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dourpeep · 3 years

Note

you asked for albedo stuff yesterday and i forgot to give you some 🥲 here

-Albedo bites the ends of his pencil/pen while in deep thought

-He covers his mouth while laughing

-His hair is a huge problem to becoming messy so he usually keeps it in one style bc he sucks at styling hair

-I believe he would hyperfocus on a meal until he starts to hate it and goes onto another

-Probably sleeps on his back or stomach

-Quietly sings to himself when he's alone doing experiments

-his hands are probably soft as hell

-he probably bounces his leg when stressed

-I cant decide whether or not he's always cold or always hot (wearing his jacket everywhere but seems fine at dragonspine??)

-would break klee out of jail

-he always tries to have at least one meal with klee

WAIT SHIT I FORGOT ABOUT THIS--

definitely a pleasant surprise nodnod always a treat to have more Albedo, thank you for the food, Chi OTL

I'll write a little about each one b/c I have no self control and I'm feeling inspired by ur headcanons so lets goooooo ehehehe

They'll be a mix between imagines and drabbles!

Enjoy the food :3c

Contains: Albedo x gn!Reader, some standalone Albedo, Klee, fluff

- Breaking Habits -

"Albedo? You're doing it again-"

He blinks, shifting to remove the tip of his pencil from his lips, frowning when little indents come into view.

"Hm...it appears to be so."

Really, the Chief Alchemist has tried to wean himself off the habit, taking to coating the butt ends of his writing utensils with a horrid concoction of qingxin and jueyun chili, but the moment he slips into his usual daily tasks, it arises once more. The bitter spiciness is a taste that he still has not forgotten.

When his brows crease and his gaze seems to burn into the pencil, you offer a smile. With a kiss pressed to his temple, you take it from his loose grasp, setting it down on the table's surface.

A few weeks later, it dawns on him that the touch of wood to his lips evokes the memory of your gentle reminder. Without fail, he sets his pencil down in search of a sweet to busy himself with instead.

- His Laugh -

I can just imagine him with his hand lifted to cover his mouth, a smile tugging at his lips and his eyes slightly squinted. It's something that'd happen almost instantaneously--he doesn't intend to hide his smile but for some reason he can't help but do it.

An endearing habit that you've come to look for.

Regardless-

If you lower his hand and pepper him with a few little kisses, you'll get another giggle out of him before a kiss.

- Hairstyles -

Albedo only knows two ways to do hair: Klee's twin pigtails and his own half-up braid.

Over the past three years of his residency in Mond, it's become a sort of trademark. The assumption that it's just how he likes to style his hair has long since been accepted as truth--and really, he does prefer the style.

Though...

"Mr Albedo? Perhaps you should try to tie it all up instead...?"

The stray wisps of bangs that escape from the securely tied braid fall into his face and distract him from the task at hand. There's also the ever-present tickle right where the blond locks fall around his jaw. Surely, this shouldn't prove to be a problem considering he always has this style...right?

Needless to say, the smell of singed hair makes him choke and the Alchemist finds himself pulling away to tie his hair properly.

It's simple.

Or at least that's what he has been stuck repeating like a mantra as he stares at his reflection, unhappy with the way there's a strange bit of hair that refuses to stay tied. Sighing, he undoes his pony tail and tries again.

Hm.

No, now it's lopsided...certainly can't have that.

- Mealtime -

First, two little ears peek up above the surface of the counter besides him. Then, two little eyes belonging to a stuff rabbit toy followed by a red hat--

"Klee?"

The little girl stares at the fish steaks sizzling away on the pan, displeasure on her features despite the incredibly enticing smell. With unmatched resolve, she huffs.

"Big brother, Klee doesn't want fish again-"

Ah, right.

He's been in another of those moods, the particular taste and texture of the fish mingling with the salted butter, simple sauce, and lightly seasoned veggies sounding so much more appealing compared to nearly any other dish he's tried to enjoy in the past two weeks. It's without a doubt Albedo's all-time favorite dish. Perfect for someone with a small appetite and a need for something quick, filling, and nutritious.

"What would you like then?"

Ultimately (and truly, Albedo wasn't surprise), the little knight requested a serving of 'Fishy Toast'. Cutting up one of the fillets he'd fried, he laughs and shakes his head.

- Sleep Time -

When you come home, it's already dark, the streetlamps lining the cobbled road illuminating the front door as you fish out your key.

"Albedo? I'm back-"

Soft snoring punctuates the silence.

With a fond smile, you remove your shoes and make your way to the make-shift 'sleep station' set up on the couch. Sure enough, with his face shoved at an awkward angle against a pillow, Albedo lays on his stomach holding a second pillow to his chest.

As much as you'd rather not wake him (after all, he's barely gotten sleep over the past few days with how busy it's been), you kneel besides the couch to gently shake him awake.

"Bedo? Bedo, lets go to bed-"

He shoves his face further into his pillow, muttering something about waiting for results. But the silence that follows only lasts so long until he sighs and opens his bleary eyes.

"Welcome home," he mumbles, carefully shuffling best he can closer to meet your lips.

With a stretch and sigh, he sits up. Blond hair sticks up from the top of his head and to his cheek, some parts tangled despite his attempts to prevent it--your hair shouldn't tangle if you sleep on your stomach, right?

Holding back your laugh, you help him up so that the two of you can get ready to sleep.

- Singing -

Most often if not nearly each day, if you pass by the Favonius HQ's workshop, you might catch the soft sound of singing. A light sound that drifts from the partly-cracked door echoes into the empty hallway. Regardless of the traffic outside, it shows no sign of stopping, so you easily can sit right outside and listen.

It's not shy, though, even as the man's dulcet tone comes out gently, and there are days that the lyrics that slip from his tongue are of other regions.

Perhaps if you ever approach the Chief Alchemist, you might be able to convince him to sing just a short little tune. He'll oblige, though a soft dusting of pink will cover his cheeks as he does.

- Hands -

"My hands?"

Albedo watches as you tug off his gloves, head cocked to the side curiously. The moment his hands are free from their confines, you press a kiss to his palm and intertwine your fingers.

"Do you use lotion or something?"

He laughs.

"...Not that I am aware of...?"

When you squeeze his hand once, he squeezes yours back three times before bringing your joined hand to his cheek. Resting against them, his eyes close.

"Why do you ask?"

He feels you take his other hand as well, turning it over palm-side up, your fingertips tracing over the lines that adorn it's surface.

The tenderness of your touch is enough to make his heart stutter in his chest.

"Mmm...no reason."

- Leg Bouncing -

Whenever Albedo bounces his leg sitting at the Dragonspine workshop, a curse or two will slip out the moment his knee bangs against the wood.

Even being considered short, the table has decided to lay just low enough for him to cause minor injury to himself.

Shaking his head, he rubs at his knee to rid himself of the dull ache before continuing his observations at hand.

- His Jacket -

Wait okay but like...what if he actually has different versions of the same jacket? They look virtually the same but there's some of lighter material for warmer days, 'standard' ones for day-to-day use, and heavier ones lined with warm, soft fabric to insulate heat when he's on Dragonspine.

Same with his tights. I do know for a fact that there are tights lined with fleece that are incredibly warm and comfortable!!

- Escapees -

"You need to be very quiet, alright?"

Once more in the dark of the night, Albedo finds himself awake within the walls of the Favonius Headquarters.

Now...Klee technically wasn't grounded, so technically escorting her out of the so called 'solitary confinement' wasn't against any rule. To be fair, the room itself also wasn't really that either, judging by the child-themed decor, soft bed, books littering the floor, and the little table that sits just off to the opposite side of the room.

So! Albedo was certain that there wasn't any harm in what he was doing.

Not that he wasn't still sneaking around on his little improvised rescue mission.

He looks back to Klee, the little girl now wide awake and hanging on to his hand tightly.

When the morning comes, he sighs, crouched sitting on one of the child-sized chairs in the solitary confinement room, Klee peacefully snoozing in bed.

If only Jean wasn't pulling an all-nighter last night as well.

- Very Early Breakfasts -

Klee wakes up to the smell of sweet berry jam and chocolate in the air.

Clumsily, she slips out from under the covers with Dodoco cradled in her arms, padding along the wooden floors on her way to the kitchen.

"Big brother...?" She rubs the sleep from her eyes waiting for him to turn around.

"Oh, good morning Klee-"

"What time is it?"

That, Albedo decided, was a very good question. Especially considering that he hadn't yet gone to sleep and instead shuffled through the kitchen in the early hours of the day to make pancakes. If he had to guess--and he took a quick peek out the window despite the darkness of the early morning lending no clue--he'd say it was nearing 4am.

"Early. Go ahead and sit down, breakfast is almost ready."

The plate is presented to her with a brilliant smile, the Chief Alchemist satisfied to be able to keep his promise with her to always share a meal. But...the fluffy pancakes and freshly made whipped cream were also a source of his brightened mood.

Even though he knew he'd have no time to sleep and pack for his next Dragonspine expedition, the lack of sleep was worth seeing the sudden widening of eyes and delighted giggle from his younger sibling.

He could always take a quick nap at the base camp, anyway.

#anon asks #chifema #albedo #genshin impact albedo #genshin impact headcanons #albedo headcanons #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact drabbles #albedo my beloved #klee #albedo x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact fluff

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himikiyo · 3 years

Text

i’ve been on my lonely // himikiyo week day 5

Himikiyo Week Day 5: Skirt + Lipstick

“This kind of meddling is rather unlike you,” Kirumi remarked that evening. “Setting them up on a date?"

After seeing Korekiyo and Himiko dance around each other for so long, Rantaro takes things into his own hands.

Read on AO3, DRA, or under the cut.

It was that time of year again. The season of parties, reunions, and all manner of other Danganronpa events. They existed all year long for those who wished to embrace their celebrity status, of course, but even the disinterested among them were dragged into the lead up to a new season. Season 53 was one of the biggest hits in a generation.

Without really meaning to, Rantaro had fallen into the role of the group’s big brother figure. Ironic, considering his utter failure at it in his fictional backstory. He liked helping his friends though, found more fulfillment in that than working on his own problems. He didn’t get much time to bond with anyone during the killing game, but he’d more than made up for it.

At the moment, he was in the hotel room of one Yumeno Himiko. One of the most resentful of the fame bestowed on all of them, she always required a little extra encouragement in the days before big events. That...wasn’t always because of Team Danganronpa though.

“It’s okay to feel anxious about seeing them,” Rantaro said, summoning every bit of patient encouragement in his possession. “Or even to be looking forward to it. Other people’s grudges don’t need to affect what you do, you know.”

“It’s not like that!” she exclaimed, sounding downright panicked. The blush spreading across her face told a different story, along with the soft-looking plushie she was absentmindedly hugging. Even at a glance, the long, dark hair and green uniform were unmistakable. It was the official Shinguuji Korekiyo plush from the DR53 line. It had been one of the lower sellers, compared to others like Ouma or Saihara who were sold out for months. Himiko’s copy was clearly well-loved though, if she even went to the effort of bringing it along to a hotel.

“Are you sure?” He raised an eyebrow, letting his gaze drop to the plushie to tell her he noticed it.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” Himiko argued back stubbornly. “It’s just something soft to hug. Theirs was on sale. It’s not like I kiss its forehead and tuck it into bed or something.”

“Mhm.” She definitely did exactly that. “Well, if you don’t care at all about seeing Shinguuji, I guess there’s no need to talk about it anymore, right?”

“Right. No need.”

“On another topic then, I know a good restaurant nearby. We could head over there for dinner tonight if you don’t have plans with anyone else.”

“Sure.” She perked up some then, plushie still securely in her arms. “That’d be good.”

“Then shall we meet in the park at 7:00?”

---

After leaving Himiko’s hotel room, Rantaro didn’t return to his own. No, he had another friend to pay a visit to.

“Amami-kun, what brings you here? I don’t recall making plans with anyone.” Korekiyo tilted their head in curiosity, hand coming up to cover their unmasked face. It seemed a subconscious gesture, a lingering instinct to keep from being seen. Himiko would surely know more about that than Rantaro though. He’d caught her looking at photos and tabloid articles about them more than once.

“Oh, no, we didn’t have any plans,” he said, chuckling softly. “I apologize for catching you off-guard, Shinguuji-san. In fact, I came here to find out if you’d be interested in making some.”

“Making plans with you? Ah, well, it’s kind of you to offer, but...”

“Hoping for someone else?” he asked. Just as predicted, Korekiyo’s eyes widened, a clear sign of someone whose true feelings had been discovered.

“I wouldn’t dream of being so rude,” they demurred. “It isn’t as though I have people lining up to spend time with me these days, yes? I should accept invitations as they come.”

“If you’re sure. I happen to know Himiko’s room number if you’d prefer to ask her.”

“I...it’s not like that. Even if I did wish to invite Yumeno-san out, she wants nothing to do with me. The same is true of most of our group.”

“Then do you want to grab dinner tonight? I know a great place nearby. We could meet in the park at 7:00?”

“That...would be acceptable. Thank you, Amami-kun.”

---

“This kind of meddling is rather unlike you,” Kirumi remarked that evening. “Setting them up on a date? That seems more like something Kaede might do.”

“Maybe I’m learning from her,” Rantaro said with a laugh. “It’s about time those two sort out their differences. They can claim to be at odds all they want, but they’re the only people who really believe they’re enemies. Well, maybe Chabashira-san too, but that’s more wishful thinking than anything else.”

“Here’s hoping it works out.” Offering him a mischievous grin from over the rim of her teacup, she added, “I owe Ouma-kun some money if they don’t get together by the end of the year, and it’s already fall.”

“I don’t think you have to worry.”

---

Where the hell was Rantaro? Himiko had arrived at the park right on time, but there was no sign of him anywhere. It wasn’t like him to be late or stand people up — not without a serious reason to do so. The park was relatively small, so it didn’t seem likely that she could have simply missed him.

Just as she was debating whether she should try to text him and ask where he was, she caught sight of someone out of the corner of her eye. Even before she turned her head to look though, she could tell that it wasn’t him. This figure was taller and didn’t radiate his relaxed confidence in the least.

Korekiyo? An unmasked Korekiyo at that. She still wasn’t used to them being more lax about face coverings these days.

“Oh, um, Shinguuji. What a coincidence seeing you here.” Her voice sounded forced and awkward even to herself. She wished the ground would just swallow her up and save her from needing to interact with them, but no amount of wishing would make that dream come true. The world seemed dead set on reminding her of her (unfortunate, tragic, hopeless) crush at every possible opportunity.

“There are no accidents in this world,” they replied, sounding ominous as usual. “And in any case, it shouldn’t be that surprising, yes? Seeing someone at a park mere moments from the hotel where you’re both staying isn’t a terribly unlikely thing to occur.”

“Well, yeah, I guess so. It doesn’t really matter, I was just making conversation or something.” Her voice trailed off more and more until it was barely a half-whispered mutter, any semblance of confidence stomped out by embarrassment. “Anyway, uh, I’m actually supposed to be meeting Rantaro here to go to dinner together. Have you seen him?”

“You’re supposed to be meeting with Amami-kun?”

“Is there something weird about that?” It was a defensive question, one that slipped out before she was able to stop herself. Surely Rantaro never let any of her secrets slip, right? There was no way Korekiyo could know what kinds of things she said about them to Rantaro.

“As a matter of fact, yes, there is something weird. I’m supposed to be meeting him for dinner too.”

“What?”

Instinctively, she glanced around looking for cameras or anything else that might hint at this being some kind of staged interaction. She wouldn’t put it past some of the entertainment industry to spring something like that on her unannounced. However, there was nothing, nor did she really think Korekiyo would play along with something like that. Of their group, they were one of the most resentful about what they’d been through. Understandably so.

“I was asked to meet him here at 7:00,” they said, briefly pulling out their phone to confirm the time again. “It seems Amami-kun may have double booked himself.”

“Why would he do that?” Himiko wondered aloud. “It isn’t like him to be so careless.”

“Ah, you two are close then? I did notice that you’re on a first name basis.” Kiyo gave her a placid look, fixing their already perfect hair. God, they really were unfairly pretty. So much so that she felt a pang of jealousy at the realization that anyone could look over and see exactly what she was seeing right now.

“No, not really.” They were wearing black lipstick instead of their usual red, and the striking green of their eyeshadow made their amber color even brighter than usual. “We’re friends, but I don’t know if I’d say we’re close. It’s pretty casual.”

“I see. I am not close to him either. In fact, I was rather surprised by his invitation today. If he decided to back out, it wouldn’t be much of a shock. I’m much less convinced he would do something like that to you though.”

“What does that mean?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Why are we so different?” Their outfit was gorgeous too, almost all black but no less intriguing for the lack of variety. Her eyes couldn’t help but trace the lines of their slightly too long sleeves (impressive, given how lanky they were) and flowy skirt.

“You know exactly why. I don’t think I need to give you a refresher course on that, Yumeno-san.”

She just sighed, not sure what she was meant to say in response to that.

“Well, it doesn’t really matter what you think about it. Likely or not, he’s standing both of us up.”

“Unless...” The word was spoken so softly that Himiko wasn’t sure she was meant to hear it. Did they have some other idea about what could be going on?

Clearing their throat briefly, Kiyo continued. “If Amami-kun does turn out to be a no show...I suppose we could still go to the restaurant he chose. Together. If that’s something you’d be interested in.”

“Yeah.” She smiled softly, thinking of the Kiyo plushie snuggled up safe and sound in her hotel room. Could...this have been Rantaro’s plan all along? She still had her doubts about whether Kiyo returned her feelings, but they were asking her to dinner. “We could do that.”

---

By the time they’d been seated in a cozy, dimly lit corner, it was abundantly clear that the restaurant was a romantic one, meant to cater to couples on dates. If it hadn’t already been obvious that the whole situation was some sort of set up on Rantaro’s part, that would have cemented it. He wanted them to go on a date.

She was afraid of getting her hopes up.

“Seems like a nice place,” she remarked, fiddling with the edge of her menu. Aside from the quiet background noise of other patrons talking and soft music, the quiet at their table was deafening. Not much conversation happened on the walk over either, mainly small talk about their day to day lives and those of their fellow alumni.

“Yes, it does,” Kiyo echoed. “Not the sort of establishment I would have pegged Amami-kun as frequenting.” She wondered if they were nervous or if she was just imagining the signs of tension. The stiff slope of their shoulders, the tenuous edge to their voice...

“Yeah, maybe not his type of place. Does that mean it’s yours?”

“It could be. There’s beauty in things like this, even if I’ve grown somewhat disillusioned with humanity as a whole.”

“And...is anything else here your type?” The instant the words escaped her mouth, she felt mortified. A moment’s bravery had been enough to say something like that? It was all she could do not to slink down in shame, face hot as she took a sip of water. “Um, never mind actually, that was a silly question.”

“No, I don’t believe it was. There is something else here that’s my type, believe it or not.” The mood lighting made it difficult to tell for sure, despite the lack of their usual mask, but it seemed like they could have been blushing.

“Really? And are you going to tell me what?”

“I wonder,” they said, lips curving into a smile. “Do you have any suspicions?”

“I might. If I’m right about why Rantaro planned all this out, then that doesn’t leave too many options.” She was far from an expert at the art of flirtation, but she suspected the same might be true of them. As suave as they often managed to seem in the past, it was a facade, part of the character Team Danganronpa created for them. Or perhaps not even that. Even for the ‘ideal’ Korekiyo, the one that only ever existed on paper, that confidence wasn’t so genuine. Not to the extent of really being able to open up and be vulnerable.

It wasn’t the time to make herself sad thinking of what they had to go through. If they saw any accidental hints of pity in her eyes, it could ruin everything. All she could do was try her best at chasing after what she really wanted.

“Care to share your deductions, then?” Was it intentional, the way their hand was sliding closer to her along the table? They’d never been one to take the prospect of physical contact lightly.

“I’m no detective,” she said, needing to suppress a shiver when their fingertips just barely grazed her own. Their nail polish was black too, matching their lipstick. No rings of the sort Rantaro still tended to wear, but she had a feeling they’d suit them. Any kind of jewelry would be lucky to adorn them.

“I don’t believe you need to be. In fact, I’d say the answer is quite obvious.”

Himiko chuckled. Their fingers were tangling together in earnest now, unmistakable as anything but what it was — holding hands.

