feyre had effectively blended into the crowd and no one had noticed.

For the second time that night, she had left me speechless and mystified. I made my way back to our table where the others were waiting to tease me about having to endure Ianthe, but before I could tell them of my encounter, a murmur washed over the room and all heads turned to the balcony.

Feyre stood in the light of chandeliers and waited for the crowd to quiet.

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen. Thank you for attending my ball tonight. As some of you may have gathered,” she looked right at me,” I am Feyre Archeron, the new owner of this estate.”

Gasps and gossip broke out over the room, looks of surprise were passed around like glasses of wine.

Cas let out a small hoot, which was thankfully lost in the noise, and said “Pay up! I won the bet!” Mor and Azriel began to dig for his winnings but I intervened.

“Not quite, I just met her on the dance floor, no one wins the pot tonight.”

A collective “what” had them whipping their heads to look at me, disbelief written across their features.

“Bullshit,” Cas hissed.

“The bet said ‘first appearance’, Cassian, and she made her first appearance to dance with me.”

“But no one saw that!” he argued.

“Shhh,” Mor hushed him, “We’ll settle this after she’s done.”

Feyre had waited patiently for the room to calm down again before continuing her speech.

“I apologize for not introducing myself sooner to your society, it has been quite a whirlwind moving here and settling in. I am now more than happy to meet each and every one of you and your families. I hope that you will forgive me for my shyness and welcome me.”

“Furthermore, I have moved to Velaris not only for its charm and beauty, but I have decided it is time for me to take a husband.”

Excitement sparked in my chest, I had spoken to this woman for less than a few minutes but there was already something about her that drew me in and made me excited to verbally spar with her. The looks the other gentlemen in the room were giving each other did little to give me hope, unfortunately. Despite Mor claiming that the town was filled with airheads, there were many fine men for Feyre to pick from.

“However,” she said, the same humor from before creeping into her voice, “I will only marry the man that can open my front door with a key.”

Excitement turned to confusion; more murmurs broke out.

“That key is around the neck of my cat, who will be allowed to roam the town and countryside freely. She is a tabby with blue eyes, I think it will be quite easy to pick her out.

“If she is harmed in any way by anyone attempting to catch her, they will be disqualified from the contest and face my personal wrath.

“Good luck, gentlemen, you will need it,” she finished with a nod of her head and disappeared from the balcony.

I turned back to my friends, all of us dumbfounded by the competition that had just been issued.

“Well,” Cas grinned, “It seems like we need a new bet.”

Next Chapter

#acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #sjm #sjmaas #sjm books #sjmaas books #feyre #feyre x rhysand #rhysand

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trashyslashers · 5 years

Note

Okay okay okay, Philip being intentionally spooky while survivors are trying to raid for supplies at Autohaven?

Ohko I am SO sorry this took me so damn long to put out!! I kept starting it, getting a new idea for it, scrapping what I had, restarting, etc.

Here you GO!!!!

One would assume that the Fog wouldn’t be too dull of a place with the ever-present threat of being stalked and maimed hanging over everyone, but with the occasionally lengthy gaps between trials, it tended to be the exact opposite. When not participating in said trials, sitting around the Campfire or wandering aimlessly throughout the surrounding woods was about the extent of entertainment Survivors had available to them and as a result, they were always ready to jump at any opportunity for preoccupation.

Because of that, any small group that could occasionally be seen congregating at the edge of the woods never went unnoticed by the rest, and almost always did a rush ensue amongst everyone to try and shove their way in to be able to participate in whatever activities were planned. You’d been lucky, and on a first-come-first-serve basis you’d been able to worm your way in and secure a spot amongst the group, which supposedly was gathered after the realization that tools and supplies were running low and more needed to be scavenged.

Once things were set (and after a few petty remarks and jabs from those who weren’t able to go about who should actually be able to), you and the group had left the pseudo-safety of the Campfire and headed into the woods with nothing but each other and the hope that the trip wouldn’t go awry. There was never a need to ask what was going on, seeing that only one thing seemed to be possible - the Entity (or at least everyone assumed it was the Entity’s doing) would create a sort of path from the Campfire to one of the many realms where Survivors could scavenge for tools and supplies to use in future trials. While nothing eventful ever happened, the trips were enough to preoccupy those who went and, in a way, helped keep spirits high.

And in the Fog, that was never a bad thing.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Currently, the group of four was busy digging around one of the several lots of Autohaven and so far nothing noteworthy had happened. No Killers had been encountered yet, and an unspoken but obvious hope amongst the group was that it would stay that way. While it definitely was possible for Survivors and Killers to cross paths outside of trials, it was an incredibly rare occurrence and it seemed that the Killers were as intent on avoiding the Survivors as it was vice versa.

No one complained about that.

Despite the knowledge that it was unlikely for any Killers to be present, the four of you couldn’t shake off the feelings of unease that clung to you no matter how much you tried. Autohaven’s atmosphere was always particularly gloomy; an eerie, hazy feeling always hung over the land and provided ample opportunity for immense paranoia. Regardless of who you were placed with in trials, everyone could agree that it always felt as if someone, or something was out there in the fog, watching them.

Even now, despite no occurring trial and no sign of danger, that feeling was present.

Shut away in the gas station, you and Nea had been trying to keep your minds preoccupied with rummaging through the drawers and cabinets of the vacant building, looking for anything that might come of use in the future. Though she wouldn’t admit it, Nea was wracked by anxiety and had said previously that she “really fuckin’ hated it here”, and could never shake the feeling that every move she made was being watched.

Both were feelings you couldn’t really blame her for having.

All four of you were extremely cautious; movements calculated and slowed to keep quiet, eyes and ears open and on the lookout for any danger. To everyone’s relief, though, it fortunately seemed as if all of the apprehension would end up being for nothing; with the way things were going, it seemed unlikely that anything horrible would happen, and even if it did - you all would protect each other. Just like in trials. Usually.

Completely unbeknownst to everyone, though, was the presence of the Wraith.

The faint ringing of the wailing bell was only discernible to those that were paying enough attention, and those that weren’t remained blissfully unaware to the sudden odd feeling that a fifth presence had joined the four.

You were one of the arguably unlucky ones that caught the faint chime of the bell before it faded.

Upon hearing the phantom bell, your initial response of asking Nea if she noticed anything was prevented by David suddenly bursting through the front door of the gas station, attempting but failing miserably to conceal the anxiety that laced his voice as he asked if either of you had heard anything. Taking a moment to think, you decided that it would be entirely too harsh to confirm his fears and worsen everyone’s anxiety so you lied through your teeth - telling him the opposite - that no, you hadn’t heard anything. That surely, his nerves were just getting to him, and your own to you, as well. It’s been a hot minute since anyone had crossed paths with any Killers, and the Wraith was known for being especially elusive outside of trials so the likelihood of him being present and bothering your lot was very, very low. You tried to convince yourself that the both of you were just imagining things; the childish belief that it would go away and leave you unharmed if you just ignored it being your only real solace.

Though your answer didn’t seem to reassure him in the slightest, David took your word for it and reluctantly, returned to outside to continue helping Ace with whatever it was they were doing. Thankful as she seemed to read your mood, you made no comment to Nea as she moved closer to you, and you figured that she didn’t exactly want to be too far from someone else, either. Once she was close enough, you were able to see that together your efforts had yielded a pair of pliers, a toolbox, a few pieces of scrap, and cloth rags - and Nea, pleasantly, seemed fine with it all.

...She did not, however, seem fine with you suddenly clinging onto her, causing her to drop the pliers she was holding, as you about leapt into the air after seeing what looked like a flash of movement pass by one of the back windows. You’d practically given yourself whiplash when trying to catch a glimpse of it; it was quick - come and gone before you could even turn your head to look at it, but you could’ve sworn that you saw the faint shimmer of a figure dart by.

Before she could ask what your problem was, your knees buckled and you pulled her down to the ground with you, hiding the both of you behind the counter as you braced yourself for what felt like the inevitable announcement that the worst possible outcome was about to happen. As you went on to explain what had happened, Nea tried her best to follow your rushed words while she kept taking glances over her shoulder towards the aforementioned windows. She seemed to take you seriously - her unease growing as you two stayed hidden, trying your best to calm yourselves as you both knew panicking wouldn’t help the situation.

Considering she tended to be one of the more levelheaded Survivors, her unease just confirmed that there indeed may be something to fear, and it did absolutely nothing to help your own feelings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Outside, David and Ace had spent the majority of their time digging through old cars and through piles of parts, but despite their attention to the task at hand neither of them were oblivious to the sudden change in atmosphere. Whether it was maturity with age or just how he tried to keep his cool, Ace managed to keep his anxiety much more concealed than David seemed able to; David had a terrible habit of constantly halting his actions and taking long, surveying looks over his shoulder to see if he could catch any danger before it could catch him. Ace’s anxiety was much more inconspicuous; unless they knew him well enough, no one would be able to tell that him rubbing the back of his neck every minute or so and readjusting his sunglasses were actions of restless anxiety. Neither of the two men really spoke to each other and it was up for debate if the lack of conversation was due to nothing to talk about, or if it was it was out of fear that any noise would draw unwanted attention to them.

Despite their best efforts at remaining observant, neither of them had noticed the shadowy mass that had been along the outer wall slowly close the gap between itself and the scattered group.

Ace was the first of the duo to realize how suddenly off the whole situation felt, and he very quickly had enough of it. With a tug on the back of David’s sweater and a quickly spoken “Let’s go”, David felt no need to question what was up as they both grabbed what they’d collected and made their way into the gas station to get the others.

Neither you or Nea argued when they said that they were ready to leave, but almost immediately after, it was brought up that the four of you hadn’t really gathered a substantial amount of tools and that no doubt would the others be irritated if you returned so little. With reluctant sighs and mumbles of irritation, the four of you agreed to stick together and stick it out for the remainder of the time spent there.

Eventually though, you and Nea found yourselves in the small back alley behind the gas station after it was remembered that Claudette asked for some plants and flowers to be brought back for her, however your plan to work together and quickly pick what you could was halted once you realized that Nea was growing particularly antsy and seemed unable to calm herself down. She was reluctant to stand still; pacing around and shifting back and forth, constantly putting down whatever it was she was holding to remove her beanie and run her hands through her hair, and you couldn’t help but feel for her. She was typically pretty damn skilled at keeping her emotions in check and not letting her nerves get to her, and soon enough you found yourself, very reluctantly, informing her that if she’d feel better doing so, you were fine with her heading inside to be with the others.

It, of course, was a complete lie. You really weren’t fine with Nea going inside, and the thought of being alone outside was quite honestly the least desirable thing you could think of. However, you felt like it would be disgustingly selfish to make Nea stay outside when she was very obviously not having a good time, and after your bogus reassurance that you were alright on your own, she went inside and left you alone.

It didn’t feel much different than it did during trials, if you were being entirely honest. You couldn’t stop yourself from glancing around at your surroundings every few seconds, and at times even the noises made by yourself caused you to flinch. You could’ve sworn that on three separate occasions you actually saw someone duck behind the corner of the building, and at one point you thought you were losing your mind as once again, you could’ve sworn you heard the faint ringing of a bell. It was at the perfect volume where it was impossible to tell how close it was and which direction it came from or if you had even actually heard it, or hallucinated it. It was the kind of mindgame that always struck an oddly specific nerve in you and left you feeling more paranoid than most others; the kind of trick on your psyche that played with you enough to make you question just how sound your mind was that moment. You had to take a break every now and then to stop, take a deep breath, and calm yourself, as you knew that getting worked up and panicking over nothing wouldn’t get you anywhere.

While it took multiple attempts to do so, eventually you managed to calm yourself enough just to think at least somewhat rationally. You knew getting anxious over nothing and letting your imagination run amok would ultimately lead you to freaking yourself out, and that was all that was happening. The others were okay, and you were too. Nothing was going on, and nothing bad was going to happen because if it was, it would’ve by now.

You could’ve laughed at how childish you were being, but you never had the chance to do so as one of the metal barrels a few feet from you tipped over onto its side, startling you from your thoughts. You turned around, prepared to give an absolute earful to whoever did it for making so much noise - when you realized there wasn’t actually anyone there.

No one was there. Not a soul. Those things weighed ten pounds at least - heavy metal that required force to move and wind wasn’t a common thing in the Fog, so there was no possible chance that it had just… fallen over on its own. Very briefly, you considered the possibility that the others were playing a prank on you, but just remembering how uneasy they were with the whole situation killed those thoughts almost immediately. No way would they do something like that.

Having had enough of whatever was going on and not wanting to risk your safety, you quickly scooped up everything you’d found and made your way towards the back door but before you could enter, Ace burst out and announced that they were done, they were leaving, it was time to go, and it was time to go now. You had no chance to retort or question anything as he grabbed your wrist and pulled you behind him, the two of you catching up with Nea and David as they left through the front.

Despite stumbling over his words a few times, on the way back through the lot David managed to explain to you what exactly had caused their abrupt decision to cut the trip short and leave. According to him, while you were out back, they actually thought you had come back inside because someone kept fucking with the pile of tools that had been gathered. Pieces were disappearing then reappearing on the other side of the room, things were being moved around the table, and at one point a pair of pliers had been knocked onto the ground. Nea had apparently insisted that it was you messing with them and had told you to knock it off, but when she turned to face what she thought was you, instead she saw a faint blur dart out the back door, towards where you were and that’s when everyone decided they’d had enough with whatever the hell was going on and Ace went to get you.

The realization that whatever Nea saw was probably the same thing that was messing with you made your heart drop, and you felt sick to your stomach as you realized that whatever it was, it was deliberately toying with you all for its own weird enjoyment.

“It” was a dumb word to use. At this point, there was no use in denying the fact that “it” was more than likely the Wraith - and he was toying with and tormenting your lot after you trespassed outside of trials, as he was known for incredibly predatory behaviors and being territorial absolutely fell under that umbrella. The thought that your group had bothered him enough that he felt that scaring you off was proper payback was especially alarming, and a bit confusing as well seeing how easily he could’ve snuffed out your lives if he wanted to. Why he didn’t physically chase you out of there was mind boggling but nonetheless, you were glad he chose the dickish route that consisted of just messing with you instead of straight up murdering you.

“Let’s not tell the others about this, yeah?” David said, to which no one protested.

Now that you were out of there you were able to relax a bit more, but you still couldn’t shake the feeling that something was keeping it’s eye on the four of you. Despite the nagging voice in your head pleading for you to not turn around, the urge to do just that was entirely too strong to ignore and you eventually gave in and took a look over your shoulder.

Though the air was hazy and thick with fog, you could just make out the unmistakably tall, lean silhouette of the Wraith, lingering back towards the gas station and watching the four of you depart from the station.

You figured it was probably best not to tell them about that, either.

#if anyone can catch the song reference i made in here at one point u win a prize #dbd #dead by daylight #dbd x reader #dead by daylight x reader #the wraith #david king #nea karlsson #ace visconti #the POV shifts a few times #hhhh ohko i hope this is to your liking

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arazialotis · 5 years

Text

Moto Grand Prix - Part 1

Pairing: Jensen x Reader

Word Count: Around 3000

Warnings: swearing

Summary: A request from @acortez82 An idea I liked so much I decided to to a little series out of it. Jared invites Jensen to not just any motorcycle race but the biggest one of all. The final race of the grand prix happening in Valencia, Spain. A hot rival between seasoned veteran Suarez and new to circuits Esposio makes the excitement buzz in the air. Although knowing nothing about the sport, Jensen can’t help but root for the rookie. And just perhaps, he will leave Spain with more than just the love of the track.

Everything I write is beta’d by the wonderful and pristine @misguidedconqueress I couldn’t do it without her!

I intend no hate or ill wishes to him or his family. This is purely just for writing and wasting my time. This is purely for a hobby and my enjoyment. Maybe some of you will enjoy it too. I am by no means a writer so I apologize in advance for any mistakes or grammatical/spelling errors. I appreciate any feedback or suggestions!

Let the race begin!

----

As soon as the clapperboard snapped down, marking the end of filming and the start of winter break, Jensen raced to his trailer; bags already packed, wanting nothing more to run back home to the warm sunshine in Austin. While the rest of the cast and crew were celebrating with champagne, he was putting together the last bits of his travel details. A knock on the trailer door startled him from his thoughts and he went to answer, dreading anything that could keep him at work longer. Jared appeared on the other side, bundled up from the chill up yet still beaming with delight.

“I was hoping to catch you before you rushed off.” He laughed, his breath fogging in the air. Jensen nodded his head, directing him to come in. The wind slammed the door shut behind them. “Man, I am so sick of this weather.”

