#... as soon as i learn how to do harmonics. those make NO damned sense

[ouroborosorder]

Month three of learning guitar - What To Raise is currently looking not just doable, but actually shockingly easy. Not shockingly the hardest part is gonna be that solo but honestly even the lead guitar part of this song is basically just rhythm. I gave myself a mission to learn this song within a year and now it's looking like I might be able to do it in just 4 months or so.

[javajunkieao3]

Being Alive: Beth/Benny Fanfic

It’s six months after Russia and nearly that long since her last drink.  All those months ago, sitting across Borgov with her face tilted up to the paneled ceiling, she learned that she didn't need alcohol to quiet her mind.  The chess board still appeared, the pieces moving with a grace that Beth still hadn’t witnessed elsewhere.  But, it didn't mean she didn’t want the drink, and Beth had bore witness to a casual alcoholic for enough years to understand that both the need and want weren’t pre-requisites to addiction.  Because while she didn’t need a drink, she also knew that once she started she wouldn’t be able to stop.

She’s at the US Open Chess Championship in Chicago and she keeps walking past the bar, her pacing taking her steps closer to the wooden counter with each pass.  It was all because of damn Gorsky.  He was new.  An up and comer out of Bloomington, Indiana and he almost beat her.  She faced off against the giants in Russia, and yet somehow, this Midwest nobody threw her.  Dimly, somewhere between her fourth and fifth pass in front of the bar, she reminds herself that she had once been that nobody, but she quickly dismisses the thought.

At her sixth pass, she almost gives in, her mouth already anticipating the heady combination of the gin and vermouth tempered by a refined pearl onion (Mrs. Wheatley had been right about that part), but then a young girl recognizes her and asks for her autograph.  The girl holds out an old copy of Life magazine with Beth’s face on the cover.  The magazine was about two years old, and Beth thinks about how this girl must have seen the Open was taking place in the city and made a special trip just for her to sign the magazine.  Her face burns with shame as she recalls the one to three Gibsons she had been on her way to consume, and she makes a point to strike up a conversation with the young girl, trying to replace her guilt with a good deed.

When she's finished, she heads back up to her room, but she can already picture the room service menu and she can feel her finger moving the heavy dial of the rotary phone, and so she makes a detour, ending up at his room.  She doesn't know if he’ll be there, but he answers after one knock.  He’s shirtless, his striped pajama pants slung low on his hips, but it’s nothing she hasn't seen before.

“Hi Benny.”

“Beth Harmon, to what do I owe this honor?”

The tone of his voice reminds her of the distance between them.  While he helped her in Russia, she was well aware there was still damage between them to be repaired, but all the calls she meant to make didn’t happen, and then her phone didn’t ring, either.  She hasn’t seen him since before Russia.

“Can I come in?”

“If you’re here to take more of my money with speed chess, you’ll be disappointed.”

Attempting levity, she says, “Does that mean you got better, or we’re not playing?”

He smiles slightly and steps back to let her in.  Behind her, he flips open a suitcase and she turns around just as he’s pulling a worn grey t-shirt over his head.  “So, what are you doing here?”

She doesn’t answer, suddenly feeling foolish for going to him at all, and he says, “It’s Gorsky, isn’t it?”

“I still beat him,” she returns sharply.

“Yeah, well, you almost didn’t.”

She bites the inside of her cheek hard enough to draw blood and sits on the edge of the bed.  

“Do you want something to drink?”  Benny asks, and while she knows he doesn't mean alcohol, she says, “I want a Gibson.  I might as well, right?  You warned me that if I kept drinking like I was, I’d end up washed up by my twenties.  But, it looks like that may be happening, anyway.”

“Beth, you’re not washed up.”

“I didn’t see the move, Benny.”  

She had gone through various phases while analyzing the game previously.  Anger.  Blame.  But now, she is just tired.  She considers excusing herself to go back to her room, but if she were being honest with herself, she doesn’t trust herself alone.

“Sometimes you don’t, but then you’ll see it the next game.  Just because you’re good doesn’t mean you’re infallible.”

"I shouldn’t be this thrown by it.  I beat Luchenko, Borgov.  I beat you.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” he returns drily.

She rubs at her eyes irritably and when she opens them again, he’s walked toward her and he sits on the bed next to her.  There is still a sizable distance between them, but she takes comfort in the way the mattress dips.  It makes her feel less alone.

“You are not washed up,” Benny says for the second time that night.  “But, you’re going to have games you lose.  It doesn’t make you any less of a player.”  Beth scoffs at that and he continues with, “Did beating Borgov make you think any less of him?”  

“No,” she admits.  She looks over at him, “And it didn’t make me think any less of you.  Although, you could improve your endgame.”

Benny smiles slightly.  “I’m going to choose to ignore that last part.”

Beth looks down at her shoes.  “I came here because I wanted a drink.”

Benny is quiet for a moment.  “Do you still want one?”

“Yes,” she answers immediately.  “But it’ll pass.”  She looks over at him, her nerves pulled tight, and asks, “Can I-”

“Yes,” he says.  “You can stay here.  As long as you need.”

They order room service - burgers with extra pickles for him and cheese for her - and she tells him she’ll be going back to her room soon, but that doesn't happen.  Instead, they play a few games of chess and then she stretches out on the bed, ignoring his offer for her to change into one of his oversized shirts to sleep in, and he settles in the bed next to her.  He shuts off the light, and she turns onto her back.  The darkness emboldens her to say what she had never been brave enough to tell him in the light.

“I didn't choose drinking over you.”

He doesn’t answer for a long moment, and when he does his voice is gravelly.  “It sure seemed like you did.”

“I chose being numb.”

“Is that supposed to make it better?”

“No,” she says honestly.  “But, it’s the truth.”  Staring up at the blank ceiling she says, “When my mother killed herself, she told me to close my eyes.  I think, in  some way, I’ve been trying to do that ever since.”

She hears the rustle of his hair against the pillow as he turns his head to look at her.  “Shit, Beth-”

“But, I don’t want to be numb anymore.  I don’t want to close my eyes.”  She turns her face toward him.  In the pitch darkness of the room, she can just make out the outline of his face, but his eyes gleam bright.  

“I’m sorry that I hurt you,” she says.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t go with you to Russia.”

“You were still there when I needed you,” Beth returns, recalling the immense sense of relief when she heard his voice on the phone.  

“I couldn’t pass up an opportunity to beat the Russians.”

His voice is light and teasing, like it used to be, and she doesn’t know what to say next, but then he reaches forward and smooths her hair away from her face.  Without hesitation, she reaches up and grabs his hand, keeping it pressed against her cheek.  She doesn’t know if she leans in first, or him, but they meet in the middle, the kiss gentle and unhurried.  Her body yearns for more, but then he pulls away, pressing a kiss on her forehead as he says, “We should get some sleep.  We both have games at seven tomorrow.”

She knows that he’s right, because he’s an addiction in his own way, and if they started something she knew they would get little sleep. She turns on her side, her mind wonderfully blank as he blanketed her body with his.  She falls asleep within minutes.

The next morning, the twins catch Beth leaving Benny’s room to change for the day, and one of them does a low whistle while Beth jauntily responds with her middle finger.  She changes into one of her favorite dresses, a checkered number with a high neckline that dipped to a lower “v” in the back, and she proceeds to win all of her games, even achieving a new personal record for time.  Benny does the same, and then it’s just the two of them, facing off at the top table.  There’s a break before and he presses her against a wall in a back hallway, his mouth against hers.

“If you’re trying to distract me, it won’t work,” she says, fingers caught up in his hair.

“Don’t worry, I know better than that.”

Fifteen minutes later, they are seated opposite each other, attention finely tuned to the action on the board.  Benny has improved since Beth last played him, but then again, so has she.  Both of them nearly run out their clocks, but in the end, it is Benny who extends his hand across the board.  She knows how much he hates to lose, but there is not a trace of ill will on his face when she shakes his hand.  Instead, there is admiration, respect, and something else that she is hesitant to name.

