#also chapter two for The Ballad of the Two Travelers is coming out soon

[angelbornaltruist]

just watched dune (both parts) and am rereading the book. I may have a strange hyperfixation on characters who see the future but feel as though they can do nothing to change it. Clairvoyance as a curse instead of a gift.

[popculturebuffet]

The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck Part 6: Terror of the Transvaal!  “But You...  You Just Made Me Mean.”

Hello you happy people. And welcome back to my look at The Life and Times of Scrooge McDuck! And with this one i’ve reached the halfway point of this epic and couldn’t be prouder and have no plans to slow down. In fact while June and July will have one chapter each as is my usual for storylines I do on my own time, August and September will have DOUBLE the chapters to help me reach the finsih line. This dosen’t mean i’m done mind, i’ll probably get into the side chapters next year, possibly sooner. But my main goal when setting out to do this was to cover the main story, one of my favorite comics of all time and easily the best scrooge comic ever. But the point is it’s been a helluva ride so far and i’m not even to the second half yet. 

This chapter is also one of my favorites along with “The Last of Clan McDuck”, “THe Raider of the Copper HIll” and “The Invader of Fort Duckburg”. It’s a compelling and tragic turning point in our heroes life and has THE most badass moment in Scrooge’s history, only rivaled by another moment in this very series, which if you’ve read it you know EXACTLY what i’m talking about for both. This is also a lucky one for me as I scheduled this a while back before me and Kev had settled on doing the season 2 arcs, so I ended up scheduling this one the same week as my coverage of Glomgold’s other origin story in “The Ballad of Duke Baloney!”, a story that take some small cues from this one. So if all of that has peaked your interest, please join me under the cut as Scrooge becomes “The Terror of the Transvaal!”

As for why Rosa set the chapter here there’s two simple reasons: it was one of two gold rushes mentioned in Barks work, meaning Scrooge could get in some more experience before making his fourtune in the Klondike, and Rosa understandably couldn’t resist having Scrooge and his greatest rival meet in their youth. He WAS careful to not have Scrooge learn Flinty’s name, as Scrooge dosen’t recognize him in Flintheart’s first apperance in “The Second Richest Duck”.. but Rosa noticed Flinty seemed familiar with SCROOGE, and simply ran with it, still having his first encounter with the bastard deeply effect Scrooge but leaving Scrooge unaware that the thief and betrayer he met in the Transavaal was the same heartless Scoundrel he’s fated to keep fighting till one or both of them keels over. 

So starting the chapter proper Scrooge has come to the Transvaal to prospect for gold, following his hunch from last chapter, trying to make his way to the rand, a large natural area in south Africa. The Transvaal itself was a large expanse that was cut up in the 90′s after the fall of apartheid. 

Scrooge passes a massive Diamond Mine, large with tons of miners on small claims, but wisely passes it up: there’s too many people, too much fuss and likely too much risk of getting stolen or finding nothing.

And to prove that point we meet Flinty who is trying to steal a guy’s diamonds for the second time today. Now the other miners reaction IS FAIR: they send him up in a bucket thing their using to transport the diamonds as a thief and announce him as such and the people on the surface’s reaction makes it very clear this isn’t new behavior. Him being punished is fine... their punishment though....

Seriously, theft is not worth doing a murder.. and yes he COULD escape and their trying to frame it like that’s not what htier doing.. but their sending someone with clearly low self preservation skills into the desert, with no suplies, tightlyt ied to an angry and clearly wild animal. While Flinty DOES deserve jail for his shit, he doesn’t deserve to DIE for attempted theft. He didn’t ruin anyone’s lives or actually succeed and he’s clearly harmless if eveyrone in the mine knows he’s a criminal. You can’t just murder all your problems away... I mean the blood alone is just not worth the clean up. 

Naturally Scrooge crosses paths with Glomgold and assumes he’s simply gotten himself trapped somehow and being an openly kind soul at this point in his life, gladly helps the guy free. Scrooge mentions he’s headed to Johannesburg and GLomgold offers to come along and do all the work as his guide. Scrooge being Scrooge refuses the “do all the work part” but gladly accepts a guide and a new friend and introduces himself as from Scotland. And as a result we get... something resembling a joke...

Look I’m not against a good pun... but that was not a good pun. It wasn’t even a passable pun. It also feels like a bit of a stretch given Scrooge is well traveled by now. you’d THINK he’d get that he was probably talking about something local and not insulting himself. 

So Scrooge talks about all he’s learned with Flintheart bored and kind of a dick.. and offering a lesson of his own despite being the same age as Scrooge.. specifically he takes first watch and gives a smug speech. 

Scrooge wonders around the wilderness and finds a lion.. then an elephant and soon has the entire savannah after him as he bemoans the betrayal, having never felt like this. We’ll get more into the why in a bit. The point is he’s backed against a wall..but as we all know a cornered animal, human , duck , humanoid duck no matter the species is often at it’s most dangerous. 

Especially if that animal is a McDuck. So here we get that badassery I mentioned: faced with an angry horde of some of the most dangerous and awe inspiring critters in Africa Scrooge uses EVERYTHING he’s learned roping cattle and what not to best them. He uses tricks from besting Long Horns to get the Elephants tangled up in a tree, then uses a log to beat a Rhino, before lassoing himself a motherfucking giraffe:

And if THAT weren’t already cool as all hell he tops himself: Since he dosen’t consider a Zebra a proper mount.. he decides to go for something bigger. 

So to recap just so it all sinks in for you: Scrooge, abandoned with no suplies, defeats two elephants and a rhino, rides a Giraffe, then TAMES a fucking lion with nothing more than an improvised lasso and PURE RAGE. Then RIDES that majestic creature across the planes like a GODDAMN HORSE, before riding iti into town casual as all hell. I MEANT IT and he’s STILL not done. I mean it doesn’t’t top riding a motherfucking lion, what could, but what he does for an encore is still utterly badass and is a nice coda to riding a motherfucking lion. 

So at the local abr Glomgold lies about everything and makes himself the hero of the story, Yes Flintheart Big Dick Glomgold. Purest soul there ever was.  This lasts all of a minute as while Flinty brushes off the fact a cowboy is looking for him, he doesn’t even know what that is... he’s soon rightfully shitting himself when Scrooge comes for his vengeance. 

The art here is as always impeccable. The shading alone. But seriously I’m terrified and I know he can’t harm me... in theory. In practice if ANYONE could reach out of the page and throttle me, it’d be the guy who rode a motherfucking lion. And no i’m never letting that go. Fucker rode a lion. That’s the kind of thing you never forget about a character for damn good reason. We also get one of my favorite lines in the story, and it has tons of greats.. but this is an easy contender for my favorite:

It’s a chilling line and panel, with it made clear Scrooge’s cynsim, his biggest weakness and often what makes him the most unlikable came from this.. the moment where a villain with no scruples, no care and no code or morals of any kind utterly betrayed him and tried to leave him for dead that took any scrap of hope in mankind he had and destroyed it. From now on he likes nobody and nobody likes him. Other mentors helped Scrooge grow as a person, taught him skills and taught him to survive, to enjoy the road getting to fortune as much as the fortune himself, and to make his way square. Flinty. just made him mean. 

But Scrooge isn’t going to kill him.. for one thing he doesn’t’t like shooting people or animals. For another.. he has something far more satisfying in mind: Old West Justice, Tar and Feathearing style, covering the guy and humiliating him by making him do a bullet dance Marty McFly style. 

Flinty TRIES to simply escape and steal Scrooge’s shotgun.. but it fails as he runs into the lion and Scrooge takes the beaten flinty over to the jail to press charges. Flinty is jailed.. and makes his own vow. 

So with that Scrooge has made a foe for life, and this is another thing the 2017 Cartoon took.. it’s just where as this  Flinty was merely angry at his rightful compuance and humilation, the cartoon one was a small child who swore vengance for an honest mistake. But either way you slice it he won’t make Scrooge’s life any easier. 

So with that we get our epilogue: Scrooge never made his forutune her, naturally, as the ore was too low quality for him to process alone so only the already rich could afford to set up shop here. Scrooge packs it in determined to still make his fortune and we get an awesome closing panel. 

Final Thoughts: As you could probably tell, I fucking love this one. It’s utterly amazing. Barks himself has said he felt the best chapters took place over a short time span and it shows: by having to cover less time, only having a time passing bit at the very end, it allows this vital story to take place over less than a day and allows it to move at a hell of a pace. It’s got action, great character work as we see Scrooge’s last bit of trust in his fellow man shatter, and THE best climax of the series. And the others have some whoppers. This one is just so damn awesome, taking most of the issue but using EVERY page of it to tell one epic finale, from Scrooge’s easy mastery of the beasts, to his taming a motherfucking lion, to Flinty’s UTTERLY satstifying humilation conga...this is just a masterpiece and a huge reminder why I love this comic

Next Time: Scrooge sadly dosen’t keep the lion but does head to Australia where he faces what he is in the dark, meets a new mentor, and gets pointed to his destiny. See you next month for that. 

If you liked this review share it, and if you’d like to help me make more join my patreon at patreon.com/popculturebuffet. WIth only 10 days left till the new pay period nows the time to jump in so you can pick a short for my Donald Duck birthday specail next month or help me reach a stretch goal so I can get it on the board. Time’s a wastin. And if you can’t, tha’ts fine, thanks for reading. 

[womansharry]

SHE

Fashion blogger and New York Socialite Juliet Oliver meets rockstar Harry Styles. And what follows is a story that no one could have predicted.

Chapter 1 - Gold Dust Woman

Juliet Oliver stepped out of the black SUV. A man in a black suit approached her.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Oliver. You'll walk the carpet in just a minute. Stay here. I'll send you as soon as I can." He turned to another man, and Juliet took a second to look down at her gown. She was wearing a purple Giambattista Valli gown. The floor-length dress was made entirely of tulle. It was growing heavier by the minute. She smiled despite the discomfort, relishing in the fact that she was about to walk the carpet at the Met Gala.

Juliet had grown up obsessing over fashion. She would stay up way past her bedtime and look at the pictures in her mother's copies of Vogue and Elle. She would often sneak into her mother's closet and try on her various dresses from DVF or Dior. When she was in high school, she developed a bad habit of leaving school early to go shopping at Bloomingdale's with her best friends.

Juliet had been born into a prominent Upper West Side family. Her father, Richard Oliver was a hedgefund lawyer. Her mother, Marie Lawrence-Oliver had been a model in the late 70s and early 80s before she met Juliet's father. By the late 80s, Marie had become a mother and decided that she would stay home with her children. First came Christopher. Chris had always been interested in movies. He had gone to NYU's film school for college and moved to LA right after. Next came Caroline. Caroline followed in her father's footsteps and went to law school. She attended Brown as a legacy student and had come back to NYC for a job in the financial district. Juliet was the youngest of the three and had attended college at Columbia.

Somehow over the past few years, she had amassed 1.2 million followers on Instagram. After graduating she decided to turn those followers into an audience and she launched a website. She had been writing full time for her blog for 3 and a half years. She had been featured in Harper's Bazaar, Marie Claire, and Vogue. The latter had led to a friendship with Anna Wintour. She had also traveled to Paris and London working with brands like Stella McCartney and Saint Laurent. Juliet could hardly believe that this was her life, working in fashion and writing about the things that she truly loved.

"Alright, Ms. Oliver are you ready?" She took a deep breath and smiled at the man. She started walking and was met with a large crowd of photographers and reporters.

There was a chorus of shouts, "This way!" "Juliet, over here!" "Look here," "Smile" as she made her way across the pink carpet. She began ascending the iconic Met steps. She stopped for a couple of interviews. As she was about to head inside she heard the shrieks of the teenage girls that were lined up along 5th Avenue. Years ago, that had been her. She looked over at the front entrance and noticed that Alessandro Michele, the creative director at Gucci, had arrived and with him was Harry Styles. Harry wore a sheer black top, black heeled boots, and a single earring. She admired his outfit from afar before turning her attention back to the front doors of the MET.

"Juliet!" She turned to see Lana Condor making her way up the steps. Juliet had met Lana and a few other ladies wearing Giambattista months ago during fittings.

"Lana, it's so good to see you. You look gorgeous!" Juliet pulled her in for a hug.

"Thanks, Juliet, so do you! They knew what they were doing when they put you in purple. It's your color!"

"You're the sweetest. Next time you're in New York we should get dinner." Juliet said and she moved up to the next step.

"Yes, for sure! I'll see you inside." Lana stepped towards one of the red carpet correspondents to give an interview.

Juliet headed towards the front door nearly running into Harry Styles as she did.

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said quickly. He looked over at her with his emerald green eyes and dimpled smile.

"S'okay love. Y'look very nice, by the way." She felt warmth spread through her body and she smiled back at him.

"Thanks, so do you."

"'m Harry." He stuck his hand out towards her.

"It's nice to meet you, Harry. I'm Juliet." His large hand was softer than she had expected.

"Hmm, Juliet. Quite a romantic name." He chuckled.

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Juliet, s'nice to meet ya. Maybe I'll see ya inside, yeah?" He moved closer to the door.

"Yeah." She smiled and followed after him and into the Metropolitan Museum of Art.

___

Sometime later Juliet was running on champagne and adrenaline. Cher was performing a few of her greatest hits. The beginning chords of "If I Could Turn Back Time" sounded through the speakers and Juliet smiled. She was dancing around in her own little world with some of the people around her when she noticed that Harry was watching her from across the room with a smile on his face.

Once the song was over she noticed that Harry had moved. He came up beside her and leaned over to whisper in her ear.

"Ya coming to the after-party? Think ya should." She nodded.

"I'll be there."

"Save a dance for me, yeah?" She felt her face turn red.

"I can do that." He gave her a longing look and made his way back over to his friends.

___

Alessandro was hosting a Met Gala after-party at Hunter College. Juliet changed into a red pantsuit. The blazer was v-neck and she decided that she wouldn't wear anything underneath. It gave her an edgier look. Once she was inside the school gymnasium it didn't take long for her to find Harry. He had a champagne glass in one hand and was using the other as he carried on about something. The speakers were blaring a song that Juliet didn't know when someone grabbed her arm.

"I didn't know that you'd be here." Juliet turned to see Mary Kate Olsen.

"Oh my god! It's so good to see you." Mary Kate smiled.

"Let's get a drink." the two girls set off in search of the bar. "Are you still writing?"

"Yeah, it's going really well. I'm meeting with a few people next week about starting my own fashion line. I know it's a lot of work, but it's something I've wanted to do forever." Juliet said as they approached the bar.

"I think that's a great idea. It might seem like it's an oversaturated market, but if you bring something to the table that's new and unique you'll do great." The girls both got Vodka Tonics and went back to an open couch.

"I'm really excited to start the process. I've got a long way to go." Juliet said sipping on her drink.

"Well, if you need help or just someone to talk to, please call me." Mary Kate gave her a smile. Despite being so private, Mary Kate Olsen had always gone out of her way to be kind to Juliet. They had met a few years ago at London Fashion Week.

"How's Ashley?"

"She's good. I feel like we're constantly running 100 miles per hour with our brands. She was at the gala earlier but she was ready to go home. Why don't you come by later this week and see us? You could even throw out some of your ideas for your line. We'd be happy to give you our opinions." Mary Kate touched Juliet's arm.

"Yes. I'll text you tomorrow after I look at my calendar. You'd think I'd have it on my phone. I'm still old fashioned that way. I like writing things down in my planner."

"Yeah, I understand. Please do that! See you soon."

Juliet stood up as well and looked out at the dance floor, so many people were scattered around dancing and talking. She told Mary Kate goodbye and made her way to the edge of the dance floor. "Sucker" by the Jonas Brothers was playing. Juliet laughed as she saw Harry singing his heart out.

The song died out and a new one began playing. She knew what it was almost immediately. It was, "Take My Breath Away" by Berlin, or as many people knew it as the love theme from Top Gun. She downed the rest of her vodka tonic and sat the empty glass on the closet table to her. She took a deep breath and approached Harry.

"How about that dance?" He gave her a devilish grin and pulled her in his arms.

"How's ya night been, Juliet?" Harry asked as they swayed back and forth to the 80s pop ballad.

"It's been great. I don't want it to end..." she wished out loud. She admired the man holding her, his features soft in the dim light of the gymnasium.

"Think I'll ever see ya again? Quiet like looking at ya." He asked. Juliet felt her cheeks heat up.

"Maybe, if you're lucky," she said teasingly. If Harry wanted to see her again, of course, she would say yes.

"Can't believe we've never met before."

"I know. I'm glad you were a co-chair this year. I like your style a lot. You dress in a way that makes you feel good, no matter what anyone says about you. I like that about you." She said. His green eyes were sparkling.

"Thank you. 'm blushing, really." They laughed together as the song died down.

"It was so nice to meet you, Harry. I'll see you around." He hesitated, almost like he didn't know how to respond. Finally, the words came out.

"Yeah, you too Jules. See ya around." He held her hand a second longer before letting go and drifting off into the crowd of people.

Juliet found the exit and called Cal, her driver. He pulled up a moment later. She got into the SUV and Cal drove off in the direction of her apartment. The entire drive home she played Harry's words over and over again in her head. "Yeah, you too Jules. See ya around." Normally, she only let her family call her Jules. But, she liked the way it sounded when Harry said it. As Cal pulled up outside her apartment, she silently prayed that tonight wasn't the last time she would see Harry.

_____

Read ch 2 here! 

[themangoyogurt]

Clementine: Chapter 2

You cursed yourself as a ridiculous love ballad blared from Poe’s overpriced stereo system. All you had wanted was a night of relaxation. The marble tub in the master ensuite was already filled with hot water and a bath bomb that was so overpriced it was practically criminal. Next to the tub, a chilled glass of white wine patiently waited along the latest novel you were gobbling up.

You had stupidly decided that some calming music was the final piece to your self-care puzzle. Except, you had never used something as high-tech as what Poe’s place offered. One wrong button later, and you were ninety-percent sure that only twenty-percent of your ear drum would be functional after this fiasco.

To make matters worse, there was angry knocking at the front door. The aggressive sound was so furious that it somehow cut through the music, causing you to flush in embarrassment as you ran to get the door. You were so frazzled from breaking the sound system and subsequently upsetting your neighbor that you even forgot to grab a robe on your way out.

The door flung open to reveal a man so large and imposing, you lost your breath.

He was in nothing except a single pair of boxers and fuzzy slippers. Despite his distinctly disheveled (and frankly, sloppy) look, he was handsome. Handsome, built like a refrigerator, and angry. Ogling your neighbor would do no good if he murdered you.

Except, one moment he looked furious and the next, perplexed. Normally, you’d bristle if any man so obviously gave you a once over, but the way his mouth comically hung open made you less offended.

“Clementine,” was all he uttered.

The two of you stared at each other in silence, when the start of yet another pop song interrupted the moment. You startled to attention and rushed to explain, “I am so sorry about the disturbance. I can’t figure out how to work Poe’s stupid stereo and now the thing won’t shut off!”

The stranger peered around your shoulder and a hardened gaze returned to his face. He gritted out, “And where’s Poe to help you out?”

Your brow furrowed, and you could have sworn that he almost looked bitter at the statement. Deciding not to get into it with a stranger, you politely replied, “He’s flying right now. I’m just housesitting while he’s gone.”

The man softened ever so slightly at the response and straightened up. “I think we have the same system. I could help you turn it off.”

“Oh thank goodness,” you breathed in relief, quickly stepping aside to let him in. The stranger seemed to know his way around the gigantic apartment, and you assumed that his layout was either the same or he’d been here before.

Awkwardly shuffling behind him, you timidly supplied your name in an attempt to start a conversation. He merely grunted out, “Kylo.” He didn’t even spare you a glance as he busied himself with tapping at a seriously sci-fi looking box.

After a few minutes of strained silence, the music finally cut out. The sudden quietness was so strong your ears nearly rang from the lack of sound. “Uhm, thank you! Can I make you a mug of tea or something?” you ventured, politeness outweighing the sheer awkwardness as you realized you were two half-naked strangers staring at each other.

He shuffled a bit before giving a terse nod.

Jeez, nobody’s forcing him to hang out with me, you thought in response to his frosty reaction.

Speaking of frosty, you noticed his eyes zeroing in on your rather pointed chest, causing you to turn pink at the neck. Thankfully, you had left a sweatshirt thrown over the couch. Snatching up the thick fleece garment, you tugged it over your head and led Kylo to the kitchen.

Kylo followed with heavy steps, and made himself right at home as he settled on a stool pulled up against a bar area facing the kitchen. Two mugs were pulled from a cabinet and quickly filled with steaming hot water. The liquid reminded you of the bath now gone to waste, but one look at the handsome man gazing at you made it all worth it.

A mug of chamomile was slid across the marble top and into Kylo’s hands before you joined him on the stool to his left.

“Sorry again about the music,” you muttered.

Kylo ran a hand through his hair, dark locks falling like Fall leaves. “It’s fine. It was an accident. So...you’re a house-sitter?”

You laughed, “Unofficially. I just moved to town, and I don’t have a place yet. Poe’s an old friend from college, and he just started some sort of travel show that’s gonna keep him busy for at least four months. I get to stay for free, and he doesn’t have to worry about his house going to shit.”

Kylo nodded, not surprised that the dashing pilot somehow landed himself a deal to host a travel show. He also came from money and had already made a name for himself jet-setting around the globe piloting his own private jet.

You gave him a cute little head tilt and asked, “And what about you? What’s your story?”

For the first time since he left the First Order, Kylo felt embarrassed. Deciding to fall back on vagueness he replied, “Ah, early retirement.” Women liked mysterious men, right?

He was surprised as you let out a low whistle. “Retiring in a place like this? You must’ve had one hell of a job to retire from.” You blew the steam away from your mug and took a long sip.

Kylo frowned and folded his arms across the tabletop. “And what about you? It’s a Wednesday and you’re blaring Taylor Swift near midnight.” You knew that he wasn’t being defensive, despite a slight accusatory tinge to his voice.