“You and me both, brother.” Jensen chuckled. “When I signed up to become an actor, I thought it’d be palm trees and beaches. Had I known they were going to ship us off to Canada, I might have thought twice. So uh, you doing anything fun with your time off?”

“Actually that is what I wanted to talk to you about.” Jared started. “But first let me give you an early Christmas gift.” He said, handing Jensen an envelope.

Jensen eyed him suspiciously before taking it from him. “With it still being over a month away, I’m afraid I can’t yet reciprocate the gesture.”

“Would you shut up and just open it.” Jared playfully ordered.

He ripped open the seal with his thumb and pulled out its contents. His eyes widened with shock as he tried to process what he was seeing. He looked at Jared for clarification but received nothing other than a smile. He held two tickets in his hand, one for an airline and the other for some type of sporting event.

Jared couldn’t contain his excitement any longer. “I scored tickets to the MotoGP!” “The what?” Jensen asked, still confused.

“Dude.” Jared chastised. “Grand Prix motorcycle racing. The last race of the year… In Valencia! To determine the winner. Esposio is so close to taking the lead…”

“Wait. Wait. Hold up. So you are taking me to Spain?” Jensen clarified.

“I’m taking you to Spain!” Jared exclaimed.

“Dude!” Jensen went in for a quick bro hug. “This is going to be awesome. God, how can I repay you?”

***

A few short weeks later, both Jensen and Jared had ventured to Spain. Seeing sights, experiencing local cuisine, and breathing in the glorious ocean air revived their spirits after months in the desolate Canadian winter. But the main event had yet to take place. Jared couldn’t keep his mouth shut the entire time. Naturally it caught Jensen up to speed. Apparently, many people were rooting for the racer named Esposio. It was his first tour and he was neck in neck with a long seasoned veteran of the tracks, Suarez. Esposio needed to place first to take the championship, and on top of that Suarez had the home track advantage.

Jared had made a vast understatement when he said he had scored seats. The VIP Lounge which they had access to was positioned right over the Ducati and Yamaha garages and just past the finish line, allowing them a great view of all the action. Jared was already schmoozing with other high rollers in the lounge but Jensen prefered to keep quiet, leaned up against the railing and watching the commotion in the pits. Part of him even wished he could be down there, working in the trenches, but knew he’d screw something up.

Anxiety and excitement heighted as the time for the race drew nearer and nearer. Jared pointed out Esposio, on a Ducati bike numbered 34, decked out in a grey and red uniform. The rider appeared nervous, looking back and forth between other drivers, checking and rechecking his bike’s mechanics. Jensen could understand why. From what Jared had explained, everything for him counted on this last race.

Before the crowd could even realize it, the race had begun. The bikes whizzed passed the stands; already heading into the first corner. Jensen gulped against a lump in his throat, realizing how close the bikes were to each other and how low they got at each turn, the drivers’ knees literally scraping the edge of the track. He kept a sharp eye on 34, dreadfully anticipating a crash at any moment as the bike weaved in and out, skillfully attempting to move closer to the lead.

The bikes drove out of sight, but the crowd could still make out the whirring of the engines. They grew distant, the seconds drawing out, the roar slowly building up until the bikes were visible again. A few made their way closer to the line and flew by once again. The crowd roared, Suarez already taking a place in the top three. Another large group sped past with Esposio caught in the middle. Finally a few stragglers joined the rest, and just like that the first lap was over.

Jensen felt a slap on his shoulder, which drew him from the trance.

“So first lap over, what do you think?” Jared boomed, energized from the action.

“Man. It is crazy. You think they’d let us test run after they are finished?” He playfully questioned.

Jared chuckled. “Dude, you would die before you even got to the first corner.”

“I know how to ride a bike.” Jensen rolled his eyes.

They watched the group take another corner, darting low to the ground. “Not like that.” Jared remarked.

“Not like that.” Jensen agreed.

The racers took each lap at incredible speed, the entire thing couldn’t last over an hour. He had trouble keeping track of the leaders and laps as most everything was conducted in Spanish. So instead he found himself keeping his eyes fixed on Esposio. He was sure tactics and strategy were involved but to what extent he had no idea. Esposio seemed to keep in third or fourth place a majority of the race, weaving in and out, darting dangerously in between other bikes. Jensen was simply amazed.

When it came down to the final two laps, a hush seemed to come over the crowd as everyone waited with anticipation to see if Esposio would be able to pull ahead. Even Jared’s bubbly expression was replaced by intense concentration. Almost as if Esposio had been holding back on the gas pedal, a burst of speed gave way taking him to second place.

The distance between first and second was noticeable and they were both going full speed, Esposio persistently chasing Suarez. The final lap sounded and Suarez quickly glanced behind. Both took the first curve tightly and little by little Esposio was gaining on him. Jensen was practically holding his breath.

Coming up on the fifth turn of the track, they were neck and neck, fighting for control of the inside corner. Suarez beat him to it, pulling a bit further ahead. Esposio had caught back up by the eigth curve, and again started the dance for control. Jensen watched on the screen as Suarez seemed to jolt his bike towards Esposio, almost as a threat. Esposio backed off, taking the outside of the curve, but then came speeding up on Suarez taking advantage at the ninth and tenth.

With only four more turns left, the crowd began to hold their breath with Jensen. Esposio held the lead but not by much. Both riders were so focused on the track ahead, yearning so badly for the win. With only a few more nail biting minutes left, the gap between Esposio and Suarez began to grow and grow as did the hope for victory. Finally, Esposio crossed the finish line and the crowd erupted with a roar. Esposio continued down the track throwing his hands up in the air. His hands came back down on the bike before popping a wheelie, gaining more cheers from the crowd.

As he made his way around the track once more for the victory lap, celebrating with the crowd, it was clear some Suarez fans were leaving the stands with sour faces. Esposio went to the Ducati pit and joined in dancing with the crew, jumping up into the coach’s arms and being lifted into the air.

During the time between the initial celebration and the podium, Jensen finally was able to part with the track to do a bit of schmoozing and grab some hors d'oeuvres. By the time he made his way back, Mayer had already took his place in third and Suarez on second - sporting a clenched jaw that raged with jealousy. As the announcer continued Jensen could barely translate, something about a new driver making history, Clelia Esposio, and the crowd erupted again as the racer made his way to stage.

The red and gray helmet came off with a flow of long hair shining in the sun and Jensen was struck. Time slowed as she made her way to the middle, accepting a medal and trophy. She kissed the announcer on the cheek and laughed before throwing both her hands up into the air with a yell. Time came back to speed as her team raided the podium with shaken up champagne bottles spraying her. She continued to the laugh and joined in the riot as Suarez grudgingly left the stage.

“So we coming back next year?” Jared asked Jay.

“You never told me Esposio was a girl.” He said breathless.

“Didn’t I?” Jared seemed confused. “I’m pretty sure I did. You interested?” He teased.

“Shut up.” Jensen shoved him with his elbow.

Jared chuckled. “Good, less competition for me.”

Jensen pleaded with any powers-that-be he’d be able to meet her.

***

The following morning, after a brisk morning bike ride, Jensen was heading back to his room for a quick shower before he planned to meet Jared for brunch. The hotel was classical romantic, filled with red stone floors and archways. Yellow lanterns hung from the ceiling and vibrant plants decorated the lobby. Sounds of birds echod along with the chatter of guests. Jensen made his way to the elevator, pushing for the doors to close.

“¡Espera!” A voice called before a hand then, an arm appeared; stopping the doors from closing.

As you made your way into the elevator, Jensen caught his breath. Despite the lack of helmet hair or a uniform, he recognized you immediately.

“Lo siento y gracias.” You spoke in your broken middle school level Spanish.

You pushed your button before looking to meet the stranger; both of you staring at each other, his soft green eyes invited you in. You looked away, blushing for the moment that lasted too long.

“Oh, um… No hablo Espanol.” Jensen stumbled.

“Oh.” You laughed, picking up on his accent. “Me neither, at least not well, but I am picking it back up little by little the more time I spend here.”

Both of you remained silent glancing at your feet, waiting for the elevator moving slowly up.

“So um…” Jensen dared to speak again. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but uh, you look very similar to Clelia Esposio.” He kicked himself for asking a question he often was asked by fans. He knew you could easily blow him off if you weren’t interested.

You smiled and bit your lip, but excitement won over and you widely grinned, the victory of yesterday still resonating with you. “Actually that is because… I am…”

“Wow.” Jensen sighed. “You had an amazing race yesterday. I was there, watching the entire time.” “Hopefully not rooting for Suarez, that pig. Oh, don’t tell anyone I said that. Could cause a huge PR Scandal.” You laughed still getting used to all the publicity.

Jensen clearly understood. “You have my word.” He sincerely promised.

The atmosphere was suddenly interrupted as the elevator unexpectedly jolted down and then up again. You yelped and clung to the sides. The doors partially opened showing a concrete wall and then shut again. The elevator halted, the lights went off with only a dim light flashing. Jensen came from the corner he held steady to, to test the doors but they refused to open.

“Jeez.” He complained, taking a phone corded to the wall. “Hola. Ah yes, um… the elevator.” He looked at you desperate. “I have no idea what he is saying.” He whispered.

You gritted your teeth. “I can try.” You took the phone from him. “Hola Senor. Si, el ascensor no trabajar. Si. Mas despacio, por favor… uh huh. Si. Que?! Tres horas?! No. Senor. Por favor. Si, si… okay. Gracias.” You hung up and looked hopelessly at Jensen. “They are aware of the problem and have already contacted a crew, but it could take up to three hours.” You sat down on the floor defeated.

Jensen’s stomach grumbled and he joined you on the floor. Though he was hungry, he couldn’t help but be excited to steal more of your time. After a few minutes of silence, he dared to start a conversation again.

“Sorry for the, uh.” He peeled the sweaty shirt from his chest. “Smell. Went bike riding this morning, the pedaling kind.”

“Oh no problem, I think you smell good.” A blush hit you after you realized what you said. “Sorry, that was weird. Its fine, it smells fine, I mean not horrible. Um… So, you been a fan of MotoGP long?” You nervously ran your hand through your hair, trying to change the topic.

“Yeah, I mean no. I actually just found out about it. This was my first race and I learned about everything this weekend from my friend Jared who bought the tickets.” He explained. “But I think I will probably be a fan from now on.”

“You from the states?” You asked.

“Yeah Texas originally, then moved to Cali. Now I spend most of my time between Vancouver and Austin.” He rambled.

“Those are like opposites.” You pointed two fingers at an imaginary map to visualize the distance. “Cause of work or family?”

“Work.” He briefly stated.

“And what do you do?” You asked.

“Uh, me and Jared are actors.” Jensen shook his head, almost embarrassed.

“Wow.” Your eyes lit up. “Anything I would know?”

He laughed. “Mainly a TV show called Supernatural.”

Your brows furrowed as you tried to recall if you had seen it. “So like… monsters, and ghosts?”

“Yeah. It’s about two brothers who save people and hunt things, the family…” He stopped himself. “Yeah, like vampires and werewolves and shit.” You stifled a giggle. “I guess I’ll have to check it out.”

“Oh, you don’t have to say that.” He waved off.

“No, I want to.” You promised. “So Jared and um.. What was your name again?” “Jensen.” He reached out his hand and shook yours. “Jensen Ackles.”

Your tongue peeked out between your teeth. “Is that like a stage name?”

Jensen’s shoulders shook as he silently laughed. “Nope, that’s my real name.”

“You can tell me.” You pushed. “Clelia Esposio is…” You pointed your finger at him very seriously. “But you can’t tell anyone.” Your demeanor eased. “My real name is Y/N Y/L/N. It’s weird, only family and a few friends know.”

“Well Y/N.” Your name sounded enticing rolling off his tongue. “It is very nice to officially meet you. But I promise my only name is Jensen.”

“Fine then.” You pretended to pout. “Keep your secrets.”

He chuckled. Though the minutes dragged on, you and Jensen filled up the time chatting, getting to know each other, talking travel, playing 20 questions and would you rather. And what was three hours, both of you wished was longer. The lights blinked back on and the elevator shook to life. Both you and Jensen stood up, steadying yourselves against the wall. The elevator was heading back down to the lobby.

“I guess this is it.” You stated.

“I can say without a doubt, would recommend 10 out of 10 getting stuck in this elevator.” He joked. “But perhaps it was only the company.”

You bit your lip. “Ah, but if it wasn’t posted to twitter, who's to say it happened at all.” You teased back.

Jensen thought about it, and gave it. “Actually, you’re right.” He took his phone out of his pocket. “Do you mind? To commemorate the moment.”

“Of course not.” You smiled.

You leaned in close to him, grinning widely as his lips held tightly together forming a slight smirk.

He looked down at it and smiled ear to ear. “Perfect.”

“Find a good filter.” You pleaded. “I don’t want to look ugly.”

Jensen scoffed. “That’s not possible.” You found heat rising to your cheeks yet again. “Say uh, are you and Jared in town tomorrow night still? Perhaps we could go for tapas and dancing.”

“Yeah.” Jensen agreed. “I’d love that.”

“Wonderful. Meet me tomorrow night at Casa Montana? 11?” You asked.

“That should work.” He believed.

“Let me know officially through your tweet.” You winked. Jensen was about to ask for your number when the doors being pried open silenced you both. When they finally busted open, your freedom in containment was broken by the assault of flashing cameras.

“Ms. Esposio. Ms. Esposio. Clelia!” A crowd of Spanish reporters called.

Hotel security escorted you through the lobby, evading the group to the best of their ability. Jensen was left alone and unnoticed except for a bell clerk suffering through an attempt at an English apology. Before you were brought to a guarded service hall, you turned around to glance at Jensen once more, subtly licking your lips and parting with a wink.

----

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#jensen ackles #jensen and jared #jensen x reader #supernatural #SPN #SPN FANDOM #spn fanfiction #fan fiction #fan fiction series #Jared Padalecki #Jensen x You #jensen x y/n

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welllpthisishappening · 6 years

Text

For a Good Cause (1/2)

Emma wasn’t nervous. She wasn’t worried. She was maybe, kind of, sort of ridiculously excited. And just a hint anxious. Because she’d spent years watching Killian play on Garden ice and was almost getting used to Matt playing on Garden ice, but the thought of them playing together on Garden ice was enough to leave her heart beating just a hint faster than usual.

Add into the mix absurd trash talk and ridiculous bets and handmade signs and Emma wasn’t sure she was going to get through the day without setting some kind of record for sighing dramatically.

At least it was for a good cause.

Rating: T. They banter. They kiss. They scandalize their kids by flirting. AN: HAPPY HOCKEY SEASON EVERYONE, LET’S HOPE THE RANGERS AREN’T HORRENDOUS THIS YEAR! It’s time for me to get overly invested in the success of this ridiculous team and that, by extension, means it’s time to start posting an absurd number of words about the fictional version of the New York Rangers and this world that, seemingly, will not end. So, over the summer Zucc and Henrik hosted a charity hockey game and drafted their friends and it was as ridiculous as that sounds and both @optomisticgirl and @alicerubyfloyd were like “What if they did this in Blue Line?” And several thousand words later, here’s this. Time-wise, it’s July 2041, which makes Roland 31, Lizzie 24, Matt 22, Peggy 19 and Chris 13. Killian’s POV on Sunday.

Also on Ao3 if that’s how you roll.

“Sit.” “I can’t. Everyone is late.” “Wandering around this arena is not going to help.” “I don’t care.” “Swan.” “Killian.” Emma spun on the spot, pulled out of her pace mid-pace by several fingers around her wrist and the overwhelmingly effective smirk on Killian’s face and it wasn’t, technically, in the arena. He didn’t mention that. He probably knew it’d stress her out.

And that wasn’t even really the right word for it.

She wasn’t stressed out. She’d barely planned anything, was so used to doing events like these now she could probably come up with the schedule in her sleep and Merida had done most of it anyway. Emma had just agreed to do some Garden of Dreams promo and make sure the banners got to Chase Square on time and call someone in facilities about getting actual podiums set up.

That had been the most difficult part.

Stressed wasn’t the right word.

And it wasn’t worried either. She’d watched Killian play hockey for the better part of the last three decades and watched Roland play and Matt play and every single person that was, eventually, going to show up and stand by those absolutely absurd podiums was incredibly good at what they did.

They got paid millions for it.

Emma wasn’t really sure what emotion she was – unless it was generically annoyed because everyone was seriously late and Merida looked like she wanted to throw her phone at the will-call window behind her – but it might have just been some strange mix of nervous and excited and, well, mostly, nervous because she’d watched them all play hockey, but she’d never watched them play hockey together.