“I know everyone kind of pushes us to keep up certain appearances. The media, the fans...even our friends, whether they mean to or not. They expect things,” she said softly. It was why it didn’t take her long after the end of the killing game to figure out that she shouldn’t talk about Kiyo too much, or with anyone who couldn’t keep a secret. The others found her interest strange, even repulsive. They were supposed to be enemies, forced into that box largely by people who didn’t have anyone’s best interests at heart.

“Yes, they do,” Kiyo agreed. Rather than launching into a long, anthropology-tinted lecture as they might have been prone to doing in the past, they seemed content to simply listen and reflect on what she had to say, allowing her to talk and draw conclusions on her own.

“Not many people would be happy about the idea of us getting closer, but...” She glanced down at the table, at how nicely their hands fit together. There in the corner, none of the other people in the restaurant had noticed who they were. Danganronpa fans were everywhere, but that didn’t mean it was impossible to steal moments of peace.

“But you’re tired of organizing your life around what other people think, yes? And Amami-kun for one, though I can’t claim to know him on a very deep level, seems supportive. I would go as far as saying enthusiastic. I can’t recall anyone else attempting to pry about my romantic life.” They paused, then clarified, “Not with benign intentions, that is.”

“So you’d be interested in it too? Getting to know each other better instead of always acting like we’re still enemies?”

“I never considered you my enemy in the first place, Yumeno-san. I would be honored to be given that chance.”

There was no doubt those words were genuine. For someone who slipped so easily into the role of villain, Kiyo was remarkably free of malice towards...anyone, really, save for some Team Danganronpa higher ups.

“Then I guess we could even call this a date.”

Still clasping her hand, they lifted it just enough to brush a kiss over the back of it, leaving a barely noticeable smudge behind.

“That we could.”

#himikiyo #himikiyoweek2021 #himiko yumeno #korekiyo shinguji #danganronpa #danganronpa v3 #drv3

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seriouslyhooked · 4 years

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Can’t Say No (At Christmas)

CS one-shot set in the future. Hope is three and Emma and Killian are still very much in the throws of a happily ever after, but Killian wants to do something special for Emma for Christmas. With the help of their family and the town, he manages to fulfill a Christmas wish for his wife in exactly the kind of over-the-top fluffy and sweet way you’d expect from me. Includes holiday surprises, Christmas cheer, and a healthy dash of true love. Rated T. Available on FF Here and AO3 Here.

A/N: Hey all! I really did not know if I was going to be able to get this drabble done, but I am so happy to say that I did and to share it with you all tonight. I know that this Christmas is going to be so different for so many of us, and that it has been a hard year of uncertainty and stress. My gift to our little fandom is this story, focused on Emma and Killian a few years after we got to see them in the show. It’s inspired by the spirit of Christmas, the cheesiness that only Hallmark movies can provide, and the song ‘No Problem’ by Dylan Schneider. I love the idea that Killian cannot deny Emma anything, and that at Christmas he has to make Emma’s wishes come true. I hate to spoil any more of this, but I will just say thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy!

“I don’t know how the hell you pulled this off, mate, but I got to hand it to you, this is really something special.”

The words David uttered from the bottom of the ladder were high praise, despite the dig at Killian’s favorite endearment. Tonight though, Killian would let the jab slide. He simply didn’t have the time or energy to pretend to argue with Emma’s father. Instead he hustled down the rungs and back to solid ground beside his friend. He took stock of the room once more, running his hand through his hair and tracing each corner of the barn with his gaze. There was very little about the place that was recognizable. It had been sufficiently transformed, from an old, dusty tomb of farm equipment, to a space fit for the evening ahead.

“It pays to be a good guy in the end,” Killian joked. Playing up the early days of their knowing each other when Killian was anything but a hero. “Turns out I’ve helped quite a lot of people these past few years. They were eager to return the favor.”

“That’s true enough, but I think the fact that you did this all for Emma plays a big part too.”

There was no doubt about that, and the mere reminder of his wife brought a smile to his lips. She was going to be surprised by this, and there was nothing that he loved more than surprising his Swan. Killian could hardly wait for the look of excitement that would spread across her face, and the light that would appear in her jade colored eyes. Her cheeks would flush from realization, and her hands would move unbiddenly, as if she couldn’t quite contain the excitement or suspense. Emma was always the most beautiful of women, and a miracle to be sure, but when treated to a gift that was truly worthy of her, she was transcendent, his own personal star and tempting taste of heaven.

“Any word from Snow?” Killian asked, checking his watch and seeing they had made good time, despite the hecticness of the day. He had enough time to catch a shower and prepare himself, but he needed to be sure that Emma and Hope were sufficiently occupied in the meantime.

“Better – she sent a video while you were hanging the last of the garland.”

David offered his phone and Killian laughed at the sight. Snow and Emma had taken Neal and Hope out of town to a nearby ski resort that was hosting all sorts of winter activities for kids. In the video Emma, Hope, and Neal were all making snow angels, until Neal gave the signal and he and Hope pivoted to throwing snowballs at Emma. The only problem was Hope was far too little and bundled up in snow gear to be effective. She was having the time of her life though, and at the end of the video, Emma scooped their daughter up and nuzzled her close, bestowing a kiss on her curly brown hair, which had escaped its winter cap. Hope was a dazzling blend of him and Emma, but her goodness and ability to inspire love was totally her mother’s doing.

“Perfect. You good here for the time being?” David nodded, pivoting from his assistant role to commander in chief with the quickness of one-time prince. Content that his tasks were in good hands, Killian headed out, eager to put the next parts of his plan in place.

Things moved quickly from there. He showered and readied himself for the kind of night his Emma had imagined, ignoring the strangeness of his reflection as he did. He would never feel quite right in these damn tuxedos, but Emma’s wish was specific and it included the blasted suit. It also included a number of gifts for Emma and for Hope, which he pulled from the one place in the house Emma never ventured to – the garage. From the back of the storage space there, he grabbed a number of boxes that he’d stuffed away last week, and brought them all inside. After checking the contents were free from any water or dirt, he was convinced things were as they should be, and he left the gifts underneath the Christmas tree.

The only thing left to craft was the note for Emma that would set her surprise in motion. He hadn’t dared to write it out before, wanting to save it for this moment. It felt right to speak from the heart and to put in words exactly how he felt tonight. Still, it took time to get the letter exactly right, and he must admit he grew a bit sentimental when crafting it. A time or two he fell into recent and more distant memories of their lives together, feeling the warmth in his soul that could only ever come from the truest love. Luckily, he had enough of his wits about him and time was on his side. Soon he heard the sound of a car pulling up the drive just as he closed the envelope with Emma’s name and placed it on the tree, and with the stealth accrued in his past life, he slipped out the back door just before his girls came in.

“Mama, look! Santa came early,” he heard Hope say as he quietly rounded the side of the house. For a moment he was truly tempted to steal a look and watch this scene play out, but he reminded himself that there was still more to be done, and instead headed down the street to where a not so patiently waiting Snow was parked.

“Killian, thank God! I thought you’d never get here!” she exclaimed as he opened the door, but before he could reply, young Neal let his own thoughts be known.

“Mom, it’s been like sixty seconds. Literally. Look, I timed it on the stopwatch Henry gave me. 63 seconds.

“No, has it only been a minute? I’m so excited I can’t tell. It feels like forever. I was waiting for this all day. It was so hard not to spill the beans.”

“But you didn’t, right?” Killian checked, pivoting to Neal for the truth. When the boy gave him a thumbs up, he let out a breath. “Good. But it all might be for not if we don’t get a move on.”

“Oh, right. We’ve got to go. We’ve got a Christmas miracle to deliver.” Neal groaned at the words and Killian remained quiet prompting Snow to ask the question, “Sorry, too cheesy?”

“For tonight? No, strangely it’s just right.”

And with that, they pulled away from the curb, headed back towards the barn and the long-awaited surprise.

……………….

“Mama, look! Santa came! Santa came!”

At first Emma didn’t understand the words from her daughter. She was just trying to get her bearings after peeling the snow clothes off of Hope and discarding her own jacket on the hook by the door. Her boots were barely off and her scarf was still wound around her neck. She couldn’t imagine how Hope still had so much energy, but then she remembered – three year olds were like comic book characters, with a super power of endless energy.

“Christmas Eve is tomorrow, honey,” Emma said, righting her clothes and letting go of a big breath, before walking towards the living room. “Two more sleeps until Santa.”

“But look, Mama, pwesents!”

Emma followed her daughters pointing finger across the way, and low and behold there were gifts under the tree that had not been there this morning. Her curiosity was peaked, but when she saw the white envelope secured in the branches of their evergreen tree, she had an inkling of what was happening.

“Killian,” she murmured walking forward, and running her fingertips across the delicate paper.

“Daddy?” Hope asked excitedly, and Emma nodded as she opened the envelope, only to fight off tears of love when she read the letter.

My Dearest Emma,

There are no gifts that I could ever give you that compare to all you’ve given me. I know and accept that, but this time of year is different. It’s a season predicated on love, light, and yes, even a bit of magic. So I had to try, for your sake and for mine.

Christmas is about showing the people you love what they mean to you. It’s about giving love and feeling love, and knowing that even in the dark of a winter night, there is hope and light ahead. It’s about reminding loved ones that you care, that you’re rooting for them, and that their dreams are your dreams too. You taught me that, you and Hope and Henry, and I swear to you that all I could ever want is to make you happy, and to grant the wishes you carry in your heart.

“Ooo, pwetty,” Hope said, dragging Emma’s eyes down to where her daughter had already begun opening the parcels below. Inside the white garment box was a gorgeous crimson colored dress, breathtaking in its elegant design. The satin and the beading were exquisite, and the color was to die for, and like something from a dream. Hope offered the box to her, knowing even at age three that it wasn’t the right size for her. “For you, Mama.”

“Thank you, princess,” Emma said, taking the box in hand, wanting to look at it in full, but knowing the letter was still more important.

You are everything to me, Emma. Everything and so much more. You and our children hold my whole universe in your hands. Tonight, I hope to take your hand in mine, and remind you that in life, all you really need is the perfect partner.

“He didn’t,” Emma whispered, looking down from the letter which had been signed with love by her pirate. Then she looked at the other presents Hope was opening. A beautiful pair of heels, a white fur muff, and a necklace that sparkled, along with all the same things for Hope that were more their daughter’s style and perfect for her size. The last gift was another envelope, with a card. On the top in cursive script it read ‘Selected Suitors for Emma Jones’ and the only name was Killian’s. “Oh my god, he did. It’s a dance. He planned a Christmas dance for me.”

“Dance?” Hope asked and Emma crouched down to help her daughter really open her own garment box, where a beautiful princess-style dress was waiting for her. As soon as she saw it Hope let out a sound of pure delight, clapping her hands together at a hastened clip. At that moment, the front door opened, and Emma looked, expecting to see Killian but instead seeing her son, dressed up in a tuxedo and looking downright dashing. It would have been a shock either way, but this year, when she’d been bracing herself for her son being away for the holiday, it felt like an even greater gift.

“Henry?” she asked, as Hope bolted for her brother. Instinctively, Henry scooped her up, accepting all her hugs and kisses before turning his eyes back to Emma.

“Surprise! Well, part of it anyway. But we’ve got to get a move on, or we’ll be late.”

“Where are we going?” Hope asked. Henry responded by whispering in her ear, low enough that Emma couldn’t hear. Whatever he said made Hope gasp. “Really? We’re going there?”

“Sure are. But we have to get ready. Don’t worry, Mom, I’ve got Hope. You do what you need to do.”

Emma was spurred into motion, grabbing the gifts marked for her and heading upstairs. In thirty minutes, she and Hope were both ready for whatever awaited them, and though Emma had her suspicions, she was in no way prepared when they arrived at the old McDonald farm. Pulling around back to the barn, there were dozens of people milling around. Everyone in town was here tonight, dressed up and partaking in merriment, but when they left the car and walked inside, Emma was truly stunned.

“It’s beautiful,” she said aloud, taking in the gorgeous decorations. The space was totally transformed, a perfect blend of rustic refinement. The colors were vivid and vibrant, the air was warm and filled with the scent of cinnamon and honey, and the joy here was palpable. There was a buzzing electricity that crackled in the air. This was what all those Christmas movies strove to recreate but could never quite capture, and Emma took it all in knowing that her husband had made this just for her.

Scanning the room for him, Emma was first greeted with the sight of her Mom and Dad and brother. They came forward immediately, hugging her and Hope and Henry and extending their thoughts.

“Oh, honey, you look spectacular!” her mother exclaimed with tears in her eyes, holding her hands and looking at her red dress. It was a truly wonderous design, that hugged every one of Emma’s curves just right while still feeling of the season. It was classic and timeless and more than a little sexy, but it was appropriate for the night, when everyone was dressed to the nines.

“So do you guys,” Emma said honestly, taking in her mom’s sapphire ball gown, and her Dad and brother’s tuxes.

“I’m a princess, Grandpa,” Hope said happily and Emma’s father immediately agreed as the band began to play a slower melody.

“There’s no denying that. Care to dance with me, Princess Hope?” He asked, bowing to her daughter. Hope giggled but took Emma’s hand instinctively, looking at her for permission and clarity.

“What about you, Mama?”

“Don’t worry, sprout,” Henry said nodding across the room and using his favorite nickname for his sister. “Dad’s got her taken care of.”

Emma’s heart skipped a beat at the mention of Killian, as if this was a first date and not years into their marriage. She couldn’t help the butterflies swarming within her, and then, like magic the crowd of people parted, and there, across the room was her man. It should have come as no surprise how handsome he would look. Emma was well versed in how roguishly hot her pirate could be, but in a tux it was a whole other story. Maybe it was the rarity of seeing him like this, or maybe Killian was just one of those men who was born to wear a tux, but either way she was struck by him. Everything seemed to stop around her, and all she could sense was the man who completely owned her heart.

A few moments later they were together again. Emma hadn’t even realize she’d been walking towards him, and him to her, but when he took her hand she felt her blood hum in anticipation. She was caught in his eyes, sensing the mixture of love and desire that was so intoxicating, and waiting for him to speak, because words in this moment truly failed her.

“You look stunning, Swan,” he said to her, the gravel of his tone washing over her and sending a shiver down her spine in that delicious kind of way. “The fantasies I’d conjured in my mind’s eye could never do you justice.”

“So you were fantasizing about this, huh?” she asked, her voice thready as she turned, purposefully taunting him with a view of all her best angles. This time he let out a low growl that spiked her desire to tease him. God damn, there were people around! How could she be this hot and bothered? Oh right, she was married to a sinfully attractive and impossibly romantic man. This was par for the course.

“Aye, love, and I promise those musings will prove more than satisfactory when we get home.” His voice dipped low and she swallowed hard, trying to tamp down her own building need. Then something shifted in his eyes, and she knew before he said a word that something immensely thoughtful was about to be shared. “I hope it’s everything that you wanted, love. Those blasted ‘Hallmark towns’ have a lot more built-in Christmas cheer than Storybrooke, but all it took was a hint that this was what you wanted, and everyone came together.”

It dawned on her that the wish he was referring to was one that she’d made a few weekends ago when they were laying in bed watching TV. She usually skipped the Hallmark Christmas extravaganza, but this year she was feeling sentimental. Maybe it was the fact that Hope was finally hitting an age where she was starting to understand the season, or more likely it was the pregnancy hormones from their little one on the way. She was only twelve weeks along, and wasn’t even showing yet, but her self-coined pregnancy induced crazy brain was in full swing, and had been from the start. The only thing getting her through most days was Killian, and then he went and did something like this… it was too much for her, she couldn’t take it.

“I love you,” she confessed, blurting it out like it was some big secret instead of established fact. “Like a lot. A lot a lot.”

“A lot a lot,” Killian parroted with a grin, pulling her with him out to the dance floor before taking her in his arms. She melded into his muscled physique, trying not to swoon as the melody carried them away.

“You know I’m not as good at the whole poetic declarations thing as you are.”

“Few can be, love,” he joked. She raised her brow at him in quiet consternation, and he only laughed before turning her into a low dip on the dance floor and reminding her that he was in total control of himself out here. “But where words might fail you, action is your strong suit. You show me every day how much you love me, Emma. And every day I thank my lucky stars to have that love.”

He made a fair point. Emma was, after all, a woman of action, and so she decided to take some now. Though they were dancing, she stalled their moment to pull him in for a kiss, giving them both a taste of what was to come when the night drew to a close. The sparks between them ignited instantly, and without looking, Emma knew some of her magic was radiating from within. When they pulled apart she was almost dizzy from the delight, but Killian was even more effected. He had that boyish grin of his in full display, and that tiny hint of bashfulness that came when he’d done something really well. Only when she heard the oohing and aahing of the people around them did she realize their magic had created stars along the ceiling of the barn, making it appear that they were all dancing under an inky black sky bursting with constellations.

From a distance, Emma heard her daughter ask if it was ‘magic time’ now, but before she and Killian needed to step in, Regina told her ‘Not tonight, kid,’ and Henry whisked her off for her another dance. This gave Emma and Killian time, time to enjoy the fruits of all he’d done, and to revel in this moment for as long as they could.

“Merry Christmas, Killian. You’ve made it so perfect, I never want it to end.”

“What is it they say in those movies, love? Oh right – every day is Christmas when we’re together.”

And even though it was horribly corny, and she should have rolled her eyes at such a lame joke, Emma found that she couldn’t. She was simply too happy and grateful to feign otherwise. Instead she savored every moment of their Christmas dance, and the night they shared thereafter, knowing this would be one of the best days she’d ever had, and that somehow, some way, her pirate would find other means of making the future just as bright.

……………………

Girl I got a no problem Yeah, it's a bad habit, the way I gotta have it With or without you around All ya gotta do is call me, and tell me that you're lonely You're always stringing me out Yeah, they say the first step to quitting it Is admitting it, so here it is Girl, I think I got a no problem On my hands, 'cause I can't say no to you Once you start you know I can't stop it Even if I wanted to Yeah, I get tongue tied every time I try To do what I oughta do Girl, I got a no problem Yeah, 'cause I can't say no to you Girl, I should know better, yeah, I should know never To let you in just to leave If it's just two letters, then why can't I ever Find a way to piece 'em together Let's say the first step to quitting it Is admitting it, I'm admitting it, here it is Girl, I think I got a no problem On my hands, 'cause I can't say no to you Once you start you know I can't stop it Even if I wanted to Yeah, I get tongue tied every time I try To do what I oughta do Girl, I got a no problem Yeah, 'cause I can't say no to you Those smokey blue eyes staring back at me Yeah, you already know if you're asking me What the answer's always gonna be It's gonna be, yeah Girl, I think I got a no problem On my hands, 'cause I can't say no to you Once you start you know I can't stop it Even if I wanted to Yeah, I get tongue tied every time I try To do what I oughta do Girl, I got a no problem Yeah, 'cause I can't say no to you Those smokey blue eyes staring back at me Can't say no to you Yeah, you already know if you're asking me Girl, I got a no problem That the answer's always gonna be 'Cause I can't say no to you Girl, I got a no problem 'Cause I can't say no to you

Post-Note: So, what did you think? Hopefully you enjoyed this little dose of holiday cuteness and none of this is offensive in any way or to any story line. Most of you know I never watched the last season of the show, so I don’t know what they say happened to Henry and everybody. I only knew Emma and Killian did eventually have a baby girl named Hope. Anyway, I want to wish all of you a very Merry Christmas and healthy holiday season. I am grateful for you all, from the ride or die readers who comment on every post, to the people passing by who just wanted a little bit of Christmas cheer. You are such a force for good in my world, whoever you are, and I thank you for your light and kindness in these trying time. I wish you all the best this Christmas and in the New Year, and more than anything I wish you love! Sending my best vibes your way now and always, xE.