You turned to face Kylo, propping your head up on an elbow. There was something gravitational in your exchange, and your bodies had slowly inched closer and closer as you talked. By now, your knees were lightly touching, and you found yourself feeling electricity at the subtle touch.

He laughed as you playfully jabbed a finger in his chest. “I’ll have you know that I do, in fact, have a job! Have you ever heard of Hanna Hut?”

Something about you riled Kylo up, and he felt more alive than he had in the past month. Some teenaged boy part of his brain refused to admit that he had no idea what Hanna Hut was, hoping to impress the pretty girl sitting next to him. Instead, he rolled his eyes and scoffed, “Of course I have. And what’s it to you?”

His resolve slowly dissolved as a silent minute ticked by. He groaned as you finally broke the silence with a loud laugh. “A grouch who can see into the future. Amazing!” Kylo furrowed his brow, and bit back, “What are you talking about?”

“Hanna Hut doesn’t exist. At least not yet.”

Kylo furrowed his brow and pinked in embarrassment at being caught. You patted his thigh, ignoring how muscled it felt underneath your touch. His bare skin was warm and deliciously corded and taut. He stuttered out a non-reply, only earning a louder guffaw from you.

“Don’t worry. It will exist. Hopefully very soon! I’m opening my very own coffeeshop-slash-bookstore combo right here in town!” You couldn’t help but gush in excitement at your very new business venture.

It had taken years of careful planning and budgeting. Years of forgoing mimosas with the girls and squirreling away every dime. Literally. Years of accepting overtime, and years of enduring doubt from friends and family alike.

No more though. You had finally gathered together enough money to launch your dream business. The moment your bank account looked healthy enough, you threw up digits and peaced out of your tiny good-for-nothing town.

Finally, after years of grit and sweat, things seemed to be looking up. With free lodging for the next few months, you didn’t even have to stress about finding an apartment. Your deal with Poe worked out perfectly so that you could spend all of your time and energy looking for the perfect space to launch Hanna Hut.

Your excitement was infectious, as Kylo couldn’t help but flash a wide smile matching the one on your face. “And where can I visit this newfound ‘coffee-slash-bookstore’ venture of yours?” he asked, genuinely curious and interested in the concept.

“Well...I’m still looking for the perfect storefront. I think I might have found it, though! In fact, I’m meeting with the landlord tomorrow afternoon.” You quickly pulled out your cellphone to show him the airy space located in Greenwich Village. It was beautiful, but pricey. Still, you convinced yourself that the price tag would be worth it.

Kylo quietly listened as you continued to babble and swipe through photos.

“It’s a little expensive, but I think it’ll be worth it! The landlord said that if I signed a ten year lease, he’d cut me a deal on rent. I think that should help, especially since there are so many fees and he needs three months rent up front...”

The more you prattled, the more agitated Kylo became. A ten year lease? As cute as you were, cuteness didn’t necessarily equate to business acumen. He found your naiveté equal parts adorable and concerning. Although you were a stranger, he didn’t want to watch yet another out of towner get swindled and eaten up by the city.

He cleared his throat, and interrupted, “Ah, if you want, I could come with you to negotiate tomorrow. I hope I’m not overstepping, but I am a lawyer...”

You perked up and replied, “That would be amazing! But I don’t know if I could pay you. Judging by the fact that you live here, I don’t think I could afford your rates...”

“Ah, well I am retired so it’s not like I’ve got much going on for me. How about you buy me a coffee and we’ll call it even?”

He flinched in surprise when you practically leapt out of your seat. Clasping his hands in your own, you gushed, “Deal! Thank you so much, Kylo!” Kylo looked down at where your hands joined, marveling at how much smaller you were compared to him. Mustering up as much courage possible, he nodded and flashed you a smile.

Just like that, Kylo found himself looking forward to something for the first time in years.

[lovingxreader]

Is It Because I’m A Woman

Chapter One: Woman

Rated M

Word Count: 1.8k

WARNING!!!! This chapter includes strong language, mentions of sexual encounters, and abuse

You can read this without having to watch the show!~

A/N: hello everybody! This is my first time writing for the show, I hope everyone enjoys it! Also sorry if it’s a bit rusty It’s been a while since I’ve written something so hopefully it isn’t too cringy. Anyway like and comment and tell me what you think and ENJOY!!!!

Suddenly I was thrusted out of my bed and onto the cold wooden floor. Sitting up I whipped my head around to see who had disturbed my sleep. My foster father stood over me before wrapping his fat fingers around my forearm. He yanked me to my feet before using his free hand to grab a hold of my curly tresses. I yelp as I the familiar sharp pain as he pulled my hair forcing me to look him in the eyes. “What the fuck are you doing sleeping? You ungrateful bitch, there is work to do and you dare to sleep!” He yelled before throwing me to the floor as I landed with a clatter. “Get up and stop being Pitiful and get to work. I’m not housing and feeding you, just for you to be a lazy cow!” He snarled as he left the room slamming the door shut behind him. This was how it’s always been, day after day, morning after morning ever since I was a little girl. As soon as I could walk I was taught how to cook and clean because as my father would say ‘it’s what women should do.’ I became a slave to a man I was suppose to call father. We lived in a fairly large house out on the outskirts of the city within one of the greatest kingdoms on the continent. He owned a store front in the market and a small workshop behind our house where he would work at his forge. When I was but a baby, my foster father found me swaddled down by a river when he was traveling. He took me in, fed me, and treated me as if I had come from his own loins. That was...until my elven ears started to take shape. From then on he treated me as if I was nothing more than some beast. I was taught the art of blacksmithing by the same man that when he realized I could make him coin instead of burnt venison. He made a living from my hard work and burnt hands.

Over time he went from being barely able to forge a spoon to suddenly being one of the best smiths on the continent. He was taking fame from my work and plagiarizing it as his own. Travelers, peasants, and royalty alike would come to the store to buy forged items from my father. When the coin should go to me and the supplies I use, instead it goes to gorging himself with ale and whores in the brothels. Despite the abuse and him using me as his personal cash cow, he would allow small grace moments where he would let me sit outside during the day and let me soak in the warm rays of the sun. The rest of the time I spent inside the lantern lit shop where I forged my creations by the blazing flames.

The workspace where I worked wasn’t drastically messy but definitely could have been cleaner. But even with the clutter, it was organized to a system that allowed me to work swiftly as I could. Once I was in the workshop my father wouldn’t interrupt me as he could hear the pounding of the mallet hitting the hot metal on the anvil. The only window (if you could even call it such) was in the roof which I had caused by accidentally catching it on fire while I was still learning. That same night when I made that mistake he ripped down my blouse, held me down and branded my shoulder with his family crest. Forever I will bear the scar of his family as if I was some cattle. At that point as I laid there in agony with tears streaming from my eyes, I truly lost hope of ever being free.

It was one of the small moments when father was still busy being pleasured down at the whore house early in the morning, that was when I was able to sneak out and explore the city. During the day when it would be buzzing with life, he kept me secret and locked in the workshop. I was walking through the empty streets, the morning mist still hanging low in the air. This particular morning had been a bit chilled so I adorned my dark woolen cloak. With each step I took it brushed against my ankles where the length of my skirt had gotten too short to keep them covered. From under the hood my platinum blonde curls cascaded out like a golden waterfall, it ending at my waist. In the dim rays of the sun slowly rising, the light passing through the mist illuminating my pale skin. With each step I enjoyed the sound of my boots on the cobblestone as I listen to the sound of the quiet city. I stopped for a moment to listen as I hear the sound of horses hooves and what seems like the endless chatter of a man swiftly approaching. Glancing around attempting to find a spot to conceal myself, I dart into a nearby alley between two buildings waiting for the rider to passby. “Can’t we stay for a bit longer Geralt; I’ve heard many ballads of the women from here being Exceptionally beautiful.” the man in colorful clothing with a lute on his back spoke as he walked beside a chestnut colored horse and it’s dark cloaked rider. My eyes widen as I saw him. From his broad shoulders to his enchanting golden eyes, it shook me to my core. His ghostly white hair peeking out from underneath the hood framing his sharp jawline and strong bone structure. I was in awe of him. Suddenly the rider halted his horse and glanced around as if somehow, he could feel me watching him from my hiding spot in the alley. “Do you see something?” The colorful clothed man asked as he looks up at the rider before glancing around himself in a more nervous manner. Then it happened, I caught his gaze. His amber eyes staring into my own crimson ones. I felt so naked as if I was a frightened deer standing before a hungry predator. Breaking from the trance of the rider’s gaze I moved from my hiding spot and bolted away from the two, my feet kicking up dust as I make my way back to the shop and the safety of my forge. As soon as I got to the door of the workshop I try to control my rapid breathing as I wait to hear the sound of horse hooves and footsteps following after me, but there was nothing but my heavy breath. Stepping back into the sanctuary of the shop, I removed my cloak and adorned my smock as I knelt down to start the fire just in time for father to come barging in for his morning degrading.

I was standing by the fire tossing in more enchanted fire salts when father bursts through the door holding a fairly damaged sword. “This one comes first. The ugly bastard of a witcher is paying a pretty coin for your work.” He spoke before he struggled to carry it to my workbench before turning and slamming the door shut behind him. Sighing deeply I wiped my dirty hands onto my apron as I approached the table. The blade indeed was heavily damaged, not only was the tip broken off, there was body damage on the blade and it was stained with what looked like dark blood. The leather straps on the blade’s handle were also worn down from how the owner held their hands on the handle. Picking up the sword I used both hands to lift the heavy weapon placing my hands where this ‘Witcher’ would put theirs. I marveled at the large size of the owners hands were from just the parts that were worn down on the leather. The weight of the sword itself was quite hefty as I held the sword in one hand. Turning on my heels I made a stance before taking a deep breath and attacked the air with a fluid motion as if fighting with a blade was easy. Rolling my shoulders back to stretch them, I set the blade back down and removed the leather straps before separating the blade from the hilt and sitting it within the white embers of the fire.

My arms were heavy and my feet in pain, my father had come into the shop after closing the store to bring me my meal for the day before leaving for his nightly visit to the brothel. This time it was a somewhat moldy loaf of bread. I sat on my stool picking off the pieces of untainted bread to consume. I watched the flames dance as they continued to burn brightly. Looking up I could see the stars through the opening in the roof as I rested my aching feet on a shorter stool. Grabbing a nearby cloth I used it to wipe the black coal and ash from my face. I desperately craved a hot bath as I could feel the gritty texture or dirt on my skin. Standing once again I went over to the fire, using tongs to grab the blade. Once removing it from the fire I brought it over to the anvil. Every time I pulled a piece of metal from the fire, I think of the branding on my shoulder as I try to stay focused to ignore the dull pain of the scar. Grabbing my hammer I began to pound on the searing hot metal, shaping it back to its original form ridding it of its imperfections. Between my constant rhythmic pounding and the roar of the fire I didn’t hear the sound of someone approaching till suddenly the door opened and in walked two men. There I was hammer still raised in the air as I stared at the same colorful man with the lute and the cloaked black rider from the morning. The man with the lute gawked at me with wide eyes and a shocked expression while the other stared plainly at me. I stood frozen in my spot as the one in colorful clothing spoke. “You’re a woman?!”

[witcherdoaks]

Spring Day: Ghost

Word Count: 2,080

Warnings: None, just a short intermittent chapter 

Previous post in the series: A Brief Reunion

Masterlist: Spring Day

Ciri located Geralt and Yennefer along the path when word reached her of the bard’s passing. The young woman refused to leave Geralt’s side for which Yennefer was thankful. To Ciri, Jaskier had been an odd comfort, a tie to her royal life with all his fussiness and knowledge of high society manners, but more than that, he was a reminder to fuck all and live life. She was no stranger to death, so his death meant she’d have one more name to carry with her until her own demise. Now it was her turn to look out for Geralt as best as she could without making the witcher feel claustrophobic.  

For his part, Geralt pulled off a convincing act if one wasn’t paying attention. More than once his shoulders would tense, and he would quickly excuse himself whenever a different bard attempted renditions of Jaskier’s songs at taverns. Then there were the people who knew the bard would travel with him in spring and summer telling him it was such a shame the talented young man had passed. Ciri noted all of this and the manner with which the Witcher avoided towns and people even more, so she was relieved when they made it to Kaer Morhen that winter, especially after that trip to Oxenfurt. 

The famed academy had received news of the bard’s passing in mid spring. They sent word for Geralt to head to the campus by the beginning of summer, so the pair reached Oxenfurt some weeks after that. Geralt looked positively green as he was led through the halls to Jaskier’s living quarters. Ciri had offered to deal with the officials and everything else about the visit, but the white wolf turned her down. He had to do this himself, he said. 

“Professor Pankratz left you his possessions in the event of his passing, lord knows why,” the stick thin old man said in a tone that revealed he knew the why and very much disapproved of it.

Geralt only nodded stiffly while Ciri glared daggers at the man. Eventually they reached their destination, and the old man told them that any items left behind would be repurposed for the university or would be discarded. They had only four days to go through everything. For the size of the office and living quarters, it was a lot. Books were piled high on every corner of the rooms, most of which Geralt knew he would never need but had to convince himself not to take as they would serve the university well. There was also no possible way Roach and Ciri’s stallion would be able to take everything. The young woman recommended rifling through the tomes regardless; it had been her grandmother's habit to place papers or other in between pages of books. Maybe Jaskier was the same. 

Several books later, they had many dried flowers in between sheets of paper and cotton. Eventually Geralt found a rather large book where the dried flowers were probably destined for. As Geralt turned the pages, he realized there were herbs and other dried medicinal plants  placed carefully in pockets on each side of a page. Annotations and captions filled the pages next to the specimens, detailed descriptions of their properties and the occasional wayward comment. The bard must have spent a great deal of time developing the book. 

“We should take that one,” Ciri said, looking at the contents from over his shoulder. Maybe it would prove useful in the future. 

The Witcher agreed and set the book aside. As he glanced around the room, there were still piles of unsearched tomes everywhere and a disarray of parchments strewn all over Jaskier’s desk. Geralt sighed, tired of looking through tomes in a place that was saturated with Jaskier’s scent. Even with his Witcher senses, he would get accustomed to the smell, chamomile and apple blossom faded into the background, bringing with it unacknowledged comfort. Only for him to notice the scent again and be reminded that the bard was gone. It made Geralt’s throat constrict in that familiar way, yet his eyes were no longer able to express his sorrow. 

“Why don’t you take a break, Geralt?” Ciri asked, placing a hand on his shoulder, bringing him out of his thoughts.  

He glanced at her, and she squeezed his shoulder, giving him a slight nod. Geralt knew he wouldn’t be away for long; he couldn’t let Ciri do all the work, but stepping out of those quarters was quite literally a breath of fresh air. 

Every step took him farther away from the bard’s living quarters, making it easier to breathe and settle his thoughts. There were very few students roaming the passageways. Those that were gave secretive glances in his direction when they thought he wasn’t looking, for which Geralt was grateful. 

He hadn’t been paying much attention where he was going and found himself walking along one of the bridges connecting the two islands eventually. There he stopped, leaning on the stone parapet. The view before him was idyllic, blue hued mountain ranges were peaking above the forest line. His sharp eyes could make out the crystalline snow caps at the apex before they shifted back to the river‘s water, impossibly opaque but not in a murky, muddy way. The Witcher wondered if Jaskier had ever stood here, overlooking the same scene. Would he come here to clear his head, to get away from the students who surely filled the halls in the winter? What would occupy the bard’s mind when he stood here?

“Witcher!” 

Geralt turned in the direction of which his title was called. A woman dressed in orange and green was walking down the bridge toward him. The feather in her red-orange beret was fanning out every so often. 

“I heard you were here,” she cheerfully explained her approach. “It’s nice to meet you in the flesh instead of in a ballad.” 

Her cheerful demeanor slipped from her face as he continued to stare at her, wondering why she had approached him at all. None of the other students had done it. Still she continued past the mounting silence. 

“If you require assistance sorting things out, I’d be happy to extend my stay.” The woman looked almost hopeful as if she wanted him to ask her the favor, “I was passing through to retrieve any parcels Dandelion may have left me.” 

Her voice went soft at the end, and she looked wary now. 

“Dandelion?” Geralt asked, tilting his head. 

“That was what we called him here at the Academy,” she cleared her throat and looked away, “Jaskier, I mean.” 

Ah, here it was. Another facet of Jaskier’s life that Geralt didn’t know. A trivial detail of the bard’s life, which Geralt would have never known had he not met this stranger. THis knowledge left an acrid taste in his mouth. He’d never again be able to discover tidbits of Jaskier from the source itself. All new knowledge of Jaskier would be received from those that knew him. 

Geralt must have been glaring when the woman glanced at him because she took a step away.

“Yes, well, I must be going,” she hurriedly excused herself, “my offer stands, Witcher.” 

A pool of guilt seeped into Geralt’s core, making him grimace. She hadn’t been at fault, and she was only being kind by offering to help. Yet he scared her off. He sighed and started walking back to the living quarters. In the distance, a flash of red orange made a turn into one of the buildings, but he kept walking. It was too late to do anything now, he convinced himself and continued walking.  

When he got back to Ciri, the young woman had made considerable progress with the books and even had some of the students cart off the items they had already inspected. The two of them continued their perusal of the quarters. That which they didn’t need or felt immediately attached to was donated to the academy. Geralt was left with a sparsely used journal, the tome and other nicknacks of the bard’s while Ciri took with her a small ornate table mirror and a scarf she had gifted the bard some years prior. 

It was late evening on their last night at the Academy that Geralt saw the woman again, looking to deliver a package to him. He took the package in hand and accepted the words of comfort that left her mouth, wondering how much of Jaskier she knew, before closing the door on her. 

At night when the candle allotted to him had burned a quarter of the way down, Geralt sat with the bundle in front of him on the table. Ciri had gone to sleep some time ago. It was just him and his thoughts now. The bundle beckoned him, and he reached out to hold it in his hands. It barely weighed anything. The scents coming off it were smoke from a hearth, ink and that woman. It had been with her person for a couple of days at least, so that made sense.

Gently he untied the strings holding the parcel together. As the fabric fell open, the smell of dried ink intensified, yet it now mingled with chamomile and apple blossoms. At the very top of everything was a folded piece of parchment. With one hand Geralt unfolded it and his eyes landed on the topmost line in the bard’s script.

My dear Priscilla 

And that’s all he read. The parchment malformed and wrinkled with the force he used to fold it. The bundle now felt like lead in his hands, but he knew he couldn’t be rid of it. It was still a piece of Jaskier after all, so he rewrapped it and tied the string as securely as he could before shoving the entire thing into his satchel. 

Geralt blew out the candle and went to sleep.  

Even weeks later, Jaskier’s scent lingered on his belongings. 

Of course it did, Geralt had carefully wrapped them in cotton sheets to stow away in his travel bag. He had transferred them to a chest as soon as they reached Kaer Morhen. The bundle the woman gave him lay on the table of his room again. It remained there for a better part of the winter, purposely forgotten in favor of training and renovation of the castle. By now the scent of her was nearly gone, overwritten by the Witcher keep.

It was at this time, months after the incident, that Geralt took the parcel in his hands and unwrapped it with utmost care. Letting the chamomile and apple blossom soothe over his nerves and pounding hear. He smoothed out the wrinkled parchment and opened it to read. 

My dear Priscilla, 

Fate must have smitted me if you are reading this letter. I would hope I’d have died without regrets, but I rather doubt that is the case — at least where our infamous white wolf is concerned in the time I write this letter. 

I could shower you with praises for your natural beauty and talent. Except I fear that would be a waste of time as you already know how even the proudest of songbirds stop to hear you sing. 

Instead I will call upon your vast intellect and sensitivity to make the choice you feel is best, both for him and for my legacy. I leave to you some of my most private compositions. Many of these have not been finished or if they have, are not composed to my quality of my liking. I know you value an artist's integrity and would never betray this trust which I have in you. Unlike that pompous idiot Valdo Marx, seriously beware of him and kick him on his miniscule family jewels  the next time you see him in my honor. 

Back on topic, I’ll leave it up to you whether you wish to keep these writings or hand them off to Geralt of Rivia, who for the last couple of decades has occupied my heart and mind and is the subject of many of the present compositions. 

Please don’t punch him. He has apologized as I’ve told you countless times, and you would only be breaking a hand or wrist if you carry out vengeance in my name. I do not wish for him to hurt more than he is. He hides it well, Priscilla. 

Thank you, dear Callonetta. 

Sincerely yours,

Dandelion 

[draconivn]

C.007 | Daughter of the Takeda

Disclaimer: I don’t own Samurai Love Ballad: PARTY or its characters. Hints of spoilers to one of the routes. Summary: You wanted to do more than just be in the kitchen like any woman would’ve known how to do. You want to explore. You want to become so much more. But when you live in a world of war, what you decide to do in your past ends up following you to your future, even though the battlefield is no place for a woman. Will you find love or will you only find blood? Saizo x OC MC Masterpost: LINK

Chapter 7: A New Instruction

It had been two days since then that I was carrying Lord Shingen's morning tea to his chambers when a retainer approached me to tell me I was being summoned. Breakfast service was done, so I didn’t have to rush and tell Umeko or Matsuko to proceed without me. I thanked him, and continued on my way over. I could hear Lord Yukimura's voice from within, so I knocked before announcing myself. "Lord Shingen, it's Zaria."

"Come in."

There wasn't much of a pause from when I announced myself to when he told me to come in, so I slid open the door and entered, bowing my head with the tray. It seemed that Master Sasuke and Saizo was also in here with them, and I glanced down at the tray I brought. "Pardon the intrusion, Milords. Lord Shingen, I was bringing your tea when I was informed you summoned for me?"

“You’re just in time.” He gestured to the edge of his desk. “You can place it there for now and have a seat.”

I nodded. “Pardon me, Milords.” I placed the tray down on his desk carefully, pouring the cup before taking a seat. I glanced over at others, but it seemed that neither Lord Yukimura or Saizo had an idea of where this conversation was headed now that I was here.

“Zaria, I’m sending you to Ueda to live and train with Yukimura.”