Afterwards, they go directly to her room, and they don’t even make it to fully undressed before she takes him in, breathing a sigh of relief against his neck.  When they are finished, his fingers languidly run along her side and he says, “You should come to New York.”

“I can’t,” she says, looking up at him.  “I’m coaching at one of the high schools and they have a major tournament next week” 

“Okay,” he says.  “Then what if I come to Kentucky?”

While this isn’t exactly a surprise, it still thrills her to hear him say it.  “Really?”

“Yeah, really.”

“Okay,” she says, trying to keep an impending wide grin at bay.  She runs her hand along his chest and Innocently says, “I think I have an air mattress in the closet.” 

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Hand-Me-Down Words

Pairing: Beth Harmon/Benny Watts Rating: M Word Count: 1639

Summary: A publisher wants to print the Beth Harmon story, but Beth doesn't know how to go about writing a book. Luckily, she knows someone who does.

They want her to write a book. With triumph over Borgov behind her, Beth requires a new challenge, and with the payout from Moscow, she doesn’t need to enter any American tournaments for the time being. Tedious car journeys and rough hotel sheets combined in trips that end in prizes of piddly amounts aren’t in her future unless she wants them to be. Victory means control. Writing, writing should mean control too.

Except that Beth’s never done anything like this before.

Numbers are the Harmon language—hers and her mother’s. Expressions, equations, calculations, and chess. Even Alma made sense of life through budgeting. Beth’s first thought after meeting with the agent she selected to represent her and the acquisitions editor at the publishing house is, Thank god I’m already in New York, because she needs help here. She needs somebody who’s done this before.

Unsure how quickly or if they’ll fall into their old pattern of sharing the bed, Beth informs Benny that she’s buying him a couch. A couch which will really be for her. She rejects even the remotest possibility that she’ll ever again sleep on that stupid inflatable mattress, pretending not to get a cramp in either her calf or the arch of her foot (or both) when she had to work the damn pump every night to avoid his gloating smile, to perpetuate his mistaken understanding of it being a situation of him providing her with something instead of the opposite. She maintains that he did promise a couch and is therefore a boldfaced liar. Which she should have seen because, liar? Yes, of course. The man plays chess for a living. A face that can alternately frighten and reassure an onlooker is a necessity. Come stay with me at my apartment in New York while we’re both aware of your attraction to me. Frightening. Don’t worry, you’ll sleep on the couch and this arrangement will keep things platonic and focused on your chess training. Reassuring.

“I’m buying a couch for your living room.”

“No.”

Well, fuck him. Beth leapfrogs her original scheme and buys an entire apartment. Not a nice one—she still has the Lexington house to caretake and eventually reinhabit—but it is above ground. She insists it’s hers, a good investment, a base in New York for all of her future meetings with her agent and editor, until Benny gives her a look that has her raising her palms and halting her excuses. She never asks him to give up his place. When he walks into hers one day with the key she had made for him dangling from his finger and a box of possesses under his arm, she just scrapes her chair back from the table and shows him the space she left for him in the closet.

She thinks they might have sex the day she comes back from a publicity event (they’re drumming it up before she’s written a single coherent page) to find Benny napping on the couch with his hat over his face like a cowboy, instinctively pulling her close when she knocks it away and startles him awake. Or when he suggests that she begin carrying a knife too and jokingly taps her thigh when she asks where she’s supposed to conceal it. Or when he stumbles blearily into her room in the early morning because she’s crying tears of frustration over her typewriter and he wordlessly gathers her into a sleep-warmed embrace. Or when they quit acting like he’s a guest and he calls it “our apartment” for the first time.

Beth wants to charge through the book. She’ll write for hours at a time, answering questions only as they occur to her, the way she’s danced back and forth with her true competitors on the chessboard. But Benny has the wisdom of a published author here and ruthlessly edits these pages—verbally, never picking up a pencil. He pushes her to compose the questions ahead of time, allowing her to address them with equal weight. Also, to come up with certain themes or trains of thought that are vital to the forward energy of the book and capture the spirit of her play, which is really what she’s made this deal in order to describe. People are hungry to see chess through her eyes. They’ll pay good money for it.

Whenever they’re on the brink of an argument because Beth is hammering away at the typewriter while Benny’s trying to get to sleep, or Benny is being as pushy and transactional as her editor while Beth’s desperate for a little encouragement, one of them inevitably suggests a match.

Playing at home is helping to break his habit of wagering on games. She never says anything directly; progress seems to come more easily for him when he doesn’t feel watched, which she gets, from having people voice their concern over the tranquilizers. It’s been… well, since the night she decimated him and his friends at speed chess, that he thought he had a failproof method for beating her. He can’t afford to lose every game—he has to contribute to the household finances.

They play three games at once, on three separate boards. They play without a board, swapping moves as they eat lunch and people-watch on a park bench. They play blindfolded until they get into a fight because Beth isn’t familiar with the shape of one of his sets and thinks she’s been moving a bishop when her fingers really stuttered over the pieces to land on a pawn. (They remove the blindfolds after checkmate to see that pawn ‘checking’ the king from a diagonal across the board and Benny discounts the entire match as illegal.)

They play games that last a day or more, leaving notepads beside the board like they do at tournaments and checking each other’s over the hours for new moves before responding with slides and taps and exchanges of their own. During one of these, when Benny’s been taking forever to take his turn (because Beth has him pinned and he’s being stubborn about conceding), she comes into the kitchen to start dinner and sees him sitting at the table, staring at the board, still not making a move.

“You can get out of it,” she comments, standing next to his chair with her arms folded. She doesn’t really believe that and he knows it; she watches him shift irritably in his seat.

“I think I would’ve done it by now.”

His refusal to even try while she’s standing there watching (yes, she still loves to watch him play) makes her just as determined to beat her own white pieces back as she was formerly determined to beat him. She studies the board harder and it does take several minutes. Finally, she spots the move.

Without thinking, Beth drops down onto his lap and says, “Here,” as she reaches out and drags the king onto a new square. “It looks like an exposed placement, but it’s really the perfect bait to get white to rearrange its offensive, opening things up for a comeback by black. See?”

She turns her head and her heart swoops as Benny’s gaze strokes unhurriedly up her neck to her face. He blinks twice, quickly, like seeing her here is a surprise and a dream. Gently, he shifts her hips back a little, until she can feel the firmness at his groin. He stops sleeping on the couch.

With trimming and factchecking and too much coffee, her book is suddenly in its final draft, pressed back into her hands by the editor who’s probably really, really tired of reading about chess. Regardless, the woman still loves the book. Vibrantly, aggressively. The house’s whole staff does, the way they can only love something they’re publishing in a frenzy, before interest in the young female champion wanes. Beth is amazed to find that she loves it too. It has a lot of heart, she feels, between the numbers that have defined her career; though it isn’t one of the sections she’s been requested to rejig for this last edit, she finds herself flipping back to a page near the beginning, where she writes about going to her first tournament unrated. Though journalists have always been curious about the morbidity of the car crash and her orphanage upbringing, she doesn’t give up too much of that. The highs and lows of Methuen—Jolene’s resilience and the green pills’ quicksand—will go unprinted. Readers will have to search for the personal. It’s in the brimming praise of Mr. Shaibel that Beth fought to include, and the passages of effusive respect for Alma, who learned to both manage and mother her.

It’s in the dedication.

Beth carries a copy home from the first box of the first printing. For the moment, it’s precious, but soon those boxes will be shipped out to bookstores, where employees will stack and shelve and shoppers will recognize her name on the spine and go, “Oh, isn’t she the one who…?” She smiles to imagine it.

“Benny?” she calls into their apartment. “You home?”

She curls around him from behind when he raises a hand from the couch. He’s reading but he puts the book down to transfer his complete attention to her and she kisses him with her mouth so full of the delight of her accomplishment that they almost get carried away. Breathless, she draws back, then hands her work over. She watches eagerly as Benny turns the pages, stopping him before the introduction.