The Captain Swan Mixtape oneshot series:

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9,Part 10,Part 11, Part 12,Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24,Part 25, Part 26, Part 27, Part 28, Part 29, Part 30, Part 31,Part 32, Part 33, Part 34, Part 35, Part 36, Part 37, Part 38,Part 39,Part 40, Part 41, Part 42, Part 43, Part 44, Part 45,Part 46,Part 47, Part 48, Part 49, Part 50, Part 51, Part 52, Part 53,Part 54,Part 55, Part 56, Part 57, Part 58, Part 59, Part 60,Part 61,Part 62, Part 63, Part 64, Part 65, Part 66, Part 67, Part 68,Part 69,Part 70, Part 71, Part 72, Part 73, Part 74, Part 75,Part 76,Part 77, Part 78, Part 79, Part 80, Part 81, Part 82, Part 83,Part 84,Part 85, Part 86, Part 87, Part 88, Part 89, Part 90,Part 91,Part 92, Part 93, Part 94, Part 95, Part 96, Part 97, Part 98,Part 99,Part 100, Part 101, Part 102, Part 103,Part 104, Part 105,Part 106, Part 107,Part 108, Part 109, Part 110,Part 111, Part 112,Part 113, Part 114, Part 115,Part 116, Part 117, Part 118,Part 119,Part 120, Part 121, Part 122, Part 123,Part 124, Part 125,Part 126, Part 127, Part 128,Part 129,Part 130, Part 131,Part 132,Part 133, Part 134, Part 135, Part 136, Part 137, Part 138,Part 139,Part 140, Part 141, Part 142, Part 143, Part 144, Part 145,Part 146, Part 147, Part 148,Part 149, Part 150, Part 151,Part 152, Part 153, Part 154, Part 155, Part 156, Part 157, Part 158,Part 159, Part 160, Part 161, Part 162, Part 163, Part 164,Part 165, Part 166, Part 167, Part 168, Part 169, Part 170,Part 171,Part 172, Part 173, Part 174, Part 175, Part 176,Part 177, Part 178, Part 179 , Part 180, Part 181, Part 182, Part 183, Part 184, Part 185, Part 186, Part 187, Part 188, Part 189, Part 190, Part 191, Part 192, Part 193, Part 194, Part 195

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moonoreos · 4 years

Text

fic: it’s a metaphor

Dosan remembers that first day. He saw her in the midst of a bustling crowd. He saw her, and it was as if time had stood still. He very well knew time actually did not stop, but it sure felt like it had. Pedestrians zigzagged through the paved concrete to make their way across the park, but he stayed immobile. It was only when their eyes met that he released the breath he had been holding.

Was that the moment everything changed?

It’s impossible not to agonize over what could have been in the aftermath of heartbreak. It was all he could think about for a good while. He spent years trying to beat it out of himself, trying to convince his wayward heart that it doesn’t need an anchor, but one look at her and he’s right back where he began. Time away did nothing to dull the sting. It remains just as acute as it was the day it found him.

Or was it when it first dawned on him that sail off without a map held a world of possibilities?

She is leaning against his shoulder now, asleep and unaware of the chaos she inspires in his mind. The fire he stoked earlier crackles in the quiet night. He's not sure if the warmth emanating through his body is feeling its effect or the effects of her closeness that he has been starved for all this time.

Dalmi shifts a fraction, and the hair he’d tucked behind her ear falls over her face again. Reflexively, he reaches over and pulls it back for her. She has smudges of dirt on both of her cheeks. He thumbs over one side, and it’s barely a graze but he still feels the pleasant buzz of her skin. The smudge remains. With a sigh, he turns to the business plan he holds in his hands.

The possibilities were endless, Dalmi had said about Tarzan. Just how much could it learn?

Dalmi has always been a dreamer. A seasoned one at that who is keen on solving problems, not letting them become the nail on the coffin of the ideas she spins.

It was a concept he couldn’t ever grasp. To dream was to be brave, to want something so unfailingly that the prospect of failure itself would never be a deterrent. It was a terrifying idea. He could not set himself up for something that was just as likely to fail as it was to succeed. Life offered too many uncontrolled variables, too many uncertainties.

He flips through the pages, studying the scope and intended applications, the road to an MVP, short term and long term goals, and he can see it all so clearly. Dosan has never been particularly visually inclined, but Dalmi evokes something in him. She has a formula figured out, a way of imagining things, that immediately make sense to his one-track mind. She speaks, and he sees colors in her words—red, green, blue, and all the others he never thought of before he met her. He sees moving pictures brought to life in vivid sharpness, sees the solution of a problem he had never even thought of. Dalmi is a visionary, bursting with life and ideas for how it can be elevated. Dosan became familiar with the sense of fulfillment that had alluded him most of his life in working with Dalmi, in making her colorful, broad stroked dreams come true.

Perhaps that is why she came to be his dream. He wonders now; was it then that he reached the point of no return? When he realized that he wanted nothing more than to become the man who was deserving of her beautiful heart and the pure, unbridled warmth it exuded? It was the first thing he'd wanted unfailingly, even with the heavily skewed probability that he was going to fail.

Dalmi stirs awake, lifts her head off his shoulders leaving room for the cold air to rush in.

“Ah, I’m sorry,” she says, not looking at him.

“You should get some more sleep.”

“No,” she says, decisively turning to him. “I didn’t come here to sleep. We need to—”

She is pointing at the Tarzan business plan still in his hands.

“Did you read it?”

“Yeah.”

“What did you think?”

What did he think?

His thoughts are clear as the starry night sky, but he struggles to verbalize them. This is another fork in the road. The first time he knowingly took the wrong turn. The road was riddled with several thorns, but the joy of falling in love with Dalmi easily overpowered any pain he felt, any pain he still feels. If given the chance, he’d take the same wrong turn again in a heartbeat.

But he needs to do right by her this time. It’s what Dalmi deserves. He will survive even if he is not standing next to Dalmi, even if there is someone else in place next to her. After three years being oceans apart, he’s just grateful that he gets to breathe the same air as her.

“What can I do to make you work with us? At least tell me the terms you want,” she prods, when Dosan doesn’t offer anything.

“Forget it.”

“Stock options, ten percent?”

“Dalmi-ah, forget it.”

“Or do you want shares now? I can try and persuade unnie.”

“The money I got when 2STO took over Samsan Tech,” he begins, steadying his voice. “I still have it. With that money, I want to acquire shares in Cheongmyeong Company.”

He turns to face her, holds her gaze confidently, as she furrows her brows in confusion.

“What are you talking about? That should be your money. Just join the company. About shares, I’ll talk to unnie—”

“That’s my condition.”

The question in her eyes makes the dull ache in his chest sharper.

“I know, you and Team Leader Han are…,” he can’t say it, he just can’t. “I will always respect your decision. In business and—, and in everything.”

He looks away, moves to pick up the cup ramen that is lukewarm to touch now. He can still feel the weight of her eyes on him. It makes the storm inside his heart rage even harder. He reaches for the second cup ramen and pushes it towards her.

“Team Leader Han and I,” she starts, pulling the chopsticks off the edge of the cup ramen. “We’re not… we’re not together.”

It’s possible his jaw would have dropped to the floor if he hadn’t been chewing mouthful of ramen. He slurps the last of it and looks at Dalmi uncertainly.

“But Team Leader—”

“It’s not true,” she interrupts, hastily.

Dosan would be much more upset with Han Jipyeong if Dalmi hadn’t been looking at him with her wide expectant eyes this very moment.

“I—,” he starts, and stumbles immediately. “I mean, it would’ve made sense if you two were together. He is your first love.”

“My first love, Nam Dosan from the letters, doesn’t exist.” She sighs, setting the cup ramen down. “My first love was an illusion, but my feelings for you, the real Nam Dosan, was never an illusion. I’m sorry I said things I didn’t mean.” Her voice is shaking by the end, her eyes filled with tears.

Dosan is overwhelmed, but his hands move of their own accord when her tears spill. He pulls her closer instinctively, an old habit borne out of the need to reassure her in times of distress.

“Dalmi-ah. Don’t cry.” He has her face cupped in his hands, wipes the tears running down her cold cheeks with his thumbs.

“I thought about you everyday,” she says, lips quivering. And Dosan can’t believe what he is hearing. He wants to echo her words, because it’s true for him too. His every waking moment was haunted by traces of her—sometimes as a pleasant memory that gave him the strength to pull through a difficult day, more often as an omnipresent ache in the hollow of his chest. He wants to tell her these things, so she knows what she means to him, but there is a knot in his throat that he can’t unentangle. All he can bring himself to say is, “Why?"

She blinks back her tears, looks at him in confusion. “Why do you like me?” He asks again.

He continues when she doesn’t offer a response. “I am not the one who wrote the letters. I’m not the one who comforted you. I lied to you, I hurt you. Why do you like me?”

Dosan feels tears stinging the corner of his own eyes. He’s still recovering from the whiplash after learning that Dalmi is not with Han Jipyeong, but these doubts have plagued him for a long time. Even when things were fine between them, before the house of cards crumbled, he could never be sure that it was really him that Dalmi liked.

She takes a deep breath, reaches for his hands that are still cupping her face. Her hands bring a sharp awareness, but Dosan doesn’t flinch. It warms his heart instead as she uses her own hand to steady his and nuzzles her cheek into his palm further.

Sensing what is coming next, he beats her to the punch. “You like my hands. Only my hands. How can that beat someone you held in your heart for fifteen years?”

“You really don’t know, do you?” The pain in her eyes is a pinch in his own chest. He would do anything to take it away from her, but he needs to know for certain so he persists.

“Why do you like me?”

“It’s a metaphor,” she says, squeezing his hand.

“What?"

“Your hands. They’re so much more than just that, they're all of you. I like you because of you. You’re the whole and only reason.”

It takes a moment for him to process this but when he does, he is dizzy with relief. Dosan feels his heart soar, and suddenly, he is a different kind of overwhelmed. Tears spill over his eyes, but he's smiling through them. Dalmi’s eyes soften, and mirror the relief on his own. For the first time in a really long time, it feels like they are on the same page again. And that means everything to him.

His eyes slip to her parted lips, his thumb inches closer and just barely grazes the tip of her cupid’s bow. She closes her eyes at that. Dosan doesn’t know much about physical intimacy, but he knows that that's a green light.

Nam Dosan has relived their first kiss countless times since that blissful evening on the Morning Group rooftop. He had been so sure he would never forget the softness of her lips, the dizzying force of her fondness. It had been one of the few things that kept him going when he woke up in a foreign city, not knowing how he fit in, for three years.

When their lips touch, he knows his memory had failed him. Her lips are ice cold but gliding his own against it is a high like no other. They kiss slowly at first, like they are building a fire from the sparks that fly between them. She moves closer, snakes her arms around his neck, and the fire ignites in earnest. Dosan chases after the heat, licks it off her bottom lip, and feels her breath hitche. Reluctantly, he breaks the kiss but he can’t bring himself to put much distance between them. Dalmi’s cheeks are tinted pink, and the smudges of dirt do nothing to deter from the picture of loveliness she makes.

She opens her eyes after a moment, like she’s waking up from a daze. Her pupils are dilated, and her brows raised in question.

“Thank you,” he says, voice hoarse and overcome with emotion. He doesn’t wait for a response, immediately leans back in and closes the gap between them. There’s so much more that needs to be said, but it can wait. Tomorrow will come soon enough, and the sun will bring with it light and clarity.

For now though, under the cloak of the starry night, Dosan wants to curl closer to her warmth, and whisper his boundless longing into her lips.

#start-up #startup #tvn start up #nam dosan #seo dalmi #dodal

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whaticannotshowyou · 4 years

Note

So... How about parasites? Geralt (or another witcher of your choice) winds up with a particularly nasty tentacly parasite that lives off come. It attaches itself to its hosts balls and kicks up their come production, keeps them from getting hard so they can't come inside anyone, and drives them to get fucked as often as possible for more food. It reaches out its host's cock to empty the come from its host's ass after they've been fucked. (cont)

(cont) the whole thing is painful, of course, so Geralt winds up with constantly aching, swollen balls that get bigger as the parasite does, even as he's desperate to get fucked more and more often. Maybe the parasite eventually devours its host's balls eventually, once it runs out of space, and then it reproduces.

I... I am speechless. This hits so many of my niche kinks in just the right ways, idk how you did this, but I am not complaining. The parasite, swollen and aching balls, ramped up come production, constantly flaccid, desperation, a vaguely gorey ending or just plainly bed-end scenario... A masterpiece...

Geralt obviously just gets himself into problems all the time so it’s no surprise he would end up with a goddamn come parasite in him. Perhaps he is sent on a contract to some monster’s lair where a soawn of the creatures manages to get to him or he is helping some poor lad out who is convinced his cock is cursed or something. Either way he gets infected and only ever finds out when it’s too late, the parasite already rooted inside if him and dormant until it has grown enough to carry out it’s purpose. It starts pretty innocently, Geralt just feeling a little pent up after a while and deciding to jack off. He can’t get fully hard though, his cock only chubbing up a small bit as he strios his cock for minutes on end. Giving up, Geralt doesn’t think much of it, chokes it up to just not actually being in the mood or something. By the fourth time in a row, he starts suspecting something is wrong.

As much as me jacks off, he doesn’t even get the tiniest amount of hard. He feels so backed up, yet he can’t see any trace of pre in his smallclothes or from his dick. Then he feels the itch in his hole, the smallest sensation hinestly but still there, noticeable thanks to his witcher senses. I think he would ignore it for a few days before he actually oils his fingers up to test it, sighing as it just gets worse the more he stretches himself out. Eventually it gets bad enough he actually goes to a whore for it, the man at least kind enough to not mention his soft cock as he fucks him silly. At least his prostate works, so that’s something. Would even like to think he gets the absolute weirdest orgasm from it, can feel his balls draw up and pump, yet nothing escapes from his cock and he is left more unsatisfied than ever. But the man inside of him scratches that itch still, makes him moan and shudder as he thrusts inside.

When the whore comes, Geralt can feel it all end in the most pleasurable way ever, the itch gone and him just pliant and sated without his own orgasm ever truly coming. He loves it and pays the man as he stays the night in bed, relaxed and finally able to sleep properly. It’s a few hours later that he wakes up to the nagging feeling once again flaring up. It’s stupid, honestly, but he bends down to get his medallion hanging just above his member and feels the faintest hum, then tracing the metal down himself and feeling it grow. He stops by his balls as the vibrations grow the strongest, not too bad but definitely there and very much unusual.

He doesn’t have to ponder long on it though, feeling something travelling up his urethra and with horror sees as a small tendril emerges. He groans and watches it travel down, down, past his balls and into his arse. When it retreats he feels... hollow. Empty. Well, shit.

He tries most things; magic, banishment, runes - hell he even tries literally just jacking off until the thing dies. All it does is make his cock sore and parasite practically rumble with content. The itch only gets worse after the first time as well, Geralt finding himself more or less craving a cock up his hole for most times of the day and it all impeding heavily with his work. If you’re into that, he might just let some monster in season breed his full of come the little thing can eat right up.

It at lends itself to the thing growing bigger, his balls swollen and tender as time goes by. Each time a man bottoms out inside of him the slap against his balls makes him wince, the pain radiating up his body as he just feels so backed up and full. Still, his cock hangs limply and useless, Geralt unable to do anything about his predicament as the thing grows and grows.

So my brain supplied me with a solution, to be fair, that I believe some healer, wizard or sorcerer would come up with as well. If the thing is magical in nature, which one would assume given the fact it makes Geralt crave cock, it would be weak to silver. Cue Geralt being tied down as someone uses a silver rod as a sound on his cock, forcing it down his flaccid member and holding him still as he writhes as the parasite dies inside of him from the exposure. Then maybe we could get a whole thing of the other extracting this beast through his cock, the stretch just far too much and Geralt watching in horror as he slowly gets to see just what was inside of him.

But I absolutely adore the ending given by the anon, the parasite simply devouring Geralt’s balls as it runs out of space and practically snips the witcher with excruciating pain. Or, it leaves the skin alone, turning itself into more of a liquid state before raging the man’s hormones, making Geralt painfully hard and unable to not fuck whoever is closest to him, the parasite being the only thing escaping him as his testicles are gone. He thus infects several others, only coming back to it as he is done and left “cured” again.

#answer #nc #mc #gr #misc

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thegayhimbo · 4 years

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True Blood Season 1 Review Part 1 (Spoilers Ahead)

It’s been about 2 years since I first saw season 1. Contrary to the hundreds of GIFs and posts that I’ve reblogged about True Blood, I’m a lot more familiar with the later seasons of the show than I am with the first season. When I first viewed season 1, it didn’t click with me, and the only reason I sat through it is because I had seen clips from season 2 that convinced me the show was worth watching. I’m not someone who usually gets into the vampire genre (aside for a brief period of time when I was in middle school), but something about True Blood hooked me in and got me to watch it. I can’t say that it’s a show I completely love, but I am inspired to talk about it.

In any case, I’m doing a rewatch for the first time as a way of getting closure on this show, and maybe moving on so that it isn’t in the back of my head all the time. I also wanted to view the show with fresh eyes, and see if my opinions changed while watching it.

This review will be split into 2 parts because I’m realizing that I have a lot to say about season 1, and it’s gonna get lengthy. Part 1 will just focus on my general opinion about the season. Part 2 (which will be posted a few days from now) will focus on my thoughts about how the vampires ar portrayed on the show.

Overall, my opinion about season 1 improved a little bit during rewatch. It’s not my favorite season of television (and Lord knows there are issues with it), but it’s a lot better than I remember it being. The casting is stellar, and I didn’t have any problems with the actors or how they played their characters. The interactions between the characters kept me engaged even when the main story started to drag (more on that in a minute).

While re-watching season 1, I was surprised to pick up on some subtle aspects that had been planted by the writers in season 1 that I missed the first time around, and that would come into play in the later seasons. For instance:

Sookie mentioning that her cousin Hadley had been missing for over a year since she ran away from the rehab center that Gran paid for, and that she didn’t know how to get hold of her (all of which makes sense come season 2).

The appearance of Theodore Newlin (Steve Newlin’s father), his subsequent death in the 3rd episode, and Steve Newlin taking the reigns of the Fellowship of the Sun

Bill warning Malcom, Liam, and Diane that he knew of “higher authorities” than Eric, and Diane saying “Well she can suck on sunlight for all I care” (All references to Queen Sophie Anne).

Diane mentioning that Bill “used to be fun” and that he had a very “sizable appetite.” Also, the reference to Bill having a sexual relationship with Diane in the 1930s (which is around the time he left Lorena).

Jason telling Amy about how his parents died, and how he felt responsible for it (the death of their parents becomes a major plot point later on).

There’s a lot to be said about the way the later seasons handled its arcs, but I think the writers were planting seeds in season 1 for future stories and twists that would be revealed down the road. Some of them were capitalized on. Others weren’t.

I will say for the record that I firmly believe the twist about Bill that gets revealed in season 3 was planned by Alan Ball and the other writers from the beginning of the show, and it does color the way I view Bill’s character and his relationship with Sookie, even in season 1. I should also point out that one particular aspect of the season 3 twist came directly from the books (and those who have read them know what I’m talking about here), so there’s that. Again, I’ll go more into detail about the Bill/Sookie relationship and my thoughts on it as I go through this rewatch.

In regards to the main story about a serial killer coming to Bon Temps and Sookie trying to figure out who it is, I will admit that not only did I NOT find this story engaging anymore, I thought it DRAGGED and should have been resolved within 6-7 episodes as opposed to 12. It’s a lot less thrilling when you already know who the killer is, and while there are some nice clues and red herrings that get dropped, the constant attempts at misdirection (like that scene when Sam goes over to Dawn’s house and sniffs her sheets, or Jason consistently being framed for murder) feels time-consuming instead of fun. It doesn’t help that the story loses momentum halfway through the season, and gets bogged down by all these other subplots that don’t connect to it at all.

Also, I didn’t pick up on this the first time, but rewatching has helped me realize there are some irritating plot holes with the story I couldn’t overlook. For instance:

In one scene, Sam goes to Dawn's house to sniff around and pick up Rene's scent. Later on, he’s at Gran’s house after Gran died where he also should have identified that same scent since Rene climbed through the window. And considering that Rene spent a huge amount of time at Merlotte's and interacted with Sam on many occasions, Sam should have been easily able to associate Rene's scent with the scents he found at the crime scene, and figured out early on that Rene was the killer. So why does it take him so long to connect two and two when Sam already knows what Rene smells like?

Likewise, it's been established that vampires have a good sense of smell. Bill was around Rene in several scenes, and should have been able to pick up his scent at Gran's house after she was murdered. So how come this doesn't happen?

On top of that, when Bill gets interrogated by Andy and Bud about Gran's murder, he claims that he heard a car (most likely Rene's) pulling up across the cemetery to Gran's house. He also claims that vampires had heightened senses. However, when Sookie finally reads Rene's mind in the season finale, it's shown that Gran screams and Rene shouts at her before killing her. So if Bill could hear Rene driving up to Gran's house.................then how come he didn't hear Rene and Gran shouting at one another before Gran got killed?

For that matter, why did Rene go over to Gran’s house in the first place? He knew that Sookie was going on a date with Sam. He saw them leave the church together, and he had no idea when Sookie was going to be back. It came off like really poor planning on his part for someone who’s been methodical about how he killed people up to this point.