And she wasn’t sure she could handle her husband and her kid playing on the same ice at the same time.

“Swan, I can’t actually tug you down, it’s going to hurt my arm,” Killian muttered, and they both knew it was a great, big, enormous lie because he was probably in as good a shape as he’d been when he was playing. Maybe better. Well, no, maybe not that, but he still ran through Riverside three times a week and Emma was having more and more trouble thinking when she kept noticing new flecks of silver in his hair and--

“You’re trying to distract me,” she accused.

He nodded. “Yes, I am. Is it working?” “Not really, everyone is late.” “Or we’re just impossibly early.” “Is that really the word you were looking for?” Emma asked, hating whatever her voice was doing because his thumb had started tapping against the back of her wrist and she was ninety-two percent positive he didn’t mean to do it.

She didn’t think he even realized.

“I’m not really worried about the specifics of my sentence structure,” Killian said. “This is going to be fine.” “Of course it is.” He blinked. And his lips twisted, eyebrows pulled low when his eyes flashed up towards hers and Emma tried to make sure her smile looked as confident as she felt. That was one of the emotions she was feeling, she was certain.

She was confident. It was a great idea and it was going to be great and Garden of Dreams was going to make a shit ton of money for an anniversary thing that definitely deserved a charity hockey game with Rangers legends and some of the biggest names in the league today.

That’s what the e-mail blast had said.

Emma wrote it herself.

The whole thing had been her idea. She was pretty positive that was the only reason she wasn't freaking out. And she was having a lot of thoughts about Killian in uniform again. That were probably not appropriate for a game that also included her kid and her friends and Roland Locksley.

“Wait, what?” Killian asked, and Emma’s smile widened.

“Yeah, didn’t expect that at all, did you?” “I have no idea what the hell is going on now, love. Can you honestly sit down though, you’re going to do damage to the ground.” “The stone ground?” “Yes. Sit, Swan.” She rolled her eyes, but let him pull her towards him and she probably should have expected it – there was, after all, several decades worth of experience to all of this, but Emma wasn’t entirely sure if they’d ever made out in Chase Square and she gasped when Killian tugged her onto his legs. “That can’t be safe, pre-game,” she mumbled, appreciating whatever sound he made when she tried to get more comfortable.

“You’re going to make me think you don’t think I’m game ready.” “You were the one going on about the state of your arm,” Emma challenged. She twisted again, slinging an arm around his shoulders so her fingers could find the back of his hair and they really were there impossibly early.

“Ah, but we agreed that was a distraction. And this conversation makes no sense.” “Slow on the uptake, Cap.” He arched an eyebrow, letting his head fall forward so his lips landed on the curve of her shoulder and Emma’s emotions settled into something that felt a hell of a lot like flirting. Merida was going to throw her phone at them.

“I’m still waiting on that explanation, love,” Killian muttered. “The game’s going to be fun. We raise some money, we score some goals, we impress loved ones.” “Loved ones?” “I am consistently and only ever trying to impress you. Who I love. Quite a bit in fact.” “Is this still part of the distraction?”

He made a contradictory noise, mouth still pressed against her skin and there hadn’t been much argument about naming him captain of one of the teams. Emma wasn’t entirely sure he’d ever really stopped being captain of the New York Rangers. Or would. Any tense, really.

There’d been some discussion about the other team and it took, exactly, ten minutes for Robin to sigh dramatically and agree to Merida’s request – possibly because Regina had turned towards him and her eyebrows didn’t move at all when she glared. It was incredibly intimidating.

“It’ll be good for TV,” Merida promised. “Plus don’t you want to brag to Cap when you come up with a different team?” “Wait, what?” Robin balked.

“I mean...you’re going to have to stage a draft.” A draft. For a charity game. On Garden ice. In the offseason. With all proceeds going to a very good cause and an absurd amount of signed merch that was piled in Emma’s office and had recently migrated a bit to Matt’s old room because there was so much and Chris had only argued a little bit about helping.

He was thirteen he argued about everything.

There’d been more talking after Merida’s announcement, more planning and way too much trash talk amongst a group of former and current athletes than Emma entirely expected, but they were all way too competitive and it was only a matter of time before someone made a bet about something.

Or several things.

There’d probably be multiple bets.

“Swan,” Killian said, drawing out her name and pulling her out of memories and she startled against his chest. It was enough to work another groan out of him. “Look who’s being incredibly distracting now.” “You’re going to scandalize Mer.” “She’s way too busy trying to figure out who hit what traffic and how much she’s got to placate this growing crowd.” He waved his free hand, the one not currently wrapped around her middle, through the air and it was a testament to Emma’s current mental state that she hadn’t noticed the crowd or the media or the, frankly, ridiculous number of twenty jerseys around them.

She was still sitting on Killian’s right thigh.

“You think we scandalized all of them by whatever it was you were doing to my shoulder?” she asked, and she expected his answering laugh.

“Oh, absolutely. That was part of the distraction technique too.” “This is a very involved plan.” “Yeah, well, you were going to do damage to the ground by pacing right through it,” Killian countered. “So it seems to keep getting more and more complex with each passing moment. Also I know you’re worried they’re all going to be weird about this.” “Weird?” “Weird. Strange. Overly competitive. Absolutely refuse to draft Scarlet until the very final pick.” Emma’s jaw cracked when it dropped, fingers still where they’d been tracing patterns on the back of Killian’s neck and she swore his hand tightened around her middle. “Have you been staging secret draft meetings without me, Cap?”

He shook his head, but that felt like a lie too and the smirk was honestly absurd. It shouldn’t get more powerful as the years went on.

Merida had started yelling in the phone. Emma wasn’t entirely sure it was all English.

“No, no, no, no,” Killian stammered, and Emma had to move her eyebrows when she glared. She was never as good as Regina.

“You want to try that again?” “They’re not meetings, really…” “No, they’re, like, battle plans,” Roland said, appearing in front of them with a smile on his face and head-to-toe Flyers gear. Killian groaned against Emma’s shoulder. “Why are you guys sitting on the ground? Don’t we have chairs at this shindig?” “Please don’t call it a shindig in front of Mer,” Emma implored. “She’s stressed enough as it is. And where did you come from?” “And what are you wearing?” Killian added.

Roland crossed his arms. “I play for this team, Hook. It’s not like I’m going to show up in blue merch for this. I don’t care what ice I’m skating on.” “You practice that?” “Several times in the cab cross-town.” “Gina know you took a cab?”

The orange appeared to get stronger or brighter or some other verb that wasn’t possible because it was a shirt and not a sentient being, the longer Roland stood there. His eyes widened and his lips pressed together, and Killian practically cackled into Emma’s arm.

“If you tell Gina that I took a cab from the apartment, she’s never going to let me back into the apartment,” Roland hissed.

“Why didn’t you come with them?” “They were having breakfast when Henry and his kids. Because Henry is staying in a hotel and--” “--Didn’t get guilt tripped by Gina to sleep on the couch when he was home for the weekend,” Emma added, and she wasn’t sure if that was another laugh out of Killian or if he’d just never really stopped, but Roland’s face was almost too red now. “Go stand next to Mer, Rol,” she continued. “I’d like to compare shades of red.”

He stuck his tongue out at her.

“You’re a picture of maturity,” Killian chuckled. “Thirty-year-old man guilt tripped by his mother and then embarrassed by it.” “Ok, I’m not embarrassed by it,” Roland argued. “I just didn’t know it was going to be some kind of point of contention or fodder for trash talk or--” “--Are we trash talking you?” Emma asked, the sound of footsteps moving towards them and it sounded like Merida had finally taken a deep breath. She probably should have helped some more. She was way too busy flirting with Killian.

“Well, yeah. Right, that’s what’s happening? Isn’t it? Also where is everyone?”

“That’s a very good question. We think that’s what Mer is yelling about.” “Trash talking the trash talkers, huh?” Emma shrugged. “I’m fairly positive she’s upset no one is taking this as seriously as they’re supposed to.” “That’s not true at all. Dad and Uncle Will and Hook had some kind of meeting about how they were going to draft. Uncle Will was super pissed they wanted to draft him last and Uncle Liam laughed so loudly the rumors were it was going to do damage to Hook’s phone.” “How do you know that?”

It could not have been safe for Roland’s skin to keep shifting between pale and flushed so quickly. Emma tried not to laugh. Killian absolutely did not.

“Ok, you can’t be annoyed by this,” Roland said, holding both his hands up and Emma widened her eyes. She figured Killian moved his eyebrows – based solely off the blush-type reaction in Roland’s cheeks. “I’m pretty positive Uncle Will told Mattie because he thinks Hook is going to draft Mattie first, which, you know, obviously.” “And that means what, exactly?” Emma asked, only slightly frustrated she hadn’t been involved in any of these pre-draft meetings.

She should not have been surprised that there were pre-draft meetings.

They were all way too competitive for their own good.

Roland sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking back on his heels. It sounded like Merida was growling on the other side of Chase Square. “I’m, like, sixty-seven percent positive Uncle Will thought he could get Mattie to persuade Hook to break the pre-draft agreement and then he wouldn’t be angry about getting drafted last or whatever, but I don’t think Mattie went for it. I’m like ninety-two percent positive about that.” “These percentages are absurd.” “Math’s not his strong suit,” Killian grinned.

Roland kicked at his ankle. “If that’s your form of trash talk you are crazy out of practice, Hook. And I only know because I talked to Mattie yesterday because--” “--You were trash talking?” “I mean if I lie are you actually going to ground me?” “As previously discussed, mate, you are a professional athlete. Who is thirty years old. I don’t think I’ve got that kind of clout anymore.” “Thirty-one. Technically.” “Math’s not his strong suit either,” Emma laughed, leaning back when Killian hooked his chin over her shoulder and there must have been hair in his face. He didn’t seem to mind.

Whoever groaned behind them, however, very clearly minded quite a bit.

And was holding two different signs.

“Aw, c’mon, seriously?” Peggy sighed, flanked by a clearly amused Anna and a slightly disgusted Liam. Elsa didn’t look surprised. Lizzie’s eyes darted towards Roland’s immediately. She was wearing orange too.

“Right?” Roland laughed. He took a step forward, cheeks still far too flushed to be healthy and curls that were far too long because it was the offseason and hockey players were notoriously lazy when there weren’t games to be played.

At least the ones Emma knew.

Her fingers moved back to Killian’s hair.

“You guys know there are chairs here, right?” Peggy asked. Someone laughed. It might have been Elsa. It was definitely Elsa. “Where’s Uncle Robin? Does Dad win by default if Uncle Robin forfeits the draft?” “No one is forfeiting anything,” Emma said evenly, tugging on the hem of Peggy’s shirt when she moved in front of them. It was appropriately team-branded. There wasn’t a C on her shoulder. Elsa was still laughing. “I think that’d actually make Merida start to cry.” “Does Mer know how to cry?” “I’d really rather not find out.” Peggy hummed in agreement, sinking onto the ground without ceremony and letting her elbows rest on her bent knees. “Yeah, that’s fair. She know there’s some crazy accident on the FDR? That’s why we were late.”

“Locksley doesn’t have that excuse,” Killian reasoned. “They’d probably be coming up 10th Avenue anyway.” “You some kind of traffic soothsayer now, KJ?” Elsa asked, Liam’s arm still around her when she moved and Killian was going to do permanent damage to his eyebrows. “How come you aren’t letting Emma sit in a chair?” “He’s worried about the draft,” Liam answered. Killian flipped him off.

“Hey, c’mon, your kid is sitting right there!” “I’m almost twenty, Uncle Liam,” Peggy said, and Emma wasn’t sure what her soul did at that, but she was glad she was perched on Killian’s right leg when it happened. His arm tightened again. “I don’t think that makes me a kid. And Dad’s not worried about the draft.” Sprained eyebrows. Honestly. Emma wondered where Ariel was. Probably stuck in some other part of Midtown. Or the Long Island Expressway.

“Is he not?” Liam asked, and they were all going to be sitting on the ground sooner rather than later.

Peggy shook her head. “Obviously not. You hear about that trash talk he was giving Uncle Robin after he made that mistake on TV?” She let out a low whistle, eyes bright and only a little disconcerting and all of their kids were far too charming for their own good. They knew it too. “Could barely talk about the game without laughing in the middle of his segment. Nah, Dad’s crazy confident in his team already.” “Maybe you’re the soothsayer, little love," Killian said, smile obvious in his voice and Emma groaned when he leaned both of them forward to read the signs in Peggy’s hands. “When’d you make these? And when did you see the segment?” “On the plane. I think the lady next to me thought I was legitimately crazy. You know how expensive markers are in the Eugene airport? Highway robbery, honestly.” “Wouldn’t it be, like, sky robbery?” Lizzie asked, and Peggy rolled her eyes. “You make everybody signs or just people you’re related to and making out with?” Peggy appeared to be trying to melt into the stone ground. Merida stopped talking for half a second. Emma was, at least, ninety-seven and a half percent positive it was because of the look on Killian’s face.

“Thanks a lot, Elizabeth,” Peggy grumbled, and Lizzie didn’t answer, just leaned further against Roland’s side. Peggy didn’t notice. She was far too busy staring at her hands. They were still holding signs. “Ok,” she mumbled. “It’s not really like that…” “What is it like then?” Killian asked. Anna laughed that time.

“Jeez, KJ. That was way too hardcore for whatever it is we’re doing. Where’s your other kids?” “Chris is with Mattie,” Emma explained. She wasn’t entirely sure if Killian could actually answer. Or formulate any thoughts that were not about getting immediate and concrete answers out of Peggy. She bit her lip.

“It’s really not like that,” she said again, glancing up under her lashes and Killian’s whole body sagged against Emma’s. Liam mumbled something that sounded a hell of a lot like overprotective idiot under his breath.

“You do not have a leg to stand on this situation, Liam,” Killian warned. “See if I draft you later.” “Please, I don’t want to play for your garbage team.” “Oh don’t do that,” Anna groaned. “You want to be on KJ’s team, Liam.” “How you figure?” Anna muttered a string of curses, most of them in a language that was neither English nor Norwegian, and something cracked loudly when she leaned back against Peggy’s side. “Ignore that,” she said, a command to the whole lot of them and there was another car door slamming from Seventh Avenue. “Also, you’ve got to be on KJ’s team because otherwise you’re going to have to face off against Matt and that’s going to literally be the single most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you.” “And one time he fell off those rocks in Central Park and nearly sprained his wrist and had to come up with a lie to Mom and Dad about why he couldn’t move his hand without wincing,” Elsa added conspiratorially. Liam gaped at her. “Who’s the guy, Pegs?” Peggy gritted her teeth, glaring daggers at Lizzie. “I didn’t realize it was a secret.” “It’s not an anything,” Peggy shouted. “Margaret,” Killian muttered, and her whole body sagged forward when she exhaled dramatically.

“Who do we not know that’s playing in this game?” Emma asked. She tried to glance up through her skull when a hand landed on her shoulder and David grinned down at her.

“Your eyes are going to get stuck that way,” he said, Ruth plastered to his side and Mary Margaret was absolutely holding some form of baked good. “You know there’s a ton of traffic on the West Side, who decided to do this in the middle of the afternoon on Saturday?” “Ruby?” “God, remind me to yell at her about that, where is she?” “I have no idea,” Emma answered at the same time Peggy said “in her office, yelling at someone about the banners that very clearly aren’t here.” “How do you know that?” Peggy made a noise in the back of her throat. “She wanted to know where we were and if I was with you. And also where MD and Toph were.” “Are they not here yet?” Mary Margaret asked, already holding the Tupperware container out expectantly when Roland all but lunged at it. “And where’s the rest of the draft stock? Shouldn’t Robin be here? And Humbert?” Peggy froze. Liam chuckled.

“I’m not going to draft you solely so I can check you later, Liam,” Killian hissed, but his eyes didn’t move away from Peggy.

Emma reached out slowly, tapping her thumb on her lower lip in an effort to make sure she didn’t bite through it. “We don’t have time to get stitches, babe,” she mumbled. “And your brother will be mad if we steal his spotlight.” “Please,” Peggy countered. “The only brother’s who’s going to be mad about anything is Toph. Literally no one in the world has ever been more excited to see Dad play hockey.” Those emotions Emma was fifty percent certain she’d managed to corral a few minutes before reappeared in full force and the thought had crossed her mind more than anything else, the first and only time Chris would ever see his dad play on Garden ice and it made her heart do something and her pulse do something else and she wanted to scream and shout and jump up and down and one charity game should not be causing her so much personal turmoil.

She might make her own signs.