His name isn’t the only one on the list—compiling people worth dedicating her book to was an exercise in recognizing the luck of her life—but it is the last. The endgame.

…and to Benny, it reads. Let’s set it up. Let’s think it out.

[of-fire-and-light]

[RP - bad moment]

[Quick RP log that I wanted on here for keepsake reasons. My Galvatron, raisedbymoogles’ Rodimus. Long post, hurt/comfort, tw hallucinations/meltdown/panic attack, some kissing and making out at the end. Rated... PG13-ish?]

Galvatron: [tensed, shaking all through his frame, dentae bared and optics glazed as though he's not entirely all in one place mentally right now~] [-but not too lost in his own head to recognise his lover] [grabs Rodimus and pulls him close, desperately, bending his head to bury his face against Rodimus's chestplate] Hhh- Prime. [CLING]

Roddy: ::-don't know what's wrong but this is Not Good, oh slag:: ::...arms around him, one hand coming up to protect cover his helm, feeling him shake, knows what he can do to Help right now and not going anywhere:: I'm here, Galvatron. I'm here.

Galvatron: [doesn't know what that was or what broke in his processors to make him experience it, somewhere between a hallucination and a waking nightmare. Lost in a dark place, somewhere cold and lightless and empty, and he'd thought Cyclonus and Scourge were with him but when he reached out to them they were empty too... just soulless dead lights behind their optic glass and hollow armour, and when he'd tried to touch them...!] [shudders and continues to cling to Rodimus, feeling his Prime's familiar sweet warmth wrap around him, grateful even for the blaze of the Matrix scorching against his faceplate because at least he knows that pain is real] [fingers curl, grip into strong bright metal that isn't crumbling under his touch...] 

Nnh. Rodimus. [Yes, I know you, I know you're here...]

Roddy: ::here and staying, as long as Galvatron wants, the galaxy can spin on its own for a while.:: ::he's running hot and trembling-tense, honestly Rodimus would have half expected him to go find something to blow up in this state - not that he'd prefer that to this, his lover clinging to him like a lifeline while reality's taking a hot second to get its act together around him. Galvatron's been his stability more than once. Now it's his turn.::

Galvatron: [for once in his life he's almost afraid to blow anything up right now, what if he falls through the hole and that other reality is underneath-?!?!?!] [but that's what Rodimus is for, he's the half of their dynamic that pulls things back together and keeps them whole. Rodimus is Galvatron's Light, the one who breaks the grip of darkness~] [slow shudder, the whine of charged plasma coils starting to drop away, engines slowly beginning to gear down...]

Roddy: ::...good. Feeling him start to spin down and encouraging it, love/soothing affection and that bright-edged stubborn that's Rodimus's answer to Cyclonus's steadfast, whatever demons took a swipe at him this time will have a Chosen One to contend with if they want a second shot. Got you, not letting go until you're damn good and ready...::

Galvatron: [mmh, that precious bright warmth sinking into his plating...] [shifts his grip and folds their frames together a little less awkwardly, his head still bent against the hollow of Rodimus's shoulder, still nuzzling into him but not quite so blindly now] [...doesn't speak, but the rigid, pain-locked planes of his fields soften, trying to mesh with his lover's.]

Roddy: ::doesn't speak either, then, this silence is Galvatron's to break.:: ::got all the communication they need in their fields anyway, Rodimus's meeting Galvatron's reaching need with love/connection/trust. ...and maybe purring his engine a bit, just to see if it helps.::

Galvatron: [it's the trust that's the most precious of all, that Rodimus can come to him willingly and fearlessly embrace him even when he's like this] [reaches back in a ragged, incoherent pulse of want/need/mine that's... rather more of a question than a statement than is usual for him] [shudders a little at that purr and lets himself nuzzle into it, mmmh]

Roddy: ::...when it comes down to it, it never even occurs to him not to trust.:: ::keeps purring then, if it helps, his body's harmonics settling in with Galvatron's so easily that Galvatron's shudder becomes more of a backbeat, and - yes, yours. Complex pulse of reaching-back and pulling-close that he could have only learned from his Unicronian lovers, yours always...::

Galvatron: [... he does not melt, that is not a thing he does, but you could be forgiven for calling it that as he settles against Rodimus and soaks up that field-pulse like it's exactly what he needed to feel] [fingers curling around Rodimus's flank; his grip no longer tight enough to hurt, softening instead into a caress] [holding-close/claiming/mine-and-precious!]

Roddy: ::...claiming is the thing he is doing. Obviously. <3:: ::yours, respect/trust/adore, and maaaaybe nudging them both over to the nearest bit of furniture to go sit now that Galvatron's knees aren't locked up so tight. Comfort and more cuddles...?::

Galvatron: [has to claim, can't let Rodimus send yours without sending back yes mine no matter how rough he feels at the time! it'd be like not bothering to say I love you too] [allows himself to be coaxed over to the couch, willing to curl up with his Prime and just... yes, that]

Roddy: ::...just. Galvatron. <3:: ::curling up together, then, don't have to do a lot of wiggling to arrange themselves so they're comfortable, they know each other and themselves too well by now:: ::and Rodimus tucks his helm down by Galvatron's, shuts off his optics and just focuses on touch and purring and aura-sense. Love.::

Galvatron: [warmed through with that sweet golden warmth that contrasts so vividly with his own consuming fire, wrapped around and half on top of his lover] [raggedly purrs back for as he tries to reclaim his usual certainty-of-self, engines still hitching a bit] [...love]

Roddy: ::...love. Not a shred of hesitation or self-consciousness about it, loves Galvatron with his whole spark and as much as he wishes Galvatron's own brain module would lay off sometimes he relishes the opportunity to demonstrate it. Love, yours always, and if it would help Galvatron's certainty to feel for himself that Rodimus's faith in him hasn't wobbled one millionth of a degree, then here it is.::

Galvatron: [...it does help. He's trying not to let the backwash of his meltdown vision or whatever it was push him into prickliness as he comes back to himself; he knows his pride will try to show its dentae as soon as it gets its head back above the parapet, but this is Rodimus and he doesn't want to lash out at his Chosen One. It's one thing to shove Cyclonus or Scourge away with a sharp that's enough, or pin them down to reassert who's in command; but for Rodimus, he at least tries to translate his gratitude into something legible-!] 

Hhhh... Rodimus. [tilts his head up to nuzzle Rodimus's cheek and the corner of his mouth, trust/appreciation/love]

Roddy: Mmm. ::love/warmth, letting Galvatron feel how he's shamelessly enjoying the nuzzles:: ...hey, Galvatron.

Galvatron: [reaching up, fingers curl around the side of Rodimus's helm] [optics shade to ember-warm darkness, and there's that particular softness around his mouth that's only ever for Rodimus] [...looks at him for a long moment and then settles a chaste, much-gentler-than-usual kiss upon his lover's mouth. Thank you.]

Roddy: ::....definitely melting, here, Galvatron does this to him every time...:: ::returns the kiss, just as gentle, all the warmth and sweetness he can muster in it...::

Galvatron: [that's better; he genuinely can't acknowledge what just happened out loud right now, but he can certainly show his appreciation with kisses and touches, if Rodimus will accept those. It's a good unspoken code for both let me give you something good now and see, I'm myself again, you fixed it...]

Roddy: ::and it's such a huge relief that Rodimus has to engage in a little creative capacitor use to keep it out of his aura. The last thing Galvatron needs right now is to directly feel how worried Rodimus was.:: ::...and really, it's easy to let those touches and kisses seduce him into killfiling the worry-loops and letting himself relax, responding to Galvatron's whims in a familiar dance for all it's slower than usual. Love, relaxation-pleasure...::

Galvatron: [it's not really a whim as such this time - he sincerely wants to repay all the strength and love that Rodimus just poured into him] [gratitude~] [stroke and kiss, fields finally opening back up into their usual responsive, liquid heat as he wraps them around Rodimus. Want to feel you...]