Also, why didn’t Rene throw away the video he took from Maudette’s house, as well as the tape on bulding a Cajun accent? That seems incredibly stupid leaving that stuff around from someone (like Arlene’s kids) to find, especially since he no longer had use for that stuff.

There’s also the way Sookie’s mind reading abilities work. I thought the way that was handled was not only inconsistent, but that it also didn’t make sense how she didn’t pick up on Rene being the killer in the first place. Everything about that screamed “plot convenience.”

The other thing I noticed is that a lot of the problems that fans complain about in the later seasons (added side-plots, deviating from the books, added supernatural creatures, plot holes, inconsistent mythology, characters making stupid decisions, the focus on vampire politics, the problems with the Bill/Sookie relationship, etc) can all be traced back to season 1. To give a few examples:

There were a BUNCH of side-plots in season 1, from the Jason/Eddie/Amy arc to Tara’s exorcism and her conflicting relationship with Lettie Mae to Lafayette’s hook-up with the closeted gay senator to Sam’s backstory to Bill’s trial and so on. I didn’t have an issue with this because I get the idea was to do world-building and show different sides to the characters (if anything, I found the side-plots more interesting than the main story), but I always find it odd that one of the biggest complaints about the later seasons was the added side-plots and how people couldn’t follow them. Frankly, I thought they were pretty easy to follow, and could even be engaging at times.

Even in season 1, the show introduced other supernatural creatures besides vampires. Sam was revealed as a shapeshifter, Maryann was introduced as this unknown entity (and would later be revealed to be a Maenad), Sam mentioned the existence of werewolves to Sookie, and even Sookie was implied to be a supernatural herself because of her ability to read minds. Add in the fact that the books had a plethora of other supernatural creatures (werepanthers, faeries, demons, witches, etc) that were bound to be introduced, and I think it’s pretty fair to say that this show wasn’t always going to stay “grounded in realism” like some people complain it should have been.

Vampire politics was always there from the beginning: The show was NOT subtle about its “vampires as a metaphor for oppressed minorities” message that it kept shoving out there (and again, I will talk more about that in my part 2 review because there’s a lot to be said about they way vampires are portrayed on this show). Characters like Nan Flannigan and Steve Newlin were introduced in season 1 (albeit regulated to TV) as well as organizations like the American Vampire League (AVL) and the Fellowship of the Sun (FOTS). There was already a conflict within the vampire community between vampires who mainstreamed and vampires who wanted to keep killing humans like they’d done in the past. Bill’s trial gave an extremely ugly look into how vampires dispensed justice among their own kind. And there were constant references to the VRA (Vampire Rights Amendment). This show was pretty clear from the beginning that the driving force behind this story was about whether or not vampires could integrate into human society and co-exist peacefully with humans.

Also, in addition to the added side-plots, we also had the expansion of characters like Lafayette (whose character was completely different from the books) and the introduction of Jessica (who wasn’t in the books at all). Basically, this show was already beginning to deviate from the books even before the later seasons happened.

The way V works in this universe is all over the place. For some people (like Jason and Amy) it acts like an LSD drug, whereas with Sookie, it just gives her heightened senses and dreams about Bill. Lafayette does briefly tell Jason that V has different effects depending on the individual, so maybe this really isn’t a plot-hole. However, at the same time, it just feels like V was whatever the writers wanted it to be. In other words, inconsistent mythology was already a thing in season 1.

As for characters doing stupid stuff, this came as a surprise to me as well, but it isn’t just limited to Jason. Some examples include:

Tara deciding to drive drunk down the road in the middle of the night while downing a bottle of Vodka (and later getting arrested for it).

Sam sleeping on the same bed as Sookie in dog form, even though he knew (or should have known) that he could transform back into human form while sleeping, and Sookie would see him naked (which is exactly what happens).

Lafayette deciding it’s a good idea to sell Jason V instead of just giving Jason the Viagra he requested in the first place.

Bill letting Diane, Malcom, and Liam into his house when he knew Sookie was coming over to give him the numbers for the electrician. Also it was pretty stupid of him to not consider how Diane, Liam, and Malcom would react to seeing Sookie, or whether or not Sookie would be scared off by the way those three were acting.

Bill deciding it’s a good idea to mouth-off to The Magister about mainstreaming when a.) It is painfully obvious that the Magister doesn’t care about seeing humans as equals, and b.) Bill stands the risk of angering the Magister and making his situation worse than it already is.

Andy’s insistence that Jason is good for the murders without considering all of the evidence, and his refusal to admit he’s wrong. That, and he sucks as a cop.

Sookie using the gun to attack Rene, run out of the house................and then throw the gun into the bushes instead of keeping it as a weapon to defend herself.

Bill choosing not to erase the bite marks on Sookie, which could have made her a target for other people who hated fangbangers (although it’s debatable whether or not this was stupidity on Bill’s part or if this was done intentionally).

And I’m sure there are plenty of other examples, but my point is that Jason isn’t the only one making stupid decisions here. Again, YMMV on whether or not a character’s stupidity makes sense in the context of the story, or if it just screams “plot convenience,” but it was there. It seems like Jason gets made the scapegoat by fans for everything that was wrong with the first season whereas the problems with other characters/stories get ignored because of inherent biases in the fandom.

I know it sounds like I’m ragging on this season, and I guess in some ways I am because I’ve long been tired of the constant bashing of the later seasons, as well as the excessive hate that gets directed at some of my favorite characters (Jason and Tara) while everyone consistently ignores the other problems with characters and stories that existed as far back as season 1. I am being genuine when I say that season 1 had its moments (the Tara and Lafayette moments were probably the highlights of that season) and it was better than I remember it, but it’s not a favorite of mine. I don’t really see myself going back to rewatch season 1 as often as the other season. And if it had been the only season of True Blood they made, I probably never would have watched it again. Like I said, something about season 1 just didn’t work for me, and I think a lot of that has to do with the show placing more emphasis on the character’s flaws over their redeeming qualities. It was season 2 rectified this and helped to soften the characters in a way where I cared about them.

Stay tuned for Part 2 where I’ll give my opinions on how I think the show handled vampires.

#true blood #tgh opinions #true blood rewatch #bill compton #sookie stackhouse #jason stackhouse #sam merlotte #lafayette reynolds #tara thornton #rene lenier #arlene fowler #diane hardwicke #liam mcknight #malcom beaumarchais #alan ball #vampires #the southern vampire mysteries #true blood season 1 #true blood spoilers

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lovemeafterhrs · 4 years

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new years eve | t. kuroo

nye shitshow based HEAVILY on mal blum’s new years eve and the mess of drafts i’ve written at 3am for the past week. im a sucker for a good tetsu fic and i have quite a few in the works,, kinda weird coming from an akaashi main but it is what it is i guess

~~~~

new year’s eve had always held a lot of value deep in her heart; her need to say goodbye to the past was never fleeting, and most things ended with the resolutions of many years before.

but that year was different.

college was a new, welcome surprise that took her by the horns and dragged her through complete chaos day after day. most of the casual destruction was traced back to kuroo tetsurou, her (not so) beloved roommate and destroyer of ikea furniture.

among the cast of revolving characters that passed through their shared apartment, bokuto was definitely the most interesting.

he just so happened to also be the root of kuroo’s evil.

as months passed and the seasons began to shift around her, she became accustomed to dealing with the duo and their crowd of volleyball misfits.

but nothing could compare to the horror that awaited her on new year’s eve.

she hadn’t taken into account that people would arrive long before her roommate did, and most of her time would be spent observing his friends downing shots from the small kitchen island.

yachi had been the first to approach her that night, noticing the concern that marked her features as she struggled not to check the time.

the girl brought a sense of comfort that had previously been missing, and her face brightened at the wine in the other girl’s coffee mug.

the two sat at the kitchen island together, eating guacamole and drinking boxed wine from coffee cups. they observed the many drunken behaviors of the people around them, giggling to themselves with pink dusting their cheeks.

by the time kuroo stumbled through the door, the clock on the coffee pot showed 11:58 in a bright red glow. yachi’s tolerance had gotten the best of her, and two wine bottles laid empty on the counter next to her. the girl was entirely trashed, and abandoned her post at the island for a necessary trip to the bathroom.

kuroo’s apologetic smile met her eyes, and the disappointed look on her face was enough to keep him at arm's length for the rest of the evening.

yachi had returned shortly after, and the two sat together as the clock struck midnight. shouts were heard from all around her, but she could only focus on the rooster headed man’s drunken smile as he leaned in to kiss tsukishima.

that of course, was met with complete and utter disgust. but that’s entirely besides the point.

~~~~

365 days later, and she’s found her way back to the marble of her countertop.

much to her dismay, yachi had been out of town that year. instead of joining the crowd of rowdy 20-somethings, she chose to sit back and remember the moments that began the year.

the year prior had been disappointing considering her expectations, but she hadn’t forgotten all the memories she’d made.

she didn’t enjoy cleaning bokuto’s vomit out of the carpet the next day, and she could barely remember how the night played out in the first place. the shrimp tsukishima brought had given half the guests food poisoning, but the night lived on in her heart regardless.

in the middle of her tipsy daydream, kuroo sunk himself into the stool next to her; a drunken smile plastered on his face as he moved for the bowl of guacamole.

“this year’s already over,” he stated, glancing over at the other guests. “how crazy is that?”

“it’s really weird, actually.” she sighed, and his eyes snapped over to her as she continued. “last year, yachi ate that entire bowl of guacamole. now it’s barely been touched since the party started.”

“hey, don’t be sad! it’s about to turn midnight, and you can’t be upset when the new year starts!” his attitude was enough to make her smile, but it didn’t quite meet her eyes as the people surrounding her started to count down from five.

something clicked in kuroo’s brain as the clock struck midnight, and before he could think it through, his lips were on hers.