“Aw, we can’t even trash talk that,” Will said, and Emma wished they’d all stop teleporting to Chase Square. Peggy jumped up, concern over maybe boyfriends and guys who weren’t playing hockey, but had also grown up around hockey, forgotten as soon as Will moved towards them and he grunted when she threw the full force of her weight into his chest. “God, I’m not a hurdle, Margaret,” he mumbled, but there was a note of something in his voice and Peggy looked like she held on tighter. “You don’t have to try and jump over me.” “Shut up, Uncle Will.” “Aye, aye, ma’am.” She burrowed her face into the crook of his neck, and David was only slightly vocal about not getting a reception like that. Will grinned at him over Peggy’s shoulder. “Why are you guys all sitting on the ground? Where’s Locksley?” “Stuck in traffic with Matt and Chris and Graham Humbert’s kid apparently,” Killian said, catching Emma around the wrist before she could swat at his shoulder. Will’s eyes widened.

“Dad,” Peggy whined. “It’s not like that. It’s...the only people who got signs were you and MD.” “Wait, wait, Scarlet and I didn’t get a sign?” Liam asked.

“Liam, I’m seriously going to check you tomorrow,” Killian said. Will’s eyes still had not returned to a size that was correct for a human being.

“And I don’t think Graham’s kid is in the same car as Chris and Mattie,” Emma reasoned. It wasn’t easy to stand up, particularly when Killian’s arm seemed intent on melding into her body, but she managed to shift back to her feet and Peggy scrunched her nose when she pried her away from Will’s chest.

Her hair brushed Emma’s mouth.

“You’re no help at all either,” Peggy grumbled. “And it’s really not like that at all. Jer and I are friends. Lizzie’s just a giant jerk and--”

“--Mattie was the one who told me he thought he had to talk to this guy in person this weekend,” Lizzie interrupted.

“What?”

Lizzie held both her hands up, a rare surrender from anyone with the last name Vankald or Jones. There were more footsteps coming towards them. And heels. It appeared Ruby had descended from her office. “If you tell him that I told you that Margaret Elsa, I will push you in traffic,” Lizzie hissed, Roland clicking his tongue and Will mumbling oh shit in between laughing.

“Why is MD talking to you about this?” “Probably for the same reason we always talk about this. And because he was really mad we accidentally liked that one girls Instagram photo.” There was a chorus of what from the ever-growing peanut gallery and Chris slammed into Killian’s side, barely managing to get up before a thirteen-year-old inadvertently concussed himself on his ribs. “Slow down, kid,” Killian mumbled out of habit, and it didn’t work. It never worked. None of the Jones Line ever learned to control their limbs.

“Dad, seriously, I need you to stop making that face,” Peggy continued, seemingly unperturbed by the arrival of her younger brother when she was so clearly planning the murder of her older brother. “I can make a sign that says Jer and I are just friends if that’d help.” “I mean, it might,” Killian admitted. He flashed her a smile and his eyebrows twisted, tongue pressed into the corner of his mouth in a way that was supposed to be charming, but just left Peggy groaning against Emma’s side with more hair everywhere.

“And,” she added. “That Instagram thing happened literally years ago. MD was like--” “--A sophomore in college,” Matt finished, stepping towards them with Robin and the rest of the Mills-Locksley family close behind and both Emma and Will chuckled when Roland practically jumped to attention.

“Saw that,” she mumbled. He made a face.

“I was a sophomore in college, Margaret,” Matt intoned, hardly flinching when Peggy kicked and punched at him and Emma was going to end up bruised and battered by the end of this inevitable argument. “And that girl thought I was nuts after.” “Should have explained it better,” Peggy said. “And, you know, look at you now. I bet she’s really regretting that decision.” “She wouldn’t have had to if you and Lizzie were normal people!” “Ok, well, that’s just kind of rude, MD.” “Super rude,” Lizzie agreed, digging her chin into Peggy’s shoulder when she took a step closer. “Plus, who freaks out about that? A normal person would have thought you were just interested in--” “--Stalking her,” Chris finished. Matt lunged at him, more laughter ringing in the air and both Killian and Emma sighed, but that was as much reprimand as they were going to get out because they were incredibly behind schedule and their kids were some of the best trash talkers in the Tri-State area.

“We were stalking here a little,” Lizzie admitted, the smile on Chris’ face growing with every passing minute. “You late because you were stuck in traffic or because you were watching film?” Chris stopped laughing. And Matt froze, a picture-perfect impersonation of Killian being caught mid-lie that was absolutely, positively not on purpose. Emma’s emotions could not handle that day. Peggy nearly fell over when she cackled.

“Oh God,” she mumbled, shaking her hair away from her face. “You don’t get to say anything to me for the rest of the weekend, MD. I can’t believe you almost messed up Mom’s event because you were showing off for Toph. That one goal against the Pens was not that impressive, I promise.”

Matt blinked. And it took Emma, approximately, three seconds and one emotion-fueled gasp for everything to click.

Because no one had ever been more excited for Killian Jones to make his return to Garden ice than Christopher Jones – even through all that thirteen-year-old teenage angst.

“Wasn’t me,” Matt muttered. “And that goal was insanely impressive and you know it.” “You flatter yourself.” “Wait until tomorrow. You’re going to be stunned.” “That so?” “Guaranteed.” “Care to place a wager on that?”

Matt’s smile was as wide as the entire goddamn island of Manhattan, eyes flashing and hair falling towards his eyes and Roland was already demanding to get in on that action too, Lizzie rummaging in her bag for a notebook to make sure the rules were properly documented.

Emma moved, fingers lacing with Killian’s on instinct and several other things that would make everyone in a twenty-foot radius groan and gag and Chris had three cookies in one hand. “Slow down kid,” she said. “Didn’t your brother feed you?” Chris nodded, bobbing on the balls of his feet. “Yeah, yeah, yeah, but then we were watching the film from the first Cup run and he was letting me practice that shot Rook took--”

“--In his apartment?” “Matt doesn’t care about his security deposit. You see his rookie signing bonus?” Emma scoffed, but she couldn’t argue and Chris probably knew more about the contract than Matt did. At least as much as Regina did. “And?” she prompted.

“And that was a really good goal at the end of the game, Dad.” Killian’s hand squeezed Emma’s. “Thanks,” he grinned, wrapping another arm around Chris’ middle and pulling him back to his side and there was the teenage angst, right on schedule in disgruntled noise form. “Nah, nah, you don’t get to compliment me and then try and get out of being properly parented in public.” “That sentence doesn’t even make any sense.” “You want to get on the ice later?” “I mean...obviously, but only so I can figure out how you got enough speed on that breakaway.” “Don’t expect too much out of him, Toph,” Robin said, a kid clinging to his side who did not appear to appreciate the amount of noise the Jones Line was making. “He was running on adrenaline and the end of the game and trying to impress your Mom.” “Gross,” Matt and Peggy yelled in tandem.

“True though,” Will promised. “Almost always for like eons.” “It has not been that long, Scarlet,” Killian objected.

“Hasn’t it? Time flies and keeps on slipping and all that. I got a question for you, Cap.” Killian hummed, caution in the sound and Chris’ eyes darted between the two of them like he was watching a passing exercise. “Who’s going to wear twenty in this game?” Will asked, and it was like someone had pressed pause or pulled all the oxygen out of the entire planet and Emma was not entirely prepared for Ruby to curse as loudly as she did.

“Aw, shit,” she growled, stomping her foot for emphasis. “I didn’t even think about that.” “And you don’t have to,” Killian promised. HIs hand was still a vice around Emma’s though, and Chris appeared to have turned into some kind of stone, the number on his back growing larger with every passing second. Or at least it felt that way.

“Hey, what?” Matt asked sharply. “That’s my number.” Killian shook his head. “That’s my number.”

“Are you kidding me?” “Are you?” “I’m not giving up my number,” Matt said evenly, and Emma wasn’t sure who laughed loudest or longest, but she had to resist the urge to glance at the ceiling because her kid never really tried to sound like Killian, but it usually happened that way more often than not.

Killian didn’t move, didn’t pull his hand away from Emma, but she swore he got taller or more intimidating and Matt’s shoulders slumped slightly. “If I’m going to play in this game, then I’m going to wear my number,” Killian said.

“Captain voice,” Chris mumbled, Matt rolling his whole head in frustration.

“See if I feed you again later, C,” he groaned. “Dad, is this a joke? It’s my number. Currently. I’m going to wear it in a couple of weeks when camp starts.” “Because he’s a professional hockey player now, Hook, you see,” Roland grinned, gaze darting towards Peggy when she couldn’t keep her laugh in her body.

“I’m well aware of what he is, mate. I’m just not entirely understanding why that’s got any bearing on what number he wears for this game.” “I’ve never worn anything except twenty,” Matt cried. “This is insane.” “Nah, I think that’s just you and Dad, MD,” Peggy said. “Also you’re both ridiculously superstitious. That might be the most insane part.” “That’s definitely the most insane part,” Lizzie agreed.

“Ah, that was nice backup. Sorry for you calling you Elizabeth before, it felt weird when I was saying it. I’d like to never do it again.” “I’d like to never hear it again.” “Done.” Peggy shrugged. “Maybe Uncle Liam can just check MD tomorrow instead. It was his fault anyway.” “Consider it done, Pegs,” Liam grinned, Elsa only groaning slightly at the guarantee. It didn’t matter. Emma groaned loudly enough for the both of them.

“You guys can’t check each other,” she said. “It’s a charity game. We’ve had this conversation, I know we have. I was there.” “We don’t know how to play any other way,” Will argued. Ruby was never going to stop cursing. That was probably what the stories would be about. “And I really, really want to check Cap.” “I’m not drafting you, Scarlet, I don’t know how you’re going to check Cap,” Robin said.

Will checked him. Without a stick.

“Scarlet, if you do that again, I will never let you on Garden ice,” Ruby threatened.

“Can you actually do that?” “You want to challenge it?” “I mean, not particularly.” “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Ruby grinned, but that felt a little threatening too and Merida had finally hung up her phone.

“Are we all here?” she asked. Her hair was in even more disarray than Peggy’s. “Where’s Rook? And Humbert? Why did we invite Humbert?” Several pairs of eyes flashed towards Peggy, color rising in her cheeks and the toe of her shoe digging into the ground. “All of you guys are the worst,” she mumbled. “Can we focus on MD and Dad being crazy people instead? That’s way more fun.” “It is a little crazy, KJ,” Elsa said. “This is your kid. Wearing your number.” Killian narrowed his eyes. “A beacon of support, El. I can’t play on Garden ice if I’m not wearing my number. Peg’s right, it’s way too many superstitions.” “That’s ridiculous.” “You want to be responsible for the broken bones I’ll inevitably endure when Scarlet checks me?” Emma wasn’t sure what noise she made – a groan and gasp and possibly some kind of inhuman growl, but her head collided almost painfully with Killian’s shoulder and the twenty on her back was his twenty and they were arguing over possession of numbers.

“Wait, what?” Merida asked sharply. She looked like she was considering using the clipboard in her hand as a weapon.

“Nothing, nothing, Mer,” Robin promised. Killian’s eyes, somehow, got more narrow. “We’re super behind schedule, right? You look like you want to kill us.” “I don’t want to kill you. I want to know where Rook and Humbert are.” “Hey, hey, hey,” Phillip yelled, one hand in the air and Emma could just make out Canucks colors and Will was going to check Graham before he checked Killian. Before the game started. “We’re here, we’re here, Mer, please don’t curse us or anything. Did you guys start? Humbert was worried Cap was going to start without him so he didn’t have to draft him.” “Ok, I never said I’d do that,” Killian muttered, but that didn't ring quite true either and Peggy was biting her lip again. And doing an absolutely horrible job of avoiding Jeremy Humbert’s very obvious gaze.

“Right, right, God, should I be this out of breath before I’ve got to wreck all of you tomorrow?” “Wow, just starting real early with the trash talk, huh, Rook?” Ruby asked.

“I wanted to make up for lost time. Plus, I’ve got nothing on the Jones Line. Hey Pegs, when’d you land?” Peggy opened her mouth to answer, but Ruby was back to threatening and the media horde was starting to get restless and they really did need to draft a team. Preferably before Killian challenged Jeremy Humbert to one-on-one combat. Or Liam did. Or Will did. Or Matt did.

Peggy pushed her signs into Killian’s chest. “They both say skate fast,” she announced. “Because both you and MD are ridiculously fast and superstitious and I’m not that creative.”

Killian stared at her for a beat, those eons Will was talking about before seemingly passing by them just to prove a point or toy with Emma’s emotions. Peggy didn’t argue when he tugged her forward, brushing a kiss over the crown of her hair like she was a kid and not an even better athlete than her professional athlete brother.

“Thank you, little love,” he said. “C’mon, let’s go draft a team.”

That, however, proved to be more difficult than just standing at those absurd podiums with an absurd number of cameras pointed at them and Chris didn’t appreciate when Emma’s head fell to his shoulder. Peggy’s head was on his other side.

“I’m not actually a pillow person,” Chris hissed, while Ruby explained the rules and one player for every pick and please keep this rated PG and a few fans laughed at that. Robin won the coin toss to pick first. They literally flipped a coin. “God, P, stop digging your elbow into my hip.” “That is not where your hip is, Toph.” “Can you guys relax, please?” Emma asked, but it was drifting dangerously close to begging already and no one had even made a pick yet.

“Toph and MD didn’t invite me to their super cool, super hangout thing,” Peggy said. “That means I can do whatever I want with my elbows.” “I don’t think that’s entirely true, babe.” “And we didn’t know what time you were going to land,” Chris added. “So, like...move your elbow or I’m going to tell Jeremy Humbert you want to marry him.” Peggy jabbed him in the side, drawing a far too loud to be appropriate exclamation out of Chris that also led to him jumping to his feet and a shoulder slamming into Emma’s jaw. Killian’s head snapped up, both hands gripping the side of his podium with a wide-eyed gaze, like he was waiting for the inevitable broken bone or someone to find a stick somewhere and start hitting the other in the ankles.

Emma sighed.

And she almost didn’t hear it at first.

Peggy and Chris stopped arguing immediately.

“What?” Killian rasped, and Robin grinned like he’d already won the entire goddamn game.

“I said, with the first overall pick in whatever we’re calling this--” “--The summer classic, Locksley,” Ruby growled. “God, we’ve been over this.” “Right, right, yeah, that’s not very creative though.” “I’m going to revoke your captaincy, right here.” “Oh my God, Lucas, do it,” Will yelled, Liam shouting his own encouragements and Emma couldn’t actually see Matt anymore. He appeared to have slumped in his seat, Roland trying to pull him back up by the scruff of his own jersey.

“Say that again, Locksley,” Killian challenged. Robin’s expression didn’t change. “I’m drafting your kid, Cap. First overall, so, uh...congrats Matt, even better than your actual draft.”

Emma didn’t remember standing, only that she was and that was kind of a problem because her knees didn’t seem all that interested in functioning like actual parts of her body.

“It’s not like I didn’t get drafted, Uncle Robin,” Matt countered, but Robin shrugged and Ruby was trying to get him to come on stage so he could change jerseys. “Wait, wait, wait,” he sputtered. “This isn’t actually a joke?” “Please don’t call this event a joke, mini-Jones,” Ruby said.

“I didn’t mean it like that, Ru.” “Yeah, sure you didn’t. I really need you to put this jersey on and pose for a photo. Like twenty minutes ago, honestly, but your parents were probably flirting and--” “--Hey,” Killian cut in sharply, and Emma hoped Ruby hadn’t done damage to any of her teeth when she snapped her jaw closed. “Alright, with the second overall pick in whatever the hell we’re calling this ridiculous game, I draft Roland Locksley. And I’m keeping my number, Matthew.”

Robin’s mouth fell open.

“Oh my God,” Ruby mumbled, head in her hands and Merida had dropped her clipboard on the ground. “Mini-Jones, I wasn’t kidding about the photo. That goes for you too now, Rol.” Roland saluted. “Sure thing, Rubes. You see what a better choice the number two overall pick is? Ready and willing to report for duty.” “You’re a kiss-up,” Matt hissed.

“And that’s an insult you came up with when you were eight years old. It still doesn’t make any sense now, Mattie.” “Aw, c’mon.” “Mattie Jones, going to lose more than half his faceoffs tomorrow afternoon.” “You’re a winger, Locksley,” Matt challenged, and Emma pinched the bridge of her nose, her two other kids enthusiastically cheering for whatever against the rules trash talk was preventing Ruby from staying on photo schedule.

“Who’s not going to score any goals tomorrow,” Peggy yelled. “Down with the Flyers! Fly away home, Locksley!” “That was kind of funny, P,” Chris grinned.