Roddy: ::right here, all of him here to kiss and stroke and answer his lover's gratitude and want with love/affection/trust/always! and kisses. And Galvatron's aura-heat, perfect, the stinging satisfaction like sliding into a bath that's juuuust on the edge of too-hot...::

Galvatron: [relaxing as he pets his beloved; it's soothing to have Rodimus's bright spark nestled close against his own through the weight of their armour, and the way Rodimus just welcomes him so completely every time they touch does things to him that no language he knows has words for~] [slow kisses, fingers only following the contours of Rodimus's armour for once rather than pressing hard enough to modify them - love.]

Roddy: ::love, want Galvatron in any permutation he's willing to give, and getting his body more or less mapped out by Galvatron's gentle stroking is honestly every bit as good as getting pinned down and half crushed by the warlord's ardor. Purring in response and encouragement, letting him know how good he feels - there's a curl of lust in him, but it's the kind of lust that is content to just be experienced for itself, no need to go chasing off after it.::

Galvatron: [...shreds of nightmare still echoing in his processors, it's one thing to leave his mark on strong, living, self-repairing armour but in his vision they had crumbled to charred metal under his hands... it'll take him a little while to fully trust his own strength again after that, honestly] [but nope not thinking about it and kissing his Prime instead, glossa nudging caressingly between Rodimus's lips, and his senses catch that little twist of lust as it flickers in Rodimus's fields...]

[No need for Rodimus to chase anything, here and now. He need only ask, and Galvatron will gladly do the work of bringing his pleasure to him if Rodimus so desires.]

[itsgonnabe-brian-may]

She’s a Killer/Dancing Queen 2

// part one

wc: 2.2k

John Deacon x reader - joe!john Deacon x reader.

@queer-heart-attack

I got a little carried away but I hope that this was a fun read! Let me know what you think! Also sorry that there’s no “keep reading” and if the format is screwed up. I’m posting from mobile.

//

A bubbly laugh escaped your lips as you bowed extravagantly. You had definitely gotten a little carried away while playing the songs, but hey, you never got to play them all the way through in front of others so you took the opportunity.

The 4 men standing behind the glass of the studio had the weirdest combination of facial reactions. Brian was delightfully amused, Rogers face was a mixture of surprise and joy, Johns mouth was slightly agape with awe and Freddie’s face was light up brighter than a Christmas tree with excitement.

“That was brilliant darling!” Freddie exclaimed throwing open the doors, with no regard for the 3 men following behind.

“Bloody fantastic,” Roger added. Which came to a shock to you.

“Wait and didn’t you say that you hated disco?” You prompted, quirking a brow at Roger.

“Careful Y/N, he’s a bear and disco is the stick your poking him with,” Brian laughed leaning against the piano.

“Excuse me what, poking a bear? With a disco stick?” You asked quizzically raising a brow. The metaphor clearly not making sense.

“Right, sorry Y/N, it’s an expression. It’s like Roger is a bear and you are there with him in the forest, but not actually in a forest, and he’s upset—“ John blabbered on before Freddie cut in.

“John, no one cares about the bloody metaphor, we care about the music! Isn’t that what we’re here for? Now come on Y/N, teach a rock band how to be Disco!”

The next hour included the 5 of you talking about goals and wants for the week to come. You had agreed upon teaching them an ABBA song part by part on Thursday and play all together on Friday morning, the rest of the day was for what you wanted it to be. And of course a farewell party that night. And then sinfully early Saturday morning it was time to make the journey home, but you couldn’t dwell on it, there was music to be played! And fun to be had!

Thursday:

All the boys had shown up first thing in the morning. Even Roger who wasn’t supposed to play until 1 had come. The recording room was filled with energy and anticipation. You had sworn the boys the secrecy between each other. No one was to talk about what song you had chosen and the sound was switched off, but they could still see the session.

Each member got a 2 hour session alone with Y/N with an hour break for lunch at noon.

Freddie was first up, it had nothing to do with the fact that he was the most excited to play, outwardly at least. John was definitely the most excited, but he was shy and would just have to wait his turn. Freddie insisted on watching you play piano and then trying to copy afterwards. Needless to say you were blown away by his talent. Only an hour had passed and he had mastered his part on the Grand Piano. The rest of the hour was spent with you two messing around on the keytar and teaching him some of the words, along with the harmony’s. Again you were shocked with his range and ability to hit the notes that the female back up singers had trouble with.

Brian was next.

“Look, I am so sorry that there’s not more guitar to this song, however I stayed up late transcribing the violin part, which I think you will make sound really cool,” you confessed at the beginning of his time slot.

Instead of being disappointed he was thrilled and relentlessly complimented your work and teaching. Your heart soared with every compliment Brian gave. If you didn’t know him any better you would have sworn he was flirting. But alas he was just being the dorky fascinated man he was. John, however grew annoyed with it fast. He was jealous, even Roger stopped making fun of him for it, which was rare.

Brian was also a quick student, though the pace was different. You two sat on the edge of the platform stage and each with a guitar in hand. Within the last half hour you had also ended up giving him some lyrics to accompany you and Freddie. Your voices were going to blend fantastically, at least you thought so.

Finally it was lunch time. You’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been starving during Brian’s session. Lunch consisted of lots of coffee, brought from Sweden in your carry on, sandwiches and french fries.

“You mean chips Y/N,” Roger mocked your American English.

“I most certainly do not, they are French Fries, not chips or crisps,” you fought back.

“You see that is where you are wrong,” Brian said joining the discussion.

“Brian! I thought you were on my side,” you gasped mocking offense. You picked up a handful of fries- excuse me chips- and tossed it at the boys. Hitting John square in the nose.

“You did not just do that! What have I done to you Y/N, I said nothing!” John squeaked.

Roger grabbed some and flung them in your direction in retaliation. Soon individual fries were flying across the room. Deaky somehow ended up at one end of the room, you at the other with one fry in your hand.

“Come on Deaky, come on,” you said under your breath like a small prayer before throwing it perfectly into his mouth.

“Yes!” You screamed out in joy running over to John throwing your arms around his neck in celebration. In the adrenaline of victory you impulsively pressed a kiss to Johns cheek. Both of your cheeks burned crimson red. Thankfully Roger was too busy pulling out his wallet to give Brian the cash he had just lost after betting against Deaky’s fry catching abilities and didn’t make a comment.

Eventually you all calmed down and sessions resumed. This time with Roger. Who was surprisingly pleasant to work with. Even if he had spent a majority of the time fumbling around and poorly flirting. At one point he kept dropping his drum sticks, which lead to you sitting on the stool pressed up against him, his hands being kept closed by yours. He would whisper a dumb comment in your ear, which lead to a laughing response or smack to the back of the head.

John was fuming, internally at least. With the sound off he couldn’t hear your consistent rejections towards Roger’s advances, which just made his jealousy worse.

“He always gets the pretty girls,” he mumbled sneeringly and threw his feet up on the coffee table.

However he didn’t have to deal with the antics for too long, it was his turn, finally.

You two sat as you had with Brian, yet your knees touched ever so slightly. Both of you noticed, but said nothing.

You weren’t gonna lie in, you picked out this song because of the bass line, and the fact that you knew John would excel at it made the decision final.

The two of you played in intimate unison. By the end of it you were laughing and teasing each other. You offered gentle touches as corrections, which juxtaposed the threats that you had given Roger a mere hour ago.

The rest of the band also seemed to notice the difference and the fact that you hadn’t been playing for the last twenty minutes. Brian was the only one who truly understood it though. He certainly was going to keep an eye on the two of you, and maybe suggest a bet.

The day slowly came to an end. Dinner was burgers and chips, you had given up on the fight of chips vs fries, and of course there was a celebratory beer. 8:00 pm rolled around far too quickly, but it was time to call it a night. All of you were tired of being in the studio for 12 hours. Especially you, since you had been the only playing for almost all 12 of those hours. Flopping down on the hotel bed was only slightly less rewarding than teaching the boys their parts.