it only lasted a moment, but in that time she began to realize that maybe things could be different.

~~~~~

sometimes, observations of the situation are not enough to determine the outcome. in a whole year, they had managed to avoid the one topic that left far more questions than anything else.

instead of letting the year replay again, kuroo had made plans on the opposing side of the city. while she had intended to stay home with the long-forgotten guacamole, yachi had convinced her to spend the new year without the thoughts of her troublesome roommate.

that was how she came to stand at the bar of a bustling nightclub with her blonde companion, much too drunk for the loud and overwhelming atmosphere.

the clock had already signaled the beginning of another year, but it didn’t feel resolved.

there was no resolution.

instead of roping yachi into dealing with her problems, she decided to go back to the apartment she had spent many beginnings and endings in.

fumbling with her keys, she struggled to focus on the door handle as memories began to flood her senses.

kuroo dodged her calls for many days after he kissed her that night, and things never really felt the same. there was tension unlike before; the fear of being alone together and making another mistake compromised their ability to spend time in each other's company.

but he was also so kind that it hurt her. there was no ill intention within him, only fear of ruining what was previously established.

the realization sunk heavy into her heart as the door closed behind her, and her subconscious shouted for answers of what or who he was doing while she was sliding to the floor against the cold frame of the door.

it was possible to assume that he only flirted to pass time, but something about the way he looked at her scared them both into silence.

the fun, playful manner of their relationship came to an abrupt halt after new year’s eve, and neither of them could grasp quite what went wrong.

but she did know something; that even if she didn’t want to, her feelings for kuroo were becoming more and more obvious with every day. she couldn’t ignore it anymore, and that upset her more than him not being present in that moment.

the realization shocked her into getting up from her place on the floor, and shuffling over to the liquor cabinet.

drinking straight from the bottle, she took a seat on the kitchen island and placed her head against the cold marble of the counter top.

“here i am again,” she laughed to herself, disregarding the jingle of keys from the hallway.

the door swung open, and kuroo immediately took notice of her presence in the kitchen. he was obviously drunk, but the look in his eyes said the many things that he had never voiced to her.

“i don’t like it when you’re not here.” he stated, and she looked at him with confusion gracing her features. “new years wasn’t the same without you.”

“then we can have it here next year-”

“i don’t think you get what i'm saying,” he sighed, preparing for the worst out of his sudden confession. “i.. don’t think i want to spend it with anyone else.”

“oh..?” the surprise on her features was blatantly obvious, but the smile that followed brought all the certainty he needed. “our kitchen island has two chairs for a reason.”

“good. maybe next year, we can make guacamole.”

“i’d like that.”

masterlist:

#kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo tersurou #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu #yachi x reader #first of many kuroo trash fics xoxo #THE GUAC HAS SIGNIFICANCE TO THE SONG DONT COME AFTER ME

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s1cparvism4gna · 4 years

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PuNK

WARNINGS: SMUUUUT, cursing

Pairings: Rafe Adler x OC

Tags: @desertvvitch , @courtenbae , @tiecladartist

Author’s Note: I’m now going to be posting my fic chapters on this blog instead of the other. As always, let me know if you’d like to be tagged 💕 enjoy! 😉

Chapter 6

Lyric’s POV

The next week at work was… strange to say the least. First of all, I’d never been so well rested. Second, I had gotten a call from the dive bar that some fancy guy came in and bought all the Floral and Fading tee shirts. All of them. ‘Who needs 150 band tees? That are the same….’ I thought. I tried not to think much of it but we made a lot of money from it. Enough to get groceries and laundry done and enough to splurge on getting my nails done for Italy (which I still couldn’t believe I was even going!). The third reason, which was the strangest of them all, was Rafe. He was acting weird. And by weird, I mean he’d been smiling more and saying his morning greetings pleasantly. Instead of yelling bloody murder when he asked things of me, he’d temporarily step out of his office to physically look at me and pose his questions. And he’d say things like “please” or “would you mind”.... I was almost convinced he’d been abducted by aliens and replaced with a clone. He would let me go home early, he would extend my lunch breaks, and he even invited me to join him at lunch. On more than one occasion. To which I immediately but politely declined. It was too much too soon. It felt like a trap.

By the time Thursday rolled around, I had everything packed to go. The air in the office was as normal as always. Everyone was tired and complained about how shitty their morning was. Everyone but my coworker Winter who was solely interested in Rafe and I’s upcoming trip to Italy. But for all the wrong reasons…

“I just think he might have a little crush on you is all.” She said, scribbling in her journal and typing up something in her computer. I snorted rather loudly as I sipped on my coffee.

“That’s bullshit if I ever heard it—”

“Just hear me out!” She exclaimed, low enough for only the two of us to hear. She stood from her desk and scuttled over to sit on the edge of mine. I leaned back into my seat, legs crossed and lips pursed to keep myself from bursting into laughter.

“Please. I would love to hear your reasoning.” I said, awaiting her answer as if I was waiting for the punchline of a joke to kick in. She pushed her blonde hair behind her ears and leaned towards me.

“First of all, it’s really not that far off. He relies on you to get shit done around here. If you weren’t here, he’d be a wreck, this office would be a mess, and half of us would lose our jobs. Two! You haven’t even seen how he’s been looking at you lately—”

“He doesn’t see me—” I interrupted briefly, tugging on the collar of my light pink turtleneck and sipping my coffee.

“Bullshit. The other day when you two were in a meeting, you got up to do something for Mr. Ackles and I looked up for a split second, glanced in the conference room…. I swear to God, he could not stop staring at you. I mean everywhere you moved in the room, his eyes were on you.” She said to me. I crinkled my brows and opened my mouth to refute but truthfully I didn’t know what to say.

“I’m his assistant! He’s probably making sure that I don’t fuck up—” She made a face for me to shut up. So I tilted my head as she continued.

“And let's be real about this: we can not act like he’s not the most attractive man in the building.” She winked at me, looking around to make sure he wasn’t around. She wasn’t wrong. Rafe was very attractive. I just never stared long enough to be under his thrall. And I never would. He was much too uptight for me. “Ricki, look. You’re 32. You’re not gonna get any younger. And that punk act you’ve got going on isn't gonna last forever.” I scoffed, trying my best not to be offended. I put blood, sweat, tears, money, and sleep loss into my musical career.

“Wow…” I laughed, blinking at her a bit.

“Not saying that you won’t make it but… isn’t that type of music generally for the younger crowd?” She asked me. She wasn’t really helping herself.

“Keep on callin’ me old, Winter….” I warned her in a half joking tone.

“I just think that if it turns out that he really does like you, you’d be stupid to not at least try it out—”

“Okay, you know what? I don’t care how he looks at me. The man dramatically spits out coffee if it’s not the right temperature. Why do I need that kinda stress in my life?”

“Because he’s rich.”

“I don’t care about that. He’s a shitty person.” I said simply, ending the conversation as I grabbed a file from behind her and opened it to read. She gave a frustrated sigh and crossed her arms, looking at me in disappointment. I glanced up from the file and she was still standing there. “Was that all?” I asked in a slightly bitchy tone. She shook her head.

“You’re unbelievable.” She said, smacking the back of my head playfully and sitting at her desk.

“Unbelievably SICK!” I retorted, flipping her off momentarily and she chuckled. Just then, Rafe came stalking into the office.

“Good morning, Mr. Adler!” Winter greeted, like the kiss ass she tended to be. But he ignored her.

“Ms. Lewis, could you meet me in my office please?” He asked as he quickly walked by.

“Yes s-” Before I could even finish my answer, his door slammed shut. I blinked, unsure of what to even think. He was happy all week… ‘I hope he’s still happy…’ I thought as I stood. Winter and I exchanged glances and I entered his office. He was scarily quiet, his hands gripping onto the edge of his desk until his knuckles were white. His briefcase laid sprawled out on the floor; I assumed he tossed at the couch and it didn’t make it. I carefully closed the door behind me and walked towards his desk. Once again, I couldn’t help but ask. I rested my hands on one of the seats in front of his desk and crossed my ankles, taking a deep breath before speaking.

“Are you okay?” I asked. He gave a deep sigh before curling his fingers into fists and punched the desk for a second. I jumped at the sudden noise as he sat down.

“No, Lyric. I’m not okay. I was but not anymore.” He answered through gritted teeth.

“What happened?” I sat down in the seat I was leaning on, smoothing out my skirt as he paced behind his desk. He began with a huff, already seeming more irritable the more he dwelled on it.

“Tell me… have you been keeping up with Samuel by any chance?”He asked as calmly as possible. I gave a nervous chuckle.

“What- do you think we keep tabs on each other like teenagers?” I answered. Truthfully, I hadn’t seen him in a very long time. I was almost disappointed. Almost. Rafe’s cheeks seemed to turn a faint pink for a moment as his poker face faltered a bit.

“No, no- I just…. I figured since you two were so close in the office that maybe you kept in touch...” he replied in a boyish tone.

“Are you jealous?” I asked, trying to lighten the mood a bit clearly he wasn’t feeling it.

“Lyric, please… This is serious.” His tired green eyes locked with mine and I could immediately see that whatever the problem was was truly stressing him out. So I gave him a break.

“No. I haven’t heard from him.” I told him. He hummed at my answer and scratched at the stubble that attempted to appear on his chin. “Rafe, what’s going on?” I asked, beginning to feel concerned. He seemed to be doing a few breathing exercises before he answered.

“It seems that some of my research has gone missing.” He said, holding onto the back of his seat for dear life.

“And you think Sam took it?” I asked.

“Well he is a thief, after all… I wouldn’t put it past him.” he grumbled, putting his head in his hands. My eyes widened.

“No shit.”

“Yes shit. He didn’t just magically come out of thin air. I…” he paused to carefully choose his words. “I bailed him out.”

“Oh. Shit…. How long was he in for?” I asked. I couldn’t believe it.

“14 years…” he replied, running his fingers through his hair.

“For stealing?! What did he steal?! The Hope Diamond?!”

“Oh no he uh…. he killed a guard on the inside.” He mumbled.

“HE WHA- he what?!” I snapped.

“Yeah. Congratulations. You were flirting with a murderer.” He said in a sassy tone. I chuckled and denied it.

“No… I wasn’t...flirting-”

“You were just being friendly?” He said. I smirked at him.

“Oh piss off!” I said, playfully hitting his forearm. I half expected him to look at me like I was crazy but he just smiled small and huffed in frustration, resting his forehead on his desk.

“Ugh this is the fucking worst…” he said. “I bet he’s on his way to Italy for that cross now.”

“Okay cool- but it’s an auction. Last I checked he was broke as hell and the security will be so tight…. So don’t worry about it, okay?” I said, calmly. He searched my eyes for a moment and nodded. His shoulders dropped and he seemed a bit more at ease. I put a comforting hand over his and ran my thumb over his knuckles. “It’ll be fine. We are going to go to Italy, sip some wine, eat some pizza, and get all dressed up for this auction. And you’re going to walk out of the estate with this cross. I’m manifesting it. I am putting it into the ether.” I said as positively as possible. His eyes never left mine and his grip had tightened a little in my hand.

“Of all the fine cuisine that Rome has to offer, you still want... pizza?” He chuckled in amusement.

“Of course! I want real Italian pizza, okay? With melted mozzarella and fresh tomato sauce and all the seasonings! Not one from down the street...or a frozen box.” I said and the look he gave me shocked me. His eyes seemed to trace over every feature of my face and his cheeks faintly blushed again. For a second I began to wonder if this is what Winter saw. This look that he was giving me right now. That shy look of longing. He smiled and retrieved his briefcase, sitting it on his desk as he avoided my gaze.

“Very well. I’m sure there’s a decent pizzeria around.” He said, taking a seat.

“Yes!” I exclaimed as I stood to leave. “So remember! Don’t worry. You’ve got this all under control.” I said, backing out of the office. And with that, I went back to my own desk. I sat down with a sigh. I couldn’t shake the look he’d given me. I suddenly hated Winter for making me notice it. Something about him was no doubt changing and I was interested to see what. I sipped on my coffee and continued to work until the day was out.

Finally, it was time to go. I pulled my suitcase from under my desk and dragged it to sit next to me. The office had gone home for the day and my last order of business was to leave Winter instructions on what to do in our absence. I was literally shaking with excitement. I’d never been anywhere outside the country before. I couldn’t wait for a bit of warm weather. I was freezing my ass off here. Rafe seemed to keep his cool since I talked to him last and to be completely honest, I was glad about it. The last thing we needed was his temper on a whole 9 hour flight. After a while, he appeared from his office and closed his door behind him with a tired smile.

“You ready?” He asked me. I shot up from my seat and threw on my trench coat, making sure I had everything together.

“Absolutely!” I grinned.

“Allow me.” He said, lifting the handle of my suitcase and dragging it along behind him. I was surprised at him. I always knew he was a gentleman but I’d never been on the receiving end of it before.

We walked to the elevator that took us to the rooftop and waiting for us, on and ready, was the big white company plane. I stopped for a second as I watched Rafe board the plane to just appreciate the experience I was about to have. “Are you coming or are you just gonna stand there?!” I suddenly heard Rafe shout to me above the deafening engines, tearing me from my thoughts. I nodded and ran towards the plane, trying not to twist my ankles in the tall heels on my feet. He stretched out a hand to me and helped me up the small flight of stairs. We were greeted by the pilot and a stewardess and shown to what was pretty much a lounge on this plane. The interior of it all was absolutely gorgeous. There were lavish beige recliner seats and a couch to match. Portable desks were made cherry oak with golden cup holders and the carpets were a deep wine red with gold accents. Red curtains covered the windows and there were even decorative pillows and blankets— everything was made to match. When I sat down, the stewardess came in and immediately began asking us if we wanted food or drinks… or alcoholic beverages.

“We’ll take dinner here.” Rafe answered before I could even open my mouth. “I’m sure you’re starving by now, right?”

“Uh… yeah.” I whispered, shedding my jacket and sitting on the couch.

“What do you want?”

“What would you recommend?” I asked, truly unsure of what I wanted.

“Jack back there makes this roasted garlic chicken with vegetables that’s just… magic.” He chef’s kissed the air and I widened my eyes with a giggle, sitting back in my seat. I’d never seen Rafe so expressive.

“Well then I’ll have that!” I smiled. I watched him grin as he began loosening his tie, undoing a few buttons and rolling up the sleeves of his collared shirt, putting in an order for a seasoned fish and potatoes.

“Very good, sir. May I get the two of you started on drinks?”the stewardess asked.

“Chateau Margaux Red, in a chilled glass please.” He answered, opening and reaching into his briefcase to pull out a few folders and a pen. Then she turned to me.

“And for you, miss?” She asked with a kind smile.

“Um…. whiskey?” I answered vaguely.

“Is there a brand you prefer?”

“Um….. no. I usually just order whiskey and I get... whiskey.” I giggled nervously, scratching my head. In the corner of my eye, I could see Rafe smile a little, his shoulders bouncing from a light chuckle.

“Get her a glass of Glenfiddich.”He said and the two nodded at each other in agreement.

“Two glasses…. maybe three.” I corrected him and he laughed again.

“Yes,ma’am. I’ll be back shortly. We should be in the air in about 10 minutes.” She told us as she gave me a smile. I returned it and sat back on the couch, my fingers tapping on the arm. I was nervous about flying, I’d never flown before. But I couldn’t let him know that.

“You okay?” He asked suddenly.

“Yeah…. just… really want a cigarette…”

“Hmph. I didn’t know you smoked.” He said casually.

“Uh yeah…. I’m tryin’ to quit.” I mumbled.

“Well good. That shit does fuck all for your lungs anyway.” He said and I nodded with a smile. He just kept on surprising me. Ever since we left the office, it was like he’d become a different person. I’d never heard him swear so much leisurely. “So um, I still have a bit of work to do before we touchdown in Italy. I’m gonna have my earpiece in so—”

“Of course! I can be quiet.” I chimed. He just chuckled.

“After dinner, Lyric.” He smiled.

“I knew that.” I mumbled in embarrassment.

Just as the stewardess said, we were in the air in no time and starting our flight to Rome. We held a light conversation over dinner, sort of like an ice breaker. Contrary to what I originally thought, he was actually kind of funny. Or “punny” rather. We talked about work, people in the office, how he couldn’t stand his meetings with certain people and we had a list of them that we both agreed were the absolute worst people; for similar reasons too. Afterwards, he delved into his work and I curled up on the couch, playing a few games on my phone as I listened to music, continuously drinking glasses of whiskey until I couldn’t feel my face. I couldn’t help but take a few glances at him as he worked though. The veins in his forearms that bulged as he scribbled on papers and the sharp angle of his jaw as he threw his head back when he was exhausted or frustrated was hypnotizing to say the least. The muscles in his chest making themselves present beneath his collared shirt and vest, the few strands of hair that tended to fall out of place by the end of the workday, his striking green eyes… ‘Stop it, Ricki. It’s Rafe. It’s your boss. You shouldn’t look at him that way…. Why are you even looking at him that way?!’ I thought suddenly. I scoffed and turned my phone off to close my eyes; maybe I could get a nap in somewhere on this flight. Before I knew it, the warmth of the food in my stomach, the low vibrations of the plane, and the comfort of the couch paired with the multiple drinks I had seemed to be enough to send me to sleep. Then I began dreaming…

I was in the office. It was after hours by the looks of things. When I turned in my seat, the workroom was empty, all the desk lamps were on and I was the only one there. Looking down, I was dressed in a simple white collared shirt and a pencil skirt that seemed to be a tad shorter and tighter than normal. But it didn’t phase me one bit. Hard rock music played off of my speaker rather loudly and there was an unfinished email typed up on the computer before me. I sighed and turned around to continue working when I heard Rafe’s voice calling me. “Ms. Lewis, I need your assistance please!” He yelled. Like always, I groaned loudly and went stomping towards his office. When I walked in, he was sitting behind his desk with his legs kicked up on the edge. His hair was disheveled as I secretly realized I liked, the buttons on his vest undone and his tie loosened, the cuffs of his sleeves rolled off of his wrists displaying a fancy watch. I leaned into the doorway and placed a hand on my hip with a touch of attitude.

“What do you want, Rafe?” I asked, completely out of character. If I ever answered him like that for real, I would probably be fired. But instead of yelling, he just let his eyes run over my body, biting his lip with intrigue. I cocked my brow and crossed my arms, tapping my foot impatiently as a devious smile flashed across his face. My heart skipped a beat as he took his feet off the desk and turned his attention to his computer.

“I’m having a bit of trouble getting this PDF to open. Would you mind…?” He asked me. I blinked at him a moment and sighed.

“Yeah. Seeing as I have to do everything else for you.” I replied in annoyance. I started over to his desk and he moved out of the way. Not necessarily standing up, more like just rolled his chair away from the computer. I leaned over as he rested his head in his hand on the desk, so obviously gawking at me as I typed away. Suddenly, he reached out and pushed a lock of hair over my ear, his finger stroking my jaw and his hand running over my shoulder then down my back. His touch caused a stir in me and I let out a shaky sigh but I continued to work. The file wouldn’t open. It didn’t make any sense. I did what I would’ve done on my own computer. I opted to try again.

“What is it that Samuel has that I don’t?” He asked me suddenly, his hand rubbing circles at the small of my back. I was taken aback and snapped my head to stare at him. The look on his eyes was something hungry and needy; like he was trying to hold back from doing something.

“I… um—”

“What can he give you… that I can’t?” He asked, his hand slipping past my hips and over the rounds of my ass. My heart began to race as his fingers traced down the back of my leg. I almost went weak when he graced over the sensitive spot just above the back of my knee. His touch was so electrifying that I could barely think. He chewed on the inside of his cheek as he watched my reactions carefully.

“He… I don’t—”

“You don’t even know do you?” He seemed to smirk as his fingers ghosted over my inner thigh, slipping by the split in my skirt a bit. He gripped onto my thigh tightly and as he stood, his fingers brushed over my clothed clit. “Do you even want him? Hm?” He breathed into my ear, pulling my hair off of my neck and letting his nose trace my jawline. I had forgotten what I was even doing in his office to begin with since he started touching me. I took a slow and deep breath as his cold lips pressed against the warm skin of my neck. I closed my eyes with a shiver as he began massaging my through my panties. “Answer me, Lyric.” He demanded, slapping my ass rather harshly. I gasped from the contact and my hands began to shake in excitement.

“Rafe, I—”

“Mr. Adler…” he corrected me.

“Mr. Adler, I don’t know what you mean…” I sighed.

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. The way you look at him… Why don’t you look at me that way, huh?” He asked, lifting my skirt as he stood behind me, running his hands over my ass gently. “Do you have any idea what you do to me, Ms. Lewis?” He groaned as he pressed himself against me, his hands now firm on my hips as he pulled me close to feel his growing hard-on. As he ran his hand up my spine, I felt my back arch for him. He continued to spank me until my cheeks turned red and the cool touch of his fingertips eased the pain. His fingers hooked around the hem of my panties and yanked them down my legs. He used his foot to kick my legs apart and carefully scooped up and handful of my hair, pulling on it a bit. He ran a chilling finger up my slick cunt and licked his fingers for a taste. He moaned in my ear as I let out shallow breaths.

“Just as I thought. You taste delicious…” He said and he continued to stroke my wetness until I was all worked up and began to finger me roughly. I was left groaning in need.

“Mr. Adler… please…” I whimpered, his fingers diving in and out of me.

“What’s that, sweetheart?” He asked in a deep alluring tone.

“Please fuck me—”

“Please fuck me, who?”

“Mr. Adler! Please fuck me, please!” I cried out. With a frustrated grunt, he pushed everything off of his desk, not caring about the mess and laid me down. He undid my blouse and cupped my breasts, leaving sloppy kisses all over my chest and he undid his belt. I didn’t see it but boy could I feel it as he entered me. He sucked on my nipples a while as I got used to his size and his hand travelled up to my neck, squeezing lightly as he began to move. He kept it slow, drawing out the feeling of my clit dragging along his length. I couldn’t keep myself from whining as he rolled into me.

“Fuck me harder.” I said suddenly. “Please fuck me harder, Mr. Adler.” I moaned, staring him right in the eyes. He gave an almost evil chuckle as he removed his tie from his neck and wrapped it around my wrists tightly, pushing my arms above my head. He hiked up my legs to wrap them around his waist and he began to drive into me. He hovered over me, staring into my eyes with so much lust and want as I squealed and moaned beneath him. He alternated between slow and fast paced, ramming into me until I felt myself beginning to come undone.

“Keep it up and you’re going to make me cum, Lyric.” He growled through his teeth, resting his forehead against mine with a satisfied lightly dimpled smile. And it was a damn gorgeous one at that.

“Cum in me. I want you to…” I shuddered. He laughed tiredly, cupping my cheeks with his surprisingly soft hands and kissing me deeply.

“Whatever you want…” He said darkly, his hand dragging from my cheek to my neck again. And this time he used both hands to choke me gently. He snapped his hips into me repeatedly, tears beginning to well in my eyes as I started to see stars.

“I’m gonna… I—” Just as I was about to release—

I felt a hand run down my shoulder, gently shaking me awake. When I opened my eyes, I was met with those striking greens and I gasped in embarrassment, moving away. Rafe has woken me up, sitting on the edge of the couch with a tired smile.

“Sorry! Didn’t mean to scare you.” He said kindly as I sat up, a thick fabric falling off of my shoulders. He’d covered me with his jacket. My heart raced under his touch and I could feel my face burning as I looked into his eyes. “We’re about to land. I figured maybe you’d want to see the sky view.” He told me, pointing to the window behind my head. I turned my head to see a beautiful sunrise over what looked to be the Colosseum. I gasped and rose to my knees like a child to get a better look. All of the beautifully sculpted buildings and the bluest waters…