“What–” I was speechless. Train with Lord Yukimura in Ueda?

Surprise and confusion hung in the air, while Master Sasuke seemed calm about it as Lord Shingen kept speaking. 

“This is only temporary. Yukimura, I’m tasking you to train her in the proper ways of a samurai, from weapons to riding a horse. I don’t want a single thing left out. If she needs to be trained alongside your men, so be it.”

Lord Yukimura looked at me, then back to him, a stammered response coming out before he could finally find the words, “B-But Milord… I don’t understand the reason for all of this.”

“Even an onna-bugeisha of my house needs to ensure she has her basics, Yukimura.” Lord Shingen spoke so matter-of-factly as he explained the reason like he was talking about the weather, but it didn’t seem to settle the surprise we felt over the matter. 

It was all so sudden, and my gaze was on Saizo for his reaction, but he had already schooled his expressions while we were more verbal and expressive on the matter. 

“I won’t be around forever, and she’s going to need to learn everything she can before she can lead the clan.” Lord Shingen’s words were like a last will of sorts, leaving me with an unsettling feeling.

“Lead the clan…?”

“But…” I looked to Lord Shingen. “...I don’t quite understand why I’d have to be sent to Ueda, Milord.”

“Many people would want the head of the clan dead, Zaria. If people were to know you were next in line, then you wouldn’t be safe in the condition you’re in. By sending you to Ueda where you can get the utmost amount of training since Yukimura is already training his men and others, rather than consume that time through travelling back and forth from here. You will also be safer this way, but I expect you to be fully trained in two months.”

Saizo seemed to not care, but rather, question the usage of Lord Yukimura’s time. “So we’re expected to turn a castle cook into the new head of the Takeda? That’s a pretty tall order, Shingen.”

Master Sasuke spoke up next, drawing our attention to him. “She’s already got quite a bit of skill, so you don’t have to worry about her being able to lift, but it’s just a matter of making sure she has the foundations of a samurai. Well, in her case, an onna-bugeisha.” He looked over to me with a grin. “But with everything you already know, you might end up being a new kind of onna-bugeisha."

I diverted my gaze from Lord Yukimura and Saizo. This discussion was far from what I expected to happen in telling them. Then again, I didn't have a plan of how to tell them properly. But it was too late, now that Lord Shingen and Master Sasuke were saying all these things. "You say that as if I know more than you, but I only know what you’ve all taught me before.”

Lord Shingen chuckled, his reaction halting any starts of protests. "I trust you'll be learning a lot, Zaria. Yukimura is one of our best in the army, I'm sure you know that already, but there is no one else I'd trust to train you." His laughing expression turned serious. "But we can't have word of this spreading around. In Ueda, it will be fine if everyone knows where she stands in the clan, but anyone else may pose a danger if they were to know. Is that understood?"

"Yes, Milord."

Despite the fact that I responded with the both of them, I felt hesitation and uncertainty. I wasn’t schooling my expressions today, and it seemed that Lord Shingen caught sight of it when he called to me,

"Zaria, stay back for a moment." He waited as Master Sasuke, Lord Yukimura and Saizo got up to leave, shutting the door behind them. "Something on your mind, little cub?"

I relaxed a bit when he addressed me as such, though I could only glance at the doorway. "I know you said that it'd be safer to go to Ueda but… is there really no other way?"

“Come here.” Lord Shingen motioned me over.

I got up and sat right in front of him, his large hand coming up to rest on my head. 

"You have a big responsibility, Zaria. If someone doesn't take over this clan, you will, and I know you’ve seen the things everyone has had to do around here to ensure the Takeda continue to survive. This is the only option we have right now if you’re nowhere near ready." He had to say it so bluntly, like there was really no other answer, no matter how much I wanted to stay and learn here. 

"But I can also learn about the clan's affairs just as well by being here!"

"I know you've been listening well when you come to deliver tea, but knowing how to handle the politics of the Takeda is only half the battle. You'll go to Ueda with Yukimura and Saizo when they leave for the day. Use this time to learn from Yukimura and then come back to me. I'll teach you as much as I can. I know you like cooking, but don't overdo it when you get there, yeah?" He grinned, ruffling my hair.

"L-Lord Shingen!"

"Hey now, aren't you being a bit too informal? I'm your old man now."

I chewed on my lower lip, as the words sunk into my head. That's right. I have someone to call that now. I looked up at him after a moment and smiled. "Thank you, Father. I'll make sure to train well."

"That's my little cub." He grinned. "Now go see Kiku. If we're going to show you off as a lady of this House, she'll make sure you know how to knock 'em dead. Just make sure you give yourself some time to pack."

"Thank you, L- Father." I nodded and stood up, excusing myself from his chambers. I appreciated the things that Lord Shingen was doing for me, and it seemed that there was really no other way to go about it. I couldn't keep being scared and hiding in my fear of others knowing, but I had to work hard to show that his decision to allow me in was not for nothing. I knew Lord Yukimura and Saizo would start questioning everything as soon as they saw me but up ahead, I could see them talking to Master Sasuke before I slipped around the corner. My footsteps picked up at the sound of my name being called but I pretended to not hear it.

What was that about not being scared and hiding in your fear of others knowing?

… J-Just give me a bit more time and I'll talk to them.

You're contradicting yourself again.

I'm trying my best. I shook my head clear and went down an alternate corridor towards Lady Kiku's chambers in hopes she was there.

Lady Kiku was Lord Shingen's niece, beautiful and sweet. We had met before in passing, though I wasn't sure if she remembered me at first. Or at least, I was mistaken to think so, the very thought flying out the window when I saw the way she lit up when I came in. Sounds of glee filled the room and kimonos flew in every direction in every attempt to help me dress the part of my new station, hardly wasting any time in dolling me up with lessons for the entire morning. Lunch had been spent focused on mannerisms, while her lessons on how to walk and behave like a noble lady were ruthless, meaning to undo every way I knew how to walk as it already was. 

"–Is what Uncle says is true? That you'll be fighting on the battlefield too?"

"Huh?" I stopped in my tracks to look at her. I nearly dropped the book I was using to keep my head steady to the floor, my hands reflexively catching it for my practice to halt temporarily. "He told you about that, did he…"

Lady Kiku was intuitive, but she also had a curiosity that seemed to try and understand the freedom Lord Shingen seemed to brazenly have, as if wanting that for her own. While she sat there looking pretty and elegant, her way of speaking had become more casual as she went on. "When he told me about teaching you, I didn't quite understand why he had taken on a daughter instead of a bride. I know it's not my business to ask, but he told me anyhow." She smiled and leaned forward a little, her eyes curious. "But you're too pretty for the battlefield. Any man would probably fall in love with you if you were more confident in yourself. Hmm…"

I never wanted to disagree more than I did then and there, but it was hard to deny it when she was getting a little too close, making me blink and lean back bit by bit. "W-What is it…?"

She had an innocent look on her face, mischief flickering over for a moment. "If you had to marry a samurai, who would you pick?"

I was taken aback at the question. "W-Why the s-sudden question?" My cheeks flared up, taking a step back to avoid her peering gaze.

She smiled, leaning back as if she enjoyed being able to get this out of me. "It's been so long since I've been able to have any girl talk. Come on, do tell! One day we'll have to get married, but if you could pick, what kind of man would marry?" She patted the spot next to her, drawing me away from my practice.

"If I could…?" I echoed back.

"It doesn't hurt to dream a little, would it?"

Lord Shingen's words about marriage a few nights ago were no longer a worry, yet I still felt like I had done this irreversible crime that slapped Saizo in the face. But I was ready to be hated for what I was doing, out of my own selfishness, out of the need for duty. I wanted to make sure the people I cared about didn't die, and unfortunately, this was the consequence of my selfishness. Even though I had considered Saizo in my decision-making, I was that much more afraid of losing him physically than emotionally.

Then Lord Yukimura would lose someone close to him, and he would have to deal with that. Other people's happiness was my happiness, and I didn't want to see anyone suffer.

In this position, I held responsibility for my simple yes. It was a trade-off that never would've given me equal to what it would receive. I had much to learn in so little time.

Being at Ueda wouldn't do anything to save that affection. 

So after a moment of thinking, I gave Lady Kiku a sheepish smile. I’ll let my words betray my thoughts just this once. "I wouldn't know, Lady Kiku. It's never really crossed my mind."

[fallingprincess]

The world that we created pt.7 (Roger Taylor x reader)

For some reason I love this chapter

Series Summary: You were a student designing a time travel device. You were not supposed to meet Roger in 1975. You were not supposed to fall in love with him. And you were definitely not supposed to go back.

Where we left off: Roger and you broke up because he is becoming a dad soon.

Words: 3.4k

Masterpost and Part 1

***

„What is that? It’s good.“ you commented on the song that your best friend Cassey had just switched to. After three weeks of not showering and staying locked in your apartment, living off pizza deliveries and dry cereal, she had finally convinced you to come out of your cave. She obviously did not know why you were moping. Just that some guy you had been casually seeing had parted ways with you. It had been enough of an answer for her. Thankfully.

You hated keeping secrets from her, although you had perfected it over the past two years. It mostly sucked that you could not really talk about it. To anyone for that matter. You could not tell her that there was not a second where you did not miss Roger, that you were sleeping in his shirts every night, that you watched hours and hours of Queen videos and footage, letting interviews run in the background to let his soft voice sooth you to sleep. Not only was that majorly pathetic, but you were also all alone in this. And that just made it so much worse and more painful.

“What?” Cassey laughed, her legs sprawled on her couch as she never stopped scrolling on her phone, occasionally showing you a funny meme to cheer you up. “I thought you were a diehard Queen fan? It’s one of their most famous songs. Hit all the charts. How do you not know that?”

She eyed you curiously as you were lying on her wool carpet, legs propped up on one of the arm chairs in the living room. Amusement was written on her face.

“What’s it called?” you asked again, letting the unknown melody carry you with it. It was a beautiful ballad. Soft with a rock n’ roll undertone. You had a premonition on why you had never heard it before.

“That guy really got you all messed up, didn’t he? It’s ‘Forever yours’. I think 1980.” Cassey answered, her eyes never leaving your frame on the floor. You could tell she was worried about you. That was alright, though. You were worried about yourself.

With her words everything in you began to crumble to pieces all over again. You had tried so hard today. Showering, actually finally composed yourself. You had been ready to face the world. “Roger.” you whispered breathlessly as you tightly closed your eyes to stop yourself from bursting into tears on your best friend’s living room floor. Over a stupid song. A stupid song that was most definitely written about you.

*

“I will write a song about you. About us.” Roger smiled and pressed a kiss to your still wet hair. You had taken a rather long shower together and were now cuddled into his bed sheets, a reheated pizza sprawled next to you. Roger loved the cheese stuffed crust and was devastated to hear that it would not be invented for a while. Instead, he had to make do whenever you brought one back to the past with you. Sometimes you were not sure if he anticipated you or the pizza more.

“You can’t.” you replied as you handed him another piece that he immediately started devouring. “That would change a major thing. We can’t. Remember?”

“Fine.” He interlaced his bare legs with you as he leaned against your side, the pizza slice almost gone already. “I will still write it, though. And I will only ever show it you, alright?”

You nodded eagerly, your heart filling with more love than you had known to be possible. “I’d love that, Rog.”

“Then I will.” he whispered lowly into your ear as he pressed slow innocent kisses against your shoulder and neck. “I would do anything for you.”

*

That had been a few months before your break-up. He had never gotten around to singing that song for you, though. Well, now he had. Fucking hell.

You did not quite know how to handle it; your emotions were running all over the place. “Can you play it again?”

Your best friend threw a confused glance your way, but did as told, her worried eyes never leaving you.

You crossed your arms over your face to block out the lights and listened to Roger’s voice. Telling you with every word how much he loved you. How much you meant to him. How you were all he had ever dreamed of. And when the song ended you cried. And then you cried some more. Because there was no other way to express what you were feeling in that moment.

“Cas, there is something I need to tell you.” you stated after she was done hugging you to death. The two of you were sitting crossed legged on the floor, an ice cream container passed between you. “It all started in October two years ago...”

*

“Let me get this straight.” Cassey began an hour later as she put down your phone she had been looking at pictures and watching videos on. “You didn’t write your thesis on the theory of time travel, but on the actual device that it is doable with. And you used said device to illegally travel back in time for two years to date Roger Taylor, the drummer from Queen.”

You nodded as you groaned in frustration. The summary sounded even worse. “That’s the essence of it, yes.”

“And now he has like children so you broke up, because he has to concentrate on his life and you can’t really give him what he needs. Because you time traveled.”

Another slow nod from you.

“And he published a song about you. That song.”

“Yeah…”

“Holy shit.” She laughed and extended her legs underneath the coffee table. “Quite the ride you took there. I was wondering where you always disappeared to. Never would have thought it was the 70’s though.”

You groaned again while you buried your face in your hands. “This all sucks so much. I miss him. And everything I see and do reminds me of him. And the worst is technically speaking I could reach out to him. I have his phone number and e-mail address. But he is fucking seventy years old now. And that’s not the same.”

“God, this is a mess.” Cassey chuckled and let a hand run up and down your back comfortingly. It had taken a while and many pictures and videos of you with Roger and the boys to actually convince her that your story was legit. Honestly, she had believed you a lot faster than you had expected her to. But then again, she was the princess of chaos as she liked to call herself, so she just ran with whatever was thrown her way. And you were thankful for it. Thankful for her, thankful to finally have someone in your life you could share this big secret with, because it had been eating you up alive. Day by day.

“I miss him so much. I just want to see him.” you said not able to hide the sadness in your voice.

“Why don’t you?”

“How?”

“Just go back in time to that closet of yours.” She made it sound so easy. Unfortunately you knew it wasn’t.

“What if he has moved or remodeled it? It’s risky. I love him, but I also kind of don’t want to die yet.” you explained while you stuffed more ice cream in your face as if that could solve all your problems.

Cassey sighed as she stole your spoon midway to your mouth to have a bite herself. “You know him better than most people. All I know is he seems madly in love with you. He wrote a fucking song about you. Do you think he would have changed the closet? Or would he have left the door open –well locked- for you? Just in case?”

You evaluated her answer for a while. She was right. You knew Roger. And you were sure his feelings for you had been real. So would he have made sure you couldn’t come back? If he was feeling the way you felt, you knew you were always welcome. But then why didn’t he just tell you so? “He normally told me when he was home. How am I supposed to know that then?”

“If only there was a way to find out all the whereabouts of a world famous man in 1980. Wouldn’t that be great?” Cassey overdramatically reached for the laptop on her coffee table and opened it up on her lap. “Oh look what is this? I just typed his name into this wondrous machine and it told me all about him.”

You playfully boxed her shoulder as you leaned into her side to help her stalk your ex boyfriend forty years in the past. “Oh shut up.”

And that is how your plan was formed.

*

It was a few days later and you were pacing up and down your bedroom; the flowy dress Roger loved so much swinging back and forth with every step. You were nervous. And you were still extremely unsure if this was a good idea. What if you had been wrong? What if you collided into a bunch of clothes and died a tragic death? What if the house was owned by someone else? What if Roger wasn’t home but someone else? What if Roger was home? And he did not want to see you at all? What if you were just extremely pathetic and he had already happily moved on with his life? So many unanswered questions. You hadn’t slept in way too long thinking them over.

Cassey and you had settled on the beginning of April 1980, both pretty sure that Roger was in London during that time. So if you actually saw him, it would have been three months without you for him. Three months were a long time. Maybe he had forgotten all about you. Maybe he had lied about everything and was glad you were gone? Okay, you knew the last one was untrue. But still, so many questions. Your mind was a mess. Your heart was running a marathon. And if you did not know better, you would have thought you were having a heart attack.

“It will be fine. Just call me when you are back okay?” Cassey said on the other side of the line. It was safer for you to be alone in your apartment as usual. “If you don’t call me in thirteen hours.” she continued dramatically. “I will call- I don’t know who I will call. I will figure it out until then.”

“What if he hates me for coming?” you voiced your concern one last time.

Your best friend just sighed. “Forever yours, (Y/N). He won’t hate you.”

You said your goodbye, hung up and stepped into the usual position. The giddy excitement you normally felt at this point was yet to come. Anxiously you held the button on the TD2 and counted down. The seconds seemed to last years. But then you finally disappeared.

*

The first thing you noticed was that the closet was empty. No furniture, no clothes, nothing. You did not die. So far that was a victory.

You glanced at the pictures of Roger and you hanging all around the walls. He still had not taken them down. Second victory right there.

You smiled, tearing up in the process. Stupid fucking emotions.

Nervously, you stepped towards the door, listening if you could hear any sound; any indication of life out there that was not supposed to see a random person walking out of the closet in the middle of the day.

After listening intently for about half a minute you sighed, carefully unlocking the door from the inside. The key still fit.

You didn’t know your heart could beat this fast. And where had all the oxygen disappeared to?

You walked into Roger’s bedroom and I felt like a déjà-vu. The same white sheets were messily spread on his bed; the same empty bottles sprawled along the night stand. Nothing had changed and it seemed as if it was just yesterday that the two of you had said goodbye in exactly this bed. But it felt like it had been a life-time ago.

You made your way through the hall, your steps echoing way louder than you would have wanted them to. Wandering through the living room you first noticed a baby bed that sat where normally a big arm chair was standing. Right. The baby. But it wasn’t May yet. Dominique still had six weeks to go.

You let your hand roam around its railing, trying to imagine what Roger would be like as a father. He’d be great obviously. Fun, caring, loving. Those things came naturally to him.

You let the feelings of comfort and nostalgia run freely over you, allowing the memories to crash down in tsunami style waves. Laughing on the couch, dancing in his living room, drinking wine on the floor while watching Netflix on your laptop. This was home. This was where you felt most like yourself. You had missed it. Heartbreakingly much.

You picked up a shirt of Roger’s that had aimlessly been thrown over the couch and breathed in his scent. God, you missed him. Without much thought you stuffed the shirt in your bag. He would wonder where it went, but you did not care. You just wanted a little piece of him to take home. A tiny souvenir. A reminder of the past.

You finished your walk through his house and were disappointed but glad to not find him there. You were relieved, but sad at the same time. You had wanted to see him, to stand in front of him, to tell him how much you missed him. But then again, you were not sure if you could have gotten just a single syllable out had it actually come to it. Maybe this was for the best after all. Maybe you needed this to finish the chapter. A closing. An ending, although not a happy one.

You smiled a sad smile as you made your way towards the kitchen, placing the box you had been holding the entire time on the kitchen counter. You had thought about taking it back with you, but you wanted to leave it. You wanted for him to know that you were here, that you still couldn’t get enough of him. That you were still thinking about him. This was your sign to him.

Determinedly you gave the box a pat and made your way back to his bedroom. You hadn’t been here long, but you were glad you had come. You had needed this more than anything. To just be here. To walk down memory lane once again. You let your eyes roam around the room one more time, trying to remember every little detail about it. It was time. Time to leave home behind.

*

“Would you grab the beer from the fridge?” Roger asked Brian after he had unlocked the front door with one hand, the other carefully balancing parts of a drum set. The drums desperately needed a new skin and the guitarist had thankfully offered his help.

“Sure.” Brian set down the guitar case he was holding and trotted over towards the kitchen.

Roger placed the drums carefully on the living room carpet next to the crib and looked around in confusion. Something seemed off, but he couldn’t quite place what it was. Just that the vibe seemed different. Weirdly tensed. Maybe he really needed more sleep. Ever since Dominique had hit her third trimester he had barely slept for more than five hours. Somehow the sickness had hit her very late in her pregnancy and he tried to be supportive and not sleep through her endless nights of throwing up. But it was apparently wearing down on him more than he thought.

Brian stepped back into the room, extending an already opened bottle of beer towards him.

“Thanks, man.” Roger smiled, his eyes falling towards Brian’s other hand. “I didn’t know you brought pizza.”

“I didn’t. It was on your kitchen counter.” Brian replied as he took another bite. “You need more sleep, honestly. I’m worried about you.”

Roger couldn’t stop staring at the food in his friend’s hand as he walked into the kitchen raking a hand through his hair. What the fuck was wrong with him? He had never been that much out of it before.

Sure enough, a large white pizza box was sitting right in the middle of the counter. Roger was almost 100% sure he had not put it there. Maybe Dominique had stopped by? She had had weird cravings lately. But surely she would have told him about it.

“Where did you get this?” Brian asked excitedly as he followed his friend to the kitchen. “It’s delicious. There is freaking cheese in the crust. I didn’t even know that was a thing!”

Roger turned around slowly to face him, his mind running a hundred miles a minute all of the sudden. Panic was rising in his chest. “What did you say?”

“The cheese in the crust. It’s genius.” Brian repeated slowly, worriedly watching the drummer lose his mind. “Since when is that a thing?”

Roger’s next word came out in a whisper as he kept eyeing the white box. “It isn’t yet.”

“What do you mean?” Brain stepped forward to grab another slice, a content smile spread on his face.

Roger watched him in slow motion, his brain running wild, his heart beating out of his chest. The air in the room suddenly seemed to not be enough for his lungs anymore. He desperately needed to breathe. Was this what a panic attack felt like?

“Are you alright, Rog?” Brian nervously placed the pizza down to hold onto the blonde’s shoulder instead, trying to pull him back into reality.

Roger shook his head, his eyes out of focus, staring into nothingness as he took a deep breath. “She was here, Brian.”

And he had missed her.

*

“I’m sorry you didn’t get to see him.” Cassey repeated once again, the loud noise of the café she was supposed to be working in blaring in the background.

“You have told me that at least a hundred times now. It’s alright. It was probably for the best.” You answered for at least the tenth time as you closed all your browser tabs with a swift motion of your finger. You were finally getting back on top things. It’s been a while. It felt nice. “And I needed this. I can finally get my life back on track.”

“Call me if you need anything. I mean it.” Cassey sighed, seemingly still not buying it. But you meant it. Maybe. Most probably.

You smiled. “I will. I love you.” You were still glad you finally had someone to confine in. It made you feel a lot less alone; a lot stronger in surviving this.  