Friday:

Getting out of bed at the sound of the cheap hotel alarm clock was almost too easy. Today was sadly your final day in England for this short visit, but it was also the day where all of your hard work came together. Hopefully. At least you all had fun.

You threw on a pair of black bell bottoms and a white tank top, even though it wasn’t that warm out, you had learned your lesson from yesterday. Wearing a knit jumper is not a good idea when working with Queen.

To your surprise all of the band arrived before you. They had come to practice their individual parts. Which made your heart melt. And once you arrived each of them had a few more questions and you answered. Around 3 you gathered in the recording room.

“You boys ready to get your disco on?!” You called out as if you were trying to get them excited. They already were.

“Of course we are, so what are we waiting for Darlings?” Freddie replied, starting off the first few piano notes of the song. Brian joined in soon after. Then Roger with an enthusiastic smile. You and John joined in together, him on the bass, you on the keytar.

“Half past twelve” You Brian and Fred harmonized perfectly.

“There’s not a soul out there— no one to hear my prayer———-“

With a symbol crash you began the chorus line.

“Gimme! Gimme! Gimme! A man after midnight— won’t somebody help me chase the shadows away—-“

At that moment, Queen had embodied dancing queens. Everyone had gotten engrossed in the music and was dancing along with their part as much as they could. Naturally, John excelled at it. The song ended with a final symbol crash. And then a moment of time where everyone’s breath could be heard, then laughter. A Rock band had just done a damn good job of being a Disco band.

“Wow, I think this is your guy’s calling, screw rock and roll!” You laughed, grinning widely.

“Careful, Queen might just come kick ABBA off the charts with a disco track,” John teased.

“He’s right, no one is stopping us! Watch out darling,” Freddie joined in with a wink.

The rest of the day was spent teasing each other, lounging around and messing around. In the 3 days that you had spent with Queen, you all had become quite close. Close enough where they divulged their favorite pub to you. Eventually you moved from the studio to that pub, which was conveniently down the street. It was packed and the band preforming wasn’t half bad. It was no Queen. But it did the job of creating a upbeat vibe. Freddie found a small booth in the back corner while Roger left to go get a the first round of drinks. Unsurprisingly the round included tequila shots. Soon you were three shots in and tipsy. You thanked the booth for being small, especially since it gave you the opportunity to be closer to John. He was also feeling a little extra confident and placed his arm discreetly around your waist.

“Jag vill bara säga tack —,” you began before realizing the boys around you looked dumbfounded. “Right, English is a thing,” you laughed. “As I was saying, thank you for everything, I loved being here, I’m glad I got to come,” You laughed raising your glass in a toast.

“We loved having you darling!”

“Come back any time!”

The night carried on in celebratory fashion. More drinks, lots of bad dancing, laughing, terrible jokes, and more untranslatable Swedish phrases that slipped out. Your pretty sure you confessed your attraction towards John. Thank god he didn’t understand the language. Though he understood body language. At around midnight you and John went out for a breath of fresh air. Brian had originally planned on joining but just sent a wink instead.

Soon enough your lips were on his. I’m perfect unison. Your arms wrapped around his neck loosely, his around your waist. A mix of lust and admiration filled the air as he took a step back leaning against the brick wall, in turn pulling you closer.

“You know, I’ve been waiting to do that since the second you started signing,” John sighed smiling at you.

“And I have too,” you smiled back. Your cheeks turning a light shade of pink. The tipsy-ness from the alcohol had worn off. Late night London and being alone with John had made you want more. Every part of you wanted to stay but you knew it wasn’t going to happen. You loved your life back in Sweden and your job was all you could ask for. It was too bad that the man you dreamed of was in London.

The band came out after an hour or so and insisted on walking you way back to your hotel. The trip back was mostly occupied by trying to get John to memorize your number, and consoling Roger because he had to leave the girl he was flirting with. Everyone got a tight hug goodbye, John got an added kiss on the cheek, then you left for the airport 3 hour later. Still a little tipsy and in love, but you got your ‘man after midnight’ in the end.

[fernlomwrites]

Chronicles of Tenaria: The Tour Begins

Life was not any easier for Harmons without the mask on. He could still feel Pinstripe in him, his voice in his head

“Come on lawman, find me a new victim. A new sucker for me to possess. I’ll make your life a living hell if you don’t”

“Is that a threat? Am I being threatened by a ghost?”

“A ghost that can very easily take over your body. Watch and learn badge boy”

Suddenly, as if he could not control his own body he un-holstered his side arm and pointed it to his temple.

“Tell me boy scout, you think you can survive a bullet to the brain?”

“What?? Can you? You damn psychopath?!”

“Of course I can. Do you know how much easier it will be to possess you if your brain dead? Fortunately for you, I need you as a pawn, not a body.”

Slowly, the gun was lowered and returned to its holster.

“Sleep, you are useless to me tired.”

“I should have never put on that damn mask”

“Yes, you are an idiot. Now sleep”

“I swear when we find you a new host, as soon as you bond to him or her, I am going to kill you”

From deep inside his mind Harmons felt the eerie laughter grow into a horrendous cackle.

“No you wouldn’t. You are limited by your stupid sense of honor bullshit. You would never kill me out of the fact that you would also kill an innocent person. You law types are all like this, too focused on what’s ‘right’ to make the tough decisions. It’s your idiotic sense of justice that got you into this mess in the first place. Now sit your ass down and get some sleep.”

Harmons felt his legs fall out from underneath his weight and fall face first into the bed’s comforting embrace. With a sigh he allowed himself to drift off into a deep sleep. Though it felt like he slept for only a few minutes, he woke to find he slept through the night and almost to the afternoon, only to awake from the sound of knocking on his front door.

“Urgh, Pinstripe you bastard!” Quickly, Harmons rushed out of bed, not bothering to change out of the suit from last night and swiftly opened the door.

“Your late deputy. Are your bags packed?” Cal stood at the door guitar hung over his back, cowboy hat replaced with a ragged old truckers cap, brown leather jacket over a grey flannel, old jeans and a large belt buckled designed like a horseshoe.

“Yes Cal, my bags are packed. Let me grab them so we can go”

Cal grunts under his breath and walks across the lawn to the Bus parked by the curb, marked with the OFFkeys logo. OFFKEYS. Surrounding by each of their individual necklace charms. Portions of the buss themed after each of the members, the front simple, and black for Clarice, afterwards red is mixed in a blood and fire like pattern for Mike, then more brown and silver is added for Cal, then the reds and browns are replaced with blues and purples for Jenny, then the blacks and silvers are replaced with a rainbow of color for Pandora, and the bus ends with neon colors, and pixel patterns for Eric.

Harmons looks at the buss in puzzled bewilderment. “H-how…how is it that works together…how?”

“All music is fundamentally the same” Clarice answered as she approached the bewildered deputy “So it is very easy to meld our different genres. And make something beautiful. Your friend Chris is on the bus already…is that your only bag?”

Harmons looks down at his solitary, small black roller bag “well…yes…should I have packed more?”

Clarice scoffs “Depends, how long did you expect to be with us?”

He shrugs “I…I guess a week or so…”

“Try a couple months. That’s how long the tour is Deputy”

Harmons almost choked on air “M-months? Are you serious?”

“Of course she is” Mike walked up and handed Harmons the mask “Clarice isn’t exactly humorous. Then again, neither am I.”

Harmons reluctantly takes the mask and puts it into his bag “And if I find a new host for Pinstripe sooner?”

“Unless you just have money for a plane ticket back here laying around yourself, you’re stuck with us deputy”

Harmons sighs and picks up his bag “Where do I put this?”