“Right? I’ve been waiting to use that forever. Who shows up in orange in New York? You look ridiculous!”

Roland ignored both of them. “True, I am a winger, but you’re some kind of All-Rookie centerman, so that’s free bait to mock.” “That doesn’t make sense either! Yours makes less sense than mine did! At least I was eight, that gives me some more leeway to--” “--Guys, please,” Ruby groused. David was hysterical. The subReddit was probably already talking about this. Emma was pretty positive there was a live stream somewhere. “Locksley you’ve got to make another pick.”

“Of course, Lucas,” Robin said. “I’d like everyone to take notice that my draft pick couldn’t take his picture in a timely fashion because Cap’s draft pick stalled him.” “That’s your kid, Locksley,” Killian yelled.

“No, no, for the next forty-eight hours, that’s your right winger.” “Oh my God. I want Rook on my team.” “Cap, you can’t go out of order,” Ruby yelled, jumping slightly in frustration and Phillip was already standing up.

“Yeah, I don’t care. Rook, c’mere, you know how to take faceoffs?” “Are you kidding me, Killian?” Liam shouted. They were all, apparently, going to stand up now. “You’re going to draft a winger before you draft an actual centerman. Whose rookie record for faceoff wins stood for a very long time.” “He’d like the record to show,” Anna intoned dramatically. Elsa had to put her hand over her mouth to stop her laughter. It didn’t work at all.

“Yeah, how’d that work out for you, Uncle Liam?” Matt asked archly.

Liam crossed his arms. “Don’t get uppity on me, kid. I’m willing to bet at least twenty bucks and some form of food for both you and your constantly hungry brother, if I win more faceoffs than you tomorrow.” “What if we’re on the same team?” “And I’m not always hungry,” Chris objected, a choir of ehhs raining down on him.

“C, you literally ate an entire box of cinnamon LIFE this morning,” Matt sighed, refusing to acknowledge Peggy’s outcry at that. The media horde was going to have a field day with this. “Alright, Uncle Liam, you’re on. No matter what team we’re on. You win more faceoffs than me, I want food, real food, not street cart shit.” “Matthew,” several adults shouted, and both the media and fans laughed loudly.

“You got a deal, kid,” Liam said, finally sitting back down.

Ruby inhaled, shoulders moving with the force of it. “Can we take two seconds to focus on what we’re actually here to do?” she snapped. “Cap, you can have Rook, I honestly do not--” “--Hey, I thought there were rules,” Robin interrupted. He’d definitely done damage to several teeth when Ruby very clearly tried to turn him to stone with the force of her glare. “Fine, fine, fine, then I take Humbert.”

Graham flashed a cautious smile over his shoulder, and Killian groaned, slouching so his forearms rested on the podium.

“Hey, remember that time Humbert punched, Cap?” Will asked brightly. “That was fun. What good memories we’ve got, huh?”

“You’re not doing your draft stock any favors, Scarlet,” Emma chided. He winked at her.

Ruby had sat down at some point. This was going to get its own 30 for 30 based solely on the absurdity of it all. “Alright, Locksley,” she said. “Back to you.”

It went that way for what felt like several increasingly long eternities, Emma tugging Chris back down so she had something to lean on and he didn’t bother arguing when Peggy moved to rest her head on his leg. And Emma couldn't really say she was surprised. Even if she hadn’t known about the pre-draft meetings, she knew both Killian and Robin would absolutely try to pick Will last, but she hadn’t expected it to come down to him and Liam.

There was a considerable amount of cursing going on in Norwegian.

“This is honestly insulting,” Liam announced, not for the first time.

“And embarrassing,” Elsa chipped in. “Babe, you’ve got to sit down. The pacing thing is freaking me out and you’re only playing into KJ’s plan.” “I have no plan, El,” Killian promised, but his eyes flickered towards Emma and his answering smile when she mouthed liar was honestly unfair. “I’m merely weighing my options.” “You’re being a jerk is what you’re being, KJ,” Anna corrected. “Lording your power.” “You think Liam will pull a hamstring from pacing so much? Can’t be healthy or a guy of age.” “Oh screw you, Killian,” Liam seethed, wincing when he realized what he’d said. “Sorry, Lucas. Just like...tell the media not to listen to me or something.” “Yeah, I don’t think it works like that,” Ruby said. She was still perched on the steps leading to the podiums, but she’d coerced Matt next to her some time in between the tenth and eleventh pick and they both looked dangerously close to falling asleep.

Emma wondered how much film had actually been watched the night before.

“Seriously, Cap,” Robin sighed. “It’s not that hard. Pick Scarlet and live with your spotty at best defense.” “What the hell, Locksley?” Will seethed. “Listen, you’re more removed from the game than I am. By, like, actual seasons.” “Four seasons, Scarlet.” “Five, actually. Do you not know how to tell time?” “God, did you really play that long after I retired?” Will nodded quickly, sarcasm practically radiating off the movement. “Yeah, you’re old, Locksley. And you are notoriously terrible in the defensive zone, so maybe you’re the one who needs a defender in this game.” “Where are you trying to get drafted, Scarlet?” Emma asked.

“At this point, I genuinely don’t care. I just want to go before Leader, so I can brag about that for the rest of time and then we can all get some food somewhere.”

“Yeah, seriously,” Ariel said, perched on the same seat as Mary Margaret with what appeared to be cookie crumbs sticking to the pads of her fingers.

Ruby made a noise that was equal parts absurd and impressive. “Did you teleport here?”

“Snuck in during the whole who gets to draft whose child debacle. M’s fed me, but this has honestly taken several lifetimes, right? Did someone feed Chris? He’s probably chewing Emma’s arm off back there.” “He and Pegs went to get pretzels like twenty minutes ago,” Emma explained. “You hit traffic in the tunnel?” “Someday that construction will be over. Hey, Pegs, how was your flight?”

Peggy opened her mouth to answer, but Ruby clicked her tongue and Liam threw his head back and there really weren’t many fans left. They’d exhausted the fans with their nonsense.

“You’ve really got to pick, KJ,” Elsa said, a note of ancient command in her voice that made several next-gen children sit up straighter. “Just take Liam so Anna and I can freak out about it.”

Killian tilted his head, and Emma could almost hear the thoughts and the metaphorical gears, and she wasn’t entirely sure what she’d do if that happened, but the world still didn’t seem to care because--

“I’ll take Liam,” Killian said, shrugging like it wasn’t a big and huge and emotional deal. “Need a centerman anyway.” “Wow, that’s a glorious show of support, little brother,” Liam muttered.

“Younger. And it’ll be easier for you to face off against Matt if you’re actually facing off against Matt.” “Jeez, Dad,” Matt mumbled. “That competitive streak knows no bounds, huh?” “You wouldn’t give me my number.”

“You going to score on a breakaway to impress, Mom?” Killian’s eyes flashed back towards Emma, standing again with an arm around Chris and something fluttering in her chest that might have been her heart or her pulse or the same thing it had done for eons because he still looked at her the same way he had all those same eons ago.

And she knew the answer to the question already.

“Every single time,” Killian grinned. Smirked. It was really a smirk. God, that worked so well.

Peggy gagged. “You better score a breakaway too then, MD. Show off that speed or something.”

“Yeah, well, you made a sign, right, Mar?” he asked. She nodded. “Alright, alright, well, I’ve got a distinct lack of cinnamon LIFE in my apartment now, so what do you say, Dad?” Killian quirked an eyebrow. “To?”

“A wager. Best breakaway has to refill my apartment with food because your kid depleted all my recently purchased groceries and probably will when he stays over again tonight.” “I’m staying over again tonight?” Chris asked, excitement obvious in every letter.

Matt shrugged. “I figured.” “Yeah, yeah, yeah, ok!” “Hey, uh, not to spoil this undeniably adorable and only slightly debaucherous Jones family moment,” Will cut in. “But is anyone going to bother to draft me because it’s garbage you guys are being jerks about this.”

Robin laughed, jumping off the podium with an agility that was only slightly surprising. “Sure thing Scarlet,” he said. “I draft you, and if you let up a single goal, especially a Cap breakaway while you’re on the ice, I will check my own top defenseman, deal?” “Jeez, Locksley, you are insane when given any power. Gina, you know he’s like this?” Regina waved her hands through the air, a grandkid asleep on her shoulder. “I’m refusing to acknowledge any of this. I’m showing up in orange tomorrow, Jones, try and keep me out of the Garden.” “I wouldn’t dare, Gina,” Killian promised. He glanced back at Matt, a smug smile on his face and arms crossed over the twenty that really was both of theirs and Emma was going to hurt her neck shaking her head so often. “Alright, kid,” he said. “We’ve both got to try for breakaways, whoever gets it wins?” “What if you both get it?” Anna asked.

“Mom’ll judge,” Matt shrugged.

“No, no, no,” Emma exclaimed. “I am not doing that. I am not picking sides in any of this. This is absolutely insane and superstitious and I expect goals from both of you.” Killian laughed softly, covering more ground than Emma was entirely ready for and he was in her space almost immediately, lips on hers and a hand on her hip and the entire neighborhood probably groaned at that. “Deal, Swan,” Killian muttered, not bothering to move away from her mouth. “I’m totally going to win, though.” “God, that’s the weirdest thing you’ve ever said to me.” “This doesn’t answer the question though,” Anna pointed out. “If you guys both score on breakaways, then someone’s got to win the bet. Matt can’t be without cinnamon LIFE forever.” “God forbid,” Killian chuckled.

“I’ll do it,” Will said, a note in his voice that refused any questions. “I doubt either of them’ll score because my defense will be that good against Cap and Dr. J absolutely cannot cope with beating Cap, so I’m going to win by default. But I’m more than happy to judge if they manage to try it or whatever.” “Eloquent as always, Scarlet,” Robin murmured.

“Yeah, well you should have drafted me earlier. Can we eat now or should we stick around and scandalize the New York media some more?” “Nah, I think we’ve done more than enough of that,” Ruby said. “I refuse to share a cab with Cap and Emma. They’re going to make eyes at each other.” “Not true,” Emma argued, an arm around her shoulders and kids already groaning before she added. “We’re totally going to make out in the back of the cab, so…” Killian kissed the top of her hair. And hailed a cab. And made out in the backseat.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #captain swan #captain swan fic #cs fic #blue line one shots #CHRIS JONES IS REAL EXCITED TO SEE HIS DAD PLAY HOCKEY AND IT'S MESSING WITH EMMA'S EMOTIONS #everyone is a superstitious mess

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06/01/2018 DAB Transcript

2 Samuel 18:1-19:10a, John 20:1-31, Psalms 119:153-176, Proverbs 16:14-15

Today is the 1st day of June. Welcome to the Daily Audio Bible. I am Brian. It is great to be here with you. We have completed five full months, every day, as we’re making our way through the Bible this year, which brings us into a brand-new, shiny, sparkly month to walk into. Today is the 152nd day of the year. So, well done. We are well on our way. But make sure you stay tuned to the end today, on this first day of this brand-new month. I have something to tell you, something that's coming up in a couple months, but I need to you tell you the story. So, I will do that a little bit at the end. And even though we have crossed into a new month we’ll pick up right where we left off yesterday and that would take us back into the book of Second Samuel where there is an incredible amount of strife happening in David's family. David's son Absalom is trying to take his throne. It's looking like a battle is going to happen and we will move further and through that story. Second Samuel chapter 18 verse 1 through 19 verse 10. And we’re reading from the Common English Bible this week.

Commentary:

Okay. So, as we begin this the sixth the month of the year. Yes, yes, we’re getting into the middle of the year already. And as we begin the first day of this new month we come to the culmination of two different stories that we've been following for a while, the story of David and the turmoil in his family that began with his adultery with Bathsheba that eventually produced hatred in his son Absalom who tried to overthrow his father. And that's the story we’ve been walking through. And today, Absalom is killed in battle.

Then in the book of John we’ve walked through the last days of Jesus life and we've made an attempt to be very mindful and pay attention to what's happening since we won't be coming through this story again this year. And, so, we went all the way through Jesus last meal, all of the things that He had to say to His friends, His prayer in the garden, His arrest, His trial, His execution on a cross. And today we come to the tomb and find it empty. And tomorrow we will conclude the book of John, which means we will have concluded the Gospels: Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John. And then the day after tomorrow we will launch ourselves into the story of what came next as we begin the book of Acts.

Prayer:

Father, as we move into this new month we are finishing up some of the stories that we've been following and we are preparing to move into different territory and we invite Your Holy Spirit to lead and guide us through Your word as You've promised to do. We invite Your Holy Spirit to plant the Scriptures in our lives, allowing them to be available to us for counsel in any situation. We invite Your Holy Spirit to come and lead us into all truth. Come, Holy Spirit. We pray in Jesus’ name. Amen.

Announcements:

Okay. So, at the beginning I said that I had to tell you story to tell you about something that's coming up in a few months. And that few months is exactly 3 months from today, September 1st. Wow can you believe that? In three months it will be September 1, but, I mean, that's how it works. So, this story, it’s not a super long story. It goes back to 2012. Daily Audio Bible was in its 7th year and the community was growing up, growing up around it, staying vibrant, but it was all kind of in this virtual domain unless we were out on the road, but we had slowed that down to invest in local community. And things had gotten kinda backlogged. There was a lot of travel, a lot of requests. And we launched into something that we had kind of prototyped. I mean the Daily Audio Bible…I know that's all confusing by the way…it all make sense in a minute. The Daily Audio Bible is one of these things that pulled me from a completely different life of behind the scenes creativity into a much more public thing. I'm still not sure exactly what to call it but something different than what I was doing and I had to grow into that. So, often when we would travel we would come to gather together somewhere. We’d just say, hey, after this event we’re gonna go here or hey, the day before we do this thing we’re gonna meet here. And, so, we’d just have these little meetings. And it didn’t have any format or anything like that. It was just, you know, Jill and I would to come into a room of people and then we'd spend the next several hours just trying to get to know everybody but those things kept growing and growing till it was like impossible. So, in 2012 we decided to go back out on the road, spend the next year doing everything that we could to draw community together in as many cities as we could so that, you know, we could all see each other. And we would go to several cities a month and then we were ahead of the curve because there was no such thing as like Facebook Live or Periscope or any of these kind of instant live broadcasting streaming things. We wanted to stream it live so that there could be a community experience. No matter what city that we were in, we could all come together as a community. And, so, we live streamed before that was really an instant thing, right? You couldn't do it on your cell phone or anything like that. We had to travel with a little mini like TV production studio just to pull this off and set up cameras all over the place. And yeah, it was a lot of work from these events. And, so, an event would be happening in a location but people from all over the world would come together and chat with each other while this is all going on and hear each other's voices, hear each other's testimonies of what the Scriptures had been doing in their lives. And, so, it was a beautiful time. We called this the family gathering tour and what we planned to take about a year stretched out into 18 months and we did well over 100 events. I can't remember exactly. I have to go back through the calendar. I've actually…I was going through my calendar the other day just to try to figure out when it was we began this. And, so, I to kind of scroll back all the way to 2012. And I was going back, kind of, through my life over the last few years. And back then I was like, oh my gosh, just looking at this calendar makes me exhausted. I remember, I remember cause there was so much going on. It was at was a glorious and exhausting time. So, by the time we finished that 18 months I was like…I don't want to drive another mile. I want to be on another plane. I don't want to wait in another security line, like, I need to go home. But I have such fond memories, fond memories of my kids when they were little and little baby Ezekiel spending a lot of is babyhood on the road with his family. I remember we did two different family gatherings in two different years in London. And I remember that very well, Edinboro, Glasgow. I remember when we went to Australia - Brisbane and Melbourne and all over the United States. I mean all over the United States - north, south, east, west - Seattle, Portland, Los Angeles, San Diego, San Francisco, Phoenix, Dallas, Houston, Philadelphia, Baltimore, Cleveland, Indianapolis, Chicago, Denver, Colorado Springs. I mean, if I say here I could go on and on. I can't even remember. And we would get together on a Saturday night and just come together as a community. And a lot of times a church would host it. I was gonna be speaking there the next morning or something. And these things just grew and grew and grew and until sometimes they were larger than the service was going to be the next day. And we just spent a couple hours together and it was glorious and beautiful, just unbelievable to hear the stories, unbelievable to be standing on stage and someone share their testimony and be like I have, I've never met you but I have known your voice for a long time. And I know your story. So, I have a lot of memories of a lot of fatigue and exhaustion but also a lot of memories of faces and stories and people and interactions and just the grace and kindness of God for us and in this community, but that was long time ago. A lot has happened since then. Lots and lots of travel miles to lots and lots of cities since then just speaking in support of something that I had written and such, but we’ve never forgotten those days. And, so, my wife Jill and one of the one of the men who work here with us Mike, they got together and cooked up this idea and then came with this idea and I was like brought back so much of that tired time that I was, at first, like, sort of a minor participant saying, okay, let's step into this, let's take steps forward, let's flesh this out. And over the next few months that happened and I began to get more and more excited until I'm super excited about what we’re going to try to do. This coming September 1st and 2nd , which happens to be a holiday weekend in the United States that we know as Labor Day. So, it's a long weekend. We want to circle back. So, September 1st isn't the first date of a brand-new family gathering tour that were going to do. Rather, we want to invite you to the rolling hills of Tennessee for a Daily Audio Bible family reunion. And this will take place on September 1st and September 2nd of this year beginning three months from today. So, we just started thinking about family reunions and what do those look like and what would be campy and communal and fun and allow for great family experiences, immediate family experiences in community. How would this look? And we realized, well, you know, family reunions, they just kind of form. People come together. There’s not necessarily a lot of programming. the idea is that the family comes together and plays together needs together and has as a good time. So, we started looking for places that we could do something like that. We found this one place, kind of settled on it, locked it in then later we’re like, nah, this isn’t really going to do it. And then we looked for more places because want to get you into the heart of the rolling hills and just kind of be around the environment that we spend most of our time in. And we think we found it. We think we found the perfect spot called Deer Run. And it's a retreat facility not to…only about 15 minutes from Spring Hill. So, we found a location and then we start fleshing it out a little bit more. Like, what will everyone want to do. And, you know, here's the thing. Nashville, Tennessee, is like one of the hottest destinations in the United States right now. And there's a lot to do. So, we don’t want to bring everybody to one place and then no one to be able to kind of experience the rolling hills or all of the little hidden treasures that this area has or, for that matter, all that there is to do and see in Nashville itself. So, what we thought is, okay. We will have a September 1st evening together. We will have a meal together as a community, bring the best of the South to the plate, and then spend some time together, and go into the evening a little bit, have a campfire and just allow for community, but to give you your days to explore. So, we went through the process of like, well, there's a lot to explore. This is a large enough city with a lot going on. So, people won't know exactly where to find things are what to do. So, we came up with some ideas, some of our favorite things, some things that you will want to see depending on what your interests are. And, so, we made little adventures, little things that you can do, locating them where they are in the city so you’re not like driving around aimlessly, trying to figure out how to get to certain places and how long things are going to take and how you’re going to get back for dinner and all that. So, we came up with these little adventures. Like, if you if you want to really, really understand and experience the rolling hills of Tennessee then we've created a little adventure on how to do that. Like, if you’re on a bike or something like that you’ll want to do this but maybe you're a foodie, or maybe you are a boutique shopper or maybe you are a country music fan and you want to immerse yourself in all that or maybe you just like the glitz and glamour of Nash-Vegas and you want to be in the tourist areas or maybe you just want some quiet. We've tried to prepare ideas of things that you can do during the days that will give you a taste of the South, a taste of the environment from which all of this happens every day. And then we’ll come back together for dinner and spend our evenings together as a community. And those evenings can go as long as you want them to go. You guys can just sit around campfires or play games or whatever you want and try to have that same experience that I was just talking about being at these family gatherings and being on stage in some city and listening to people talk and knowing that I know that voice. You’ll have the same experience and it will be a chance for all of us to, once again, truly remember, truly see, we are not alone. We are never alone. So, from my family to yours, from our team to you, but we invite you to the rolling hills of Tennessee for the first ever Daily Audio Bible family reunion, September 1st and 2nd 2018 here in the rolling hills of Tennessee. And here a couple of things you'll need to know. If you want to stay on the grounds at Deer Run, if you want to stay on-site and be right at ground zero, those opportunities are limited. In fact, this is the first time we’ve ever done anything like this, so, registration is limited, but we have a sneaking suspicion…every time I think about it I get more excited now…this suspicion…this is going to be blast because I've seen the Daily Audio Bible community in action too many times in too many places and it doesn't matter where I go, when the Daily Audio Bible community comes together, people come together, and there's something in common, this daily rhythm of the Scriptures, everyone is moving kind of in the same direction, no matter the diversity of our lives or our life circumstances or even our geography. We kind of come together and we have this in common and there's this instant fellowship. It's like you can come to anything that we’re doing as the Daily Audio Bible and you can come alone and not feel alone after like two minutes. It’s like…it's just a beautiful, unique, rare thing. So, if you want to stay on the grounds, on-site, those opportunities are limited. There is space for 20 campers, tent campers, and there are six cabins that can be used as family cabins. And then we have bunkhouses for men and for women, separate, of course, if you just need a place to crash. So, this retreat grounds that were going to be using, I've been there several times over the course of the last years for one reason or another. I did a writing retreat out there one time to finish my very first book, which was called Passages. And it's truly a magnificent place, a very, very beautiful place with all kinds of stuff to do. You could just stay there and get to know the rolling hills up close. There’s that much to do but it's normal bread-and-butter function would be summer camps. So, it's kind of set up that way. These private cabins, and there's only six of them, there's two of one kind and four of another that can be used as like, family cabins, or maybe come with a family, friends, or whatever. I mean, there’s bunks in the cabins but there are six of them that we can use privately. So, one grouping of cabins, there's four of them, they have 10 bunks in them. And you can stay there privately. You’ll have to walk over to the bathroom and showers, which are nearby. And that’ll give you a little bit of privacy. And the other two are lake view cabins. They’re a little bit different. They have 12 bunks in them but they also have bathrooms in the cabins and a little kitchenette. But there's only two of those. So, all of that, including the tent spots and everything, are on a first come first served basis. We have also partnered with some nearby hotels that will allow you to stay nearby and come out and enjoy the facilities as much as you want. And then we thought, well, there are those RVr’s and campers like that that may need full-service hookups. There are no full-service hookups at Deer Run, but we’ll also point you to where you get the nearest full hookups and get you situated. This is an event you have to register for. The cost is $50 per person. Children three and under are free. And what that will bring you is two down-home country dinners that we’ll have together. So, those meals are included. And then we will hang out in the evening together as a community. Our team will be there. My family will all be there. And we’ll sing and we’ll talk and worship and we’ll fellowship and we’ll have a good time, a family reunion. And you will have access to the grounds. So, that will begin at 2 PM on September 1st and run all the way through the end of the day on September 2nd. And you can use anything that's going on at Deer Run or you go on these adventures that we’re going to show you. And we’ll come back to be together in the evening. So, there’s the story, there’s the announcement. Registration is now open. And you get there by going to dailyaudiobible.com. And you can scroll down to the Initiatives section and find the family reunion or just use the navigation at the top and look for Initiatives and find the family reunion. It's easy. And all of the details are on that page. So, you can look and see what it is that I am describing and register there. When you do register, we will send you an email confirmation with all kinds of details, including these little adventures that you might want to go on. Some of these I think are very fun, stuff that we do for fun. For example, we’ll show you Leapers Fork, which is this little nook out in the rolling hills. This is where Jill and I were going to galleries and just trying to find some time and it's where I stumbled upon the black wing pencils. You can go see that too. Or we did the Global Campfire initiative last year with the Hatch Print posters. You can go to Hatch Print if you want to. We've come up with some things that we think are a lot of fun. Of course, you can make your own adventure, but we know where everything is. So, we’re just kind of showing you and grouping things together, where they are in the city. Anyway, registration is now open. The Daily Audio Bible first ever family reunion in 2018, which is September 1st and 2nd second. And you can get all of the details at dailyaudiobible.com in the Initiatives section. And we are stoked. We’re excited. This is going to be a lot of fun. So, hope to see you there. It’s going to be great to do that again, to hear voices that I know coming from faces that I haven't seen. And the same will happen for you. So, make plans. There’s time. Make plans. Labor Day weekend, September 1st and 2nd, Daily Audio Bible Family Reunion where the global campfire comes together in the rolling hills of Tennessee.

Community Prayer and Praise:

Good morning Daily Bible family. This is Anne from North Georgia and I need your help. When I was eight years old my dad angrily looked at me and said this is all your fault and didn’t interact with me again and didn’t speak to me again. I’ve carried that inside all my life and when anything comes up it’s just automatically all my fault, whether it is or not. I know it’s an inside thing but I need those words broken off of me and I need freedom for those words. Thank you very much. I covet your prayers. Have a good day. Bye-bye.

Hi. I’m a first-time caller. My name is Cheyenne. I’m from Bakersfield California. I’m calling for prayer request for my son JJ. He’ll be 28 pretty soon. He’s been addicted to spice for the last seven years. Now he has brain damage. And he talks to demons all day. And they’re his only friends. And I just, as a mother, it’s just so hard to watch. I have asked for prayer for him and myself for strength to live through this. He can’t go anywhere because people make fun of him. And he’s afraid of people. So, anyway, I’m just asking for prayer and support. Thank you. God-bless.

Hi everyone. This is Nikki from Vancouver and I just love everyone so much and I listen and pray along with a prayer requests every day. And I think this is just my second time calling. And I’m calling because of a dear dear aunt, aunty, and her husband are in such dire straits. She has had a severe concussion a few years ago and had never really recovered from that as well as has many other health issues. And her husband has fairly advanced dementia. And they are trying to manage on their own. And she’s been the one, more or less, in charge because of his dementia but because of her concussion, she doesn’t do that well herself. And her children still have severe problems on their own. So, although their hearts want to be helpful, they just aren’t able to give the amount of help that’s needed. And, so, family would you please pray with me that the Lord will intervene? And I don’t even know what I wanted to do other than to provide a way of help for this family because they really are in desperate need. And they live on one part of the country and we live on the West Coast. So, although, I am very wanting to help them, there’s obviously nothing that I can do because the distance. So, thank you so much family and thank you for helping to join me in prayer for my very sweet aunty and her husband. Thank you. Bye-bye.

Hello. My name is Cecilia and I’m from __ Texas. Just wanted to, first of all, thank Brian and his family for this community. I don’t call very much but I appreciate so much the agreement in prayer that I get to participate in, especially the ones that are in my heart this past couple of days __ just pray that God will make a way where there is no way. He is our shelter and our hiding place. And for Cherry Chase Cherry Pie, I just want to pray for her situation, Lord God that you would intervene and turn the tide Lord God, that she would see Your mighty hand in her life. I also have some personal prayer issues. My son and his wife, Michael and McKenzie are separated. They have four children and I would just, I just want to believe God and trust Him that He will restore them. Also, another relationship, my friend Elda and her daughter have been estranged for three years, maybe more, I’m not sure, that God would restore that, would heal that tear that’s occurred in their life. And also, for my friend Julie and her son Eric who is her adult son, her adult son that was in a car accident with traumatic brain injury. He’s living in her home now. She’s struggling financially, struggling emotionally, struggling with stress. I just ask for God intervene and help her with that situation. In the name of Jesus. Thank you all. I also want to just bless Viola and Blind Tony and all of you all, just amazing to participate with you all.

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sky-scribbles · 7 years

Text

Six Proposals

(A Dragon Age story featuring six pairings, three games, and two worldstates.)

Sophina Cousland hates doing it, even as it brings her joy.

She feels the eyes of every noble in Ferelden burning into her as she steps forward, and she knows what she’ll be called for this. Power-seeker, manipulator, opportunist. It won’t be true, but it will still hurt. And it hurts even more to think of how very... not right this is. A proposal should be a private thing, a moment for two alone, not something announced in front of the eyes of a nation.

Maker, this can barely even be called a proposal. She’s not even asking, she’s telling.

It’s not as if they haven’t discussed it. They have, countless times, curled together in her tent in the camp at night. They knew they had to talk about it from the moment they learned that Alistair might be dragged onto the throne. If the crown fell to him, Sophina told him, he would be expected to marry someone, sooner or later, and he laughed and made a joke about how he’d better start working up the courage to ask her before anyone else got there first. And she wondered aloud whether it would make the nobles at the Landsmeet more likely to accept him, if he were married to a Cousland, to someone who could back up his blood claim to the throne with the political support of all Highever.

They made light of it, the way they make light of everything, but the thought still hung unspoken in the air between them – we shouldn’t have to talk about this now. We should be able to talk about this after years of being together, not mere months. And we should talk about this because we love each other and we’re ready to make it binding, not because it’s a political convenience. This is wrong, so very wrong.

But she knows that once the crown falls to him, they could so easily be torn apart. And she knows that this is the surest way to make sure that doesn’t happen. She promised him she wouldn’t let him go, and she intends to keep that promise.

‘Alistair will be king,’ she says. ‘And I’ll rule beside him.’

They don’t have much time to discuss it, once the Landsmeet’s finished, because having an archdemon bearing down on you tends to cut short your talking time. They have a few minutes, and they’re enough to let her know that he is at least happy with this, and for them to grin at each other at the thought of the future they’ll have if they both make it out of this alive. Everything else will have to wait. And so they wait, and once everything is over – once the Archdemon has fallen and the crown’s on Alistair’s (still somewhat reluctant) head, and the celebratory feast has been eaten and the palace has fallen silent… they finally have a moment to look at each other, and find a quiet corner, and smile.

‘And breathe,’ Sophina says, and Alistair laughs.

‘Thank you for the reminder. I’m not sure when we last had a chance to do that. A week ago, I think.’

‘It does feel that way, doesn’t it? We should have told the Archdemon how bad its antics were for our health, I’m sure it would have crawled back into the Deep Roads and hidden from the guilt. But now, at least, we have a moment to relax.’

Alistair nods slowly, and glances over his shoulder. ‘We do indeed. Which means…’

He rubs the back of his head and shuffles his feet. ‘Soooo… I know we’ve already done this, officially. But it wasn’t exactly… you know. And I know I said it saved me from having to ask you, but I’ve been thinking, and I realised – I want to do this properly. The way I’d have done it if we’d had the time to… do this the way it’s normally done. Am I rambling?’

Sophina chuckles, and squeezes his hand. ‘Just a little, you great goof. You do, occasionally, have a tendency to engage in a touch of rambling. But I can live with that. What exactly is it that you want to do properly?’

‘Well – this.’ Alistair draws in a breath, closes his grip a little tighter around her hand, and sinks onto one knee, for all the world like one of those knights in the oldest and best tales. ‘Lady Sophina Cousland, Hero of Ferelden, future Commander of the Grey, vanquisher of the Archdemon, befriender of witches and assassins and Qunari warriors, archer extraordinaire, embodiment of general incredibleness - will you marry me?’

Sophina bursts out laughing and spends a moment beaming at him before pulling him to his feet. ‘Maker, yes. Yes, of course, I thought I’d already made that clear. And for the record, Alistair?’

‘Yes?’ he says, and he elongates the word in that ridiculous way that always makes her laugh.

‘I know the whole declaring-it-before-the-Landsmeet thing was a bit… odd. And un-private. And not how we would have wanted it to be.’ She reaches up, smoothing down the front of his tunic, straightening his collar. Alistair smiles, and Sophina knows that the gesture is familiar to him, comforting. She did this a thousand times on their journey together – brushing dried blood from his armour, smoothening his hair where his helmet had ruffled it, cleaning the dust of their travels from his face. ‘But this… this is what I want. Because I love you. Forget the politics, forget the Blight and Loghain and everything else – I love you. I know that, ideally, we’d have waited a while, but – ’

‘I know.’ Alistair presses a hand to her lips to stop her. ‘And I feel the same. That’s why I’m asking.’

Sophina closes her eyes, and presses her forehead against his chest.

‘And it’s why I’m accepting.’

She knows that it’s still not quite how they would have planned it, but somehow… somehow, that’s all right. Nothing in their lives has happened as they would have planned it. And maybe it won’t be easy, maybe it’s sooner than they would otherwise have done it, maybe it’ll take work, but that’s fine. Because they’re willing to work at it, they’re willing to fight to keep what they have. Because now, standing still and utterly content in each other’s arms, they know that they don’t have to be alone any more, that they will never be alone again.

And by the Maker, but that is worth fighting for.

Firion aches for every moment that Zevran is away.

He scours the horizon every morning for signs of a yellow-haired figure returning towards him. He unfastens the golden ring from his ear and turns it over and over in his fingers, pressing the metal against his skin. He packs his bags a dozen times, intending to march out to Kirkwall and make certain that his lover is safe. ‘Something I have to do myself be damned,’ he mutters, but every time he shoulders his pack, takes up his staff and takes a resolute step in the direction of the city, he has to sigh, turn back, and unpack his bag again.

I must have faith in him, he tells himself. I’ve waited for him before. I waited for him to be able to love me. Now I can wait again for him to come back to me.