“Love you, too.” she hushed, her manager’s voice yelling in the background right before the call ended suddenly.

You smiled and then groaned as you once again clicked on the mail symbol on your desktop. Why wouldn’t it stop showing the stupid notification? You had checked all the mails you had missed in the past weeks, carefully filtering and answering them, but somehow the app heavily insisted on the fact that there was another unopened e-mail somewhere. Stupid fucking technology.

Unable to handle the annoying orange bubble, you finally figured out how to only display unopened mails and sure enough there it was. Maybe it had landed in your spam folder on accident.

But it hadn’t, you noticed that much when you checked the date. October 2019. Weird. No title. Even weirder. You were about to delete it when your eyes glanced to the name next to it and your heart stopped beating for a few seconds as panic rose into every cell of your body.

You nervously opened the mail, your eyes roaming over the one line that sat right there in front of you. You read it over and over again, but the text never changed. Were you having a fever dream? You never knew. You did time travel after all.

But no, this was real. This was happening. You couldn’t quite believe it. Holy. Shit.

‘April 23rd 1980. I waited all night for you.’

 **

Up next: Part 8

**

Let me know what you think! xx

[fanficmoi]

My Fic Masterlist

McLennon

Exieman Comics: Admiral Bass’ Change

https://archiveofourown.org/works/20019568/chapters/47403745

Liverpool City is the home too many superpowered people.

Exieman, the city's superhero. Secret Identity: Stuart Sutcliffe. Admiral Bass, the city's supervillain. Secret Identity: Paul McCartney. Vishion, his long suffering sidekick. Secret Identity: George Harrison.

And John Lennon, a reporter, is tired of being in the middle of it all.

Lost In The Lost Weekend

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18827461/chapters/44676826

Based off the time when Phil Spector tied up a drunk John during the lost weekend to make him ‘sleep it off.’ You can google it, very creepy. It is a dramatization in which Paul gets involved.

Voices Of Freedom

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17021580/chapters/40017519

Prince Paul is the Greatest Warrior of the Kingdom of Allerton. After his people conquer the kingdom of Mendip Hill, they find a mysterious figure. Paul is gifted something he does not want.

Enemies from birth, the two could not possibly find love. But they just might.

From A Lover To A Friend

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17651876/chapters/41627165

December 1980, John Lennon wakes up to find himself in a hospital room and is confused as to what happened. His old friend, Paul McCartney is there waiting by his bedside. Somebody shot him, and John doesn't know how he will recover. Thankfully, Paul is by his side and is not leaving any time soon.

A John Lives AU. No disrespect intended.

So Bad

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19283434/chapters/45861931

It's 1979 and John and Paul are estranged. But the two are reunited in the worst possible way when the two of them are kidnapped for ransom. As their wives and old bandmates search the earth for them, the two will have to protect each other and face many truths about each other and themselves.

Learn To Fly

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19146373/chapters/45505267

Paul is a simple but happy farmer. His life was completely normal until he got lost in the woods and chased by wolves.

John is a simple but happy wizard. His life was completely normal until he found an unconscious farmer in the woods.

They come from completely different worlds, yet are more similar than they know. Both are fascinated by each other, and fascination doesn't travel alone.

The Fool By The Seaside

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16290986/chapters/38100752

Paul often sits by the seaside, always alone. But one day he spots a boy watching him from behind a rock. the boy never approaches him, but is always looking at him when Paul is there. Little does Paul know that this John is not just any Liverpool guy, John is something else entirely, something...impossible.

Magical Mystery Love

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18004745/chapters/42536591

Basically, Paul gets drunk one night during MMT filming and confesses his love for John. John had been in love for yrs and is elated. but when Paul wakes up he remembers very little of the night before, will he tel John or try to make the relationship work, even with all the moral conflicts it brings up?

Close Your Eyes And Let Yourself Fall

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18309950/chapters/43340318

During an early Beatles tour, the stress and anxiety starts getting to John to the point where (though dodgy medical reasons) his vision leaves. Now the band most take care of a blind John and hope that their comfort will ease their friend and give his sight back.

The First Scene

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18264557

John is an omega and has kept this secret from all his friends for years. Until one day while on their first visit to the U.S. he discovers he forgot his heat suppressants. There is an Alpha that could come to his rescue, but what will happen after the two wake up and realize what they've done.

Till There Was You

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17415530/chapters/40995188

Liverpool, 1967.

Paul McCartney and John Lennon never met, and they grew to be very different people that those we know. Paul is a teacher at his old school and plays in clubs at night with his band Wings. George Harrison plays with him and is the the gardener of the noble family, the Ainsleys. Oh, and he's having an affair with a married man. Ringo is that married man. He and his wife, Mo, have a hair salon called Billy's Shears and they're very successful. They love each other, but Ringo can't let go of George. Meanwhile, John Lennon is a free artist. Married to a Baroness nearly tree times his age, but free. He had no worries and no need to leave the manor he calls home.

Except a meeting with an arts teacher at a party could very well change that.

Lenstein

(Yes I invented a name for JohnxBrian)

Baby You’re A Rich Man (But A Lonely One Too)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18466567/chapters/43751074

Allen Klen and Phil Spector own a great debt to Don Epstein, head of the Epstein mafioso family. With no way to get the money, they decide him back with another type of currency.

John Lennon was a student at the Liverpool Art College, that is until he was kidnapped and gifted to a mob boss.

Brian Epstein expected a new toy and got John Lennon instead, a snarky and biting young man.

This couldn't possibly become a love story.

Also O'Boogie the cat just wants to sleep.

The Saga of John and Brian (Series)

Barcelona https://archiveofourown.org/works/16740187

How Brian And John got together in Spain.

Sneaking In The Night https://archiveofourown.org/works/16917990

John just wants to spend the night with his lover...

How The Boys Found Out https://archiveofourown.org/works/16927047

The title says it, how each band member found out about John & Eppy's relationship.

I’m Looking Through You https://archiveofourown.org/works/17111642

Brian gets high at one of his parties and doesn't take kindly to John's unwelcome presence. He does something he'll later regret.

How Do You Sleep https://archiveofourown.org/works/17831612

When Brian goes a little too hard on the pills and alcohol, he scares John in the morning when he is unable to wake up.

The Ballad Of The Nowhere Man And His Polka Dot Companion

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926946

After a misunderstanding at a party, Brian wishes to prove his love to John with the ultimate question of all. Will John accept? Or will the two lovers go their separate ways once and for all?

Act Naturally https://archiveofourown.org/works/18685585

Paul arrives to talk to Brian in a...wrong moment.

Unexpected Visitors https://archiveofourown.org/works/18802165

In a cold 1964 morning, Alfred Lennon decided to saunter back into his son's life.

Not A Second Time https://archiveofourown.org/works/18805777

the follow up to I'm Looking Through You, when Brian gave John a concussion while high. Will John forgive him?

Five Times Brian Tied John Up And One Time John Tied Brian Up

https://archiveofourown.org/works/19365706

Despite the title, this really isn’t that smutty. Just the stories of John trusting Brian with himself.

Miscellaneous 

I Blame Tumblr

https://archiveofourown.org/works/18126278

Based off this Tumblr post by @johnsdoublechin:

@ the ppl who say John isnt a bottom at my last post well I got MY SOURCES. George, Ringo, Paul, Brian, Cynthia, and Yoko have all topped him thanks for listening

And so...this was born. Basically John bottoms for everyone. Everyone tops him. I did this instead of my actual fics.

Oh My Love (Why Do You Hurt Me)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16230692

1978. John is locked up in the Dakota raising Sean practically all by himself. Yoko is having multiple affairs and doesn't treat John right. He's lonely, stressed, and in need of love.

Derek Thomas is in desperate need to money, so he takes an embarrassing job for any 41 year old to take, an elevator operator at the Dakota. He's not expecting much, but he'll definitely get more that he ever expected.

As the two get closer, will Derek be able to mend John's broken heart? Or is it too late for the former Beatle?

Broken Light

https://archiveofourown.org/works/16022903

The controversial 1966 U.S. Tour, after the Memphis fiasco the boys are angry at John and get into a big fight resulting in John walking out. But he never makes it back.

Basically John is kidnapped, the boys feel guilty, and the police are trying to find John before it's too late.

[exobyharu]

PCY - Ch1

Chapter 1: Nothing’s a coincidence

(Part 2)(Part 3)(Part 4)(Part 5)(Part 6)

Summary: You didn’t die because you weren’t exactly trying to. Also, Chanyeol does not want you to take pictures.

⏰ 10:46 PM 🌏 42nd floor of some fancy hotel (S), City of (L) 🌚 Moonless night, but light pollution drowns the stars out 👥 YN, Park Chanyeol, Kim Jongdae (mentioned), your best friend Jane (mentioned)

Notes: A little mention of suicidal ideation, but nothing really happens. Not even close. And I love you, PCY. How he acts or what he says here has nothing to do with his true nature or his real opinions on anything. It’s fiction! All from my head. Hate me, not PCY. Jk. No hate please.

Words: ~1,900

💙💙💙

Even though your hands were loose on the railings as you leaned too far over the edge of the balcony, you were not afraid. Frankly, despite your volatile impulses, better judgment prevailed. You were not going to kill yourself - that much you were certain of. Not tonight. But just what would happen if you did manage to lose your balance and tip over? Wouldn’t that be a way to go?

It was almost like a curse to stay where you once worked abroad and if you were to be honest with yourself, it should not feel like this. It had been years. Three? Four? You did not keep count. In your efforts to leave everything behind, your mind would refuse to consciously to take you back – to depict an accurate picture of what happened, how, and why.

Because your brain would not cooperate, you only trusted your psychiatrist who prescribed you three daily tablets that you would take on time, more often than not; and a change of environment, which you had been pursuing for the past six months. This was why you decided to move back to your home country, in hopes of putting the past behind you, and starting anew in the same city where you once grew up as a child.

You’re pretty darn privileged if you have all the time to be depressed, you remembered your mother saying over last night’s phone call, and frankly, it did nothing to lift your spirits. If your mother had intended it to be a wakeup call, you ought to let her know that it only made her loving daughter spend the entire day sleeping in and unable to come to terms with her not-so-wretched circumstances.

And now this loving daughter was draining all of her internship savings to spend five straight nights in a ridiculously overpriced suite room at Hotel (S), as her final attempt at self-exploration after constantly moving from one neighbourhood type to another. This city was your last stop and here, you hoped that what you were looking for at a proverbial level was already patiently, and eagerly awaiting your discovery.

Whether you liked it or not, you had to work soon. And if you did not know what you wanted, it looked like you were going to take your parents up on their offer of an old-fashioned arranged marriage and take over your family’s small business enterprise in your hometown.

If the problem is within you, it won’t matter where you are. You got this, you willed, as the evening breeze gently shook the umbrellas by the sky pool just a couple of floors below. The air was surprisingly cool and thin, which was a sharp a contrast to how humid and saturated with smog it was about forty floors down. And maybe it was just you, but when you closed your eyes, the wind made you feel as if you were truly by the shore.

Somehow, an unusual minty scent managed to reach you too. It smelled more like musk, now that you focused harder. Or almonds? You screwed your eyes shut even tighter to concentrate on what it was exactly.

Vanilla?

“You okay over there?” a voice called out.

Certainly, it was now more than just your nose – or your head, for this matter, that was messing with your senses. As far as the functional part of your brain can remember, the voice in your thoughts never spoke to you in clear baritone.

So despite the distrust that you equally harboured for all strangers, you did mean to look past the frosted glass boundaries of your balcony territory to what seemed like an even more spacious accommodation that was your neighbour’s. There, you saw him: a tall and remarkably well-proportioned guy, whose princely face you cannot quite put a name on yet. If only you could get him to drop the cautious glare - because you swore that even though you looked like it, you were not going to jump - maybe you would remember. Anyone would recognise his smiling face. Anyone who had wi-fi service, a television, or a pair of legs to take the subway to work. You knew that you did, even though you had only been back in this country for about a month.

“I recognise you,” you responded, as an immediate segue to conveniently avoid the lie, while passing to let him in on your pity party. You would have spent a few seconds ignoring his reaction while pondering how rude you may had just been, but as your eyes travelled from his nameless face and down to what was written on his purple pullover hoodie, all that overthinking flew right by you.

The words SEXUAL FANTASIES were printed in bold, right across his chest.

You chuckled. He did too, although you were not entirely sure what that was about.

“S-sexual fantasies, I know,” he finally said with a cheeky grin after what seemed like a split-second of hesitation. His cheeky grin though made it unclear to you, whether he was pertaining to the jacket or himself. Sensing the ambiguity and seeing the face you were making, he made a gesture of tugging at the hem of his jacket and pointed at the print for emphasis.

That did not really help. But okay.

“Can’t say I’m surprised to find a world-famous somebody right next door,” you started, almost smiling. “BTS, right?”

In response, the guy craned his neck sideways as if telling you to think harder. When you did not, he finally figured that he had to correct you himself. “That would be EXO, actually.”

EXO. Right.

It was your only other guess. Your friends only ever mentioned those two groups to you, anyway. It was a regretful matter, how you paid so little interest in what they always gossiped about in your group chat. Now, all you could do was avoid eye contact and read the words on his jacket over and over with an unfocused stare.

“R-right,” your mouth said, because the awkwardness was escalating quick. “Kim Jongdae?”

Instantly, the guy’s smile fell and it made your unease quickly turn to embarrassment. Not only did he catch you in a rather intense olfactory investigation while you were on your tiptoes, sniffing with your eyes screwed shut and your nose up in the air, you even got their group name wrong even though you had a fifty percent chance of guessing it right.

And now here you were, fucking up three times in a row, calling this man Kim Jongdae as a knee-jerk reaction, only because your dumb mouth had a mind of its own and that mind only knew to speak that name. This dashing guy’s mouth, on the other hand, despite his forced smile, was now revealing to you a perfect set of teeth that confirmed your mistake because Jane always raved about this certain Kim Jongdae’s adorably mis-aligned lower incisor. In terms of Kim Jongdae’s appearance, you at most knew that much. Besides, because of your best friend, you only ever listened to the vocally-gifted balladeer’s painfully sad music.

Still, this person was certainly not Kim Jongdae.

Ultimately, you gave up and let your head fall to your hands. There was no way that you were meeting his eyes now. “Look, I’m not gonna pretend to be a fan anymore, I’m sorry.”

Nameless™ probably made a face before saying, “funny, because a lot of fans like to book rooms next to ours and pretend that they don’t know us.”

“What about coincidences?” you asked nicely, and his answer came almost immediately.

“What of coincidences?”

You did not like his tone very much, but you had to make sure that it was not just your imagination. You decided to finally face him and what you saw was the same guy, looking as smug as he sounded, with his chin tilted upwards and his arms crossed. He towered right beside the glass baluster that separated the two of you and now, you noticed how much taller he looked up close.

Still, that had done it for the short-fused you. Ten-feet-tall or not, you were not going to take anything from a dignified snob. Mirroring his body language, you took a step forward, making sure to remember the smell of his perfume as a warning sign to leave the balcony as soon as possible next time. 

With one deep breath, you looked at him and said, “honestly? I truly don’t care who you are or what you do. The hotel just got me this suite room and I only happen perfectly match your fan demographic. I’m just saying that this time’s a coincidence.”

“Well then, I’m just saying that maybe you’re pretending to pretend. Maybe this time isn’t a coincidence.”

You blinked rapidly in astonishment. How was this guy a freak for arguments as much as you were? He was basically just like you, stubbornly distrustful and borderline hostile, just taller and much more attractive, which in your opinion, only contributed more points to his intimidation and shade factors, respectively.

“You’re a lot cynical, you know that?” you told him, surprisingly more curious than upset this time. 

Unfortunately, the observation made Nameless™ more upset than anything else. “I don’t care what you think. I just don’t appreciate people who call themselves fans but do not respect our privacy. All the way up here? Come on. We’re people too!”

“Uhuh,” you responded, his exasperation not getting through you because only a fraction of your attention entertained his minor outburst. Your fingers were busy flying over the keys on your phone, going over the roster of the world-famous EXO and trying to find the name of this world-famous jerk before you.

Park Chanyeol.

“Got it. This is you, no?” you finally asked him, who was now looking up to the sky, arms still crossed and skin still bunched between his eyebrows. When he turned to you, you waved your phone at him, showing a photo of a Park Chanyeol of the smiley variety that the world knows, wearing a similar sweatshirt and some kitty headphones that one of your friends has. “Look, I know you must be tired of having stalkers follow you everywhere you go, but trust me. I’m not one of them.”

The rapper only seemed to believe the first part of what you said. “Look, just stay out of my way, all right?”

“Stay out of your way? I was minding my own business here, you know?” You answered back. You could feel your voice rising along with your temper once again, but he was no longer listening.

“…and no pictures,” he told you, waving you off to head back inside his room, making it clear that you had just ruined his night.

Left alone sighing on your side of the balcony, you figured that it was at least an eventful evening for you. Also, for the record, at least tonight, you had a discovery and it was something that online pages would probably never say and those die-hard fans would never know about The Park Chanyeol: He’s tired and he’s done. He’s just so done he takes it out on anybody. 

And if he wanted you to stay out of his way, then so be it. It was the least you can do. If it was to prove a point, it was just like you to take it that far anyway. After all, relocating to another room was for free and you would not seem to enjoy staying in a balcony right next to his either.

💙💙💙 - to be continued -

[boneandfur]

Rosemary Lane [1]

Summary: // Words: 3858 // Rating: Mature (eventual N*FW) // Notes: I couldn't wait any longer to post it... I just couldn't. This is a canon-divergence. I can't say more without spoiling it, but it takes place in 1822 and is also a slight crossover. It has two special MCs from a giveaway I did ages ago, @debramcg1106's Ava and @breaumonts ‘s Lisette are in here as well. // Thanks to @indiacater @lizeboredom and everyone else who has read snippets and listened to me talk about this fic for ages!

••

CHAPTER ONE

1822.

— "I wish I had feathers, a fine sweeping gown,

And a delicate face, and could strut about Town!" —

"My dear — a raw country girl, such as you be,

Cannot quite expect that. You ain't Ruined," said she. ~ The Ruined Maid, Thomas Hardy.

"Welcome back to Edgewater, sir and madam. How was the journey from London?" As Arthur Woods takes Briar's fine, fur lined cloak, she gazes about the great hall in wonder. "It looks much changed above stairs, does it not?" he whispers in a tone so low she must strain to hear it. Briar shoots a glance at Marlcaster, but he gives no indication he has heard them.

It does look different above stairs, and Briar drinks her fill. Despite her position, this is one of the few great houses she has been allowed access to. Most ladies will not allow her past the gate. But, then, most ladies are not her former best friend, risen so high above everyone else now that it does not matter what people whisper about her, The Bastard Duchess, The Natural Daughter, Locusta...

From the high vaulted ceilings of the rotunda, to every candle in the chandelier that sways, laden with wax; everywhere Briar turns there is some new marvel to gape at. Outside the fine, thin glass of the windowpane, she can see the groom leading their carriage away, and the rolling lawns that stretch nearly all the way to the low hills. She traces a finger along the wallpaper, gold vine and green leaves, with iridescent parrots peeking through -- and if Briar closes her eyes, she can imagine herself a bird of paradise in some deep jungle, a proper Cyprian, and not just...

There is a whistle on the air, the snippet of a song, and she strains to hear the music of it. It reminds her of something, a ballad she heard sung, long ago --

(Now if it’s a boy, he’ll fight for the King/And if it’s a girl she’ll wear a gold ring/She’ll wear a gold ring and a dress all aflame/And remember my service in Rosemary Lane.)

-- but Woods closes the window with an abrupt step forward, cutting the song off mid-note.

"Miss Daly?" Mr Woods clears his throat, holding out an arm for her cloak, and Briar steps back, feeling wounded and not quite knowing why.

Meanwhile, the ermine tails drip snow steadily onto the floor, leaving a puddle that would have made the old Briar twitch. She looks down at her hands, soft now, no longer used to honest toil, and gives a start as she feels Marlcaster's fingertips rest for a moment on her lower back, anchoring her to the present.

"Very good, Woods, thank you." But his voice is far away, distracted. She wonders if he is thinking that all this might have been his, after all, it belonged once to his half-brother. But Edmund Marlcaster no longer shares bedroom confidences with Briar Daly, no, if he shares pillow talk with anyone it is certainly not she. He has not touched me since... But she pushes the thought away.

"Oh, Mr Woods, you do not have to bow and scrape to me!" Briar claps her hands together, startling Woods. A deep, rosy blush stains his fair cheek, and she wonders if he still thinks of the girl that kissed him in London, the girl who would have thrown over a noble lover for him if he had but said the word. If... She throws a saucy wink at Marlcaster, hand on one hip, his eyes everywhere but upon her. "What do you think, sir?"

Her former patron straightens his cravat. "Quite so." A ghost of a smile quirks the side of his mouth, but it passes, and Briar thinks, for a long, stricken moment, that perhaps she has imagined it. "Is the company in the library?" At Woods' sudden step forward, Marlcaster holds up a hand. "No, no, I shall show myself upstairs."

"Edmund--" Briar plucks at his sleeve as he turns to mount the stairs, and the look on his face makes her stomach swoop in a dreadful manner. "Mr Marlcaster." She drops her eyes. We must use second names when we are in polite company, Miss Daly, how often must I remind you... "I should like to rest before dinner, of course."

"That is probably for the best." He chucks her under the chin, as though there still remains some affection between them, but the fire that once burned so bright between them is like the ash from the May Day fires, already strewn across a fallow field. "After all, you cannot present yourself to the Duchess with the stink of travel still upon you." Marlcaster seems to have no such scruples. He smells of horseflesh and leather and sweat, and yet he bounds up the first few steps like a young buck, as if he had not complained for half the journey that his old injury was bothering him.

"Mr Marlcaster, sir." Briar digs her nails into her palms, swallowing hard, and he turns around only long enough for her to see the irritation on his face. She knows it is a kind gesture, bringing her to this house party after they are already quit of each other, and yet she cannot help but feel a pang of sadness. "Give the duchess my love."