Mike gently takes the bag from him “I’ll take it for you, just get on the bus”

“Come on Deputy~” Jenny takes his hand and slink away with him into the bus “Let me give you the tour~”

Where the outside of the bus was a mix matched color disaster, the inside was much more uniform. A gold and brown color design filled the interior of couches, beds, and seats. Dr. Krins was sat on the center couch, chatting with Cal, Eric, and Pandora.

“So then this guy decides he wants my bag of stuff. And you know its not a good idea to threaten Santa. So, I brought out my canes and broke his jaw. I left a lump of coal in his pockets.”

“Geez Krins. That’s…badass.” Cal took off his hat in respect.

“Wait. Wait a minutes” Harmons walks up to the group, visibly confused “Did you say Santa?”

Dr. Krins chuckles to himself “Ho, ho, have I never told you?”

Harmons drops to the couch “My best friend…is Santa?” Slowly he drops his head into his hands “Can my life get any weirder?”

Cal tries to pat his back comfortingly “I know Deputy; I was the same way”

Dr. Krins chuckles “I wasn’t even hiding it. No one ever thought I was real is all. I thought I was obvious.”

“It…it was…but like you said, I didn’t think Santa was real.” Harmons slowly looks up “and did you say you broke someone’s jaw with your canes?”

“Oh yah, I broke Rodney’s legs last year when he was on his little murder spree. He tried to take my charm. I swiftly broke both his legs, and them left him a box with a little surprise inside”

Mike turns and faces Dr. Krins. “What was in the box?”

Krins smirks rather slyly “His first victims charm. He thought it was gone. His first victim could actually control his body if he wore his charm so he got rid of it. I found it”

Harmons stands up “I remember that charm. He wore it when me and the mayor took him down. It was a silver key with neon green gems in an atom formation. When the spirit of the charm took him over, he started steaming when the fight started. He eventually exploded, and what was left…. was his first victim. Professor Ilions. “

Eric was the only one to seem surprised “My dad…I forgot he was the first one dead. He is alone in his lab so often I never noticed he was dead. It wasn’t until he came back did he spend time with mom more”

The rest of the band silently stand by Eric and comfort him. Dr. Krins hands him a box of tissues, seemingly from nowhere. Harmons was the only one not by Eric. “Geez…that’s terrible Eric…”

Eric clears his throat and puts his glasses back on “Let’s get going now. Her Brady! Let’s get moving!”

Siting at the driver’s seat was a thin, scrawny man, with a simple chain necklace, its charm a flaming wagon wheel. He smiles politely before lurching the bus forward and down the road. For a while the bus seemed to be driving slowly, before suddenly shooting down the road as his charm glowed a bright fiery red.

The whole band and Dr. Krins stayed standing, seemingly unaffected by the sudden speed, but the initial lurch forward was enough to knock Harmons back down into his seat, and the speed increase kept him pinned.

Clarice laughed “Not used to Brady’s driving huh? Not many people are, he was a natural born driver, that’s why we hired him to drive our bus. We save so much time getting to our concerts when he drives.

“You know Deputy, it’s great that you came with us. Sometimes our...fans…can get a little close” Cal stands up and walks over to the fridge of the bus “And having a cop can be real convenient”

Harmons staggers to his feet “You think you are in danger? From your own fans?”

“They aren’t our fans. They know our power and want us dead”

Dr. Krins solemnly nods his head “Of course. Who are they?”

“They are called The Legion of Full Power. They believe if everyone in the world had powers, there would be peace. We know that is stupid. As does everyone else in town. Members have their symbol marked on their hands. The left hand has an anchor wrapped in chains, their right hand has a jagged key, engulfed in flames. Whenever we see someone with those markings approaching town, we swiftly turn them away”

“A cult. A cult has been trying to invade our town. Why does that not make me happier about the constant supernatural attacks. I should be happier about that since that is easier to deal with, but I’m not. A cult is so much worse, why can’t we just be a normal town. There are pirates at the docks, I was just visited by a mystic cowboy from the old west, and now I am haunted by the ghost of a damn assassin who killed my cousin.”

Mike tilts his head slightly “You had a cousin?”

“Yah, his name was George, his charm was purple pocket watch over a purple stone. He could control time, and unfortunately he decided to steal from Don Lomas. Bad idea on his part. I tried to protect him, but Pinstripe was too much. Funny thing is, Pinstripe knew how powerful the charms are, yet he left George’s. He didn’t want to take it. We put it in the vault, before we buried him.”

“You cousin tried to steal from the most powerful mob boss in the states? Was he stupid?”

“Yes he was Clarice, but he was still my family. As much as I never liked admitting. He was cunning like the rest of us. Doesn’t make him any less of an idiot though.”

Harmons staggers over to the fridge with Cal. “What do you guys have to drink here?”

“What would you like?”

“Beer preferably”

Cal opens the fridge and pulls out a can of beer for the deputy

“A lot to take in I’m guessing”

“Yah. I guess”

He opens the can and slowly drinks “Ugh, so, where is the first stop?”

“Portland. We should be there soon actually.”

“How? Portland is like a four-day drive from Keypers Cove. “

“Brady.”

Harmons turned and looked out the window expecting to still see the icy glaciers of Alaska, but instead saw a blur of blues and greens as the bus sped down the highway at impossible speeds.

“This…should not surprise me as much as it does”

“Yet it does. Funny right?” Eric softly pats his back “Just don’t spill the beer”

“Funny Eric. Very funny” Harmons smirks and returns to his seat

“Hmm, Portland ey~ Yes, my next host is definitely there~”

Harmons shivers “oh god, I forgot about you, I can’t wait to get your stupid voice out of my head”

“Who’s voice?” Cal looked up. Harmons made eye contact “oh right. So, yah, I’m kinda being haunted by Pinstripe”

“How…wait, never mind”

Mike reaches into his bag and pulls out the Mask. “Would it help if someone wore it for now?”

Harmons looked up and took the mask “Yah. Me. Turn away everyone. This is going to be bright”

The group looked away as Harmons slowly moved the mask to his face, before the bus was filled with a bright light, and Harmons was no more, only Pinstripe.

--------------------

Chrono Link

[salexectrian-heir]

Savior of the Damned (8)

Lavellan finds Fen’Harel wounded and dying in the woods, and has to make a life altering decision.

Superstition and Fear whispered for her to run. Resentment and Anger commanded her stay, watch him suffer and die. Reason told her to send word to the Inquisition and turn him over to their jurisdiction. Mercy pleaded with her to put him out of his misery and end his life on the spot. But Intuition asked her to save him, and it was Intuition that won her over in the end.

First // Previous // AO3 Link

Chapter 8

Her face was damp when she touched her cheek, wiping away swollen drops that had leaked as she slept. The cot groaned quietly beneath her as she propped herself into a sitting position to face Solas lying on the bed beside hers. He was already awake. She composed herself, making sure she was centered before opening her mouth to speak.

“I am at a loss for words,” she said, folding her hands gently in her lap, “you have given me much to think about… I will need time to fully wrap myself around all this.”

“Don’t we all.”

Half-tempted to roll her eyes, Anise sighed, “World shattering revelations aside, I think our first priority should be you making a full recovery. Your bones will need tending, as well as your muscles. They are going to atrophy if we do not begin the rehabilitation process soon.”

“Rehabilitating? No, I will be on my feet in a day or so.” To prove his point, he attempted to swing his legs off the side of the cot. It ended with a cry of pain and Anise’s hands catching his shoulders as he sagged into her, and not the floor.

“You stubborn Wolf. You may not be mortal, but you are vulnerable.”

His chuckle turned into a groan that she felt flutter across her neck when she eased him back onto the cot. “We will take it slow. Let’s start with regaining some strength, are you hungry yet?”

“Slightly,” he said, his fingers yet lingering on her arm for balance, trailing over her skin as she pulled away, “I suppose I should try.”

“You most definitely should,” she straightened to get a good look at him, “when was the last time you had a hot meal?”

He stared back at her blankly. “I do not need as much food as you would think, so the answer I am about to give may alarm you.”