But it still isn’t easy, knowing that his lover is so close to the cold grasp of the Crows again. Firion lies awake at night, playing and replaying in his mind the scene that might happen when at last Zevran comes back to him. He pictures Zevran appearing in the distance, and himself running out to meet him (and slowing to a properly dignified walk before reaching him, if he has the self-control), and he pictures the longed-for embrace. And then he pictures himself finally, finally asking the question.

‘You will ask him,’ Firion growls, but he never quite manages to convince himself.

Weeks stretch into a month, and the news arrives. Kirkwall is burning, thrown into war by a rebellious apostate and the Knight-Commander’s madness, and Firion can bear it no more. Zevran was there, hiding with the Dalish close to the city, and he cannot, will not stand by when the man he loves might have been caught in the chaos. Again, he packs and sets out, and this time he stays on the path.

He’s only been travelling in the direction of Kirkwall for three days when he passes through a little copse of trees and hears, without warning, a voice from above him. ‘Why, mi amor, you promised to stay safe. I did not expect to hear such falsehoods from you.’

Firion jerks his gaze upward in time to see Zevran drop from the branch where he’s been perching – probably been watching Firion trawl across the wilderness for hours, just for the fun of it. He gives his lover no time to say anything more, but steps forward and sweeps him into his arms. Zevran chuckles, holds tight to him for a moment, then pulls their lips together.

Ask him, Firion snarls at himself, but when they break apart, the words die on his tongue, just as they knew he would. So instead he asks, ‘What took you so long?’

Zevran laughs. ‘Oh, I was waylaid by the world-changing events in Kirkwall. It was that old friend of yours from the Wardens who started it all, the apostate. All in the name of mage freedom, so I knew you would never forgive me if I didn't provide a little assistance. When I saw that things were becoming interesting, I... slipped into the Gallows, provided an extra pair of blades.'

Firion stares. ‘You helped fight Meredith?’

This meets with an aren’t you proud of me? sort of grin. Firion draws in a long breath.

‘Zevran,’ he says, ‘you are wonderful.’

‘But of course. And now, my dear Warden, shall we find a tavern?’

Firion almost suggests that they retreat to his tent first, but he decides that a tavern trip could be beneficial. He needs to ask the question, and liquid courage could help him on the way. So he takes Zevran’s arm, and together they head down to the nearest village, a small farming town that nestles in the crook of a rise of hills. The inn is small, but packed with farmhands clad in homespun tunics and earth-stained jerkins, none of whom have the look of men who have ever travelled more than a few days’ journey from their farms.

So the two elven men attract stares. Striking, they are, like strange inversions of each other – one pale-skinned and dark-haired, one dark-skinned and pale-haired. No one can miss the blue and silver Warden tabard that Firion wears, the uniform that allows him to openly carry his staff, nor can many of the women tear their eyes from Zevran’s laughing face. There’s one, an elven serving maid, who perhaps hopes that the closeness between the two strangers is simply that of friends. As she passes Zevran his drink, she smiles a little more broadly at him than Firion is comfortable with, and trails her fingers over his shoulder. Firion sets his teeth, then opens his mouth to crush her hopes before they can go too far - but Zevran beats him to it.

‘I must disappoint you, my dear,’ he says. ‘I am engaged.’

And without further ado, he turns to Firion and drops dramatically to one knee. ‘My Firion,’ he says, in equally theatric tones, ‘I have longed for you every moment of my journey. I once promised you that I would storm the Black City to be at your side. There has been no need for such a thing as of yet, but... well, Thedas can be just as threatening as the Black City from time to time, and I would most enjoy taking it by storm beside you for the rest of our lives. Would you do me the honour of becoming my husband?’

The clamour of the tavern dims. And Firion closes his eyes and remembers all those moments when he thought this could never happen, that Zevran would never feel able to commit to anything that would bind him, even love him at all. He thinks of all the times he was terrified that it was his fate to be disappointed and pushed away.

And he looks down at his lover, smiling up at him without a trace of fear, and knows that neither of them ever has to be afraid again.

‘Well, obviously,’ he says.

Zevran jumps to his feet, grinning from ear to ear, and glances at the startled-looking serving girl. ‘Engaged, as you see.’

Firion has a split-second to feel relieved that he now doesn’t have to propose himself, before Zevran kisses him so forcefully that it’s impossible to feel anything but awe. And entire tavern - including the serving maid, to give her her due - breaks out in cheers.

Their latest hiding-place is a deserted shepherd’s hut, lying abandoned at the verge of a forest. There are wards set around the door and the windows, and the place is so remote that the chance of being found is slim to none. But a lifetime of being hunted by Templars makes wariness a part of you, something that cannot possibly be separated from you – and so when the door flies open with the force of a hurricane, Anders lets out a startled cry and lunges for his staff.

‘Anders, look at this!’

He stops with his fingers brushing the weapon, and relaxes with a shaky breath. ‘Maker, Dalton, if you’re going to burst in like that, at least shout ‘I’m not a Templar’ first.’

‘Never mind that, look at this!’ Dalton Hawke pushes the door shut behind him and brandishes a sheet of vellum above his head. ‘You need to read this, Anders, I can barely believe it myself, just look, look – ’

And he thrusts the mysterious document into Anders’s hands.

‘I just went into the village to get some food, and there were Inquisition soldiers pinning them up on every tree and wall.’ Dalton clasps and unclasps his hands while Anders straightens out the page. ‘It’s an official declaration from Divine Victoria herself, and it says – Maker, Anders, you need to read it.’

So Anders, after staring in bemusement at his lover for a suitable amount of time, looks down and reads.

Official Proclamation from Divine Victoria, concerning Mages, declares the title, and Anders feels his heart freeze within his chest. He stops, closes his eyes, tries and fails to steady his breathing, and goes on.

It’s a whole page of politics, and some of it Anders skips over so that he can move on more quickly to the parts that matter most. And when he reaches them, he has to read and re-read them, because it seems unbelievable that servants of the Divine actually set these words to vellum, that this is the new law of Thedas.

Mages, the proclamation says, are the children of the Maker, made as He desired them. No child of the Maker deserves to be faced with oppression and confinement simply on the grounds of how they were born. By the Divine’s order, let it be known that from henceforth, the institution of the Circle of Magi is dissolved, and mages have the same rights as any citizen in the lands of the White Divine. These rights include:

Right to freedom. No mage shall be forcibly removed from his or her family and residence in order to be removed to a Circle.

Right to own property.

Right to marriage and to raise a family.

Right to protection from unlawful imprisonment and harassment on account of their abilities.

The list goes on. There’s an explanation, too, of how mages will be kept safe and how they can learn to control their abilities and resist demons, and promises that phylacteries and Templar hunts will never exist again, and explanations of why all these changes have been made – something to do with restoring order and ‘ensuring that there shall be no repeat of the chaos that has consumed Thedas’ and so on and so forth – but Anders will take all of that in later. For now, he can only read through that list of rights one more time, feeling his own expression change from confusion to suspicion to amazement, and then look up at Dalton.

Who is smiling at him, lips parted, eyes wide in breathless awe.

‘We’re free,’ he whispers. ‘We did it, Anders. All this time, everything we’ve been through… it’s finally happened. Our fight – it was worth it. We’re free.’

Anders lets the vellum fall through his fingers. He stands motionless, his eyes closed. And then he lets out a trembling breath and throws his arms around Dalton's neck, holding him as close as he can get, pressing his face into the fur collar, making no attempt to hold back his tears. His mind is whirling, his thoughts reeling, the spirit within him is dazed as he is, and the joy and triumph erupting inside him are so immense, so overwhelming, that he can barely think, barely breathe, barely register anything brought to him by his mortal senses –

And so he almost doesn’t hear the words that Dalton breathes into his shoulder.

‘Marry me.’

Jolted firmly back into the physical world, Anders freezes. ‘What?’

‘I mean, if you want…’ Dalton lets him go and steps back, resting his hands on Anders’s shoulders. ‘Will you, Anders?’

He waves his hand at the page lying on the floor next to them. ‘We are free men. We have the same rights as anyone. No one can tell us that we don’t have a right to be happy in the way we choose. And this is - you are what I choose. We’ve been fighting for so long, and now we don’t need to any more. And if I could stand in front of the world and call you my husband, I’ll know for certain that we won.’

Anders looks at him, meets his eyes. They’ve even more huge and hopeful then they normally are. The words rise on his lips to tell him that they can’t, that he doesn’t have that kind of future, that there can be nothing permanent when he has a spirit woven into his flesh –

And then they stop. Because it is no longer true.

The part of him that is Justice has been calmer ever since they left Kirkwall. Seeing the mages finally begin fighting, being away from the constant injustice of Meredith’s reign – it has helped so much. And now he no longer has to fear Justice becoming a demon. Because that is what happens to a spirit whose purpose is prevented, and now – now Justice’s purpose is fulfilled.

And here is Dalton Hawke, gazing at him with love and delight in his eyes, and Anders knows that for the first time in his life, there is nothing, nothing, to stop him from being happy.

So he breathes out the words that truly make him a free man, a free mage, a man with a future.

‘Yes,’ he whispers. ‘Maker, yes.’

Conan Hawke raises his hands, and the earth before his feet splits apart. His face creased with the kind of single-minded concentration that only a young child can really manage, he pushes his palms higher, and a shower of pebbles rises from the gash he’s opened in the ground, soil cascading back down into the hole as the stones rise. For a few seconds, he holds them in place, his lips pursed tight from the effort of casting the spell. At last, he can sustain the magic no longer, and he has to step back, letting the rocks pour back down into the earth again.

His aunt beams at him. ‘That’s very good, Conan. With some practice, you’ll be able to draw up larger rocks. For now…’

Bethany twirls her arm, bringing a shimmering wall of magic into being in front of her body. ‘See if you can direct the rocks you summon, rather than just holding them. Throw them at my barrier – don’t worry, you won’t hurt me.’

Seated a short distance away – far enough for them to be out of earshot of Bethany and her pupil, if they speak in low voices – Conan’s parents watch his practice. Bryony Hawke sits with her arms stretched out behind her, grinning openly to see her sister and her son embracing their gift together, cheering every time Conan masters some new feat of magic. Fenris says nothing, but every so often, a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and something flickers in his eyes. Not many would be able to read it, but Bryony knows him well enough to recognise it as pride.

‘It doesn’t trouble you any more, does it?’ she says.

She nods towards Conan and Bethany, but the gesture is unnecessary; Fenris knows what he means. ‘Conan’s magic? No.’

There’s a pause, and then he sighs, seeming to realise that this is inadequate. ‘Truthfully, it never troubled me. He is my son. Finding out that he was my mage son…. It changed nothing. I fear for him – I fear how people may treat him, or what demons may do to tempt him – but I do not see him differently.’

Bryony squeezes his hand. ‘I remember a certain elf who, not so many years ago, would have been disgusted at the idea of fathering a mage.’

This meets with a chuckle. ‘Thankfully, a certain human taught me to see things differently. When we met, the changes that have been happening across Thedas – mage freedom, the Circles being dissolved – they would have enraged me. Now, I’m grateful. They mean that no one will take him from us.’

‘And that the Chantry will accept him at last,’ Bryony says. ‘Do you remember how angry I was, back in Kirkwall, when Elthina refused to accept him into the Chantry on the grounds of his birth? Now, he can be dedicated into the Chantry as an illegitimate elf-blooded mage and no one can do anything about it other than whinge and jabber a little.’

Fenris smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He opens his mouth as if to speak, then stops, looks away, and fiddles with his lyrium-marked fingers. At last he draws in a breath and says, ‘He doesn’t have to... remain illegitimate.’

He speaks so quietly that Bryony has to lean a little closer to hear him. ‘Care to elaborate on that?’

A short silence; then Fenris breathes in again and does what he once did so rarely, and what he now does so often – he looks into her eyes. ‘If you… If you married me, then Conan would… officially… no longer be…’

The sentence trails away into a silence that’s quickly broken by the sound of Conan’s pebbles rebounding off Bethany’s barrier spell.

Bryony stares at Fenris for a good half-minute, then nods. ‘Mmm,’ she says, drawing out the sound. ‘That’s certainly true. If I married you. Of course, first you’d have to ask me.’

‘I am.’ Fenris almost drops his gaze away, but after a heartbeat he seems to remember that he needs to keep looking at her. ‘I am asking you, Bryony.’

‘And then, of course, I’d have to accept.’

‘Do you?’

There’s no missing the urgency in his voice, something that’s almost desperation. And Bryony closes her eyes and smiles again, and remembers all the times Fenris pulled away from her, all the times he failed to meet her gaze and all the times he protested that he couldn’t be a father to Conan. All the times she thought they’d never get this far. After all of it, after everything, they are finally here, and he is asking her this.

She knows it doesn’t change much, making the whole thing official. She and Fenris and Conan have been the closest and tightest of families ever since they ran from Kirkwall together. They are one entity, one being, and that closeness is something that could never be matched or summed up by a piece of parchment signed by a Chantry sister.

But this question that Fenris has asked her – this proposal – isn’t about that. It’s about making a promise. A promise that he’ll never push her away again, a promise that the oneness between the three of them will be forever.

It’s a promise he’s made silently every time he’s kissed her, every time he’s cut down an enemy who dared to attack her, every time he’s lifted Conan up into his arms. But that doesn’t mean it isn’t beautiful, to have the promise finally spoken out loud.

‘Fenris,’ says Bryony, opening her eyes again, ‘nothing would make me happier.’

There’s only one way to ask her.

Talan Adaar waits for a cloudless evening that promises a warm and clear night, then heads down to his garden. He plucks the roses he’s been growing around his alchemy herbs, carries them in armfuls down to the glade, that glade, their glade. It isn’t easy, not with only one hand, but his sister helps him, bringing the candles down there for him, setting them out around the fringes of the clearing.

‘She’ll love it,’ Meraad promises, squeezing his remaining hand, and Talan sucks in a long breath and nods.

‘I hope so.’

He pulls the piece of parchment from inside his tunic; earlier, Meraad helped him cut it into the shape of a heart, and he has carefully inked words onto it, a request for Cassandra to meet him here after nightfall. With a final encouraging smile, Meraad heads away in the direction of Skyhold to deliver the note, leaving her brother standing in the glade alone, rocking back and forth on his heels.

When he hears approaching footsteps, he does what he does best; he retreats into the shadows, blurring into the darkness in a way that few would believe possible of a man his size. He watches, and his heart swells in his chest to see Cassandra smiling as she stands among the flowers and the candles - just as she did on that shining night all that time ago - and as she trails her fingertips over the petals and scans the shadows for him.

‘I know you’re there, Talan,’ she calls, and he decides that this is his cue.

He opens the book of poems; it falls open naturally on the page he’s been opening it to again and again over the last few weeks. Talan licks his lips, steels himself, and begins to read.

‘I have a life to offer you A voice within the night A shadow softly watching At the fringes of your sight. I have a world to offer you No longer seen alone Through leagues across the wilderness I offer you a home.’

He steps forward, into the candlelight. Cassandra’s smile widens, and she doesn’t stare at him in startled wonder as she did on their first night. Instead, she leans back against a tree to listen.

‘I cannot offer safety Or the comfort of a hearth But I’ll give my arms as shelter From the blackest of the dark. I cannot offer distance From the seething drums of war – But peace is not our destiny And I can offer more.

I offer eyes to guard your back From death’s unsated jaws Should you ever seek for armour Then my flesh and blood are yours. When battle-horns sound out a call From which you cannot hide You will never be without me Walking silent at your side.’

Cassandra’s eyes close, and Talan wonders if she – as he is – is thinking of the countless battles they have faced side by side, the battles they have come through because each of them was standing at the other’s back. He swallows, lets the words hang in the air for a moment, and continues on to the final, most important verse.

‘And when the horns are broken And the sound of drums has passed I offer you a moment To lay down your arms at last Though it may be just a heartbeat ‘Til we once again must stand – I offer you a promise And I offer you my hand.’

Talan closes the book. On silent feet, he crosses the grove to stand before Cassandra, and – remembering what he’s been told of human traditions – he kneels, setting the poetry collection aside and lifting his head so that her eyes meet his. And he waits.

There’s a long quiet, as Cassandra stares, her eyes slowly widening. ‘Are you asking me to marry you?’ she says at last.

And because Talan Adaar never lies, all he can do is nod. ‘Um. Yes. Yes, I am.’

She keeps looking at him, and a claw of fear grips his heart. What if it’s not enough, what they have? What if she couldn’t do it, couldn’t marry someone like him, a northern savage with no faith in the Maker, a man with horns like a ram and skin the colour of smoke –

He forces the thoughts from his mind. He knows she doesn’t care about his being a Qunari, and he knows that she loves him.