“This is amazing…” I said unknowingly.

“Wait until we actually get into the city.” He said in a soft tone of wonder similar to mine. I looked over at him and we shared a smile. This weekend was going to be an adventure for sure...

Full story on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26598127/chapters/64850665

#uncharted #rafe adler x oc #rafe adler x reader #rafe adler #rafe adler headcanons #uncharted headcanon #uncharted headcanons #poc #poc ocs #poc oc #uncharted smut

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kunstpause-archive · 4 years

Text

From the scrap pile

Thanks to @elveny and @kittimau for tagging me ❤

This was surprisingly hard bc even though I scrapped easily over 100k words over the course of our big DA2 fic alone I keep reusing small bits and pieces in odd places and the stuff I totally throw out I don’t like enough to show to anyone really

But I did find something. This is from 2018, it was set pretty early on in our story Precipice of Change and was the original first meeting between Cullen and Cassia, before we heavily reworked the story.

I don’t know who did this already so feel free to ignore me but tagging @captainderyn @tishinada @curiousthimble @cornfedcryptid @faerieavalon @sharkapologists @fandomn00blr @serial-chillr @wardenari @ranawaytothedas @midnightprelude @charlatron @anchanted-one

Under a cut for length-reasons. :D

Cassia had underestimated the way towards the Gallows, it seemed. ‘They are really serious about this whole separation thing’ she mused while waiting for her boat to cross over. She had never been even near this place before and for good reason. The closer she got the more daunting the huge statues looked. All of a sudden, she could understand Adriene’s refusal to take any work that would require going here a little bit more. But on the other hand… they needed the money and the pay just seemed too good to not at least try. She only hoped she would get anywhere after her sister had already turned down the offer. Rather colourfully apparently, or so Cassia had heard.

When she stepped into the courtyard for the first time, she couldn’t suppress a small shiver. There were tranquil around, selling wares. Some mages walked briskly, not looking around much. And templars. So many templars… She wasn’t sure she had ever seen so many templars in one spot before, and there was an eerie feeling in the air for some reason.

Cassia was used to hiding among regular people. Non-mages. Even hiding in front of templars at the chantry. It usually involved looking either as unassuming or as disarmingly open as possible for her. Light clothes that made it obvious she wasn’t hiding anything underneath, a bright smile and most importantly: no staff. For the first time, the absence of the most trusted weapon was something she could almost physically feel, though, before she shook her head. It wasn’t as if it would do her any good even if she had her staff with her. Under this amount of vigilance and raw power, she wouldn’t even get one spell off before they took her down. She shook off the sense of doom that seemed to permeate the very air in this place, put on her brightest smile and went up to the next patrol, asking for the Knight-Captain who had made her sister the oh-so-well-paid offer earlier.

Cullen had been deeply immersed in the report on his desk when a knock on his door pulled him out of his concentration. “Yes?” he called out, trying not to lose track of where he was on the document.

“There is a Serah Hawke here to speak to you, Knight-Captain,” came the muffled voice of one of the recruits on guard duty from the outside. Irritation went through him at the reason for the disturbance.

“Tell her I don’t have time,” he called out again. He didn’t know what it had been exactly but something about her had made him slightly uneasy, even though she had been a great help at the coast.

“She is standing right next to me and insists,” the recruit called through the door again, and Cullen felt the irritation grow even stronger.

“Fine, send her in then.” What in the world did she want? She had made her disdain of templars in general quite clear only a few hours ago, and he had no desire for a repeat performance.

“What do you want?” he sighed impatiently. “Because if I remember correctly, you said something about never wanting to set foot in the Gallows ever again rather loudly not that long ago.” With an impatient glare, he looked up from his documents at the intruder in his office only to be met with a pair of raised eyebrows that definitely did not belong to the woman he had met earlier that day.

“I get the feeling I have to apologise on behalf of my sister, Knight-Captain,” the woman standing in his office said in a light and slightly amused voice. “I am Cassia Hawke, and I am here about a job you offered her.”

Sister? His first thought was that he had probably never seen siblings look less alike than the two of them. They looked like complete opposites of each other. And from his first impression, they sounded like it, too. The woman in front of him was nothing short of charming, not a trace of the hostility her sister had shown him.

“Knight-Captain Cullen,” he introduced himself even though he was certain she already knew that. “Forgive my reaction, but I am somewhat confused, Serah Hawke.”

The information she had gotten from Fenris had not been much. Adriene hadn’t been willing to listen for very long, it seemed, but she was certain he had said Knight-Captain Cullen had been the one offering said job. She gave him a careful once-over. He looked… younger than she had anticipated. In her head, the Knight-Captain of a city as big as Kirkwall had been someone more seasoned. More looking at home behind a desk. Knight-Captain Cullen looked like he was around her age, maybe even the slightest bit younger. Like he should be out there, on the frontlines instead of in here, doing paperwork. He must have had a steep career to end in such a prestigious position at this part of his life already.

“Confused about me asking for a job?” Cassia had put on her best, most pleasant smile for the occasion.

“Yes, given that not long ago your sister told me, rather colourfully, her stance on working for us or even considering it,” he said drily.

Cassia nodded in understanding. “Adriene has very strong opinions on several subjects,” she said, sounding as diplomatically as she could.

The way she phrased it made Cullen think that their differences definitely went beyond the physical appearance.

“And you don’t?” he asked skeptically. She laughed softly, and he was surprised at the thought that it was a rather pleasant sound.

“Oh, I do! They do not always coincide, however. Which is why I am here.”

“So you decided you want to help us, despite your sister feeling so strongly about the templars?” Cullen was still not quite convinced, too strong had the reaction of her sister been when he offered her the job.

“To be quite honest, Knight-Captain, helping you is more of a side benefit,” Cassia shrugged. “I heard the pay is good and that working with the templars is quite reliable here.”

When Cullen didn’t immediately say anything, she went on.

“You don’t believe me? Maker, what did Adriene say? No, don’t tell me, I can guess. But no matter.” She sighed. “Look, we came here from Ferelden, fleeing from the Blight. We had to leave behind everything, start over completely here. If we ever want to get somewhere, hard work is the only way. So, there you have my motivation.”

Cullen gave her a speculative look. She sounded honest, surprisingly open in her explanation. Another complete opposite from her very guarded sister it seemed. Her sister who seemed to have been in a constant state of battle ready. Cassia Hawke meanwhile looked… soft. Her braids had flowers in it and she was wearing a simple, but very becoming dress. At first glance, he could not imagine her taking on fights in back alleys if it came to it.

“I’m not sure this job is right for you, Serah,” he started carefully. “You look… Not like a mercenary if I have to be honest.”

Cassia smiled brightly. “I dress for the occasion,” she said with a hint of mischief in her voice. “I am here to get a job, not to pick fights with people after all.”

“A fair point,” Cullen relented. It wasn’t like everyone who could carry a weapon did so all the time after all. “I apologise for the assumption.”

“Oh I’m not offended, don’t worry,” she said almost immediately before she gave him a calculating look. A hint of playfulness appeared on her face. “On second thought, maybe I am,” she said slowly. “Terribly offended actually!”

Cullen raised his eyebrows. “Terribly offended?”

“Yes. It’s awful, really.” Cassia did her best, putting on her most practiced fake upset look. But she couldn’t quite quell her own amusement as she spoke. “I fear, only a job offer might be able to smooth this over…”

Her gamble seemed to pay off, the Knight-Captain definitely looked amused by now. “Would it now? And if I were to leave you in this offended state?”

“Then I would have to storm out of here in a huff and never talk to you again.” Cassia was delighted about his willingness to play along. She had expected someone stuffy. Someone she’d have to formally apologize to and who would probably give her a dry talk about appropriate behaviour towards authority in regards to her family. This was the opposite. This was something so much easier to work with. She gave him a coy look. “That would be such a shame really, you seem so fun to talk to.”

“I seem fun to talk to?” He gave her another skeptical look. It seemed he was almost thrown off by her more direct approach.

“Don’t let it flatter you too much,” Cassia assured him, “The last person I worked for was so incredibly drunk he could barely even sit upright. Second time I met him, he fell asleep while paying me.” She gave him a playful wink. “The bar for decent conversation is remarkably low these days.”

Cullen couldn’t help himself but laugh quietly. This conversation had been something he never would have expected. But to his surprise, he found it utterly delightful. “Glad to see I place above the inebriated and the unconscious,” he said dryly but not bothering to hide his amusement anymore. “But what would I lose out on really?”

There was a glint in her eyes that made them almost sparkle. “Why, my remarkable problem-solving skills of course. There is a reason there is much less work in Lowtown since I got here after all. And I’ll have you know that I am also fun to talk to.”

She was definitely right about that, but nonetheless, he gave her a most skeptical look, enjoying her small huff in obviously fake indignation.

“I am a delightful conversationalist!” she insisted. “And you have been smiling for the past few minutes when earlier you looked like you ate a shipload of citrus just before I got here.”

This time he had to laugh out loud. “Indeed you are,” he agreed. Cullen wasn’t sure when the last time he had had this much fun talking to someone even was. “Alright, we can give this a try.” He took a small pile of papers and letters he had put together for this job and handed it over to her. “Here is all the information you need, I expect you can find your way around the notes.” She was already flipping through the letters he gave her, looking a bit more serious. “There is a certain level of discretion advised,” Cullen added almost as an afterthought.

“I see, of course,” Cassia murmured as she went over the names and dates, starting to see why they would hire a mercenary for this. “None of these people would talk to a templar.”

“Or any authority even,” the Knight-Captain added. “That’s why we need outside help for this.”

Cassia folded the papers carefully, putting them away into her pockets. “Luckily I am as far away from being an authority as you can probably find in this city,” she gave him another bright smile. “I am definitely the woman you need. For this job, I mean. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

And with a good-natured but polite good-bye, she left the Gallows behind again, feeling considerably less anxious about the place than she had when first coming here. It still was a place she wouldn’t want to set foot in voluntarily, but she had gotten what she came for, and it had been easier and far more pleasant than anticipated. Now, she only had to get this thing done as quietly and as quickly as possible. And who knew, perhaps this could open a door for more well-paid work in the future.

The task was surprisingly simple for her. Cassia could see why a templar would have not gotten most of the relevant information from any of the people she talked to. After a while, she was almost glad that Adriene had turned the offer down. As much as she loved her sister, she could imagine that Adriene’s approach to this would have had the potential for more than one altercation. Cassia had always preferred to talk herself out of any situation if needed, and she knew she was good at getting people to see things her way, even the ones that needed a bit more convincing. ‘Why pull out a weapon when a well-placed compliment or a vague hint of a promise could do the trick’ had always been more her style.

Normally, she and Adriene complemented each other perfectly in that regard. Cassia managed to avoid them some fights while Adriene was always ready and never missed a beat in situations where that simply wasn’t possible. It felt almost wrong now for Cassia to do this on her own, fully aware that she didn’t have a very well thought-through backup plan if things didn’t work out the way she wanted them to. But it seemed she was lucky this day, managing to get everything she needed without any major incidents. Well, almost without.

It was dark already but still busy on the streets when she was done and made her way back to the Gallows, this time finding her way to the Knight-Captain’s office almost directly.

“Good evening, Knight-Captain,” she greeted politely after knocking. He seemed surprised to see her again.

“Serah Hawke, back already?” Cullen had not expected her back this day. Not even the next one if he was honest, not with the amount of information he had sent her out to find, yet here she was, in his office again.

“Please, call me Cassia,” she smiled. “Otherwise I’ll always think you’re talking to my mother. But yes, here is all the information I could find.” She handed him a staple of notes and he gave it a quick once over.

“Impressive. And you did all this in a day?” He flipped through the pages after pages she had filled with all the things she had found out. On first glance, it looked like she had done a very thorough job. He couldn’t help being impressed.

“One of the notes sounded rather urgent,” she said with a shrug.

“It was, I thank you,” Cullen agreed, putting the papers aside to work through their content later. He took in her appearance. She looked different. Her hair was in a bun, and while she was still wearing a dress, it seemed to be a different one than before. “And I see you even had time to dress for the occasion again.”

Cassia looked down, for a moment looking confused before she smiled at him. “Naturally.” She shrugged. “But that was more of a necessity this time. Two hours of walking around town and my clothes still hadn’t dried.”

Cullen felt his own eyebrows run up. “Dried? What happened?”

She held up a hand as she assured him, “Nothing relevant to the investigation, don’t worry.”

Cullen couldn’t help giving her a skeptical look. A look that sent her into a small bout of laughter.

“I’m telling the truth,” she said between laughs. “It’s… you’re gonna laugh, but there were some very angry ducks. And a pond.” He felt his eyes widen. “And perhaps a person you may or may not have hired for her skills who had a slight issue of paying attention.” She shook her head, giving him a pointed look. “It was not a very graceful event, let’s just keep it like that.”

Cullen hadn’t been certain what to expect from any of this, but her little story definitely hadn’t been it. He tried his best to not laugh out too loudly, but his efforts were in vain.

“And now you are laughing at me!” Cassia sighed. “I should have left it at the change of clothes. Kept some of the mystery.”

Cullen shook his head, forcing the laughter to calm down. “I have the feeling there is plenty of mystery left with you, Serah… Cassia,” he corrected himself.

“I have to disappoint you,” Cassia grinned, feeling pleased at his use of her first name. This was only their second time meeting, but she had a good feeling about this already. If she played her cards right, she might be well on her way to find an in with the templars here. Adriene would probably throw a fit if she heard about any of this, but Cassia could try to deal with that later, make her see the advantages. “No mystery at all,” she said, giving him her best ‘I have nothing to hide’ look. “I am an open book.”

Cullen still seemed amused, but there was a hint of something she couldn’t place in his voice as he answered. “In my experience people who say this usually aren’t. Not really.”

The conversation was still light-hearted, but there was something underneath that was almost intriguing to Cassia as she smiled. “I see I have to change tactics then.”

Cullen didn’t answer immediately, giving her a strange look. Was there tension in the air or was she imagining it? She was still deliberating when he broke the silence.

“I may have a follow-up job for you, depending on where this leads. Maybe come back in a couple of days?” he said, sounding a bit more formal again. His voice had lost some of the lightness from earlier but his eyes… His eyes seemed to look almost right through her. ‘Be careful Cassia’, her inner voice that sounded, not surprisingly, a lot like her sister said. ‘Don’t underestimate this one just because he has a nice smile.’

“I will. Thank you Knight-Captain,” she said simply.

He nodded, and it seemed like they were done when he suddenly added. “If you insist on me calling you by your name it is only fair I insist on you doing the same.”

“You want me to call you by my name?” The words had left Cassia’s mouth before she had even thought to think about how wise it would be to crack jokes right now.

Cullen gave her an almost unreadable look and Cassia grinned at him apologetically.

”I’m sorry. I have a sister who never stops joking around - it leaves a mark on you sometimes,” she explained before smiling again, making her way to the door. “But I appreciate the offer, Cullen. And I’ll see you in a few days then. Have a good night.”

#From the scrap pile #Da2 #Dragon Age 2 #Precipice of Change #cullen rutherford

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chasseurdeloup-retired · 4 years

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You Are the Stripes Beneath My Wings || Regan and Kaden

TIMING: Current LOCATION: Kaden’s Apartment PARTIES: @kadavernagh and @chasseurdeloup SUMMARY: Regan comes to check up on a “very sick” Kaden.

Tylenol, Advil, Benadryl, Dayquil, Nyquil -- Regan had stuffed half a convenience store in a bag and headed over to Kaden’s with some fresh chicken soup in hand. It was... strange. They saw each other just yesterday, and Kaden hadn’t been exhibiting any symptoms of a cold or flu, or even seasonal allergies. He said he was sick, very sick, but in that case, why not take advantage of the fact he was dating a doctor and let her come over? Was it really about not wanting to get her sick? Regan almost scoffed at that. She’d been exposed to pretty much anything, and rarely had a sniffle to show for it. As she turned the corner to Kaden’s apartment, what she saw made her freeze. The hallway was coated in black and white stripes. They were stretched across the walls, replacing the wallpaper. Down under her feet, the geometric carpet had been replaced by something only a mime would have selected. Even the paintings of sailboats and flowers now held striped subjects. “O… kay.” She said aloud, blinking at the dizzying change in scenery. She held her breath and headed for Kaden’s door. Knocked. She could hear Abel give an alert woof behind the door, but it was taking Kaden quite a while to come open it. “It’s Regan,” she called out, careful not to speak too loudly, “Did a mime move in? Is that the problem? I brought you soup! And medicine. All of them.”

Kaden knew that the soap and sponge wasn’t going to get the stripes out at this point, not if they hadn’t before, but that didn’t stop him from furiously trying to scrub them away. There was a knock on the door and his heart leapt in his chest. No. There was no way he could possibly have anyone over. Was it Blanche again? What if she had a camera ready this time? He turned off the water and went to the door to look out the keyhole. Oh no. It was worse than Blanche. It was Regan. Kaden grabbed the blanket again, wrapping himself up again, holding his grip much tighter than he did when Blanche came over. He had no plans of opening the door, but just in case. “Can you leave it at the door?” he yelled through the door, hoping she could hear. He tried to do a very loud fake cough. That sounded sick, right? “Mime? Why do you say mime? What mime? There’s no mime or stripes anywh--” Kaden remembered what the rest of the hallway looked like. Putain. “Sorry. I’m really sick. You shouldn’t catch this. It’s fine. It’ll go away.”

Was that fake cough really supposed to convince her? Regan exhaled a sharp breath and shouted again -- one of the hallway lights breaking, this time. “Kaden, I’ll remind you again that I’m a doctor. I can recognize a fake cough. Are you lying to me?” What was up with him? Since when weren’t they honest with each other? “Your hallway, Kaden. And your hallway carpet. And the paintings. Was this a neighbor’s doing? Are they a mime, or did they just hear the rumors about your sexual tendencies? Uh, not that those rumors are true, obviously. I would know.” She ran a hand through her hair, considering. She couldn’t force her way into the apartment, but she could play the long game. “Fine. I’ll leave it at the door, along with the rest of me.” Regan frowned down at the black and white striped carpet. Did he seriously think she was just going to dump the medicine and soup here and then leave without seeing him? She sank against the door until she was on the ground. “I’ll stay here all night if I have to.”

Putain. She wasn’t buying it. Kaden wasn’t sure what to do. “No, I mean, I--” This was entirely too humiliating. Wings were one thing, but these were stripes. And face paint. And he didn’t know if it was ever going to go away or what he’d have to do to get rid of it. But if he could avoid having her see him like this, that would be preferable. “You just can’t see me right now. It’s not-- It’s bad, alright.” He sighed as she described the hallway. Even if he did leave his apartment, he couldn’t escape the reminder that he was black and fucking white right now. Would that go away? Putain de merde. “I don’t know, it was like that when I woke up this morning and when Queenie came to check my arm. Which is fine, by the way. Did she tell you?” Fucking hell, this was going to do absolutely nothing to alleviated her assumptions about his sexual tendencies, as Regan had so eloquently put it. “Thanks, you can just leave it th-- Wait, what?” She was sitting at his doorstep? No, why? He wasn’t even this stubborn when she first got her wings and she locked him out. That wasn’t fair. “Really? Why? I pro--” Merde. “I’m fine. I mean I’m not-- Are you sure you can’t can’t just leave it on the doorstep? There’s really no reason for you to see this.” Somehow he had a feeling this was going to be a losing battle. Considering it was pretty clear she hadn’t left and wasn’t going to. “If I open the door is that good enough?” He wasn’t sure why he was trying to negotiate, there was no way she was leaving after she saw so much as one striped finger let alone the rest of him. Well, assuming she didn’t run away screaming. Shit, maybe he shouldn’t open the door.

She couldn’t see him right now? What the heck was he talking about? Regan swallowed the growing lump in her throat as memories of several months ago dislodged themselves. Hiding in her apartment with wings, trying to keep Kaden away, fearing his touch against her cool skin. Was it something as bad as that? Did he have wings? Was it contagious after all, and it had just taken this long? She sank further against the door, eyes wide open, as the thought made her marrow ice over. “I’m glad your arm is fine,” Regan said, harshly but with sincerity. Queenie had told her. That didn’t matter right now, though, since this was seemingly unrelated. Was it wings? Please let it not be wings, for so many reasons.

“I’m not leaving you. If you don’t want to open the door right now, that’s… it’s fine. But I won’t leave.” The back of Regan’s head thunked against Kaden’s black and white door. Darwin, it had to be wings. It was wings, wasn’t it? “I would have given anything to just have you sit outside my door and keep me company, talk to me, when I was stuck in my apartment. It’s not your fault that you didn’t. I kept you away. But I’m not going to let you do that.” When she heard his question, she sat up straight. “You’ll open the door? Really?” There was that lump again, and this time joined by mounting pressure in her lungs. “No, it’s not good enough! If you’re as sick as you initially claimed, I want you examined, whether by myself or someone at the hospital. And if it’s --” She sighed, pressing a hand to her head, “Kaden, do you have wings?”

Kaden’s heart sunk hearing that she had wanted him there all those months ago. “I would have, you know. I didn’t want to push because I thought--” He could barely even remember what he thought. Beyond that he didn’t want to be desperate or controlling or anything fucking else. Though admittedly, there were a couple times he lingered on her stairs a little longer than he should have. Maybe this was stupid, keeping her at an arm’s length. He knew damn well how much it hurt being on the other side of that door. Only he knew his, uh, “condition” was only temporary. Because if it wasn’t… No, there was no alternative. He wasn’t going to be striped for fucking ever. His hand hesitated over the door handle, blanket wrapped firmly around as much of him as he could manage. Maybe he should find gloves first. Did he own a ski mask? Could he make one in the next five minutes. Putain. “Okay, okay, but only if there’s no hospital, got it? I am not leaving this fucking apartment for anything, got it?” His pulse pounded in his chest as he considered opening the door. Couldn’t he just give it one more day? Fuck, no, he wasn’t going to have her sit out there all day. Maybe he could just hide behind the door. That could work. Deep breath. He almost turned the handle when he heard her next question. “Wait, what?” His brow furrowed and he hated knowing it was only emphasizing the stupid facepaint plastered there. “There’s no wings. In fact, I almost fucking wish it was wings. Trust me, that’d be better.” He let out another sigh. There was no way this was going to go well. What if she screamed? Oh shit, what if she screamed? What an inconvenient time to not be able to make a fucking promise. “I’m about to open the door. But I need you to stay calm. I’m only opening this if you don’t scream. Deal?”