At that, Anise did roll her eyes and made a soft, exasperated noise. “The more things you share with me, the more I am amazed that you somehow managed to survive the last five thousand years.”

“Actually, closer to eight.”

Apparently she was more comfortable with the Wolf than she realized, for she playfully squeezed his nose, earning her a surprised swat to her hand and a glare. She bit the inside of her cheek to prevent herself from laughing.

You should not have your guard down with him like this.

“You showed me part of your world…” she started to say, ignoring that little reprimanding tug of her conscience, “now I am going to show you part of mine.” Her mouth broke into the smallest of smiles at his confused yet analyzing look.

“A proper Dalish welcome if you will, seeing as you have a lot to get accustomed to Darrian, might as well start with a meal.”

Fresh summer air washed over her face as she stepped out of Var’Haminan, clearing her mind of the past few hours and all of the thoughts and emotions she was trying to process. A break away from the Wolf would do her well, she decided. She was a little wary of how comfortable she was becoming around him, how easy it was for her catch her guard slipping. He was intelligent and intriguing with a slight charm about him that pulled her in closer, wanting to learn more about him. Her perception of him had been shaped by his flaws, but that had been before she actually met him, got to understand him. Perhaps if fate had been kinder and dealt him a fairer hand, in another world, they could have been true friends.

Anise shook her head sharply as she passed the Keeper’s aravel. No, just because she understood his logic did not mean she could overlook the consequences of his actions.

If he is to be redeemed, he is going to have to want to change…but how do you make a lone wolf loyal?

Prove to him you are his equal.

The enticing smell of sweet bread overwhelmed her senses when she stepped into the clan bakery, a relatively new venture in the encampment that had grown quite popular. It was modeled after the small fancy bakeries that were found in Wycome City, run by an elderly woman by the name of Keili and her adolescent granddaughter. There were two baskets already prepared and waiting atop the service table.

“Two,” Anise said, reaching out to grab the handle of the first basket while curiously inspecting the second, “Is this your way of making up to your wife?”

“No,” a voice answered from the door behind the counter.

“Does this mean you still won’t visit her?”

“Is she still crazy?”

Anise sighed. “If you mean, is she still having memory loss? Then yes.”

“Then yes,” the voice sassily echoed.

A short elven woman with greying curls pushed her way through the door with a tray of fresh petite cakes. A smear of flour ran across the left side of her forehead.

A stubborn, quick tempered “old bat” she readily self-proclaimed to anyone she met, Keili was tough to please with a low tolerance for nonsense, making it difficult for her to engage in pleasantries with the bakery attendees. Hence the reason her granddaughter was often found out front, taking orders, dealing with sales, otherwise the “face” of the place. But if caught in a rare sociable mood, Keili would tell the best stories about her of her grand adventures she had her youth. There was even a rumor—one Keili made no effort to deny or confirm—that she had been an assassin in her past life before marrying into Clan Lavellan, and becoming a baker. When Anise was little, she often would ask Keili about her first life, but all Keili would ever give Anise was a wink and a gentle pat on the butt to scoot her out the door with pastry in hand.  Anise didn’t have a clue as to why Keili developed a soft spot for her, but she was glad. Keili confided in seldom few, just as she did.

“That extra is for you,” Keili said, gingerly unloading the hot cakes to cool on a rack next to the counter, “heard about the man you found in the woods.”

Anise shifted the basket her had already picked up to set on her hip, and reached for the second “Oh please not you too.”

“You want my honest opinion?”

Anise nodded.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Keili said, reaching into the apron she was wearing and tossed her a pouch Anise almost didn’t catch, “you’re too independent. But if you want me to go on believing you are ready to ‘settle down’, I’ll play along.” She emphasized the ‘settle down’ with an exaggerated voice. “Have a hunch he has a sweet tooth, those are fresh elderberries—picked this morn, they’ll spread nicely on the cakes when they’re hot.”

“Keili, I can’t just accep—“

“Your coin is no good here, don’t make me get my broom and chase you out.”

Anise let a soft laugh escape, “You haven’t threatened me with a broom in years.”

Keili glanced over in her direction, a glint of mischief in her eyes, “You know I am good on my word.”

Anise took a few slow steps back, dodging a dried piece of bread lobbed her way.

It had taken a few months to wear Keili down after her wife’s accident to send gift baskets to her, let alone come around and visit at the infirmary. Keili held grudges like no other, even when they cost her heartache. Braea’s head injury at her age caused permanent damage, memory loss of the last twenty years or so, meaning she forgot the last portion of their life together including the birth of their granddaughter whom they adopted together when Keili’s daughter died. Anise and Deshanna were trying their best to develop a treatment to aid in her memory recall, but so far they had been unsuccessful. It was still a sore spot, and Anise was the only one who could even broach the subject with the elderly baker, everyone else who asked was blatantly ignored.

She won’t stay mad forever, she loves Braea too much to let her anger burn that bridge.

“Thank you Hahren,” she called out, departing with two baskets full of fresh pastries and other assorted baked goods to return to her own complicated love affair waiting for her in the infirmary.

You aren’t supposed to actually enjoy being in his company.

She pushed the thought down deep, letting it fade out existence as she shifted her weight on Solas’ cot, edging a little bit closer to him. Keili’s hunch had been spot on. The way his eyes lit up at the sight of the hotcakes and berries seemed worth all the hardship she had been putting up with. How could a man with such a reputation look so innocent? Anise cocked her head and returned the grateful smile he was offering tenderly. The small talk they shared over breakfast wasn’t quite small talk. She let him see a little more of herself, telling him stories of when she was younger and the trouble she would get herself into while being unsupervised. Like the time she got herself stuck in a tree and was too afraid to jump down. She went missing for almost an entire night. It was day break when a scout finally found her in those woods, shivering and ashamed. His laugh harmonized with her own, a simple echoed melody.

Thinking of Keili, and the stories she would tell Anise to cheer her up inspired her. Perhaps if she wore him down the same way she did with Kei, he would warm up faster to her. She didn’t know what made her more nervous, the Dread Wolf knowing her past, or the fact she wanted him to know her.

“We need to get our story on the same page,” said Anise, changing the subject from silly childhood misadventures to the present one she was getting herself into now.

“Our story?”

“Yes, you know… us,” she emphasized with a small gesture between the two of them on the cot.

He smirked, reclining against his pillow. “Well, this was your idea. Where do you want us to start?”

Anise considered for a moment. “How old are you, exactly?”

“I have lived for millennia, I have witnessed the rise and fall of—“

“Short answer please,” Anise interrupted, “because I very well can’t go about introducing you as my ancient one-thousand-year-old partner. You can recount to me all your lifetimes in the Fade at night but right now, we need to get our life together in the daylight figured out.”

He huffed, clearly not enjoying being cut off.

“How old did you say you were when you were with the Inquisition?”

“Forty-two.”

“Okay, that definitely fits the bill for my apparent thing for ‘older men’,” Anise muttered, reiterating what Atiha had teased her for.

“I don’t know if I want to ask… how old are you?”

“I just recently celebrated by twenty-fifth name day last month.”

“Oh, you are…” he said simply, color rising in his cheeks as he continued to gaze at her. She could feel the tension spike, the reality of how old he was in comparison to her mere twenty-five years sinking in. He cleared his throat and changed the subject, “For how long have we meeting up exactly?”

“I think I told Deshanna a few months… so maybe about four, or five? Does that sound reasonable?”

“My perspective on the relativity of relationships is much different than yours, I assure you.”

Anise let out a nervous chuckle, tucking a flyaway strand of hair behind her ear, “Five months would make the relationship still relatively new, but long enough to be considered steady...to someone in this age.”

“Five it is. What have we been doing the last five months?”

Anise stared at him. He was truly a stranger and yet… she felt this.. connection. She could not deny it, but did not want to acknowledge it all the same. “We’ve been meeting up at night in secret, I can probably convince Deshanna some of the prolonged hunting trips I took were actually trips to visit you in the city…”

“That’s right, you mentioned to me previously that I was a merchant, what am I selling?”