‘Do you remember what you said to me, that first night we shared here?’ The words flood easily from his lips. ‘You said that people would either say that you were tricked by the wiles of a Qunari madman, or that people would say that this – us – was part of the Maker’s plan, that it was meant to be. Well, I know which one I think is true. This world, it’s split apart and lost its faith and – and some crazy darkspawn magister levitated the ruins of a temple, none of it made any sense. And I fell through a magic mirror and I lost my hand and – and we’re still here. Through all this madness, you’ve still been here, keeping me sane. I don’t... I don't think I can exist in a life when I don’t have you with me.’

He reaches out, gathers up one of her slim hands in his huge grey one. ‘You know that I don't really know if I can believe in any kind of god - but I believe in you, Cassandra. I believe in us.’

An owl calls somewhere beyond the trees, but Talan barely hears it. It is as if the entire world has shrunk to the size of their glade, as if nothing exists any more beyond where the shimmering ring of candle flames softens the edges of the night.

And then Cassandra bends down so that their faces are level, pressing her palm against the side of his face and drawing them close together.

‘So do I,’ she breathes.

She kisses him then, a kiss that somehow manages to be tender and fierce at once, and when it breaks she touches her forehead to his and runs her fingers through his hair. Talan chuckles, and murmurs against her lips. ‘Is that a yes?’

Cassandra says nothing, but she doesn’t need to speak. The way she laughs is enough.

He ends up proposing in the bloody Fade, of all places. Which is more strange than he can really describe, but it feels right, and more importantly, it works.

The hard part is the waiting. Up until she pardoned him, up until she learned the truth and announced to the entire Inquisition that, somehow, she didn’t care – he never let himself even harbour hopes that he might someday be able to ask her. But then that day comes, and suddenly he has a future, they have a future. And so he waits.

He waits, while she learns to call him by the name Thom Rainier. He waits, while they learn the truth about Solas, while she crumbles to learn that all her faith was a lie. He waits, while she learns to live without one hand. He waits, through all the nights while she sobs into his chest, while she asks him just how much she’s going to lose.

And at last, when he’s made amends as best he can to all of his surviving men, and she has learned to walk as tall and strong as ever, and when he feels comfortable wearing his true name, he asks.

‘Elera,’ he says, one night while they lie curled close together, ‘there’s something I want to show you. A memory. Could you…?’

She understands, and smiles. Elera Lavellan lost her eyesight when she was eleven years old, but the Maker blessed her with magic, and more than that, with the talents of a Dreamer. She can see when she enters the Fade, and under Solas’s tuition, she learned to draw others’ dreaming minds there with her, so that she can walk in their memories. And this is what she does now, waiting while they both slide into sleep, then pulling his consciousness into the strange borderland between worlds and joining him there.

Slowly, the shifting landscape of the Fade changes. The ghostly green and black lights fade, the sky turns from sickly olive to a natural, cloud-streaked blue, and the twisting rock paths around them melt away into green and brown pine trees. A lake stretches away before them, a mirror of the heavens shimmering on its surface.

‘Pines,’ Elera says thoughtfully, stepping up to his side. ‘And hills. I suppose this is… somewhere in Ferelden? And there’s a lake…’

Thom sees the understanding cross her face. ‘Is this where we first met?’ she asks.

‘It is.’

She smiles. ‘You saved my life here. You blocked an arrow intended for me. The first blow of your ongoing war against all enemy arrows and spells aimed in my direction.’

Chuckling, Thom nods. ‘A war I’ll continue as long as I draw breath. But you saved my life here too, by becoming part of it. And I don’t just mean the times you’ve slain some demon that was giving me trouble, or how you got me pulled out of that cell in Orlais. I mean that before I knew you, I… I didn’t know hope.’

The scene around them changes so suddenly that both of them blink in alarm. The lake drifts away into nothingness, the pines become taller and darker, the grass beneath their feet thicker and wet with rain. Ahead of them, a pounding sea stretches away into banks of fog.

Thom’s throat runs suddenly dry. This place. This hill on the Storm Coast, the place where he became Blackwall, the place he brought Elera that day when he meant to tell her that they couldn’t be together and instead simply fell even deeper in love with her, so deep that there could be no going back.

He glances at Elera, and she touches his arm, as if to reassure him. She may have never looked on this place with sighted eyes, but she clearly knows where they are, must have guessed it from the roar of the sea and the hammering of the rain. ‘I was still drawing on your memories,’ she says gently. ‘You must have started thinking about this place.’

‘I… I suppose I was.’ Thom sighs, and rubs the back of his neck. ‘My life changed twice here. Once when Warden Blackwall died and I took the armour and the name from his body. And once when you stood over there and told me that I didn’t need to face all the war and death in my life on my own. It changed everything. It was the first time since – since what I did – that I let myself think that I could have a future. It was only for a moment, but I thought it.’

She edges closer to him, and slips her hand into his. ‘And you were right.’

A new memory occurs to him, and the Fade changes accordingly, the haunting view of the Storm Coast vanishing, the curling mist forming itself into stone bricks that rise up in layers around them. The rain ceases, the sky darkens from ashen grey to twilight blue, and pinpoints of stars blossom across it. They stand in her room in Skyhold, as it was that night when he surrendered, when he stopped fighting what he felt for her.

‘You told me I was a good man.’ His tongue feels heavy, as if somehow weighed down by just how much he's trying to say, and it’s a struggle to get the words out. ‘You told me… you're a good man. I see it. The... the bravest and kindest and most beautiful woman I’d ever known, telling me that – that there was enough goodness in me for even a blind woman to be able to see it.’

Elera is watching him, a fond smile playing about her lips. ‘And sees it still,’ she says.

Thom turns to face her, and as he does, the world around them melts flawlessly, seamlessly, back into the lakeshore again. That’s fine. It’s only right that he should do it here, back in the place where Elera Lavellan entered and changed and saved his life. He looks at her, lifts one hand, trails his fingertips down her face.

‘For years,’ he says, ‘you’ve been telling me that I have a future. And after all this time – after everything you’ve done for me – I believe it.’

And so he kneels, and utters the question he never thought he’d have a right to ask. ‘Will you marry me, my lady?’

He waits in frozen, terrified silence for only a moment before she smiles.

‘I will, ma vhenan,’ she murmurs.

And in a second, hope has become reality. His future is now.

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5hfanfiction · 7 years

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Crack A Smile - VI

Just to clarify, this is the same day as the last chapter. Also I might write one more chapter I have no clue yet. This has been my absolute favorite story to write and I’m glad you guys have come on this journey with me ❤️

“Camila!” Lauren called out from her room.

“Just a moment!” Came the brunnete’s muffled reply. Lauren rolled her eyes with a small smile on her lips, knowing the girl was down in the garden. The sound of twigs being pulled and a slight thud (followed by a very quiet “fuck”) was heard and Camila popped her head into Lauren’s room from the balcony.

“What are you doing, little thief?” Lauren questioned.

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Camila teased as she walked into the princess’s chambers. She approached Lauren swiftly, bringing the princess into her arms before dipping her downward, holding her above the floor. Lauren gasped in a moment of fear before realizing that this was Camila, and Camila would never hurt her.

“For you, princess,” Camila smiled as she pulled a beautiful red rose from behind her. Lauren took it delicately, her smile beginning to hurt her cheeks as she stared into the eyes of her love.

“Thank you, Camila,” she whispered, her eyes flickering down to the commoner’s lips. Camila noticed and smirked devilishly, bringing their lips together in a slow kiss. Being held like this and having Camila’s lips on her own had her swearing that she was floating above the ground and into the heavens.

Breaking the kiss, Camila smiled warmly before pecking the princess one more time and lifting her back to a standing position.

“I will see you tomorrow, princess?” Camila asked as she headed towards the balcony entrance.

“You.. You’re not staying?” Lauren’s voice cracked with disappointment.

“I-I did not think I was allowed, princess,” Camila spoke nervously. The prospect of sharing a bed with the princess was incredibly exciting and terrifying all at once and she did not know if she was ready to experience such emotions.

Lauren chuckled before approaching Camila, taking her hands gently into her own. “You have my hand, Camila. Of course you’re allowed to stay.”

“I-I-I need clothes, I-I have to run home for some,” Camila stuttered. Her body was flooding with anxious energy and the princess seemed to notice. In one smooth, gentle motion, Lauren brought her lips to the thief’s, effectively calming her down.

“I have a clean gown you may wear, if you would like. I just.. This day has been marvelous because of you, and I don’t want to spend a moment of it without you.”

Camila felt her heart flutter at the sincerity of the princess’s words. Nodding dumbly, Lauren flashed her a bright smile before handing her a nightgown. She informed Camila that she may change in her personal bathroom before giving the thief some privacy, opting to lay in her bed while she waited.

Camila returned in the nightgown, setting her clothes gently onto the floor near the balcony before standing in the center of the room anxiously.

“Where should I sleep?” Camila asked, hoping her nerves weren’t evident in her voice.

“With me, silly thief,” Lauren said with a laugh, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

“No disrespect, but I still am not used to your kindness. I have never set foot in a castle until tonight, let alone slept in a royal bed, m'lady,” Camila spoke shyly as she looked around the room once more.

“Camila you don’t need to call me that anymore, I’m not ‘your lady’.”

“Ah but you are, aren’t you?” Camila smirked and Lauren threw her head back in laughter. The thief’s heart skipped a beat at the sound, her new favorite sound, that tumbled from the princess’s lips once again.

“Just come here, Camila. Please?” Lauren pouted and Camila immediately caved, muttering something about being too cute to rule a kingdom as she crawled in bed next to the princess. Immediately, Lauren wrapped her arm around the commoner’s waist and rested her head against her chest. Camila sighed contently as she felt her eyes droop, both of them falling into a deep slumber that they had not experienced in many years.

In the morning, the two were awoken by a high pitched squeal coming from the doorway. Cracking one eye open, Lauren saw Normani trying to silently jump up and down excitedly.

“What is it, Mani?” Lauren yawned.

“You two are extraordinarily cute,” Normani whisper-yelled at Lauren, careful not to awaken Camila.

“And why are you in my room at such an ungodly hour?”

“Oh right,” Normani stopped jumping. “Your father wants you to formally announce to the suitors that your hand has been won, and he wants Camila there too.”

Lauren groaned, turning her body into Camila’s and accidentally waking the sleeping girl.

“Mm-what? Did I miss something?” Camila spoke as she stretched.

“I didn’t mean to wake you, I apologize,” Lauren said guiltily. Camila stared at her momentarily, a dazed smile on her face before she spoke.

“Waking up to you beside me is much more amazing than I had imagined.”

Lauren blushed uncontrollably as she leaned up to place a tender kiss to Camila’s lips. Another squeal from the doorway startled them.

“Mani I swear I will put you in the kitchens, and you know how Ally is,” Lauren threatened, making her personal maid gulp audibly as she left the room to give the two women a moment.

“We have to get ready to tell all of the royals that a commoner did what they could not and that said commoner has my hand,” Lauren mumbled against Camila’s chest.

“A thief, no less,” Camila giggled.

“This will be an adventure.”

With Normani’s help, the two girls were dressed for the day’s events; Lauren in a silver gown and Camila in a gold one. Normani placed Lauren’s crown on her head and Camila stared at the princess in awe.

“What is it?” Lauren asked, nervous that she looked horrendous.

“I’ve never seen you with your crown on,” Camila spoke, coming to the realization. “You look beyond ethereal, love.”

Lauren smiled brightly, both at the compliment and the term of endearment. Without second thought, she leaned over and began kissing Camila passionately.

“If we could not fornicate while I am still present in these chambers, I would be very thankful,” Normani teased the two as she smirked, watching them jump away from each other.

“My apologies, Mani,” Lauren said.

“She wants to fornicate with us as well, Lauren, don’t let her fool you,” Camila teased with a wink, causing them to all laugh together.

Once they were finally prepared, Lauren and Camila made their way down the stairs hand-in-hand. A sort of déjà vu moment happened for Lauren, seeing her parents in their purple garb standing at the foot of the stairs waiting for her. But this time she had Camila by her side, and this time she was not being suited.

“Good morning, darling. And good morning to you as well, dear Camila!” Clara greeted them both with hugs.

“Mother, father, I still have yet to ask,” Lauren started, earning her parents’ as well as Camila’s attention. “You never told me your opinion on Camila being a commoner.”

“We never specified who should have your hand, darling. Male or female, royalty or common folk, we did not care in all honesty,” Clara spoke with a gentle smile on her lips.

“All we wanted was for you to be happy,” Michael continued. “We wanted you to be with someone who could make your heart feel lighter and make you laugh that beautiful laugh once again. And instead of being courted by a suitor, you found your own happiness in Camila. I couldn’t possibly be more proud of you.”

Lauren smiled, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes as she embraced her father in a tight hug. He kissed her forehead lovingly as they broke apart, before speaking once again.

“And Camila, I must thank you from the bottom of my heart.” Camila looked puzzled as she urged the king to continue. “You made Lauren happy out of the goodness in your heart, not because you wanted riches or to rule the kingdom. You saw that our little girl was upset and you took your time with her, cared for her, loved her. It is a kindness I could never repay you for.” He bowed to Camila as he finished, shocking the commoner.

“It was an honor doing so, your highness. And thank you for not taking off my head,” she added with a giggle, making the king laugh loudly.

“Ah yes, of course Camila.”

With that, the four of them walked into the ballroom together, the sounds of horns drawing everyone’s attention to them. Camila looked around slightly nervous. Never in her life had she been surrounded by so many royals, and she was extremely intimidated by their jewels and attire.

As they reached the front, she sent a quick wink to Troye, who rolled his eyes with a small smile on his lips. The king and queen took their seats while Camila and Lauren stayed standing, Troye beginning his announcement.

“Suitors of the land, Princess Jauregui has an announcement that she would like to deliver personally to you.”

Lauren looked to Camila, who sent her a reassuring smile, before opening her mouth to speak.

“Ladies, gentlemen, the suiting has come to an end.”

Whispers and murmurs traveled throughout the ballroom at the princess’s words. Taking a deep breath, she continued.

“Your efforts, while valiant and persistent, were for naught. You all tried your hardest, sometimes too hard,” she mumbled that last part, “but none of you have won my hand.”

A surprised uproar came from the crowd. Troye took the horn from his belt, giving a quick warning to the royal family and Camila, before blowing it loudly, effectively quieting the crowd.

“None of you won my hand because none of you deserved it. The one who won my hand won me with stolen flowers, with ill-timed jokes, with genuine compassion. Not poems of my beauty or rehearsed comedic relief,” she spoke.

“She won my heart before she won my hand.”

Camila felt her heart swell with love at Lauren’s words. Knowing that she had the princess’s heart and her happiness made her feel like the most blessed girl in the kingdom.

“The one who has my hand is Camila,” Lauren announced, gesturing to her love, “a commoner.”

More angry yelling arose from the crowd at the announcement. Troye silenced them once more, but one man would not be silenced.

“This is absolutely absurd!” A baron named Justin yelled, taking Lauren aback. “Only royal blood should have your hand, not a filthy commoner!”

Lauren could feel her blood boiling at the man’s words and was about to tell him off, but her little thief placed a hand on her shoulder before she could do anything. Camila flashed her a smirk before stepping away from her side and in front of Justin.

“Please, tell me more,” Camila coaxed him in a sickeningly sweet voice.

“You’re only here because the princess pities you, no royal would ever love someone like you,” he yelled before spitting in her face. Everyone in the room gasped, waiting to see what would happen. Camila just wiped the spit from her face and gave Justin a kind smile, before punching him square in the face.

The man fell to the floor and Camila followed, kneeling down beside him as she calmly spoke.

“If you ever, and I mean ever, disrespect my princess like that again, I will not hesitate to castrate you and feed what little manhood you have to the wolves. Understood?”

Justin nodded dumbly, his face pale with fear. Camila smiled at him again before returning to her lover’s side. “Now can everyone go home? I want to spend time with the love of my life.”

Shocked at the scene they just witnessed, the royals began filing out of the castle. King Michael was belly laughing in his throne as they left, saying, “Lauren, she’s perfect for this.”

Once everyone had left, Camila turned towards Lauren. “Now where was I?” In one swift motion, Camila picked up the princess bridal style, earning a squeak from her, before carrying her up to the princess’s chambers, where they spent the rest of the evening in each other’s arms.

I got an idea for one more chapter then I think I’m done, I just gotta write it lmao.

-Katie

(As always, you can read my story on wattpad here)

#UPDATE #series #AU #slash #camren #romance fluff #submission #Crack A Smile

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