"Well, you shall see her yourself at dinner, you can give it to her then." Marlcaster shrugs, and then continues up the steps.

Briar wants to run after him, but she holds herself very still, willing her face to remain calm. It would not to do show emotion like one of the lower orders, she must remain perfectly poised, and appear to be a lady.

"Miss Daly?" Mr Woods' gentle tone of concern nearly undoes her on the spot, and when Briar looks up at him, she is sure he can see the wetness on her cheeks. Yet he says nothing, discretely passing her a handkerchief and allowing her to compose herself before he speaks again. "If you wish to rest before dinner, Her Grace has put you in the red room, I believe."

The red room. This is a dig at her reputation, she is sure of it. The old Rosamund was never one for subterfuge -- But as soon as she found out she was the daughter of an Earl, everything began to change…

When she looks back at him, her dark eyes are sparkling, unnaturally bright. "I must ask for a girl to attend me and do my hair before dinner. I should not like to look countryfied in front of the esteemed company tonight."

"Esteemed?" A rosy blush tints his fair cheeks. It seems she is still able to make his voice falter, after all this time, but the knowledge brings her no joy. "Yes. Esteemed." A gentle smile touches his lips. "The duchess pays me to be discreet, as you know, Miss Daly. I'll say no more on the matter. Very well, I shall send a girl, inasmuch as it matters."

"Arthur, wait." At her use of his given name, Woods turns on his heel in enquiry. "Do not." Look at me as if, as if... She hates the plaintive tone that has entered her voice, like a child.

"Do not what?" he looks down at her fingers on his sleeve, as though he will shake her off. But he knows. He must.

"Look at me with such... Never mind." There it is again. That softening in his eyes. As though the past six years have been swept away, and they are standing beside the side of the road in Grovershire again, a boy and a girl, smiling at one another. Before she ever tasted his lips. Before Mr Marlcaster ever took her maidenhead. Before... "I shall go downstairs with you, and conduct the interview myself."

“No, Briar.” The firm refusal wounds her to the quick. “You are…” his mouth works, keeping the words unspoken. “A--”

Strumpet. Trollop. Whore.. Rosamund had screamed it when she found out about Briar and Edmund, and then she had wept inconsolably, as though she were the one whose heart was breaking, as if she had gone to the marriage bed pure as snow.

“I know what I am, Mr Woods,” Briar says, a little stiffly. “But that does not mean I still do not need help with my hair and -- my woman’s things, Mr Woods.”

Woods tugs on his collar. His color is up again, and she marvels that he can yet be a bachelor, that no girl has snapped him up. He is quite the catch for any serving maid. The thought makes her drop her eyes. But he is not for you, Briar Daly. “I know that I am Ruined…” Briar brushes past Woods, and his fingers trail along her arm, one catching just at the spray of lace at her wrist, as though he would stop her. “But you must know I would never corrupt the household.”

As she passes, she thinks she hears him whisper, “It is too late,” -- but perhaps that is only the sound of her heart, knocking against her ribs like a wild bird in a cage.

•••

Long ago, she thought this world a wondrous thing. It was a world within a world: upstairs, lived Rosamund with her long-lost father, grandmother and step-family, and below stairs... The smell of rosemary and roast quail hits her first, and she freezes upon the stair. And I suppose you'll be her lady’s maid, come up from Grovershire? The housekeeper had inspected Briar from head to toe with a sniff. If it were a test, Briar knew she had been found wanting. Yes, I'm Lady Rosamund’s best friend. Shocked, she took a step back as the woman rubbed the material of her sleeve between her fingers and gave a sniff. Uppity little thing, aren't you? Well, we'll have none of that here, Miss. if you think you're too good for the lot of us downstairs... You'd better come along, then. Look sharp. I'm Mrs Fox, she'd thrown over her shoulder. And you're of a size with the cook's helper, you can borrow one of her dresses until we can have one made for you. The kitchen smelled of rosemary and roast venison, and Briar's stomach had growled. There, at the long counter, a skinny black haired girl with a streak of flour on her cheek laughed at something a footman said, flicking flour at him as she rolled out the pastry dough. As Briar stepped through the doorway to the kitchen with Mrs Fox, the girl looked up, and a hush fell over the kitchen.

"Briar Daly?"

Ava goes rigid, staring at Briar from across the room. Her hands are braced on the board, frozen in the act of rolling out pastry dough. All talk in the kitchen ceases as the servants turn to stare at Briar, who is frozen to the spot, suddenly feeling out of place in her fashionable gown.

Ava blows a wisp of dark hair from her face, and hands the roller to the girl next to her, a skinny little pullet of a thing with pale curls like winter sunlight. An eerie hush has fallen over the company, and their faces, once dear and familiar, are passing strange with the weight of the years. Briar cannot move.

This is Briar. She's come from Grovershire with Lady Rosamund, to be her lady’s maid. She’ll borrow your dress and apron. Show her where she’ll sleep, and you may have the afternoon, if Cook doesn't need you.

I'll need her in an hour, Mrs Fox. The cook had shaken her head with a smile, passing Briar a bread heel with drippings. When you come back, you can tell us all about Lady Rosamund!

Yes, ma’m. Ava looked Briar up and down, head cocked to one side like a cat. Come on, then.

After a long moment, Ava dusts her floury hands on her apron and nods to the kitchen maid, and conversation starts up again, but hushed, as the servants try to catch every snippet of her words.

"You shouldn't be here, Briar -- Miss Daly." Ava crosses her arms. Though never a big woman, the skin and bones orphan from the poorhouse has grown into a woman with green, snapping eyes, dark hair framing her face from under a starched mobcap. "And it's Mrs Walker, now."

Briar swallows. She had feared disdain, but her former friend's pity is worse. "So you married him, then? Your blacksmith?"

Ava's expression softens. "Drake? Aye, and we've a snug cottage, and a wee bairn, haven't we now, Mr Woods?"

Briar has not seen Woods come up behind her, and she jumps a little in surprise.

"Aye, Cook, and a right little terror she is, too! Miss ’Melia is the spitting image of her mama," Arthur turns to Briar with a smile, "and never fails to get her way in the kitchens."

"Oh... You have a child, Ava -- Cook?" The words are like broken glass in her mouth, and Briar can feel her heart twist painfully over. If the baby had lived... If I, if he... But she cannot think of the dank shadows of Red Moon Lane without her guts in a tangle.

Ava and Woods share a look. "Briar, what are you doing down here?" Ava's tone says quite plainly what she thinks, and she pulls on Briar's arm, yanking her into the larder, hung with a brace of pheasants and a haunch of venison that gives off a wild, gamy smell. "What is this really about?"

As Briar looks at her former friend, she feels the gulf open and yawn between them, as though they are standing on either side of the fens, calling out to one another in the shifting mists. She does not belong here, that is plain. This is no longer my world. "I would like to hire one of the girls to be my maid for the next few days." Briar twists her plait in her hands. The truth is, she needs to look the part, if she wants to catch the eye.

A new patron.

The thought makes it hard to breathe for a moment, and she wonders what happened to that bold, saucy girl, back in Grovershire, all those years ago.

She grew up.

•••

"Lady Rosamund." Edmund Marlcaster sweeps a bow before her, and the lady sets down her book. She is all rose and gold and lace, the very picture of an English lady (though no well bred English miss ever had such bold eyes, or such an impudent manner). Marlcaster cannot hide the smile that breaks out upon his face when he sees the gold leaf title on the little red spine. Moll Flanders. "By God, I hope you never change."

Rosamund sticks out her tongue, laying a ribbon between the pages and setting her tiny feet on the floor with a great yawn. "Hello to you too, Ned. How was the road?" Rosamund stands to press her lips against his cheek, she smells of violet water and snow, and he wonders, if he tasted her, if she would melt into him like a snowflake, leaving the pattern of her heart stamped upon his, where no one else can see.

"Rosamund." Marlcaster picks up her hand, his lips ghosting across her inner wrist, his eyes never leaving hers. "You have never looked so fine."

"Flatterer." Rosamund taps him on the chest with her fan. "But I agree, to speak of the weather is so dratted dull. I do hope all of the guests make it." She takes a step back, turning her face to the window as she stares out at the swirling flakes.

I do not. The thought gives him pause. "I saw the Prince in Town, he was looking quite well."

Rosamund smirks. "Oh? I suppose he may very well be. I had a letter from him just last week, delivered by Mr Konevi. He speaks of nothing but the pretty little birds he has seen on his travels, and the way the light looks in the high mountains, beyond the citadel." She sighs, resting her chin for a moment on her fist, and then turns back to him, an impish smile playing on her full lips. "Come and warm your feet by the fire, then, and tell me the news of Town."

Rosamund lays a hand on his arm, and he can feel her touch burning him as though they are flesh to flesh, through all the layers of cotton and twill. She gives him a little tug and he feels his boots moving as he trails after her, his body going where she wants it to go, just as his body did her bidding all those years ago, before she ever wed the Duke, before he ever knew she could undo him with just one look, the embers smoldering in those dark, fine eyes.

"I hope you did not start the party without me." Hamid sweeps into the room without so much as a by-your-leave, and Marlcaster feels a spurt of irrational anger, Rosamund's attention already diverted from him.

"Your Highness!" With a cry of delight, Rosamund allows herself to be pulled into the prince's embrace, and the two make air kisses at one another's cheeks, causing a burning chain to wrap around Marlcaster's innards. "Well met!"

"How was the journey? Did you see any more beautiful birds on your travels?" Rosamund gasps in delight as the prince pulls two shimmering feathers from his cloak, and drops to one knee, presenting them with a theatrical flourish. "My word! Oh, Ned, have you ever seen aught so lovely?"

Marlcaster is prevented from answering by the Prince's deep rumble of amusement, and the rope tightens around his neck, threatening to choke him. He can feel heat racing through his veins, and he busies himself with pouring the wine for the assembled company, Mr Woods appearing with a tray and a look of sympathy.

"None so lovely as you, your grace. Is she not the loveliest songbird you have ever seen, Mr Marlcaster?"

Hamid's booming laugh causes Marlcaster's hand to tighten on the wine glass stem for a moment, and he breathes deeply through his nose, sweet woodruff and wild strawberries. The scent of summer. Unbidden, an image springs to his mind, of chasing a forest lass through a dappled greenwood (far before she was ever called Lady), flowers in her hair, drunk on honey mead and moonlight.

"The loveliest," Edmund manages, turning with a careful smile, trying hard not to focus on the rise of her breasts or the gold flecks in her eyes; especially not when she brushes against him, golden hair falling in her face as she holds the feathers up to the pale light, turning them this way and that.

"I shall wear them tonight, at dinner." Rosamund is still absorbed in the iridescent play of colors, and completely misses the look the men share over her head. "Mrs Sinclaire will be beside herself over these. What bird did you say they came from?"

Hamid steps in smoothly, his hand touching Rosamund's shoulder, lingering as he bends his head to hers. "The ibis, Lady Rosamund. It is a sacred bird. The Ancient Egyptians believed that the ibis represented the god of wisdom, Djehuty, who composed every branch of... knowledge." Hamid's hand moves down, to rest just at the curve of her waist.

Rosamund lets out a little breath, eyes widening as she stares up at Hamid. "Oh!" Her cheeks go quite pink, and Marlcaster's composure slips. The glass breaks in his hand, spilling wine all over his riding jacket. "Ned! Oh dear!" A beat, and then Rosamund is at his side. "I shall ring for a servant, wait --"

"No, I am quite all right." Despite himself, Marlcaster feels a rich sense of satisfaction as all her attention is on him, blotting ineffectually at the wine stain spreading over his shirt. "Lady Rosamund, it is nothing to concern yourself with." He lays a finger under her chin, raising it up, and the flash in her dark eyes makes his head swim. "I will bear it until the time comes to dress for dinner."

"Oh, but your poor hand!" She wraps the handkerchief around his hand, pressing her lips together disapprovingly, and knots it. "There. It will suffice, you damnably stubborn man."

Not without a kiss. But he does not say it. After all, they are not alone, and he would not go so far without a sign from her. Yet, she is still staring up at him, waiting for something.

Hamid claps a hand on his shoulder. "Just a scratch, eh, Marlcaster? We men are hardier creatures than fragile womenfolk, Lady Rosamund. But if you feel faint, Mr Marlcaster, perhaps you should have a lie down, and no one here would fault you."

Marlcaster presses his lips together. "It is nothing." Yet it stings, the same way his heart stung that morning in the church, when she wed the Duke and he watched his mother lead her to the bridal chamber, a veil covering her face, pale and resolute as Death.

"...In fact," Hamid continues, a smile on his face that does not quite reach his eyes, "I shall be having a lie-down before dinner as well. Lady Rosamund?"

The lady in question bites her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. "Yes, full dinner dress tonight, at nine on the gong."

"I shall await your pleasure, your grace." Hamid bends over her hand, turning it over and pressing a kiss upon her palm, and she looks at Marlcaster from under her lashes, as though in challenge.

When Hamid has gone, Marlcaster nods, turning to leave. "Your grace."

"What, no courtly gesture?" she teases him gently. Her tongue darts out, wetting her lower lip, and he lifts her hand to his mouth, brushing his lips over her knuckles. Her eyes go wide, pupils expanding, and she steps forward. He leans in, lips a mere hairsbreadth away from hers. "Ned." Rosamund fists her hands in his shirt, closing the distance between their bodies. "I have missed you." She looks up at him from under her lashes, and he knows in an instant that he is going to take her on the floor, right here, right now.

He brushes his thumb over her bottom lip, leaning down. "My Rose-of-the-World." Their lips are nearly touching, and when he breathes in her breath, it makes him feel drunk with desire for the woman in front of him, who he once tumbled in the greenwood, before either of them ever knew the price they would pay for youth's passion.

"Marlcaster! A word?" Hamid pokes his head back through the door, and Marlcaster sees Briar standing there beside the prince, and feels the temperature in the room drop by at least twenty degrees, his ardor cooling.

What else can he do, but make a leg? "Adieu, Rosamund."

Rosamund lifts his hand, and presses a kiss upon the bandage, the white cotton dark with his blood, as though it is the damned spot that will never come out. "Until tonight, Ned."

Somehow, from Rosamund's lips, it sounds like a vow.

••• 

tag list: @breaumonts @hopefulmoonobject @choicesarehard @choiceswreckedme @lizeboredom @walkerismychoice @debramcg1106 @ritachacha @gardeningourmet @tmarie82 @enmchoices @darley1101 @blackcatkita @littlecrookedheart @mrswalkers-blog @drakewalkerfantasy @eileendannie @khakie4 @regina-and-happiness @wughhumans @mfackenthal @choiceslife @princess-geek @sawyeroakleyscowboyhat @cora-nova @aspensorcery @naughtydevils @bhavf @indiacater

[varricmancer]

Lost And Found | 3

Pairing: Varric Tethras x OC

Word Count: 5,880

Summary: Instead of the nothingness she had craved, Crystal woke up in the world of Thedas. What had once been merely a story that she loved now seemed very real and she was right in the heart of it all. She soon finds a reason to live again and a love in the arms of someone as quietly broken as her.

Warnings: Attempted suicide (not graphic, but possible trigger). The OC has depression and low self-esteem, so don’t expect her to be some bright mary sue. At the same time, this sounds darker than it is. It’s going to have fluff and comedy and all that eventually, but OC has some growing to do first. She’s just not the usual strong and easygoing character many oc’s are. She’s more of a delicate creature. Also, it is Dragon Age, so there will be descriptions of war/battles/violence.

Notes: Would you guys be interested in a chapter from Varric’s POV? 

The day after the Herald left the crossroads was spent packing up what Crystal thought she’d need to keep from her little borrowed hut. Giles had assured her that she was free to take anything, but she only wanted to take essentials considering how much traveling they’d be doing not only now, but in the future when they would need to move to Skyhold. 

She left out what she would need for the remaining week, of course, but packed up everything else she wanted to keep. All she had to use were flour sacks until she could afford to get something better. All she determined worth keeping was the clothing she could actually wear, the fur and small blanket from the bed (she hoped for a decent place at Haven, but she also knew they were still starting out and struggling too), and the small collection of paper and charcoal sticks she’d been hoarding. She’d been itching to draw, but paper itself was hard to obtain for the common folk as it was all made by hand. Parchment was a little easier, but still hard to come by in the middle of the wilderness. 

She spent several days like that, giving away what she couldn’t use and preparing the hut for the next occupant. It was on the third night that the sending crystal Varric had given her began to glow. She picked it up and sat on her cot in anxious fascination. She was a little worried about trying to keep up with a conversation on such a weird device, not that she’d been any better at them on cellphones. Texting was much more her speed. After a few moments, the crystal made a little sound like a delicate bell, followed by the rumbles of Varric’s voice. 

“So, the Magistrate is standing there looking like he has a giant staff up his ass and goes, "I was looking for someone with your...special talents.” You can tell right away that Hawke has decided to fuck with the guy, because he gets that crazy grin of his going and says, “I'm guessing you don't mean my ability to juggle small rodents while humming Orlesian ballads."

There’s a rumble of laughter and Crystal realizes that he’s telling a story to his group, probably sitting around a fire at one of the camps. She smiles to herself and lays on her little cot, listening as he continues the story. She doesn’t even mind if he probably did the Thedas version of butt-dialing her. She found his voice comforting, a bit of familiarity in this strange land. She soon found herself falling asleep with a smile on her face. 

***

It quickly became apparent after three more nights of the sending crystal activating that Varric was letting her listen to the stories on purpose. She couldn’t figure out why, but she was grateful. She’d spend her days helping where she could around the village, and her nights relaxing in her cot listening to the stories, some familiar and some he was clearly making up on the spot. Sometimes the others would join in and tell stories of their own, sometimes they would just discuss things that happened that day and their plans for the next. Anytime the conversation swayed towards discussing Crystal herself, she noticed Varric was quick to change the subject. She figured the others weren’t aware she was listening in.

The best reason she could come up with was that he’d been very observant and noticed she had the constitution of a terrified rabbit and had decided to try to let her get to know them a little bit before she ran off with them. It seemed like a very Varric-like thing for him to do, she supposed. 

Tonight, however, she was hoping to hear it in person as it had been a week. She figured if they wanted to be technical they wouldn’t arrive until tomorrow, but she’d heard that the Herald had been spotted nearby and would most likely arrive in the crossroads in a matter of hours. Being that it was the middle of the afternoon already, she guessed they would most likely stay the night and leave for Haven the next day. 

Thankfully, they would be arriving to see an improved situation. The sisters and Mother Giselle had already left for Haven days ago, taking the wounded soldiers with them. That cleaned up the area quite a bit, as people were able to take back their own houses and the area was no longer haunted by the screams of the dying. 

With the supplies the Herald had given them, the people themselves were looking better. Everyone was well fed and clothed. Crystal had even gotten to bathe with real soap, simple as it had been. It probably wasn’t good to use it on her hair, but she didn’t care. She was clean from head to toe for the first time in weeks, even if she’d still had to use a bucket of water instead of an actual tub. She was just happy that the next time she saw everyone, she wouldn’t look like an unbathed goblin. 

In fact, as she slipped in feet into the best looking pair of shoes she could find, she realized she’d unconsciously taken a great deal of care with her appearance. It had taken her nearly an hour to dry her long hair near the fire (good God she missed hair dryers), and she’d let the results fall freely down her back in cascading waves. She was pleased that the harsh soap didn’t seem to dry it out that much.  The dress she was wearing was the best she could find, long and a lovely royal blue color, if a bit scratchy. Obviously, she wasn’t going to find something of amazing quality out in the middle of nowhere, but she looked decent enough in it and the color looked good with her brown hair. 

She was growing nervous, she realized, as she began fluttering around her little hut. She was anxious to get out of here, yes, but that also meant she was going right into the middle of everything. She was terrified that maybe she was making a mistake and should just stick it out here, or at least wait until they went to Skyhold before joining them. That would be the cowardly choice, of course, but she’d never claimed to be brave. 

She huffed in frustration and grabbed a precious piece of paper and one of her charcoal sticks, striding outside to sit near the little pond. There was a log stump there that she liked to use as a table, so she set her things down and observed the bustle of the little village. Soon enough she caught sight of Giles standing near the crossroads sign speaking to one of the Inquisition soldiers. She smiled and set charcoal to paper, letting her overactive mind quiet as she drew. The paper wasn’t what she was used, of course, and the bumps and ridges in it made her displeased with the result, but it would do. 

After nearly half an hour, she judged her sketch good enough and cleaned the charcoal from her hands with a quick flick in the pond. She didn’t want to risk getting anything on the one good dress she had. Giles hadn’t moved from his spot near the stone fence, though the soldier whose ear he’d been talking off had since moved on, so she walked over to join him. He grinned when she got close enough, waggling his eyebrows in his exaggerated way. 

“Well, don’t ye clean up nicely, lass.” 

“I’m hoping after the past few weeks we’ve all had that we all cleaned up nicely,” she laughed, then shyly handed the paper to Giles. 

“For me?” He stood up straight and took the paper, whistling as he looked it over. “Now, no ones ever made my likeness before, but even I can tell this is good.”

She beamed from the simple praise. “I studied art. Not sure what good that’s going to do me here, but it’s what I know. Anyway, this is just a simple thank you for looking out for me. You know I don’t have anything else, so this is the least I could do.” 

Giles reached out and squeezed her shoulder comfortingly. “Lass, ye don’t owe me a thing except staying safe. I feel like I’m sending ye right into the mouth o’ the beast, but the Herald lad seems a good sort. Certainly helped the crossroads, and I hear tell he shut down the fighting all over the Hinterlands. I think if I have to trust anyone with ye, it would be him and his lot.” 

There was a commotion near the tunnel and the two shared a looked before observing as people crowded the party coming out of it. She sent Giles a little grin and wandered over, hoping it was who she thought it was. 

The Herald and his crew were all riding new mounts, along with a few riderless ones behind them. The trip to Dennant was apparently successful. The mounts varied greatly from the Herald’s Fereldan Forder to Solas’s Red Hart. She was not looking forward to hearing that thing in person. It was bad enough in the game. 