No hospital? Regan couldn’t promise that, even if she wanted to. “If you’re dying or severely injured, you’re going to the hospital. I’m not arguing.” Kaden usually had more sense than most of the people in this town -- what was happening right now? He wished it were wings? Regan scowled, remembering the fear and even disgust balled into his face when he first saw them. None of that was there now -- she even pretended not to feel his fingers tracing over the veins at times -- but the thought that Kaden found them preferable to whatever was happening now was alarming. Regan pulled herself off the floor and grabbed the bag and soup again. She could hear movement from the other side, and his voice sounded close. Was he actually going to let her in? Her heart quite literally stopped beating for several seconds. The word deal brought Deirdre and Lydia to mind, their warnings about what such an exchange was capable of. Kaden… knew that. He really thought she was going to scream, and she couldn’t exactly assure him that she wouldn’t -- not when she could feel the beginnings of one stirring in her lungs, churned up by her nerves. What would happen if she screamed despite the deal? Or would she not be able to scream at all? Would it even work? The “word binding” nonsense that Lydia spoke of still seemed impossible -- surely it was all psychosomatic. “This is me, not screaming,” Regan said quietly, trying to push the rising sound down further. “Deal.” How bad could it possibly be?

“I’m not really worried about now but--” Kaden grumbled. This was a terrible idea. But she’d said deal. It should be fine. Kaden shrugged the blanket above his shoulders and held it tight around his face, hoping it covered the majority of the fucking mime makeup that wouldn’t go away. With his other hand he turned the handle and pulled open the door, trying his best to stay covered by it as it swung inside. “There. Door’s open. And I’m still alive. You can just leave the stuff inside now, right?” He knew full well that there was going to be no closing the door now with her on the other side, but he could hope, right? Maybe she’d just run away. Shit, no, that didn’t go well the last time she did that and he wasn’t about to go running after her this time looking like a goddamn mime monstrosity. He peeked his head around the door, hoping the blanket was covering the worst of the face paint, and saw her. She, uh, she wouldn’t notice right? It wasn’t that bad.

The door was opening. Finally, it was opening. Regan scrutinized it, realizing that Kaden was hiding behind it rather than standing right there to greet her. “You know I’m not doing that,” she said curtly, stepping inside. She peered around to the other side of the door and saw… Kaden under a thick blanket, completely swaddled with only his eyes peeking out. “Are you sure you don’t have wings?” But -- there was something around his eyes. A dot of black underneath each, surrounded by what looked like smeared white facepaint. They were certainly his kind, clear eyes, but she wasn’t sure what was wrong with his skin. “Did something happen to your skin?” A spike of concern shook her voice, and for a second, she lost her hold on the scream twisting in her chest. It rose up a little, but she caught it in time to pull it down. Carefully, she approached her cocooned boyfriend and patted his back through the blanket, trying to feel if there was anything new and flittering underneath. Nothing. Though her own wings quivered in concern. “I’m not leaving, Kaden, so you might as well show me what’s wrong and actually let me help. How many times have I reminded you that I’m a doctor this week? I mean, I’m a doctor all the time. But -- you know what I mean. And I’m also your girlfriend.” Her voice was tight with worry. She tried to assess symptoms, but she couldn’t exactly take stock of Kaden while he was hidden like this. She reached out for his hand, which was buried under the blanket with the rest of him. “Come on, drop the blanket. You don’t have wings and you’re not five inches tall. I think I can handle anything, at this point.” Why did that feel like a lie as it left her mouth?

Kaden tensed and waited for a loud pitch sound to pierce his ears on top of everything else. Only, no scream came. Okay, this was fine so far. He could just keep the blanket on until the stripes went away. It’d be fine. “My skin?” he asked, eyes growing wide. Fuck, there’s no way that wasn’t emphasized with that stupid black paint around them. “Uh, well, it’s-- Hey, hey! There are no wings!” he shouted as she tried to pat him down. He tried to swat her away, with his hand still inside the blanket but it wasn’t exactly expected. “If it was wings I would have told you!” He would have freaked out because there was just as much reason for him to have wings as there was for him to have stripes on his skin. “I know, I know,” he grumbled. If he thought she could help, she would have been the first person he called but this? This couldn't be treated by a doctor. He wasn’t sure a spellcaster could fix this shit. And his girlfriend shouldn’t have to subject herself to seeing him like this. Still, she was worried, that much was clear. Fuck, in her position, he’d be worried, too. “Please don’t scream. It’s better than being five inches tall, but it’s….” His heart was racing at the thought of dropping his blanket. What if he was stuck this way? She should probably know what she was stuck looking at. Maybe she still never had to see it. He could live life like the invisible man, wrapped in bandages all the time, right? Putain. He took a deep breath and decided to start small and held out his arm from underneath the blanket so she could see it, skin dry and rubbed raw, but still covered in black and white stripes. “I’m pretty sure it was the mimes.”

Please don’t scream. Regan had to tell herself that, too, as Kaden was building this up to be something horrific. What could it possibly be? Not wings, she believed him now, but was it a gruesome injury? Had someone left him scarred or mangled? Had the coyote come back to finish the job and pulled off one of his arms? Had someone shaved his head? Had his face been horribly disfigured? Was that why he was hiding it? Regan considered some of the decedents she’d had on her autopsy table. Was Kaden covered from head to toe in hair? Did he grow extra digits? Was his skin coated in boils or did his pores ooze mucus? So many borderline impossible things flicked through her mind, each more awful than the last as the decedents in her head started to look like her boyfriend. She held her breath tight in her chest as there was motion from underneath the blanket, and a shaky, black and white striped arm poked out in her direction. Regan froze, staring at it, not understanding. Had the mimes… painted him? She took a closer look at his skin, noticing the abrasions on the white stripes. They were on the black, too, she noted -- just more difficult to see. She held his arm, thumb rubbing against the stripes. It didn’t seem like paint -- it was almost tattoo-like. But it had to be paint. “I don’t understand,” she finally said, dropping his arm and hers, “they painted you? I’ll help you wash it off.”

No scream? No scream. Okay. That was better than expected. Only she clearly didn’t understand what had happened. Regan seemed entirely too calm about the whole thing. “What do you mean you don’t understand?” Kaden started. “Look at my arm! It’s striped!” He pulled up more of his sleeve, forgetting that his other hand was holding up the blanket. Putain de merde. He froze as the blanket fell away, revealing the whole horror. Shit. No hiding it now. He winced a little, waiting for her reaction. “It’s not paint. It’s my skin, it’s in my skin or something, I don’t know,” he said, voice pitched with panic. “I tried to wash it off but it won’t go away. I took so many showers, I scrubbed, I’ve used dish soap and sponges and that make up remover shit you left here once, nothing worked. It won’t go away.” His heart raced and he could feel his pulse pounding in his ears. “What if I’m stuck like this, Regan? What the fuck am I going to do? I can’t be a mime! No fucking way, that’s not happening!”

“Yes, your arm is striped. Someone painted--” But before Regan could finish, Kaden was pulling up his sleeve and the blanket fell away and… what. She gave Kaden’s face a hard stare, barely recognizing him for an instant. Her mouth fell open, silently, as she took in his appearance. The white makeup on his face. The black and white stripes covering every inch of his skin. His words washed right off her and all she could focus on was the way his painted lips moved and the creasing of white paint as his face contorted in emotional agony. Kaden. Was. A mime. This had to be his worst fucking nightmare. But after the list of possibilities Regan had drummed up in her head, this was almost a relief. And-- and-- Kaden was a mime. Kaden was. A mime. Not only was he unharmed, not only did he not have wings, he was a mime. How did this happen? Did he actually have a-- wait, did that make her a mimefu-- oh, no.

Laughter exploded out of Regan like a scream, shattering several lights, as she bowled over, palms against her thighs. She couldn’t focus enough to even think about forming a coherent sentence; all she could see behind the dark fields of her squeezed shut eyes was Kaden wearing mime makeup. Something else cracked and the laughter kept erupting out, until finally, at long last, it slowed down to a small, sharp trickle of glass-breaking giggles. “Sorry! I’m sorry!” She approached Kaden, setting a hand over his stripey arm. They really were close to the skin, if not in it. “We’ll fix this, I just-- I--” Snrk. She couldn’t hold it. “Sorry!” She was no better than Blanche, was she? Regan wouldn’t forget how annoyed she was at Blanche’s laughter when she was five inches tall. “Okay. Okay,” She said, mostly to herself, as she tried to get a grip on the explosive laughter. “I’ll clean that glass up. But, Kaden, I’m confident a good shower will do the trick. Or, uh, alcohol! Have you tried rubbing alcohol?”

Kaden couldn’t anticipate how she was going to react, but he was prepared to cover his ears at any moment, just in case. Not that it would do much. If she screamed, that meant his eardrums would be fucking busted and he’d be striped. What a fucking week. He braced himself and waited as she put the pieces together, saw his face, which had to look fucking horrifying. Was she going to run? Or-- Wait. She was… laughing? Was she really fucking laughing? “This isn’t funny! Regan, come on!” He jumped as the glass in the picture frames in the hall cracked and shattered. And probably some of the glass in his apartment, too. Putain de merde. Just pile it up, why the fuck not. “Look, Blanche already laughed at me, I don’t need this from you, too. What if I’m stuck with this?!” She kept cackling. Was she even listening? He grumbled and picked up the blanket to cover up the stupid stripes again. “Regan, I just said I took five showers! Five! I used every solution I can find! It won’t go away! I tried everything, it’s not painted on, it’s my skin! My skin is fucking striped!” Somehow the laughter was worse than panic. At least if she was panicking, she’d be taking this seriously and be on the same page as here. “Fine, you saw me. Got your laughs in. If you’re just going to laugh, just go, alright?” Didn’t need this from her of all people. He felt stupid enough. There was no way he was stepping foot outside of his door until he was no longer a fucking mime.

She knew she’d made a mistake as Kaden’s painted face burned with irritation and he buried himself back under the blanket. Regan’s mouth snapped closed, and she tried to smother any of the remaining laughter that was dying to come out. Crap. This was really bad, mostly because of Kaden’s past mime-related trauma. Hadn’t he just said the other day that he’d rather die than become a mime? He really did seem terrified, and a deep pang of guilt and regret hit her like a sucker punch to the gut. Kaden didn’t laugh when she was small, not once. And while it was too late to take that back, she’d treat this with seriousness moving forward. But -- but the face paint. And the stripes. No. Don’t laugh. Wait, the paint wouldn’t come off in the shower? “When… when did this happen? And how?” She said, reigning in the last traces of amusement from her voice. “I’m sorry I laughed. I just-- I thought you were dying. Or horrifically injured. But you’re not! We can fix this. This is fixable. Entirely.” Her words stuck in her throat as she took another step toward him, setting a hand on the blanket. They were the same ones he’d said to her. Once when it was true, and once when it was false. In this case, she hoped it was true. She wanted to give him a hug, but she could tell the laughter had stung. Best to wait. “Not water, then. We’ll find something, okay? I-- we can try different solutions with alcohol in them, or even a small amount of bleach. In the meantime, I’m going to bring over some foundation. Um, I might need to stop at a store and buy a lot more, though.” There was a lot of surface area to cover. “Have you tried, uh, screaming? It might help. Not with the stripes, but with, you know.” She breathed out, her mind clearing so she could approach this like a doctor. ��Kaden,” she said, meeting his eyes, “We’ll fix this.”

It was pretty fucking clear that Regan still wanted to laugh; Kaden could tell she was holding back. He sighed and rolled his eyes, settling the blanket a little tighter over his shoulders. “It happened right after Queenie checked my arm. I went outside and there was a bag full of black and white cookies and I opened the bag and then this happened.” There was also a creature that formed out of the crumbs that crawled off likely to eat cats but that seemed like way more than she was ready to hear. Or believe. And the stripes were far worse than the potential new mime monsters. “How? How can we fix this? I tried everything, Regan. I really did.” He felt stupid being so upset about this but this was fucked up and he couldn’t go out in public like this. Who the fuck would take him seriously? How could he do his job or even just go to the fucking store? What if he was stuck working at the mime bar because that was the only career path left to him? Was this the mime’s ultimate revenge? Putain de fucking merde.

“I tried rubbing alcohol, I tried dish soap, laundry detergent, shampoo, I even tried carpet cleaner just in case. They won’t go away.” Kaden grumbled and walked back to the living room to plop on the couch, still covered by the blanket. This clearly wasn’t going away. At least Abel wasn't laughing, just curling up to him and wondering when dinner was. “Screaming?” he asked, one brow raised. “You think screaming will--” Oh. For a minute he was hoping that would be the solution to get rid of the stripes. “I did a bit, but I don’t know. I tried asking Isabelle but there was nothing helpful coming from her.” Not surprising. Of course she wasn’t fucking helpful. It was probably her fault in the first place he was black and white all over. “What the fuck am I going to do if it doesn’t go away?”

Kaden’s cracked and defeated voice made the pit in Regan’s stomach grow. Her guilt continued to eat at her as she realized how serious Kaden thought this was. And maybe it was. If he tried as many things as he claimed, and nothing got the stripes off, then… no, they’d figure it out. And soon. He wasn’t going to have to resort to being an actual mime. She didn’t even want to think about what that would mean for him. “There are always more things we can try. I’ll buy out a convenience store if I have to.” Regan followed him into the living room and, sensing that he probably wasn’t as irritated with her now, she sat down next to him. “I think it might help you feel a little better,” she offered lamely, “but the solution to this is going to require some, well, solutions.” Was he sure alcohol hadn’t worked?

Regan frowned at the mound of blankets sitting next to her. Kaden was buried underneath it, too humiliated to even poke an arm out again. “Kaden, I won’t laugh again. Really. You-- this will go away. Hey, look at me.” She met his eyes, trying to catch them peering out from underneath the blanket. “I’ll do anything I can for you in the meantime, but we’re going to get rid of these, uh, stripes. And the face makeup. You’re not going to stay like this.” For a moment, she considered mentioning that she’d stick by him regardless, but that would indicate uncertainty in what she was saying, right? Crap. She extended a hand to him again, though she still wasn’t sure she was ready to see his striped arm and fingers emerging. This was weird, too weird, and it didn’t make sense that it was all because he opened some bag of cookies. “This can’t be the first time this has happened to someone. We just need to see what others in your situation have done. We’ll -- we’ll get this fixed. I pr--” Her mouth clamped shut against her will, and she bit her tongue. “Ow. Uh, you know what I was about to say.”

Looking into her eyes, it was easy for Kaden to believe this was going to be fixed, that things would get better. He wasn’t sure if that was true but it was nice to feel some confidence in the idea that this would be temporary again. And there was no harm in trying as many options as possible. “Okay. Okay, if you say so,” he said with a nod. His hand looked like it belonged to some deranged Dr. Seuss character as he wriggled it out from the blankets to take hers. Kaden was pretty sure this was unprecedented. Unless this was how the mimes created those other monsters in the alleyways, with black and white cookie crumbs and glitter bombs. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought. “Are you alright?” Maybe the no promise binding promise bind still had its own faults. “But yeah, I do.” He squeezed her hand in his, trying not to look down at his weird striped skin any more than he had to.

“Thanks for…” Kaden met her eyes once more as he trailed off, unsure of what he was even thanking her for. Part of him still wanted to be alone and hide under the covers until it all went away. Still, another part of him knew that was stupid. Regan always made things better. Surely, that would apply now, too. Even if he had a feeling Bea or Cece could offer more help in this particular situation than any doctor could. Maybe he was just still reeling from the laughter from earlier. He sighed and settled further into the couch. “If you’re sticking around, we’re going to need more wine and cheese. Bread, too. And way to cover some of this,” he said, gesturing to his black and white hand. “And we’re watching more Meerkat Manor.” After all this, he earned a decent distraction and no way was he watching March of the Penguins right now. He needed a little less black and white in his life.

#wickedswriting #writing #chatzy #regan #kadavernagh #you are the stripes beneath my wings

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dana-sculy · 4 years

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Vive Ut Vivas - Chapter Two

→ Chapter One

It’s been 84 years since I wrote the first chapter of this story, I know, sorry it took me so long to continue to write it, hope you all enjoy! To read it in AO3 come here :)

tagging @today-in-fic

In this chapter, different from the first one, we'll see the story under Scully's perceptive. It's also a way to better explore her emotions and inner feelings of the situation. Plus, since in season 11 we came to learn more about Skinner's past and how he also had to deal with trauma, I decided to use that background in the conversations between him and Scully.

Prologue

I remember a time when I was only 5 years old. It was an ordinary day of summer, and mom had decided to take her children for a picnic in the park not far away from our house. She had little pots of everything with too much sugar and more packaging than the space-shuttle. Dad had been away on the sea for a long period of time, and even under the naïve perceptions of myself as a kid, it was possible to see how much she missed him. I don’t know if the picnic was an attempt of cheering the mood more for herself or for us. I should’ve been worried, but instead I just gave her my best smile and pulled out the fresh baked baguettes with brie and cranberry.

The air was warm that day, the beams of sunlight glowed on my skin. Melissa liked to sit close to the flowers and inspect them, under the freshly cut green grass. Charlie and Bill would start fighting with each other any time soon; it was sort of their motto. And that was my cue to go get and adventure by myself.

Looking back today, I wonder how could I and Melissa get along so well together. We were opposites in everything: she was the model, girly girl, who loved dresses, flowers, dolls and the piano lessons mom made sure we attended to. I was never that way. I loved dogs, sports and comfortable pants. I would only come inside home when mom called me with that tone of threat, which is the reason to my abundancy of freckles, due to hours and hours under the sun, climbing trees, running and playing around.

I was the tough child, I guess. Mel was the soft, popular one. That hasn’t changed much now that we’re adults. I still don’t go very well with softness; I keep it under tons of labored layers, deep inside.

This was mainly the reason I feared so badly to come here and stay with my sister. She has always had this thing of hers that somehow goes straight into your heart and sees everything. I’m a private, reserved person, and I like keeping my feelings only to myself. But that never really worked with Mel. Let’s say she would be very good at interrogations.

---

After what felt like an eternity, my tears, which eventually turned into little sobs, finally went away. At some point, Melissa’s tightened her hold on me; there wasn’t much else she could do about the whole situation for now. I ran my fingers through her knuckles, and she released me slowly.

“I guess I’ll be going, Mel.” – I feel terrible for leaving her after such an intimate moment, and especially because I know she’ll have a lot of other questions for me now.

“Work stuff you said, right?” – She sounds discouraged, but not mad, at the very least.

“Yes. Skinner had called me in the morning and he’s expecting me at the Bureau. So… I’d better be on my way.” – I rise from the couch and start to collect my things, stuffing them in my purse. It feels weird, not having my badge with me.

I say goodbye to my sister without turning to look back at her. If I did that, she would find her way into convincing me to stay. Even so, I can still feel her eyes burning on me, absorbing each detail, each movement I do. I close the door quietly and follow my way down the stairs of her building.

---

FBI headquarters - 3:00 p.m.

There is a feeling: it starts when you enter a place you’ve already been a thousand times before, and yet, when you look around, you feel like it’s not the same, even though nothing’s really changed. You try desperately to find out what is different, but the only thing you find is a bitter taste in the back of your mouth, a feeling of intrusion, as if you were the wrong peace of a puzzle, trying to fit in.

I enter through the front door, the big cement columns threatening to smash my tiny figure as I pass them to go through the metal detector machine.

As the elevator doors open, I feel a sense of relief as I notice it’s empty. I am aware that my abduction has made me quite a popular person in the bureau, as if being part of the X Files division hadn’t already granted me that. Mulder talked with me about how a few people, whose existence he’s never known before, had stopped him at the corridor to ask if Mrs. Spooky had been taken by his fellow aliens, or simply to know what really happened to me.

Being a woman in a field that is predominantly occupied by men has taught me that the standards are never equal when it comes to gender difference. I had to work harder than most of my male colleagues at Quantico to stand out, and now as an agent, I feel more than grateful to be Mulder’s partner, because, unlike the others, he treats me like an equal, recognizing my work as an agent without making me feel less capable due to being a woman, and protecting me when it’s needed without making me feel like I couldn’t handle myself.

The problem in that is that it often makes me forget how mean the rest of the bureau can be. I realize I wasn’t that lucky when the elevator doors open again, now in Skinner’s office floor, and I see a very crowded hall ready to swallow me up.

The loud noise of my high heels coming in contact with the floor fill my ears and I feel my body threatening to throw up all the remnants of the cheap lunch I had back at the hospital. I walk silently, looking straight away and trying my best to avoid the curious eyes that follow me. I hear whispers too, but my ears don’t register any words being said. My mind is way too busy fighting to keep me standing and moving forward. Thank God Skinner’s office is not so far from the elevator itself, and I get there quickly enough.

Arlene’s attention is instantly drawn to the creaking door as I open it, increasing considerably as she recognizes my singular figure entering the precinct. She tries her best to be discreet, though. She even gives me a little smile, embarrassed with the whole situation.

“Agent Scully, you can go inside. Mr. Skinner is already waiting for you.” – with that, she returns to typing in her computer.

Skinner is indeed expecting me as I walk to a chair in his conference table. Different from the others, he doesn’t show any sign of curiosity or pity. I feel immensely thankful for that, so I give him a smile. I’m well aware that the evaluation is merely standard procedure, not to mention that it’s just me and Skinner there, but, still, the knot in my stomach doesn’t subside a bit. I guess after all that’s happened, my mind had gotten a little susceptible to Mulder’s paranoia of breaking The X-Files division, and shutting our careers down along with that. Let’s not think about that right now, Dana. I turn the focus of my mind on taking long, deep breaths.

“Agent, Scully, it’s a relief to see you well.” – Skinner is sincere in his words, as he looks straight into my eyes to show me he means it. – “I hope you understand the need of this procedure. You were under a highly stressful situation and that requires a bureau evaluation, to make sure you’re ready to go back to field”.

“Thank you, Sir, I understand. I just want to go back to work as soon as I can.” – And forget this nightmare, I think to myself. For a moment, I wish Mulder could be here. His crack jokes and sassy faces would certainly help lighten the mood.

I remember Mulder with that thought, how he was worried with me coming back so soon, how he couldn’t help himself in hiding his desire to have my company back, despite that. My memory traces the lines of our office: the dusty shells of stuff Mulder makes sure to keep there, his table, his geek poster I came to like with time, the silly green alien key chain he bought me last summer, while lecturing me about how aliens are actually grey. It gives my heart some comfort to remember something so familiar to me.

“Good to hear that, agent. So, let’s begin, shall we?”

Thereby, Skinner starts to present me a series of routine questions, then about standard FBI procedure, and, finally, questions with, I suppose, a more psychological approach. Turns out it’s not that bad, after all. I feel relieved.