“I… actually hadn’t thought that far ahead yet. What are you good at?”

He considered her a moment and then responded, “I used to paint.”

“Hmm, a merchant who sells paintings or works on commissions?”

“Perhaps both, maybe I’m in between commissions and that would explain my lack of wares?”

“Or that you were ambushed in the woods and they were stolen.”

He nodded. “Good point.”

“Okay so you are a merchant painter who lives in the city. We’ve been seeing each other for five months.”

“What do couples who have been together for this long talk about in your clan?”

Anise rolled her eyes, “To be completely honest with you, when they will have their bonding ceremony and… children.”

He looked shocked. “So soon?”

“Unfortunately,” Anise fidgeted, “usually our bondmates are pre-arranged for us during childhood. Once we receive our vallaslin, it becomes acceptable to start the relationship. So you grow to know your bondmate throughout life. Of course, just because bonds were arranged did not stop people from having lovers before they committed to their bondmate. It’s as strange a custom as one might think.”

“If relationships are prearranged, then how did you convince your clan that we are lovers? Where is your bondmate?”

Her chest ached at his prying question. Her clan already knew what happened to with her arranged mate… and she would rather not relive that story.

“It’s… a long story,” said Anise, “to make it short, it didn’t work out. That’s all you need to know.” She shifted uncomfortably on his cot, “So, do you have any?” Anise quickly deflected, wanting to get the attention off her and things better left unsaid.

“Have any?”

“Children.”

“No, but wouldn’t you be curious to know if I already have a partner?”

“Oh,” her mouth gaped slightly at her own obliviousness in not taking into consideration that the Dread Wolf might already have a mate, “… do you?”

“No, I do not,” he smiled, “it has been, ah, a long time since I have courted. And I have no children.”

“None? You are thousands of years old, and you’ve never... even thought of having children?”

The smile faded as fast as it had come, “Children were never something I had envisioned for myself,” he sighed, shoulders slumping as the spark of energy left his body, “It’s… a long story.”

Curiosity began to bubble up within her. This strange man who has essentially lived forever has lifetimes of experience, almost unfathomable to fully understand. Was it possible…?

“Have you ever taken a lover?”

The words left her before she could censor herself.

He looked taken aback, “I said it had been a long time, not that I had never.”

What are you thinking? Of course he has exponentially more experience than you.

She cringed, “Sorry, that was a dumb question, you’re ancient,” she said, rubbing her cheek with her right hand, shaking her head at the inappropriateness of it all, letting the flyaway strands fall back across her cheek.

“Not dumb, I’ve found it is good to be honest with your partners about your history.” He returned her mirth with a breathless laugh, “We are all young once.”

She froze as he moved forward to cup her face, “Though for you, life has just begun. You have so much to look forward to,” brushing his thumb across her lower lip. His other hand pushed the hair that had fallen back with a gentle caress. Her body betrayed her common sense as she leaned into his touch. The expression on his face changed subtly, becoming softer, eyes growing wide as he studied her face.

“I could not resist, forgive me but you…,” the last bit of breath swiftly left her lungs with his words as his fingers curled under her jaw, “you are so—“

The hesitation in his breath was tangible, the subtle intake of care rushing past her parted mouth as he leaned in. She did not know what to say, but she knew what she wanted to do.

She wanted…

You absolutely cannot.

Clenching the fingers in her lap, she pulled away from his soft touch. She wrung out the stiffness building in her knuckles as she recognized her heart betraying her mind.  

“Gods, he’s awake!”

Anise abruptly split away from Solas as if she had been hit with a jolt of lightning. Her hand went flying to her chest to contain her heart she had not quite been aware was pounding. Tah’riel stood in the entry way, with Atiha excitedly at his heels.

“Tah’ri—I, I didn’t hear you enter,” Anise managed, meeting the young merchant’s shocked stare. His eyes flicked over Solas judgingly before glancing back to hers..

“We were just dropping—I mean stopping—by to leave another bundle of dawn lotus, in case you needed it,” he stammered, hastily following Atiha who rushed past him to Solas’ bedside.

Mythal have Mercy.

“I almost didn’t believe you existed,” Atiha said, eyes wide with joy. She quickly sat beside Anise on the cot, extending her hand over Anise’s lap to the Wolf. “It is so wonderful to see you awake!”

Solas seemed a touch surprised at Atiha’s invasion of space, but made a smooth recovery by shaking her hand, trapping Anise between the two.

“Beg pardon, who might you be?”

“Oh! Sorry, how rude of me. I’m Atiha, Anise’s bondsister. It’s just I have been hearing a lot about you over the past two days, I’m getting a little hasty. When I heard the news I thought Deshanna was trying to trick me,” Atiha cheerfully continued on, “Anise courting? I thought for sure she would never court anyone again—

“Atiha where is Enasali?” Anise spoke over her, practically jumping off the cot to grab the outstretched bundle of dawn lotus roughly out of Tah’riel’s hands. He flinched.

“Deshanna volunteered to give me a break so I could get some fresh air. I’ve been cooped up in my aravel nearly as much as you’ve been cooped up in here.”

“Except you don’t have a choice, Anise does,” Tahriel stated bitterly.

Solas shifted his attention back to him.

“Darrian, is my long time childhood friend, Tah’riel. He is a merchant too,” Anise explained before Tah’riel could say anything else.

“A merchant.” The knowing look Tah’riel gave caused a flare of guilt to rise her throat but she swallowed it.

“Yes, an artist from the city.” She stared right back at him.

“Oh an artist? How romantic,” Atiha cooed.

A rush of heat flooded Anise’s cheeks. “Excuse me a moment.”

She was already pulling apart the bundle of dawn lotus before she even reached the stock shelf. The tension in the room was thick, near smothering. Vaguely, she could hear Atiha asking Solas a thousand questions about his artwork, and Solas patiently answering all of her questions. Tah’riel was thankfully silent during the whole exchange. Her fingers found themselves reaching for a pot and stripping the lotus petals for a fresh brew of antidote to stall for time as she tried to figure out how to get rid the two before her heart exploded.

“I was on my way back into the area when I was ambushed by bandits. If Anise had not been waiting for me, I might not have been found.”

Solas accepted the steaming brew she offered with a polite nod as she returned to his side. The urge to bolt out of the room, to run as fast as her legs would take her away, grew stronger and stronger each second Tah’riel’s disbelieving glare lingered on her.

“She will have you recovered and walking in no time,” said Atiha, “you are in the best hands, I swear by Sylaise.”

“I know I am.” Solas gently reached for her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. She gave him deliberate squeeze of gratitude.

Might as well lay it on thick.

“What are your plans for this evening?”

Anise glanced down at Solas and noticed the crimson stains beginning to seep through the bandages visible on his shoulder.

“Well, now that he is conscious and moving, he should be properly cleaned. I was going to see if he had enough strength for a bath later.”

Solas choked on the brew.

“I bet that will feel nice, especially since it’s been so humid lately.” Atiha stood and straightened her skirt. “If you can spare a moment—and if you are feeling up for it that is Darrian,” she said, inclining her head towards him, “I’d love for you to stop by. Perhaps if we are lucky, the escort will arrive on time and your parents will be able join too.”

It was Anise’s turn to choke.

“What.”

“Did word not reach you yet? The political convoy should be returning from Wycome late this afternoon.”

“I knew it would be soon, but.. not… so soon?”

“Your mother is going to want to hear everything.”

“Wonderful.”

Anise shot a look at Tah’riel who was wearing a reluctant expression of a ‘you’re screwed’.

“Well, we will leave you to your caretaking, enjoy your bath! Atiha announced, sensing the awkward shift in the conversation. She tugged on Tah’riel’s sleeve, yanking him towards the exit, “come on Tah’ri, you promised to help me prepare!”