One of the mounts without a rider was a Battle Nug, something she’d never thought she’d see in her life beyond the screen. It was cute in a strange sort of way, with the rhino face and bunny ears. The hairless skin was cocoa brown, not unlike her own hair. Although the gorilla-like hands would take some getting used to. How did it not hurt it to run around on those things? 

Varric separated from the party, trotting his sturdy looking pony over to her and jumping down as he grinned. The once over he gave her was fairly subtle, but not enough that she didn’t catch the way his eyes roamed over the curves revealed by her almost too tight dress. She could also see just how quickly he dismissed whatever he was thinking as he turned to observe the nug. 

“Ugly, huh?” he chuckled. “Pretty sure he just gave it to us because no one else was buyin. Apparently, it’s a runt and when people actually buy these things they want em big.” 

“It’s kinda cute in a way,” she shrugged, her smile widening when he groaned. 

“You’re going to get along great with Red. She has two of the regular ones at Haven. She’s going to freak when she sees this guy.” 

“Is that who he’s for?”

“Don’t know yet. When I said he gave it to us, I meant really gave. As in threw it in for free. I guess while it goes along easy enough, it’s really picky about who rides it. Wouldn’t let any of us touch him more than a couple pats. Dennant says it’s nice and well trained though,” Varric shrugs, and walks next to her as she goes closer to the Battle Nug.

As if it had sensed it was being talked about, the beast’s attention zeroed in on the two of them. Its snout wiggled as it scented the air, before releasing a loud huff and walking closer. Crystal reached out her hand and let it sniff at her, giggling as the heated breath tickled her. After getting in a few good sniffs, it batted it’s head against her hand, begging for pets. She scratched the area between his huge horns, the feel of the skin not unlike a hairless cat she’d once pet. 

Suddenly, it surprised both of them when the Battle Nug dropped down and began trying to herd her towards it’s back. 

“I think it wants you to ride it,” Varric chuckles, shaking his head. 

Crystal stuttered, “What? I’m...I don’t even know how to ride.” 

“How were you planning on getting to Haven?” Varric asked with a raised eyebrow. 

“I don’t know,” she answered weakly, staring at the huge saddled back of the nug. “A wagon or something?” 

“If that was the case you should have gone with the sisters. With us, you’d have to ride. I suppose if you’re really scared you can ride with one of us, but it looks like this big lug has chosen you, so maybe you can give it a try at least.”

She bites her lip and stares as she tries to gather enough courage to climb up. The nug is still nuzzling into her side, trying to encourage her, she supposes. 

“I’m wearing a dress, Varric.” 

“The saddle is big enough that you could sit side saddle. I’ll help you up.”

She sighs and lets Varric lead her to the side of the beast. 

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m not a big fan of riding either, but it gets the job done,” Varric shrugs and laces his hands together as a makeshift mounting block. 

She straightens her back, nodding in a show of fake bravery. She places her hand on Varric’s shoulder and is momentarily distracted by how solid it felt under her fingers. Thick and muscled - and flexing? A quick glance at Varric’s lazy grin and dark eyes is enough proof that he knew where her mind had gone and was maybe showing off a little. 

She flushed and quickly lifted a leg, stopped by Varric clicking his tongue. 

“The right leg first for side saddle.” 

She nods and does as he says, placing her right leg in his cupped hands. He boosts her up a little and she scoots into the leather saddle. The squeal she makes when the nug stands up was embarrassing, and Varrics slow chuckles didn’t help. 

“Alright, now these guys are pretty slow so you don’t need to worry about speed. Reins are fairly easy; left and right, pull back lightly when you want to stop. Press into him with your thighs to go.” 

Crystal releases the death grip she has on the saddle horn, reaching for the reins. Her hands are shaking and she’s sure the nug can sense how scared she is because he’s not making any sudden movements; just stands there patiently waiting. She exhales and digs her thighs in and the nug starts a gentle trot. She barely has to do anything with the reins as it makes little circles and walks up and down a tiny stretch of road, occasionally shaking its head and looking back at her.

The Herald had joined Varric as they stood watching her, and she waved at him and sent him a little shaky smile. 

“Look at that. He wouldn’t let any of us on him, and now he’s prancing around like a pony. Look at him showing you off,” Maxwell chuckled as he greeted her.  

This wasn’t so bad, she mused. She relaxed a bit and let the nug wander around until it walked back to the rest of the mounts. She pulled the reins back gently and it stopped completely, dropping belly down so she could slide off easily. 

She was a little unsteady still from the adrenaline rush and nearly fell as her knees buckled. Varric was quickly at her side, wrapping a thick arm around her waist as Maxwell reached a hand out in concern. 

“You good there?”

She nodded and grinned sheepishly, “Just a little shaky. First time rider.” 

Maxwell grimaced with sympathy, “Yes, I remember my first time. I couldn’t sit well for two days.”

Varrics sniggers quietly and she rolls her eyes while Maxwell continues on, oblivious. 

“Make sure you used creams or oils to make it a smoother ride.” 

Varric’s snickers have become outright guffaws and Crystal finds herself giggling when Maxwell stares at them in confusion for a full minute before he finally groans. 

“Varric, you have the sense of humor of a child.” 

The dwarf’s laughter quiets slowly and he shrugs, flashing the Herald a playful grin. 

“Anyway,” Maxwell begins with a sigh, “Since the nug hasn’t let anyone else ride him and it appears he’s decided he likes you, he’s yours,” he nods towards Crystal. 

Her jaw drops and she looks between the Herald and the giant beast. 

“Oh, really, I couldn’t.” 

“Of course you can. I’m giving him to you. He was free, so it’s not like it’s a great burden. And before you can use any other arguments, the Inquisition will handle his basic care needs like food and such. Congratulations.” 

She opened her mouth to retort but with nothing coming to mind her jaw snapped shut. She sighed and flushed. 

“Fine. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome. When you get a moment, please join us for a meal and we can discuss the events of the last week and our future plans.” 

With that, Maxwell saluted the two of them and sauntered off, whistling. 

“He’s kind of a brat, isn’t he?” 

Varric snorts, “Yeah, a bit.” 

Crystal sighs and looks at the Battle Nug that is now snuffling into the ground. 

“So now the only thing I actually own in this entire world is a giant pig-rabbit.” 

“Seems like it,” Varric laughs. 

“I’m not as ungrateful as I sound, I promise. Just...overwhelmed, I suppose. I don’t really know what I’m supposed to do with a great big beast like that. I suppose a plus side is if we meet any bad guys on the road, he can just sit on them and save me from having to fight.” 

Varric shakes his head with a grin and gestures for her to lead the way back to the center of the village where everyone was meeting up. They are both silent for a few moments before he clears his throat. 

“You look nice, by the way.” 

She blushed and really fucking wished any of the clothes here had pockets so she could shove her hands nervously in them like she wanted. 

“Thanks. It’s a miracle what eating every day and using actual soap can do.”

Varric snorts before returning the acknowledging wave of the Herald once they were close enough. 

The party is sitting outside of her hut, of all places. Giles winks at her cheekily as he settles into one of the stools he’d dragged over for them to use and proceeds to dominate the conversation, pelting everyone with questions. She knew it was mostly because he was just a talkative fellow, but also because he knew that she preferred to listen. 

Talking to anyone, especially a big group of intimidating people like this, was incredibly hard for her. Back in her world, she was a certified medication-guzzling socially anxious mess with severe depression. Here in Thedas, she was simply known as shy, which amused her. 

The village was already at work preparing the fresh rams that they had brought back, filling the air with the scent of roasting meat and the sounds of excited villagers. Crystal leans her back against her little hut and wills herself to relax, listening to the now familiar voices of everyone around her. Her fingers itched to sketch the little village, knowing it was her last night here among these people. She’d start with her own little hut, she muses, perhaps at dawn when the sun just begins to color the sky. Maybe one of the children as they sit in rapturous fascination whenever she tells them a story. She’d already drawn one for Thomas of his sweet daughter that he’d lost. He’d cried and thanked her with a fierce hug that brought tears to her own eyes. 

“What do you think, Crystal?”

She straightened quickly as she was jolted out of her thoughts, glancing at Maxwell in confusion. She’d been so out of it, she hadn’t even realized Giles had gone to get them food. 

“Pardon?” 

“We were just discussing our travel plans. It took us a little over four days to get here from Haven, but that was also because we made minimal stops since most of us are used to travel. We were wondering if you would be fine with that or if we should think on factoring inn stops into our plans?” Maxwell explained with a kind smile. 

“Oh, God, no. No need to do anything different for me. I don’t want to be a bother.” 

“It wouldn’t be a bother. Personally, I like to stay on the road as much as possible, because that’s less paperwork I’m forced to do.” Maxwell grinned as the others chuckled lightly. 

“So...if you’re talking about taking me with you, everything went well?” she asked tentatively, still slightly afraid that her very appearance in Thedas might have changed even the small things. 

“Oh, yes. Everything was just where you told us, even the ridiculous Druffalo. The caches of supplies are on their way as we speak. We closed all the rifts except for the one by the river you told us about. Set up very comfortable camps on all the marked spots. Took out the Templar and Mage hideouts. We were all very impressed. Obviously, we haven’t delved into your future knowledge that you say you have yet, but this was enough to know that at the very least you seem to be on our side for now.” 

Crystal released a relieved breath, finally able to release weeks of tension. She’d be in the thick of things, but she’d also be surrounded by those that could protect her the most. 

“Thank you.” 

Maxwell nods, pausing as if to catch his thoughts before asking. 

“You seem like...there’s something specific that you’re wanting protection from. That you believe we can protect you from, specifically. Are you...able to tell me what that is?” 

She chews her lip in thought, trying to figure out what she should say. 

“I’m not sure? Honestly, I don’t think I’m the smartest person, so I’m never quite sure my logic behind what I can and can’t share is sound. I’ll be happy to go over things more once we get to Haven, but I think I can at least tell you we should start stocking up on travel supplies and weapons. Haven doesn’t seem the sort of place that would withstand an attack, does it?” 

They all looked mildly disturbed by that, but Maxwell nodded in thought. She was relieved no one asked her to go into detail, because she wasn’t sure how she would have been able to talk her way out of that. She was afraid if she told them too much, it would create so much change that she wouldn’t recognize the story anymore and be worthless. 

Giles soon brought them bowls of roasted meat and vegetables, and they were all more than happy to change the talk to more pleasant things. Varric and Maxwell both were very nice about asking her questions and trying to draw her into the conversation. Cassandra acted like she wasn’t there most of the time. Crystal knew it was most likely because she still considered her a threat so she tried not to be too hurt by it. Solas seemed as content as her to merely listen to those around him. She was especially glad he paid her no mind. 

“Excuse me, Miss Crystal?” 

She turned towards the shy voice of one of her favorite kids in the village, Malcolm. He was like her little shadow most days, and was always quick to ask for a story or for her to teach him how to draw. 

“Good evening, Mal. Did you need something, buddy?” She asked with a fond smile. 

He shoved one of his hands practically in her face as he handed her what appeared to be a rock. 

“I worked all day doin’ chores for Ma so I could give you this. It’s a heating rune. Cuz you’re gonna be traveling and hate the cold like me. You just press your finger here and it warms up, but it doesn’t hurt or nothin’. So you can keep your tent warm and it works in water too!” 

“Wow, Mal! This is so nice. Thank you!” 

She grins at the blushing boy and means every word. If this thing works like she thinks it should, she can look forward to toasty tents on the road. Damn she hated being cold, especially after these last few weeks with nothing but a thin blanket to warm her. She leans over and hugs him tightly. 

“You’ll remember to keep up with your drawing, right? I expect you to send me a drawing every now and then so I can see your progress. I’ll send you some of whatever I see too, okay?” 

“Kay!” Malcolm grins and runs back to his parents. She smiles at the little rune before tucking it into her pocket. 

“You didn’t mention you had a suitor,” Varric smirks. 

She snorts and plays along. “Oh yes, he’s lovely. He catches me frogs and only wets the bed twice a week. The catch of the ages, really.” 

He huffs a little laugh before turning to the group. 

“Did I ever tell you guys about the time Hawke bought a mine?” 

Crystal grins and leans in to listen, even though it was yet another story that she already knew. The way that Varric told them always made them sound new, however. She could tell the parts he was embellishing heavily and tried to contain her commentary. She was amused by Maxwell’s gasps of surprise and Cassandra’s eye rolls when Varric tried to describe the dragons in terrifying detail. Mostly, she was just happy to be sitting here listening in person. 

Varric was so expressive when he told a story. His hands waved enthusiastically, and his face showed every emotion. He timed everything perfectly to get the reactions he wanted, smirking slightly whenever someone was shocked or appropriately enthralled. She soon discovered that she’d been focusing so much on him that she’d missed most of the story, too entranced by the dwarf himself. 

She needed to get over this fascination with him, and fast. That way lay heartbreak and pain, she was sure of it. 

She yawned loudly, hoping the others would catch on. Thankfully, Maxwell must have been looking at her because he yawned too. 

“I think we should all get some sleep. We have a long few days ahead of us,” he grunted as he stood up and stretched. 

The others murmured their agreements, slowly getting up and putting the stools to the side. 

Giles scratches his belly as he looks them over. 

“We have a couple o’ empty huts that you lot can use. You’d have to squeeze in there, but it would probably be a nice break from tents at least.” 

“I have one extra cot in mine as well, if it’s needed,” Crystal ventured quietly. 

The party spoke amongst themselves and eventually it was decided that Solas and Maxwell would share one hut, Cassandra would take the other as she wanted to bathe in privacy. Of course, this left...

Varric’s smirk as she glanced at him in surprise was gone so fast she could almost believe she imagined it. Everyone wandered towards their assigned places for the night, leaving Varric to open the door for her. 

“After you,” he said softly, standing to the side as she tried to get past him before he could see her blushing. 

Maxwell ran up and threw Varric his pack of supplies before he could enter. He accepted them with a grunt of thanks and shut the door, bringing the wooden bar down to secure it. 

Crystal was practically vibrating she was so nervous. Logically, she knew that nothing was going to happen and that the chances of him being genuinely into her beyond friendly flirting were zilch, but she couldn’t help the rush of anxiety she felt just being in a room alone with him. 

“So, uh, the cots are over here. The one on the right is a little more sturdy since it belonged to the man who owned this place before. I’ll take the smaller one,” she winced as she heard how shaky her voice sounded. She hated that he probably thought she was some freak scared of her own shadow. 

He nods and smiles gently, seeming to pick up on her nervousness. 

“If you wanted to change into your night things, I promise I won’t look if you don’t. I must protect my virtue, after all,” he drawled. She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped over his stupid joke, letting him lighten the tension in the room a little.  

She peeled off her slippers and tucked them away into her bag of supplies. She’d use the more sturdy boots she had for the journey. She snuck a quick peek at Varric, finding him turned all the way around facing the wall as he shucked his own clothes. She nibbled her lip nervously and quickly pulled the dress up and off, leaving the thin white chemise on to sleep in. Unable to help herself, she looked out of the corner of her eye towards the dwarf behind her. 

He’d already torn off his shoes and shirt, leaving him barechested as he struggled with his belt. She inhaled lightly as she watched his back muscles rippling like some damn romance movie hero. She turned away just as quickly, knowing that with his skills he’d probably know if someone was watching him. 

She cleared her throat and instead focused on finishing readying for bed. She went to the little table that she’d turned into a sort of vanity and poured water into a bowl for washing her face and a cup for brushing her teeth. She missed the convenience of running water and tubes of toothpaste, not to mention her creams. This place was drying the hell out of her skin. 

When she was done, she poured everything out and cleaned up the area. 

“There’s still plenty of water left if you need it,” she said softly. 

“Yeah, thanks,” he rumbled, his voice close enough that she figured it was safe to look. 

She wanted to groan out loud and barely stopped herself from doing so. He’d changed into some comfortable looking pants at least, but he’d left his chest bare. Judging by the look on his face, he knew damn well the effect he had on her and did it on purpose. She didn’t even like body hair, but she couldn’t stop staring at him. He’d even pulled his hair from its tie, letting flow freely. It wasn’t that long, just towards the middle of his neck, but it was still such an intimate thing to see, she thought. 

He chuckled as she turned to busy herself, trying to keep her mind on other things besides half naked dwarves that were too handsome for their own good. She set her bags near the door for easy pickup in the morning and started the fire, knowing that the hut would be ice cold in a couple of hours if she didn’t. 

Once it was blazing she stood with her back to it, letting it warm her before she tried to sleep with her one little blanket. The first thing she planned to do once she figured out how to get money here was going to be buying at least five blankets and the stuff to make proper pillows, not the blocks they used here. 

She was swaying slightly with her eyes closed, listening to Varric humming and cleaning himself as she tried to relax enough to get to sleep quickly. She heard the splashing water stop and sounds of a towel being unfurled, then suddenly he growled.  

Her eyes shot open and she stared wide-eyed as Varric’s face turned hard and tense with hunger. His hooded eyes traveled the length of her body, and when she looked down she realized, to her utter horror, that the chemise was so thin that standing in front of the fire had made it damn near see through. She could see everything, and if she could, so could he. She blushed wildly but rushed past him and jumped into her cot, covering herself with her threadbare blanket. 

She could hear him breathing heavily, like he was trying to calm himself. A few moments later he walked over and pulled a blanket from his bag, settling into the cot that was so close to her own she could practically feel his body heat. 

He turned on his right side as he got comfortable, facing her. In a surprising show of bravery, she turned towards him as well. They both lay in silence for a few moments, looking at each other with only the flickering light of the fire, studying and weighing each other. 

She knew he was at least somewhat attracted to her, but she also knew he was probably fighting it because of his loyalty towards Bianca. Though she was sure he messed around at least somewhat, but never seriously and never with feelings. And Crystal, no matter how attracted to him she’d turned out to be, wasn’t the type to do anything casual. She grew attached too easily, was too needy for flings. She had a feeling he could probably tell and that’s why he was able to restrain himself. 

She sighed curled up more into her little blanket, starting to feel a little more tired now that the heat was starting to fill the little hut. The only thing she needed now was Varric’s familiar voice rumbling through the sending crystal. 

“Why did you let me listen?” she suddenly blurts. 

Varric’s soft grin says he was expecting the question sooner or later. 

“I thought it might help. Woman all alone in a strange place, about to travel with a bunch of scary warriors for almost a week. Figured it might help you get to know us a little and at least let you know we weren’t planning on chopping you to bits or feeding you to a dragon.” 

“I was so very worried about the dragon too. Bless you, sir.” 

He chuckles and sends her another little smile. 

“Goodnight, sweetheart.” 

Crystal fights her blush and whispers, “Goodnight, Varric.” 

She turned away and faced the wall as she willed herself to sleep, trying not to focus on every little sound he made. It was a very long night. 

[jahaanofmenaphos]

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

Read the full work here:

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TUMBLR CHAPTER INDEX

QUEST 05: MISSING, PRESUMED DEATH

QUEST SUMMARY:

Sliske invites all of Gielinor’s returned gods to his ‘grand ascendency’, claiming godhood. Instead, he uses the platform to pit all the gods against one another in a free-for-all that threatens to tear Gielinor apart. Their incentive? The sole survivor will be awarded what every deity is desperate for - the Stone of Jas…

CHAPTER 3: BIRD OF PREY

God emissaries had taken up residence in some of Gielinor’s major cities, preaching to anyone that would listen about why their deity should be worshipped above all else. As one would expect, this didn’t go down too well in some places, especially when you had Saradominist followers preaching in Oo’glog (a Bandosian stronghold), or Zamorakians having the nerve to try and preach in Falador, something the Saradominists had outlawed many years ago. So alongside this supposed ‘undead army’ that came and went, Falador also had an invasion by the black knights to deal with.

Now that the gods had returned, people thought they had the right to excuse despicable, discriminatory behavior, all in the name of religion. The old vampire of Draynor was ousted from his home by a pitchforked mob, accused of being a Zamorakian. In reality, he didn’t worship any deity, and any claims of bloodsucking were entirely made up - he loathed the stuff, preferring to drink milk. Saradomin had pretty much laid claim to all human settlements on Gielinor, save for Taverley and Burthorpe, who remained stoutly Guthixian. No-one else preached there - it was still too soon.

The Dark Wizards Tower had come under attack from their Saradominist counterparts. In return, the Saradominist temple on the outskirts of Morytania came under siege. Some of the ogres that settled near Yanille - who had been keeping to themselves for the better part of a decade - crashed through the city’s gates one sunrise. Meanwhile, in the Kharidian Desert, the bandits in their encampment had started kicking up more of a ruckus than normal; they were one of the few concentrated pockets of Zarosian followers, and they decided to let everybody know.

Gods help anyone who tried to preach on Karamja. Those people were set in their ways, and will kindly introduce you to their friend ‘poisoned spear’ if you dare tell them otherwise.

The peace that had been formed since the end of the God Wars was starting to crumble, and Gielinor was suffering for it.

The worst case of god clashing came in the form of the direct confrontation of two of Gielinor’s major deities: Armadyl and Bados.

Armadyl, the avian god of justice, was the patron deity of the aviantese, a race of birdlike creatures from Abbinah, to which he also belonged. Unfortunately, the God Wars destroyed most of the aviantese. Because of this, Armadyl left Gielinor at the end of the wars to roam the cosmos, mourning his lost kin.

The Armadylean holy book was rarely known beyond the avianse or dedicated religious scholars of Gielinor. Much of it was written by Armadyl himself, and split into two testaments - the First, written during his time on Abbinah and Gielinor, and the Latter, compiled after the God Wars - written in the form of a journal - as he travelled from world to world, always searching, never resting.

One of the extracts that showed Armadyl’s journey back to his home world of Abbinah is most beloved among the avianse; it is right before their deity returned, reborn, and taking upon the aspect of a phoenix that rose from the ashes…

“I arrived on this world several sunsets ago. This is a desolate place: the ground is grey dust in all directions; it is cold and light is scarce. I taste the air and know my people could never have survived here. It is a fitting place for me to stay, for a time.

I walk as I write. My wings trail in the dust, a zigzag record of my time here, and my thoughts turn to legacy. There is nothing of me on Gielinor: my aviansie are dead, my Staff has been lost. In time, they will forget me. There is something reassuring about that.

A bright light catches my eye, far to the west. I fly to it. It is nothing but a meteorite, smoking in a crater. This world's similarity to the wilderness of Forinthry is inescapable.

There is no land on this world, just wind, water and waves. Nothing stays still. The chaos of it all deafens me. I hunger for peace, stability, growth; so - upon my arrival - I froze water and made an island. A migrating bird still needs a perch.

To pass the time, I flew on the crosswinds and tried to forget my troubles. I remembered that my aviansie would fly about me as I soared, playfully mimicking my every move.

I know now that I cannot - should not - forget… no matter how much I may wish it.

It seems there is no life on this world. I can see the seeds of life, but not life itself. I feel myself reaching for my Staff, to give those seeds a spark of energy, a push to catalyse their efforts…

But it is gone.

I have wasted enough time here.

The sky is a boiling mass of noxious gas, and the ground seems to be melting. But - by the Elder Gods - there's life here!

I headed southwards, until everything grew colder. I saw what looked like dark stones, fused to the ground. I attempted to move one, and to my surprise it moved itself! These were not stones, but small, shelled creatures. Sharp legs shot out in an attempt to repel me.

I have taken to studying them. Weather, temperatures and tectonics conspiring against them, but they hold firm, clustered in their shells. They survive and endure, again and again. 

I must continue my solitary pilgrimage.

The air here is toxic; hard, unrelenting gravity pulls me downwards, and even I must struggle to remain aloft. The world is gas, with no ground to stand on. And yet, this world is a paradise for the beings native to its atmosphere: tiny creatures, the biggest no larger than a wasp or beetle. 

They circle around me. At first, I thought they wanted to hide in the down of my feathers. But when I turned, they turned. When I stopped, they stopped.

They were mimicking and playing.

I feel my old strength - enough to make the journey back to my home. In the hollows of my bones I know that it is time to return, and to shelter my faithful beneath my wings once more.”

It was Bandos who the winged deity clashed with the most.

Bandos was a very powerful, manipulative and bloodthirsty entity, known for taking pleasure in conflict and slaughter. He demanded worship and unquestioned obedience. His followers' main trait is strength, generally at the cost of intelligence, making them valuable warriors who would listen to him blindly. He did not usually care if most of his armies were wiped out - he fought solely for the sake of battle and would enjoy the bloodshed, provided that he retained enough troops to fight for him. But do not let his bulking size and monosyllabic dialect fool you - his cunning and battle prowess is second to none.

There was no such thing as a physical Bandosian holy book; those of intelligence were accused of being defiers of the War God, thus very few of Bandos’ followers could read or write. However, tales of Bandos, alongside his preachings, philosophies and beliefs, had been passed down verbally for generations, naturally altering throughout time, as all tales do.

One tale, however, managed to keep quite consistent throughout its history: it was the story of Bandos’ reign over Yu'biusk.

The hobgoblins of the Thrasghdak tribe built a statue of Bandos, higher than their tallest building. Bandos loathed the statue, declaring the only craftsmanship he admired was that of fine weaponry. He ordered the statue to be torn down, and said that the craftsman must use their skills and resources to create weapons and armour.

He said if they did this, they would be the greatest tribe of Yu'biusk.

The orks of the Verotark tribe built smaller, more humble statues, all across their city. Seeing this, Bandos pointed to the Thrasghdak, saying how their statue was magnificent, like a second sun… but he said they had torn it down in defiance, had erected secret workshops to craft weapons not for him, but to fight against his righteous rule! He ordered them to gather their tribe for battle, and destroy the Thrasghdak tribe. Men, women, children and the elderly… there was to be no mercy for any of them.

He said if they did this, they would be the greatest tribe of Yu'biusk.

The ogres of the Azkragthog tribe waited until the Verotark returned weak from battle, and obliterated them. They didn’t destroy any weapons they came across - instead, they used them for battle to aid in their conquest. There was no statue, no ballad, no ceremony of worship. This greatly pleased Bandos. He ordered them to build more weapons and use them to conquer the tribes beyond the mountains and beyond the oceans.

He said if they did this, they would be the greatest tribe of Yu'biusk.

To the ourgs of the Goltholglor tribe, Bandos ordered that they stand and fight against the armies of the Azkragthog that were bearing down on their cities. He gave them the same weapons as the Azkragthog - a fighting chance - but instead of defending themselves, the Goltholglor tribe sent diplomats to plead for peace. The wise ones of the Goltholglor tribe said that to go on using the new weapons would be the end to all life in Yu'biusk. Bandos decried them as cowards who wished to corrupt the true followers of Bandos. He decreed that if anyone preached against war, they were to be put to the sword.

He said that the last tribe to survive would be greater tribe in Yu'biusk.

Armadyl’s followers had been seen preaching in a camp north of Falador and, for some reason, it was Bandos who took umbrage at this. Then again, Bandos would take umbrage against the sky for any rain that fell on him. The camp was located on the merchant’s road between Taverley and Falador; Armadyl had very few human followers and no territory on the ground to call him own, so his emissaries had taken to setting themselves up where they could. Now, granted, the camp was a little close to the Goblin Village, the largest settlement of goblins in all of Gielinor and, naturally, Bandosian. Then again, it was also in a large expanse of Saradominist territory, and he didn’t seem to mind. It’s debatable if he even knew, let alone cared.

A terrifying rumble, like the roars of ungodly thunder, shook the area around the encampment, so vicious that it knocked over trees and caused an avalanche on the nearby mountain. From the dark grey skies, Bandos appeared, towering twice as high as the walls of Taverley. He loomed down on the helpless Armadyleans below, a malicious smirk cracking through his dark green features, before he crashed down a giant foot onto them and squashed them into the dirt below, like insects.

Armadyl… did not take too kindly to that. As soon as word reached him, he materialised and - reminiscent to the battle between Zamorak and Saradomin - camps were erected, armies were gathered (with Saradominists aiding the Armadyleans once they heard the news), and the war commenced. This time, divine energy was being gathered to help empower large weapons of mass destruction both sides were constructing. 

Despite this, Bandos occasionally took to snatching up a handful of goblins and lobbing them across the battlefield at Armadyl.

Armadyl remained on his perch, his tactics much less crude. At least this time the battle did not take place in the middle of a major human settlement; no evacuations were necessary, taking place in the sizable area north of Falador and east of Taverley. The battle also only lasted six weeks, still with heavy casualties on either side, but like the previous clashing of Saradomin and Zamorak, it ended as suddenly as it began.

The catapult-like weapon Armadyl had been constructing, which he’d dubbed ‘The Divine Focus’, simmered with barely contained energy. The avianse deity looked oh-so satisfied as he shot a cannonball-sized orb of power across the skies, straight towards an enraged Bandos. He ordered his weapon - far weaker in comparison - to be fired in retaliation, but his armies were too slow.

The orb crashed down, smashing through Bandos’ fortifications, scattering his armies… and decapitating the Big High War God. Flying over to the corpse, Armadyl set himself down beside Bandos’ remains, a cold and unfeeling look in his thin eyes. He then took Bandos’ own mace, very heavy in his grasp, and held it aloft, before driving it down and through the deceased god’s skull. His head was crushed and split into fragments, his brain leaking from the remains.

Armadyl did not look happy, but he looked relieved; he’d set out what he’d resolved to do, and that was to remove the threat of Bandos from Gielinor.

With a squawking war-cry to the heavens, Armadyl held the mace aloft and teleported from the battlefield.

From the remains of Bandos’ fortifications, some of the soldiers began erecting shrines to their new deity, Armadyl. After all, it was Bandos who taught them that only the weak died, and only the strongest deserved worship.

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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[angelqueen04]

ASOIAF Fic Recs

Had an anon ask for some recs and um... yeah, I decided to post it separately because, I may have, um, gone a little overboard. Lots of different pairings involved below.

Yeah. 

Born-a-Girl Fics

I have an enormous love for these stories, as it's so much fun to see how the various dynamics of the Starks, and indeed, all of Westeros change when the one thing Rhaegar was wrong about in canon becomes something he was right about after all.

All of Madrigal-in-Training's stories on AO3, her profile being located here. I'd read a few born-a-girl!Jon stories before I started reading her work and had enjoyed the genre, but after I read her stuff, I damn near became obsessed. (Did I say ‘near’? I lied, there’s no ‘near’ about it - I did become obsessed. I admit it.) Most of her fics are WiPs, but she updates fairly frequently, so her stories are definitely worth following.

The Acquaint the Flesh series, by Author376.  In a Westeros where Soulmates are bound and Marked by the Gods to bind Houses together and pay blood debts, Lyarra Snow and Oberyn Martell are about to get a shock. The born-a-girl!Jon story to end all born-a-girl!Jon stories. I have re-read this series at least a hundred times and I still squee my head off every single time. The gods throwing together two complete opposites, an OFC who is so much fun, a Frey we can actually like, and that's barely scratching the surface! The series is also a WiP, but don't let that put you off.

And I'm calling for my mother as I pull the pillars down, by dwellingondreams.  Elia Martell becomes the Lady of Casterly Rock due to her mother's machinations. Robarra Baratheon becomes a princess due to the Mad King's obsession with finding a bride of Targaryen blood. The seeds of rebellion are planted all the same. JFC, who knew that Elia/Tywin could be possible? Well, in a world where Robert Baratheon is born Robarra Baratheon and is quickly snatched up to be Rhaegar's wife, it seems that it is. Of course, this switch up does not prevent Aerys and Rhaegar from setting the world on fire because they're either insane or obsessed with prophecy or both. Still, the affects of this change-up are really fun.

empire (i'm building it with all i know), by willowoftheriver.  Fem!Jon Snow is discovered to be a Targaryen as a chld, triggering an unfortunate marriage. Femslash ahoy! Viserys is still a nutjob, though. Words cannot express how much I love this two-shot series.

Oh, mercy, I implore, by SecondStarOnTheLeft. She collects friends with the same ease she conceives healthy babes - so her goodmother tells her, something soft and wistful in her sad eyes, and Berta cannot disagree. A different crown princess, and a different world. Jeez, but I do love these gender-flipped fics. This one is fun too. Girl!Robert isn’t taking any crap from Rhaegar, no sir.

Time-Travel or Fix-It stories

Three Tully Daughters, by ProcrastinationIsMyCrime.  Conflicts for the Iron Throne before the darkest hour led to the defeat of the living on Westeros. Jon must have known the fate of men for he’d drugged and snuck his sisters onto a ship set for Braavos. That had been the last time either Stark daughter had seen Jon. Upon Arya's death, Sansa encounters a Dornish bachelor in Braavos who by all rights should be dead. Armed with knowledge held by no other, she would sail for Westeros and save her home; for she was in the reign of Aerys II Targaryen. There would be less chaos for Littlefinger this time. Joffrey would never be born if she could help it. Cersei would never sit the Iron Throne. A time-travel story that actually doesn't solve the insertion process by having the character in question (Sansa, in this case) be reborn into a new family. A very ASOIAF twist! I was a bit wary of the Sansa/Jaime pairing at first, but in this story it works, OMG it works. Sheer brilliance. WiP.

Valar Botis (All Men Must Serve), by sanva.  “But you, Lord Snow, you’ll be fighting their battles forever.” Ser Alliser Thorne Every time he died his last in that life he awoke again in another at the exact moment of Ghost's birth. Jon Snow is the King of Groundhog Day. What more needs to be said? ;)

Aegon the Unlikely-era Fics

You and I conspire and split the ground, by SecondStarOnTheLeft.  Grandfather's boots are next, soft and worn where Father's are always polished to gleaming, and then Grandfather's hands, and then his face. He looks tired, under his beard, under his crown, but he is smiling when he reaches under the bed to her. "My sister Daella used hide under her bed with her dollies, when we were small," he says, his voice very quiet and very gentle. "Will you come out, poppet? Your grandmother and I would like to speak with you a little, if we may." Wherein Aegon the Unlikely actually doesn't wash his hands of his kids and their obsession with prophecies, wherein Rhaella Targaryen is the ultimate sweetheart who deserves Nice Things, and wherein Rhaelle Targaryen is a total badass. I have a huge love of the family of Aegon the Unlikely and their antics, and this fic is a favorite of mine.

Behind the Ballads, by Ramzes.  Jenny of Oldstones and her prince were a favourite theme for singers, their romance making them larger than life. What were they like in life? I absolutely love this behind-the-songs look into the life of Duncan the Small, and seeing just WTF he was thinking. Utterly brilliant. I'd also recommend you look at Ramzes' other work. She has at least two series about Rhaelle Targaryen, one that covers the same time frame as this one (but is not connected to this story), and one that is a series of AUs featuring what might have happened if Rhaelle had lived to the era of Robert's Rebellion. Definitely worth a look.

Coins, by ariel2me. QUOTE SWAP: Rhaelle Targaryen + “What sort of father uses his own flesh and blood to pay his debts?” Oh, the heart. It breaks. 

Crack Fics

Ned Stark Adopts His Way Through Westeros, by witchbreaker.  "This isn't my fault." And other lies Eddard Stark tells himself. A short fic inspired in the comments of Acquaint the Flesh, it is probably one of the funniest stories ever, not to mention adorable. Also, read the comments, as there is a hysterical little extra piece in there dreamed up by a responder and the author. The best.

A Helpful FAQ, by Siamesa. In a world where Renly Baratheon accidentally spent the War of Four Kings on vacation in Dorne, surviving King Stannis's small council meetings takes a clear understanding of people and politics. Luckily, he's here to provide both... or so he thinks. Ohdearlord, this one still makes me LMAO, even after having practically memorized it. Hilarious.

The Dragon and the Maiden, by modbelle. Viserys brings the Stark girl Joffrey's head. He's surprised by her reaction to this. He'd expected her to be upset, but she seems quite delighted by this. What a strangely charming creature she is, even if she is a Stark. Yeah, this one came out of left field for me, but holy crap who knew such a thing could somehow work?

AU Fics

Desert Wolves, by bluegoldrose.  "But Ashara’s daughter had been stillborn, and his fair lady had thrown herself from a tower soon after..." ~Ser Barristan Selmy What if Ashara's daughter lived? What if Ashara Dayne raised Jon Snow alongside her own bastard? What if Ned Stark never stopped loving Ashara even when he fell in love with Catelyn? The bastards of Lord Eddard Stark are the Desert Wolves. The true born children of Lord Eddard Stark are the Winter Wolves. Their lives are lived apart until the tides of war see fit to bring them together. Ashara/Ned is a ship that I cling to, and one that I am always on the lookout for in regards to fics. This one is one of my favorites, particularly since neither Catelyn nor Ashara is demonized. It's a WiP, and hasn't been updated in a while, but I'm still hopeful that the last few chapters will eventually be posted.

Winter's Crown, by orphan_account.  What if Rickard Stark had other ambitions? Or, a history of the Starks, from Torrhen to Rickard, in a world where they spent two and a half centuries building up their wealth and waiting for the perfect moment to declare their independence. A twist/expansion on all that we learned from World of Ice and Fire. Very interesting.

Lightning (Struck Before Me), by sanva.  “Send the letters,” her voice came out clear, unwavering, resolute, “request House Stark, Arryn, and Tully send representatives to treat and bend the knee.” Wherein Jon discovers something long hidden deep in the crypts of Winterfell and everything changes. This fic is part of a series, and I'm not sure if any more will be posted for it, but this is still fun to read on its own. A mix of book and show.

Dragonstone, by Danivat.  After the death of his brother, Robert Baratheon needs a loyalist Lord on Dragonstone. He also really wants back in Ned's good graces. Or, the Game goes on after the Rebellions. The Starks still won't play, but everyone is playing the Game all around them, and Jon Sand has somehow become an important piece. Robert Baratheon, unknowingly, is the Targaryens' greatest asset. This one could fall under either the category of AU or Crack, or perhaps both. There are quite a few divergent points, and they are listed in the notes at the start of the story so you will not be hopelessly lost. Very fun.

One Day (Is Now and Forever), by SimplexityJane.  Rhaegar takes Lyanna to Dragonstone, not Dorne. This story had the potential to be a complete and utter epic, but it also stands wonderfully as it is.

Kingdoms at War, by deathwalker.  What if Ned Stark wasn't executed at the Great Sept of Baelor? Instead, what if, he had been removed from Kingslanding before Joffrey could give the order for his head? What impact would this have had on the Game of Thrones? I've called this fic a "small step to the left" in the past, and it is so much fun, particularly since it’s based on a question we have all asked ourselves. Though, be prepared - this is a long one.

The Duel, by Aiur. The duel between Robb and Joffrey goes differently than anyone predicts.  Be prepared to shed a few tears here. That’s all I’m sayin’.

The Dragon’s Queen, by orphan_account. Aerys married his eldest son off to Elia Martell immediately after Viserys's birth instead of sending his cousin to Essos, and she bore Rhaegar three children before dying in labor with the last. Rhaegar is therefore a young widower when he crowns Lyanna Stark the Queen of Love and Beauty during the tourney at Harrenhal, and Aerys decides that his son will marry the lady. Here are seven letters Lyanna Stark sent in another world. I really love epistolary stories, and this one is so interesting. I wish there was more of it, because it hints at so much more. Very fun.

But you are of the North, by LuminaCarina. Ned Stark doesn’t visit from the Eyrie. Brandon, Lyanna and Benjen adjust. Very interesting idea.

The Squire of Dragonstone, by EmynIthilien.  Instead of joining the Night's Watch, Jon travels south to squire for Stannis on Dragonstone. Roughly spanning the events of A Game of Thrones through A Storm of Swords, Stannis and Jon investigate the royal incest mess, fight battles in and out of the courtroom, attend a joyous wedding, and come to rely on each other more than they ever expected. I call this one “Sherlock!Stannis and Watson!Jon”. A great trilogy of stories where things are actually taken care of, and in a legal-ish way!

The Lady of Storm’s End, by Sarah_Black. Sansa was supposed to marry someone brave, gentle and strong. Lord Stannis Baratheon was not what she had in mind. Or: The one where Sansa is never betrothed to Joffrey, never loses Lady, and only comes to King's Landing to attend King Robert's wedding feast. The king is marrying Margaery Tyrell as Cersei's treason has been exposed and dealt with. But things are never simple when the Iron Throne is in desperate need of heirs and wildlings threaten the peace... Another pairing that is a bit weird, but the author makes it work beautifully! The story is also inspired by The Squire of Dragonstone listed above, though it is not necessary to read it. The author explains anything you need to know in the opening notes. 

broken lovers series, by soapboxblues. wherein rhaegar wins the war, and jaime manages to keep his head by taking a stark for a wife I never knew Lyanna/Jaime could somehow be possible, but this series proved it to me. There are so many wonderful things about this series, I can’t even.

Kindness, Not Fear, by SecondStarOnTheLeft. In the wake of Daenerys' triumph, Sansa comes to King's Landing. Multi-POV post-series short fic.  An older story, but one that I still love to pieces. 

The Lion Queen, by Laine. I am the first of my kind, and the bards will sing of me for centuries after I'm gone. Ned Stark takes the Iron Throne, and he intends to share it with his Queen. Yeah, pretty sure I was going to hell for liking this pairing, but nonetheless, I do love it. Plus, a non-crazy Cersei. How often do we see her?

I Fear No Fate (For You Are My Fate, My Sweet), by vixleonard. Myrcella Baratheon always knew she would be married to a man for a political alliance. What she did not know was that she was going to be left in the North at 8-years-old to one day become the wife of Robb Stark and just how much it would change her life. I think this was one of the first ASOIAF fics that I bookmarked, and I still come back to it from time to time. A classic.

[juliaisabellphoto]

Music Journal #1: 2018 Albums of the Year

Thus far, I’ve dedicated this blog solely to my attempts at becoming a decent photographer, as well as some scattered descriptions of my travels. While I have no intention of making this blog absurdly personal or anything more than an artistic outlet, I’ve always had an itching to write about the music I find & listen to. So, without further ado, I’ll start with my favorite albums of the year (& a short summary of my thoughts on each)

1. Tash Sultana, Flow State

I stumbled upon this gem of a project late in 2018 when I was itching for an album to drown myself in. As soon as the first notes of “Seed (Intro)” blasted in my headphones, I knew I had chosen right. With a beautiful combination of melodic guitar riffs, biting electronic drum tracks, and silky, laid-back vocals, Sultana opens up a world for the listener to fall into. Listening to this album is startlingly similar to a dreamless night of sleep - one moment you feel as though you can discern the differences between tracks, and the next you’ve made it all the way to track eight without noticing. “Cigarettes” is certainly the vocal gem of the piece, with smooth R&B roots & a chorus that just won’t get out of your head. In stark contrast, “Blackbird” is a song of instrumental mastery. The vocals take a backdrop to the intense conversation (and at some points, argument) being had by Sultana’s competing guitar melodies. Sultana’s work on the guitar is often reminiscent of John Butler Trio & other acoustic greats, but the addition of their unique voice allows the album to take an entirely unique shape of its own. If I have one piece of advice for 2019, it’s to make time to sit and do nothing but listen to this album. 

Must watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GVDJ8O3lPBA

2. Ariana Grande, Sweetener

This was an obvious choice. Ari dropped the album we all needed to hear in 2018. With the artful ability to produce banging pop songs with real meaning, Grande has the makings of a star who will not stop shining for a long, long while. The album is brimming with girl power and independence while also being honest and genuine. The entrancing bass line and sexy confidence of “God is a woman” captured the attention of functionally everyone this year, and with good reason. The subsequent confessional “breathin” showed that even the most badass women have their struggles. Chronicling her fight with anxiety, the song provides a stunning anthem for holding your head up through hard times. If this album proves anything, it is that the new queen of pop has arrived and will be staying. 

Must watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ivwciGSLC-M

3. ASAP Rocky, TESTING

In this album, ASAP Rocky ascends to a whole new level of hip-hop greatness. When describing the project, he stated that it was ‘all about testing new sounds,” and that shows. The abrasive intro song, “Distorted Records,” sets the stage for a completely unique soundscape. This experimentation continues throughout the album with funky drum tracks and accompanying melodies, but ASAP Rocky’s clean vocal style provides a uniting constant. 

While most of this album is perfect for blasting on the highway with car windows down, one song stands out as an independent masterpiece. “Purity.” featuring Frank Ocean, stands in stark contrast to the air of invincibility found in the rest of the album. This song is vulnerable: an introspective discussion of intoxication-related demons laid over an artful sample of Lauryn Hill’s “I Gotta Find Peace of Mind.” This slow, heart-wrenching piece provides an end to the album that is completely antithetical to its beginning. The immense versatility shown in one album alone deserves to be at the top of any 2018 list.

4. Khruangbin, Con Todo El Mundo

If I’ve learned anything this year, it’s that the best instrumental music has the ability to say more than any lyrics can. Khruangbin’s second album does just that: every song has a character and a storytelling emotion wrapped up in its funky bass lines. At times, the album floats along as life does (see “Como Me Quieres.) At others, for example in Maria Tambien, there is the feeling of being in the midst of some dramatic situation. The album instrumentally represents the  stages of individual thought (both active and passive) and it is completely enthralling. 

Fun fact: the track “August 10″ is the song “August 12″ from their first album, but played in reverse. They described it as a “connective tissue” between their first album and their second. Cool stuff!

Must watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=vWLJeqLPfSU

5. Mitski, Be the Cowboy

I first listened to this album as I fell asleep on a plane ride, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. The droning, climactic beauty of this album is best experienced on its own with nothing to distract but your own droopy eyes. The album starts off slow with “Geyser,” but quickly works its way up to the earth-shaking climax of “Pearl.” The album is filled with complex sonic peaks and valleys from there on out (try to find a melodic similarity between “Remember My Name” and “Come into the Water” - I date you.) The songs of this album feel like different chapters in a storybook, and that’s exactly how Mitski wanted it. When she described her intentions, she said that she wanted the album to feel like “the image of someone alone on a stage.” ‘Be the Cowboy’ cleverly achieves this - finishing the album feels like finishing a novel, including the disappointment at the lack of further content. 

6. Troye Sivan. Bloom

This pop album bursting with energy and emotion accesses the wonderful, terrible process of falling in and out of love. While I could talk for paragraphs upon paragraphs about the hours that I spent dancing in my kitchen to this album, that’s not the primary reason for this album’s place on my list. With ‘Bloom,’ Sivan produced one of the most emotionally versatile musical pieces of the year. When I discuss his songs with people, I am always struck by the differences in what they mean to each of us. Certainly, this variance in meaning is the nature of music - but Sivan pushes that to a new level. His songs are a vibrant and powerful normalization of gay expression, and provide the whole world with relatable songs to dance (and cry) to.

Must watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5xCMF7jsDJI

7. J. Balvin, Vibras

There is only one thing that this album makes you want to do: dance. It is absolutely guaranteed that your hips will be moving by the end of song number two. The beats on this new album are hot and infectious, as shown by the popularity of “Mi Gente” in clubs everywhere. Reggaeton as a genre has gained massive popularity globally, and Balvin has jumped into this with new variations of the traditional Columbian style. Noticeable throughout the album are infusions of popular trap beats as well as salsa and electronic dance music (see “Machika.”) The album is undeniably sexy, y despues de escuchar todas personas quieren mas ;)

8. LP, Heart to Mouth

I read somewhere that this album was a “full-length heartbreaker.” As I progressed through each song, this description was confirmed ten times over. There is not a single song on this album that didn’t make me feel something real. In no particular order, LP represents the whirlwind of emotions that come with the end of a relationship: regret, pain, missing someone, liberation, strength. The entire conflicting mess is all there. Listen to ‘Recovery’ if you need a cry, and ‘Girls Go Wild’ if you need a therapeutic dance party. All I can do is feel thankful to have received this raw, empowering confessional. And of course, her stunning vocals don’t hurt one bit. 

Must watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ACWS4ajWdww

9. Mac Miller, Swimming 

Listening to this album in the wake of Mac’s death is haunting. His words cut deep, and they cut deeper after knowing the full extent of how he struggled. The themes of growth and healing are wrapped up in overwhelming melodies and Mac’s beautiful voice. The first track of the album, “Come Back to Earth,” sets the stage for the emotional rollercoaster that each track is bound to be. After this song, he launches into the groovy “Hurt Feelings” and begins to describe the intricacies of his hardships. This album is something you could easily bop around your kitchen table to (queue “What’s the Use?”), but if you listen too closely you might end up in tears. In this contemplative and instrumentally complex record, Mac’s last work was his strongest. 

Must watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QrR_gm6RqCo

10. Liz Brasher, Outcast EP

I first heard this EP on an episode of NPR’s “All Songs Considered” in the middle of a long drive up California Highway 5 (one that would’ve been torturous without the discovery of new music.) The song “Body of Mine” immediately caught my ear, and I dove into the rest of Brasher’s music as deeply as I could. Uncut garage-band sound is the overwhelming theme of the EP - “Body of Mine,” “Come My Way,” and “Outcast” make this crystal clear. Despite the quick assumptions that can be made about her sound, Brasher pulls complexity into the EP with the heart-wrenching ballads “Feel Something” and “Remain.” These two songs showcase the raw strength of her voice and the emotion that she can convey with it. I am excited to see what her music develops into as she gains more acclaim in the new year. Thanks again, NPR!

11. Travis Scott, ASTROWORLD

I haven’t been a huge Travis Scott fan in the past. I would passively listen to his music, but I never understood all the buzz about him. This album completely changed my mind. ASTROWORLD is a masterpiece in so many ways, and the amount of depth present in the album is mindblowing. While “STARGAZING” and “SICKO MODE” stand out as obvious party bangers, it’s no surprise that many fans are hooked on calmer tracks like “YOSEMITE” and “COFFEE BEAN.” If I were to describe the different musical styles employed on this album, I would truly be describing every song. Scott enters a new realm of production genius, giving club DJs exactly what they want while also producing the perfect songs for a chill night in smoking. He includes the autotuned party business he employed in past albums while also mixing in pure, clean cuts of his own voice. It was a pleasant surprise to hear an album from a trap artist with both diversity and widespread quality. Officially a Travis Scott fan. 

Must watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=enYt3dKXWkE

12. Christine and the Queens, Chris

I was also introduced to this album late in the year, and I’m glad I was because its energy was exactly what I needed. This half poppy half funky explosion of energy is what anyone needs to listen to on a down day. This album was her rebranding as Chris, an “affirmation of desire as a force of chaos” as she described in an interview with NPR. In both the album artwork and the record’s descriptions of love and identity, she plays with the fluidity of gender and its meaning in our modern era. This phenomenal record is an exercise in both shifting representations of desire and making you dance, and I’m so here for it.

Must watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sjliweXTCYM

12. Kacey Musgraves. Golden Hour

This slow-rolling album is perfect for a slow day. When I initially saw this album on the top charts, I was confused - I had seen Musgraves live in 2014, I had heard “High Horse,” but what was SO special about her? It was only in taking a chunk of my day to sit and listen to this album that I caught the bug that everyone else seemed to already have. In this album, Musgraves develops into so much more of an artist than she has been in the past. She shifts from cookie-cutter radio country to a wonderfully sweet combination of cotton-candy pop and heartfelt Americana guitar riffs. Her message is positive, her lyrics are honest, and her sound is touching. I was most convinced by “Happy & Sad,” and I won’t deny that the song pulled tears out of my eyes. She conveys youthful happy energy while simultaneously acknowledging the uncertainty of that happiness, and we all needed it (even if we didn’t know it.) Plus, “High Horse” is a bop, and that’s that on that. 

13. BROCKHAMPTON, iridescence

After the expulsion of Ameer Vann from the group and the cancellation of a number of tour dates, many weren’t sure what to expect from Brockhampton in the coming weeks. The name of the upcoming album was changed, and presumably entirely new songs were recorded. Nevertheless, iridescence was received with intense anticipation from die-hard Brockhampton fans (myself among them.) The album fulfilled all hopes - with the first track, “NEW ORLEANS,” launching into an aggressive and high-energy beat, I couldn’t help but smile. Brockhampton did it yet again. The transitions between songs are seamless, and every song lends to the theatrics that they love to pull onstage. Much of the record feels like a high-speed formula one race, but the emotional “SAN MARCOS” pulls listeners into another dimension entirely. Hearing this song performed live was one of the more powerful moments of any concert I’ve ever seen - the outro was made to be passionately sung by a crowd, and it so was. And “TONYA” - wow. I could go on forever about this album.

14. Boygenius, boygenius

The cover art for this record is simple, and that simplicity shines through in its tracks. The collaboration of Julien Baker, Phoebe Bridgers, and Lucy Dacus in this project is pure magic. The music is calm, melodic, and easy to become entranced by. Their voices could lull me to sleep any day, and every song feels like it could play during the part of a movie when the protagonist stares out a car window in deep thought. Each song builds to an emotionally charged climax in exactly the tortured way that a listener would expect from these three artists. At this point, I’d be deeply sad if these three didn’t continue making music as a group. They are a gift.

Must watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OS48Lp34Zic

15. Kali Uchis, Isolation

Kali Uchis blooms in a real way in Isolation. Busting at the seams with sexy confidence, her psychedelic-funky R&B traversal of genres on this record is just perfect. Her uniquely smooth voice pulled over left-of-center beats lends itself to an album full of hits. “After the Storm” featuring Tyler the Creator gained quick popularity, and it is a good representative of the vibe that the rest of the album gives off. A laid back, sexual, happy piece of musical experimentation, Kali Uchis is here to play ball. 

16. Cardi B, Invasion of Privacy

With Invasion of Privacy, Cardi B burst onto the popular rap scene with no regrets. Every song exudes her bad bitch energy and reclaims the rap music tropes typically employed exclusively by men. While an incredible ancestry of female rappers came before her, Cardi B has broken the musical glass ceiling in a big way. She is the first female rapper to reach number one on the Billboard top 200 in over 20 years, has the most Billboard top 100 entries of any female artist in history, and many more. She is a true ‘rags-to-riches’ success story, and she’s here to tell us all about it. I’m listening.  

Must watch: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8LPVjHxXvJM

17. Ryan Beatty, Boy in Jeans

I just saw an article titled “Ryan Beatty writes really good pop songs about boys.” This was a quite simplistic summary of what’s going on here, but it’s not wrong. Despite his vocals on Brockhampton’s “Bleach” and his frequent collaboration with the popular group, Beatty didn’t break out individually in the music scene until now. He certainly did so with this album, and he did it well. His slightly left-of-center pop featuring a voice with the consistency of caramel is exactly what everyone wants to hear. It’s the perfect music for a scenic car ride, and I’m obsessed.

18. The Decemberists, I’ll Be Your Girl

I’ve been a fan of the Decemberists for a long time, and I saw them at the Greek Theatre in Berkeley on their last tour. I would see them again in a heartbeat, and I will never get over the passion that goes into Colin Meloy’s vocal presentation. With the high-energy promotion of this album, I was expecting typical Decemberists greatness. What I got was something entirely different - greatness, but nothing typical. This electronically-infused record exposed a new side of the Decemberists that I am refreshed to hear. The addition of synth and an Arcade Fire type vibe suits them and the sort of rebranding they desired to achieve. With this album, the Decemberists evolved in a way they never have, and I applaud them for it. 

19. J. Cole, KOD

There are a number of people who love to hate on J. Cole, and I’ve never understood it. With this album in particular, J. Cole distinguished himself with both lyrics and production value. The album cover above depicts excessive drug use, and in fine print states “This album is in no way intended to glorify addiction.” This powerful message alone sets the stage for an album that means something. The subsequent subject matter of each of the record’s tracks follows this narrative - a description of being stuck in the ways of drug addiction. I have always appreciated J. Cole for his ability to tell a complete story through an album despite the lack of a chronological order or common plot in each song. The album shows the deterioration of a drug addict - from the high of “KOD” to  the contemplative pain of “Once an Addict (Interlude).” 

20. Kendrick Lamar, Black Panther the Album

Everything produced surrounding the Black Panther movie was a hit. The power of this movie and the contributors to this album is unparalleled. Aside from the clear message that this media sent, every song is phenomenal. “All the Stars” displays SZA’s ridiculous vocal prowess. “X” is the perfect hype song, displaying Kendrick’s sassy and innovative lyrical technique. In “The Ways,” Khalid’s sweet voice embodies the beauty of the powerful woman he describes. “I Am” by Jorja Smith absolutely knocks the album out of the park - this stunningly sexy track propelled her onto the music scene, and thank god it did. I’d listen forever if I could. I’d go on, but every song on this album is an iconic collaboration. 

Must watch: the movie.

21. Houndmouth, Golden Age

This album is so painfully underrated. If you want a pick me up, listen to Golden Age. Immediately. From the album’s floaty start to the explosive mood of the album’s namesake track, it’s all hits and no misses. Embracing a completely different musical tone from their last album, Houndmouth seizes a futuristic alt-rock cacophony as their new style. Taking nods from 80s Phil Collins numbers (the beginning of Strange Love... come on!), they take us back to a golden age of sorts while also propelling us to a fun future. I will never not dance my pants off to this album.

[mingyus-noona]

Void, chapter 2 (Hoshi)

Title: Void Member/Pairing: Hoshi/Soonyoung x Reader Fanfiction type: Multi-chapter Genre: angst, drama, hurt/comfort, tragedy Chapter: 2 Word count: 1,903 chapter 1 ==============================

void, adjective: not valid

Soonie, Soon-Soon, 10:10, Hoshi, jagi, pabo. Every time you thought about Soonyoung, you chuckled. You’d think of how crazy and hyper he was. How sweet and adorable. How you guys didn’t get to see each other that often, but when you did, it sure made up for not getting to spend time with each other for months at a time.

Whenever you thought of him now, you couldn’t help but think of the guys, especially Jeonghan. It was stupid of you to let them taint your memories of Soonyoung.  And it wasn’t like he did anything wrong.

The guys had your best interest at heart, but didn’t they even think of you when they decided to keep it a secret? What if you never saw him again? You could have missed vital time with him. You hated to think that he could die, but he really could. Even if he did, you would have wanted to have spent that time with him, whether he was conscious or not.

They must have thought about him dying too. They said that at first, they didn’t think it was that serious, that he would get better soon, as long as he had plenty of rest and a good team of doctors to check out him out and get his body back in working order. But they must have been smarter than that. They had to have been lying to themselves, a way to cope, to convince themselves that he would be okay. But to keep this charade going for several months—to you, to themselves—that was just foolish and downright cruel. It was like you didn’t matter, like you weren’t part of his life at all. Part of theirs, even. * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ * ~

Hansol was feeling conflicted. He hardly went to see Soonyoung. While it was his job to keep things together at the dorms—especially when Seungcheol and Jeonghan weren’t there—once he stepped into the hospital room and saw Soonyoung lying there, the tears would fall. His shaved head, all those wires and tubes, and Soonyoung just there, just alive, but not active.

He knew all they could do was wait, that whether they stayed at home or by his bedside, it wouldn’t impact his condition much. But he also knew that avoiding going there wasn’t healthy either. There he was, holding everyone together, then falling apart in the hospital bathroom with a suspicious Seungkwan just outside, falling apart while being too cowardly to look himself in the mirror. He knew time spent with Soonyoung was important, but he was being stubborn, staying home anyway and only visiting every so often, usually for only a few minutes at a time, since it was all he could take.

He thought Soonyoung’s girlfriend should know. She’d be broken, but she’d know. She at least had that right. He would be there when Jisoo contacted her. He didn’t really know what to say, but he felt that the fact that he would be there—even though she wasn’t aware of it—was like saying he was on her side, that he felt she should have known from the start, like the rest of them.

Seungcheol had to be the strong one. He was the oldest, the leader. He’d been the stronghold through all of their problems and hardships over the last few years. A certain member was feeling inadequate: sure, they could all get through that together. One member was feeling rather down lately: Seungcheol knew what to say to him to make him feel appreciated, to get him to talk about his feelings if that’s what he wanted to do. But having to rally everyone together and help them go through the emotions they were feeling when he didn’t even know how to cope himself. He didn’t think it was possible. Even adults have to admit that they don’t have all the answers, that they fall apart sometimes too. Whenever tragedy struck when he was a kid, it seemed his parents and older relatives were ready for anything. But they just endured, pretended to be strong for his sake, for all the younger people who would have fallen apart had they seen others doing so.

He was always the one to relay info to everyone else. No news this week, he moved his hand a bit today, etc. He easily discovered how his parents, aunts, uncles, grandparents felt when someone was sick or died. He wanted to cry, punch something, but he couldn’t. He had to be strong for everyone else. If one person was strong, everyone else would be functional. Things would stay together. So he was calm, but then, like his elders must have done many years ago after funerals, he broke down when he was alone, or even with Jeonghan. He’d constantly be traveling between the dorm and the hospital to check on everyone, make sure they were eating and getting proper sleep.

He just longed for the simplicity of preparing for comebacks. His schedule was lighter now, mostly filled with driving, sitting in waiting rooms, or pacing around the dorm kitchen or his room. He’d been feeling stressed over the comeback. He’d wished for more time to rest, but he never wanted this. Not at the expense of someone else.

When he got tired of driving back and forth constantly, he would just stay out longer. He said he was going to the hospital, but he really drove and drove, stopping at some noraebang here or a little hole-in-the-wall restaurant there. He’d spend hours and hours there, drinking and eating, singing and crying. Age did not help with anything. His parents sure were invincible for having been able to carry on appearances of being strong.

Mingyu was a baby, always tearing up. But he would try to be his usual bright self, if only to keep everyone else positive. Without Soonyoung, things were always quiet. The gag trio would keep the dorms so loud that Mingyu would sometimes have to shut the door to even take a nap. But without the one, the other two were silent. It was a strange feeling, coming home everyday and being able to hear the whirring of the electrical appliances. No talking, no television, just the fridge making noise.

Wonu, ever the silent one, felt it in himself to speak up more. He would spent lots of time alone, just reading as everyone else acted crazy. But now, it was too quiet. He couldn’t even pick up his favorite book to escape the silence. He spoke more than ever now, even if he was still hiding behind a book, even if no one was listening or even if they were not in the room. He spoke. He spoke to keep himself from crying, from having to face the quiet.

Jisoo knew that Soonyoung was hurt badly. He was one of the first to truly realize the weight of the situation. He could always hope, pray, try to keep everyone positive. He cried a lot, but he tried to keep it in so no one could see. But at night, he’d play the guitar, sing, belt out a ballad accompanied by tears and howling, which would eventually wake some of the others, even though many of them were awake throughout most of the night.

Seungkwan, the mess. He knew it wasn’t all fun and games, that their industry got tough sometimes. But this was too serious. He was always with either Seokmin or Hansol, or both. Sometimes, the three of them spent the day together in one of their beds or on the sofa, clinging to each other and staying in the same position for as long as they could, long past their limbs feeling all tingly from being asleep.

Seokmin: quiet, like Seungkwan. He couldn’t stand to be alone either, so he’d often spend time with Seungkwan, with his head in the younger boy’s lap, having his head stroked just for some company. He often fell asleep in that position, but these days, he mostly slept with Seungkwan or someone else anyhow.

Jihoon was more contemplative than usual. When it became apparent that Soonyoung would be in a coma thus forward, he hardly left the studio. Artists wrote about painful experiences all the time. It was therapeutic. The guys were a bit angry that he spent so much time there when he could have been with Soonyoung. And to be honest, he didn’t write anything for the first week or so. He couldn’t. He feared he would jinx the situation. He instead channeled that energy into a song about a breakup. And while he’d done a good job at disguising the true topic of the song, he couldn’t look at it as being about anyone other than his dongsaeng.

Junhui and Minghao were always together now. Being the only two Chinese members of Seventeen, they spent a lot of time together anyway. But now, they seemed to be in sync. Whenever Junhui cried, he’d look over and there was Minghao, shedding the same exact tears. Sobbing, crying together, asking why it had to be him. When updates became less frequent, they hardly spoke to anyone else but each other. At one point, a whole week must have gone by without them uttering one sentence in Korean. The only thing they probably said in Korean was Soonyoung or hyung.

Chan had changed the most. The youngest, always associated with having found Soonyoung, having been there at the most crucial times: when he was brought to the hospital, when his condition was first examined and reported on. Everyone else wondered how he felt, what it must have been like to have found Soonyoung like that.

At first, he was always there, paying attention to everything the doctors said and keeping his eyes focused on Soonyoung, ready to catch any signs of movement. But then, when no progress was being made, he grew mad. At Soonyoung for practicing so hard, at Pledis, at himself for not having gone to look for Soonyoung sooner.

Everyone else expressed their concern, but after destroying things, punching several holes in the wall, they left him alone to deal with his anger. He got so fed up with being closed in and alone in his room. He’d sneak out to get drunk, sometimes not coming back home all day.

And then there was Jeonghan. The, you wouldn’t like to call him an instigator, but the name sort of did fit him. He’d come up with the idea, made sure people stuck with it. Even if they didn’t necessarily think it was right. And deep down, part of him wanted Soonyoung to himself, to all of them. You were part of their circle, yes, but there were things you’d never understand about them, as men, as idols, as the wonderful group known as Seventeen. He felt terrible to admit it, but there was always focus on the girlfriend in situations like these. And maybe they were being greedy—with their 12 and your one—but Jeonghan also felt he was being considerate, making sure you didn’t worry.

But if he were being completely honest, he did feel kind of guilty. It didn’t help that everyone nagged him. That was part of the reason Jisoo even decided he would call you in the first place. He was cracking. He couldn’t keep it in any longer. He couldn’t continue to act like nothing was wrong. And he could tell Jeonghan was about to crack too.