After I give my last answer, he pauses, closing his eyes for a bit. He uses the tips of his long fingers to massage his temples, and then takes a deep breath.

“If you allow me, Dana, I’d like to talk to you, off the record.”

I realize I won’t escape personal interrogations today, so I give him a week nod.

“Listen… Your test shows no reason to keep you away from work. That said, I’m letting you know you can return to work any time.”

“I see a ‘but’ coming” – I attempt to make a joke, but he doesn’t alter his serious face.

“Well, yes, indeed. As your boss, I’ll tag along with the evaluation, but as your friend, I’d like to advise you to go home, Dana. You’ll continue to be paid normally even if you take some more time off, and you really should do that. Go be with your family, go rest and give your body and soul time to heal. Trust me, I know the feeling. Your strength is increasing and your body seems better, so it feels like you’re ready to go back to action, but these wounds, Dana, they’re bigger than they look. They can threaten to unsettle your spirit in the most inconvenient of times, and I wouldn’t forgive myself if that caused another risk to your life, or to agent Mulder.”

He was probably right; I knew it in my heart. But how could I tell him that taking time was consuming me, that it was making me mourn over and over again all the things I lost during my abduction? I could no longer rest unless I was under the effect of my sleeping pills, or drowsy due to my strong medication, because when their effect passed away, all I could see in my mind was the same nightmare over and over again. I must've let out something, because when I turned my eyes back to Skinner’s, he had a bigger frown on his face.

“Don’t fight me on this, Dana. You’re the bravest agent I know, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need help.” – He waited for a response, so I opened my mouth in an attempt of an answer.

“Sir, I appreciate your concern, but I really need to work.” – I sigh – “I need something to focus my mind on. I’ll be careful, plus, Mulder will be there to help me.” – I try to give him my best sad-puppy face. It seems to work.

“That’s not the answer I hoped for.” – Now it’s his turn to sigh. – “But I know you well enough to understand that trying to convince you otherwise won’t make any difference.”

“Thank you for understanding that, Sir.” – As I rise from my seat, he speaks once again.

“Agent, as you’re released to come back to work, I want you to be aware that, due to the circumstances of your case, you’ll have to go through periodic psychological counseling. That is not negotiable, agent Scully, but don’t worry, everything you say during session will remain private, these routine sessions are just to make sure you recover from your experience.”

I nod to him and find my way to the door, but he calls my name when I’m about to leave the room.

“Just one more thing, Dana.” – I turn to him. – “As you return, if you feel like you can’t stand a situation, anytime, my offer stands. Promise me you’ll accept help from the ones closer to you.”

From all the times Mulder and I had to count on Skinner’s assistance, I’ve learned to trust him and to believe in the fact that he really cares for us both, but now, from the way he says this words and the look on his face, I feel like this is more than just concern for me. It feels personal, and I’m inclined to conclude that he’s had his amount of trauma too.

“I promise.” – I tell him and leave, there’s a basement I have to go to.

#the x files #txf #txf fanfic #msr #msr fanfic #my fanfics #foc #mine #dana scully #walter skinner #melissa scully

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thelostcatpodcast · 4 years

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THE LOST CAT PODCAST TRANSCRIPTS: SEASON 5: EPISODE 5: THE DUNNERING DEMON

Released on : 5th June 2020

https://thelostcat.libsyn.com/season-5-episode-5-the-dunnering-demon

My cat was walking along a quiet hedgerow-lined road in the country, of the kind where the tarmac gives way to gravel at the edges, and passed a sign reading ‘you are now entering the village of Dunnering’.

Some bunting had been draped it.

It was a beautiful village on a green hill surrounded by rolling fields dotted with comfortingly ancient trees where birds sang just out of reach, with delightful rows of mismatched cottages leading up the hill to the stately old manor house.

From every lamp-post hung bunting and flags, on every window flowers.

It could not have been a more pretty, peaceful place.

But Dunnering was a village beset by ill-fortune, sickness, violence and, as of this morning, murder. For the village of Dunnering was cursed.

THE LOST CAT PODCAST, BY A P CLARKE, SEASON 5, EPISODE 5: THE DUNNERING DEMON

As my cat wandered up the delightful high street, he noticed a general movement of humans up the hill towards the manor house. A crowd of them. He made a habit of following crowds for the inevitable heaps of dropped food that always accompanied them.

But there was a strange feel to the crowd, less of the excitable and chaotic energy that one usually gets when something out of the ordinary has happen, and replaced with some kind of grim magnetism that pulled them all up the hill.

The crowd was full of mutterings about ‘the curse’, and ‘the demon’.

And they all walked, leaden foot, up the hill towards the manor. And so my cat held back, not wanting to get caught under any of those feet.

Then my cat also noticed one human, an old lady, walking slowly but very determinedly in a different direction. She walked over to the side of the road, bonked her stick off the helmet of the police constable, who was watching the whole parade with a bemused expression, and made him open his car door so that he could drive her up the hill. My cat leapt in to her lap, just before the officer closed the door, and immediately began purring.

The old lady said, “oh? What’s this with the purring? I don’t have any food.”

But she scritched at his head, and he settled down gently.

“Ah dear, do we have to, Mrs Lipeston?” Grumbled the officer. “It’ll get fur everywhere!”

“I’ll worry about this cat dirtying your car, when you’ve bothered cleaning it up after last night’s joy ride. Don’t think I didn’t notice!”

And the officer coughed and changed the subject.

“And if there’s anything else I can do for you, Mrs Lipeston.”

“This will be sufficient, Jason.”

They drove carefully up the road to the gates of the manor house, avoiding the crowd.

The gates were closed, and being guarded by large groundskeepers with even larger dogs. The crowd drew up to the gate, but all stopped a very specific distance away from the hardened scowls that greeted them, and absolutely none tried to push past.

The groundskeepers owned absolutely everything beyond that point.

So the crowd peeked around the edges of the gates, and over the fence, to try and sneak a look at what might be happening within.

As the police car pulled up to the side of the road, the constable asked, “Do you know what this is about, Miss Lipeston?”

“No, but I fear any business concerning Lord Dunnering will come to no good.”

“Some say he’s quite mad.”

“Oh, I doubt that.”

“Some say...”

“Don’t mention the curse, Jason.”

“Sorry, Mrs. Lipeston.”

“He was a good child,” the old lady began, and the constable knew better than to interrupt again. “Brighter than all the others. It would get him in to trouble, but I never had problem with him. I think what gets ascribed to madness is often an unwillingness to accept a life of rules and traditions such as run right through an ancestral manor such as this. However, at some point, as he grew into a man, it turned him inward, and dismissive of others, and I simply could not talk to him at all after that. But he grew in to a man of immense will. He had unbounded energy, a world striding ambition, and he did not suffer fools, or his family, gladly. He abandoned his inherited wealth and then went and built an entirely new fortune by himself that dwarfed that of his family. Mad? I am not so sure.”

“Yes, ma’am,” said the constable, opening the passenger door for her.

Miss Lipeston held my cat in her arms, and the constable helped her out of the car.

As the two began slowly making their way through the crowd to the gates, passing plenty of whispers about ‘the looney lord’, they saw a handsome lady rush up to the gates, with a clear attitude of authority, and began speaking to the crowd with a high manner. She kept looking at the Groundskeepers with a mildly-hidden mix of fear and disgust, while the groundskeepers were in turn barely keeping their disdain in check.

It seemed a common goal - of keeping the crowd out - was allowing a temporary impasse.

The dogs just snarled.

She said: “Now please, please, Lord Dunnering is a VERY private man and this is a very sensitive matter. We must ask for the GREATEST of respect in this unfortunate time.”

“That’s the Lord’s niece,” said the constable. “Turned up recently.”

“Yes, I know of her.”

“Lord Dunnering knows,” the lady continued. “Lord Dunnering knows that he can reply on your FULL support at this time.”

And while the lady was speaking, Mrs. Lipeston leaned in to the constable’s arm and continued: “Then the story takes a turn. For he took off. Vanished. Overseas, and no-one knows where, or what he did. Rumours, of course, and of a most unkind nature, flourished. He came back some five years later, with no word of explanation, kicked everyone out of the ancestral pile and filled the halls with the uncounted, not to mention mysteriously gained, treasures that he had acquired in his travels. And that, I am afraid, is where the trouble began.”

They approached the gate. The neice blocked them. The dogs snarled at my cat, and my cat hid further down in the woman’s arms.

“Uhh, excuse me but where are you going?”

“To speak to Lord Dunnering.”

“As his niece I will be handling all questions regarding the estate at this time.”

And Mrs Lipeston gripped the constable’s arm, just ever so slightly.

“Mrs Lipeston will be assisting the police today, Lady Carstarse.”

“Well, I…” Lady Carstarse began, but Mrs Lipeston walked straight past her before she could finish.

“Grace,” she said, as she did.

The handsome woman clearly wanted to follow them in, to assert authority again, but that instinct was caught in a conflict of not being willing to give up the gates to the groundskeepers. As such she just sort of stood still, and stuttered.

“Well, aren’t you going to do something?” she said.

The groundskeepers said nothing, but kept their eyes very carefully on the old lady as she passed. The dogs growled at them, and pulled at their leashes.

My cat stayed very deep in Mrs Lipeston’s arms.

And they walked along the gravel path towards the house, past withered flower beds, thick bramble, and endless cages for animals, of all sizes, now empty and overgrown.

And Lipeston was in full flow now: “Once the family was gone, he filled The Manor House with every kind of treasure, the grounds were filled with every kind of exotic animal. He hired a full staff of groundskeepers to look after this extraordinary collection. The house had never seen such success. But bad luck began befalling the Dunnering Estate. Plants would not grow, the animals began dying, there were strange sicknesses among the staff: breakages, accidents, sightings, and more”

My cat did notice a strange atmosphere in the grounds. He heard no birdsong, he smelt no trace of wildlife. He looked back, and saw the guard dogs had stayed right where they were, on the other side of the gate.

“These events became so severe Lord Dunnering became convinced that he had been placed under a curse and that he was being hunted by a demon. And a darkness came over the manor then. It radiated out from him and smothered all within its influence. He became more and more paranoid, more fearful of every tiny threat until he locked himself away inside his great hall and was never outside again. And of course, such behaviours simply fuel gossip like gasoline.”

“They say he desecrated an ancient Syrian tomb.”

“Precisely,” said Mrss Lipeston.

And with that, they entered through the vast doors of the Dunnering Manor.

And they saw just what the gossiping had all been about.

The entrance hall had been completely gutted, and replaced with an immense glass case, stretching all the way up to the now removed roof, forty feet above, and enclosing some 80% of the vast atrium.

It was a complete second, sealed, inner room. The old roof had been removed, so that the glass was exposed to the sky, with nothing breaking its smooth surface but a small ventilation port barely two feet across right at the top and right at the centre.

Inside the room the floor was filled with furniture and statuary, of Marathan, Byzantine and Zhou heritage, and more. Some of the sculpture was immense. Beds, divans, tapestries and dining tables of many styles, filled in the spaces between. Marble and bronze, wood and glass: The treasures of many worlds.

And there, lying at the centre, quite dead, was a young woman with her head bashed in.

“Oh my dear girl,” Mrs Lipeston said, so quietly, and my cat could feel her body straighten as her aspect changed, and she slew off some of her little old lady body language.

My cat gave the room a good sniff.

The constable said with a gasp: “Is that Maud Montgomery?”

“I’m afraid so,” said the detective in charge, calling over. “Lord Dunnering’s fiance. Daughter of the head groundskeeper. We’re just getting the doors open now.”

A group of medical staff and police officers stood by a complicated set of doors on one side of the glass enclosure. Groundskeepers stood around them, checking over their every action with grim expressions.

And the medical staff, even the police officers, worked with great and visible, care.

An older man was with them, handsomely dressed, entering a code into the door.

Mrs Lipeston leaned over to the constable and whispered “Uncle.”

“They do keep popping up, don’t they.”

“Don’t they just.”

The Uncle was speaking: “Double-redundancy, Time release airlocks. A fully featured quarantine with de-comtamination chamber. The, uhh, renovations were made without any expense spared.”

He looked up at what was left of the Manor’s roof as he said this. “Which of course were entirely Lord Dunnering’s privilege to make, and we have supported him in every way. There.”

The heavy doors unlocked with a hiss of escaping air, and the medical staff went in to check on the body, lying still in the centre of the room.

My cat, sitting in Mrs Lipeston’s arms, got a good smell of the escaping air.

When the uncle saw the body through the doorway he turned away, holding his hands to his face.

“Oh it’s too awful,” he said. “They were to be wed this Saturday.”

Just then the niece bounded in from outside, out of breath, clearly having made the decision that it was more important being there than at the gates.

She saw the body, and held her uncle’s shoulder.

“It is a tragedy, Uncle Freddie.”

“We put bunting up all over the village,” said the sobbing Uncle.

Mrs Lipeston asked, “And why all this?”, gesturing at the great class enclosure.

It was the niece that responded.

“I’m afraid Lord Dunnering is... sensitive to outside contagion, and demands everything go through two weeks of quarantine before being let in to own sanctuary. He built this entire chamber for his fiancée so she could pass her time in quarantine in comfort. When the quarantine period was finished, she would have been transferred to his own quarters so that they could have been, finally, together.”

“How did they meet?”

“The two struck up a relationship while she worked around the house, doing groundskeeper duties. She would sit by his chambers for hours, apparently. She was an incredible solace to him. Such a lovely girl, surprisingly so. We thought she might finally bring him out of himself. It is so tragic.”

Mrs Lipeston said, “I might need to speak to the groundskeepers too at some point.”

“Uhh, be careful,” said the niece, speaking more quietly now. “They don’t mix well with... locals. The Lord brought them in after working with them on his travels. They are insular, proud, and fierce.”

“The story I tell,” said the uncle. “From my great-grandfather, about how their people fought in some war or other. They faced an invading force ten times their number, and over days of battles broke that number down to less than half. Extraordinary fighting. But when the invading force finally overwhelmed them, and stormed their settlement, they found every last one of them dead. Facing capture, they had killed their own rather than face dishonour. I would be careful.”

“Nevertheless,” said Mrs Lipeston, and moved over to the quarantine doors.

The groundskeepers all watched as she approached, and she made a point of catching one of their eyes and holding his gaze.

Some of the police officers were speaking:

“It’s the curse. It’s got to be.”

“It is a crime,” said the detective in charge.

“But how could it have been done? There’s no way in, and no way out?”

“That’s what we’re here to find out, isn’t it.”

“No human could have done this.”

Mrs Lipeston interjected: “Has Lord Dunnering been informed of the death? We should speak with him.”

“Lord Dunnering don’t want to see anyone,” came a booming voice from behind them.

Heavy steps sounded from the darkened hall that led to the East Wing and the hunched form of the Head Groundskeeper emerged into the space, and stood, blocking the corridor.

“Mr Montgomery.”

“No-one.”

And the other groundskeepers joined him, standing shoulder to shoulder.

Mrs Lipeston approached, leaving the others behind.

“I can not offer you solace, Mr Montgomery,” she said. “But we will catch who did this.”

“Was the demon.”

“If it was a demon, then we will catch a demon. May I pass?”

Mr Montgomery did not move, and a couple of the groundskeepers leaned in and they spoke quietly for a moment.

Eventually he said, “Ma’am.” and he reluctantly stepped asideAnd Mr Montgomery reluctantly stepped aside, and then led them in to the darkness of the East Wing.

“I am utterly sorry for your loss, Mr Montgomery.” Said the uncle as they walked.

And Mr Montgomery cleared his throat so aggressively at that no-one spoke at all the rest of the way.

There was no lighting in the corridor, and it was lined with towering statuary and other treasures, piled high on either side. The deepening shadows loomed over the party as they walked in to the East Wing.

The corridor emerged to show another huge glass enclosure had been built, and filled the space. It was all in darkness, covered in drapes and curtains, save a single beam of bright sunlight from the ventilation port at the very top.

A man stood there just inside wall of the glass room, almost in silhouette, and watching them approach.

“Mrs Lipeston, it has been a long time.”

He was gaunt, he did not fit his clothes, he was pale, and his body was almost completely still. He had none of the vitality of the world-striding young man she had known, he did not have the squirling pestilent energy of the sick, nor even the floating unreality of a ghost, only the cold grey blankness of death, and it bled out from him to fill the entire room, the entire wing, and it poisoned everything it touched.

“Miss Lipeston, it has been a long time.”

“Yes it has, Philip.”

And he held in his arms a small, hairless cat, of the type popular in Northern Africa and the Middle East, and it hung limply from him, it’s shallow breaths showing through its ribs, with barely enough energy in it to raise its head, which lolled forlornly over his wrist. Its pale, bare skin stretched and stuck to its master’s until you could barely tell where one started and the other finished.

Lord Dunnering then looked at my cat, which was sitting in Mrs Lipeston’s arms, looking all about with some interest, and the merest trace of a wince could be seen on his brow.

Instinctively, almost unconsciously, he reached for a handkerchief, and began waving away imaginary cat hairs from around him. He caught himself doing it, and then began self-consciously rubbing at smudges on the glass wall with the handkerchief, as if to cover his mistake up.

The hairless cat in the Lord’s arms languidly raised its head enough to see what was going on. But Its heavy lidded eyes were barely even open.

Some smudges the Lord could not budge, no matter how hard he rubbed. He snapped when he realised they were on the outside of the glass.

“Mr Montgomery I have asked you repeatedly to ensure the cleanliness of the quarantine. Increase the rota. This place must be clean!”

“Yes, sir.”

Lord Dunnering caught himself again, and straightened, taking a half step back. It was clear he was finding himself doing this sort of thing more and more.

He took a deep breath, put the handkerchief into a waste receptacle, and gathered himself.

Calmly, the Lord turned back to the gathered crowd.

“I asked to be alone.”

“I’m afraid this is a police matter, Lord Dunnering.”

“And then why is she here?”

“We must ask you some questions.”

“There is nothing to say.”

“Your fiancée has been murdered,” said Mrs Lipeston.

“It was the demon.”

“Take this seriously.”

“It is the curse.”

“Philip!”

“The curse takes everything!” he spat, suddenly wrathful, with that old energy passing fleetingly across his parchment face. “Oh, at first I did not believe it, in my arrogance, as staff fell sick, animals began disappearing, began dying. You never could solve those deaths could you, Mrs Lipeston.”

“No, Philip, I could not.”

“But still I careened blindly on. Then my own pets were lost. I came back to this manor with three sibling cats, Mrs Lipeston.” and he stroked the pallid, lone creature in his arms. “By the time the second one was taken from me I could not deny the truth any longer: I was cursed, and it was killing everything around me, so I retreated here, to this sanctuary, out of the world, so I could keep what I loved safe.”

And his face passed in to shadow, and any trace of the old Lord that remained was entirely gone.

“But it did not work, for now the curse has taken my beloved. Even here, even with all I have done, the curse follows with me. The demon will come for me, will come for every thing I love. There is no escape. Leave, for there is nothing here. Not any more.”

He turned away from the glass then.

“Mr Montgomery, you are relieved of duty, you may do as you wish.”

And Lord Dunnering retreated from the wall, back in to the darkness, absently stroking his withered pet.

“Be careful with your cat, Mrs Lipeston. They don’t last too long round these parts.”

And then he was gone.

They walked back towards the Entrance Hall, towards the light.

As they walked, the uncle shook his head with worry. “I am concerned this could send him over the edge entirely, and we’ll never get him back, right-minded and competent again.”

“It is a terrible tragedy,” agreed the niece.

Back in the entrance hall, the body of Maud Montgomery had been brought out of the quarantine, on a stretcher and covered, and was currently waiting for the coroner to remove her to the hospital.

Mr Montgomery knelt by the stretcher’s side, and held the body’s hand.

He placed it back, gently, beneath the cloth and then rose.

“Well,” he said. “What’ve yer got?”

“We are following up a number of leads at this moment…”

Mr Montgomery scowled at him, shook his head, and stormed off.

“Have you checked the roof?” said Mrs Lipeston, and pointed up at the ventilation port.

“It’s too high, it’s too small. We’ve discounted it as a means of ingress.”

“Discount nothing, Detective.”

And the detective sucked in sharply. “Fine,” he said. “Officer: send three men up.”

And, as he ran off, Mr Montgomery and a couple of the groundskeepers stood at the East Wing corridor, arms folded, and glaring.

While they were climbing towards the roof, my cat wriggled in Mrs Lipeston’s arms and the old lady let him go to the floor, where he began sniffing around the doors of the opened airlock.

Forty feet above them, long wooden ladders were stretched out over the gloss roof, as they tried to attach to the support of the ventilation apparatus without touching the glass itself. This entire edifice was designed by someone who wanted it perfect in form, with no care as to how hard it was to access.

Police officers banged and wobbled their way along the ladders to reach the ventilation port. They checked it thoroughly, then reported down that there was no evidence of tampering at all.

Then one of the officers almost fell off the ladder. In the Entrance Hall they all looked up at the figure half dangling off the struts, then clasping himself very tightly to the ladder.

The detective called up, “are you alright? What happened? Report!”

“I’m sorry sir. I’m sorry. But I think you are going to need to see this, sir.”

“What is it?” asked the detective “what is it?”

“Footprints, sir.”

The officer was brought a tablet so he could beam an image down to the detective.

And the image told its story. Close to the ventilation port were two large, non-human footprints next to each other. They neared half a metre long, with complicated claws around their outside and, one on each foot towards the front, was the round outline of a large sucker.

“My god.”

“Like a squid or something.”

“It is the demon! It used the suckers to climb straight down the glass walls and do for poor Maud. We have to tell the Lord!”

They ran back to the East Wing.

Mrs Lipeston followed, silenced by the evidence of the footprints.

Back in the East Hall, The Lord looked at the footprints, then put his hand upon the glass and bowed his head.

He said, “My love, my love.” Then he collapsed, putting the cat down upon a table where it melted to the surface like custard. He said, as he sobbed into the floor “I have cursed you too.”

And then two large thumps were heard above them, coming from the darkened roof. Then two more, towards the back of the house.

“Footsteps!”

“The demon is still on the roof!”

The Lord grovelled on the floor “It is come for me. At long last, it is come for me.”

Mr Montgomery stood tall and said: ‘If it leaves footprints, it is real. And if it is real, you can put your hands on it. And I will lay my hands upon this demon.’ he pointed at the detective. “Bring everyone!”

And they rushed, all of them, the family, the police, the hangers-on and the groundskeepers, out into the grounds, carrying clubs and whatever was to hand, leaving only Mrs Lipeston and Jason the constable.

They looked into the glass case and the Lord lying there.

“It is not unheard of for someone to be so convinced of their own guilt that they create their own punishment. But could that self-destructive will become so strong as to manifest physically? To actually become real?”

“I don’t rightly know, ma’am.”

“You should probably go with them, if only to ensure they do not harm each other.”

“I think you might be right.”

“And Jason,” she added as he started to leave. “Do be careful of yourself out there. Just in case.”

“I will Mrs Lipeston,” he said, and ran off.

Mrs Lipeston left the East Wing slowly, and met my cat as he walked back from the Entrance Hall. She lent down and scritched behind his ears, speaking distantly, mostly to herself.

“I don’t know. I just… don’t know. I am not so foolish as to dismiss the existence of demons. But I’m not so sure it is monsters that do things like this. Let us say: Trapping the lord in a cage would most definitely benefit some of those outside of it. Something doesn’t smell right, and I am sure you sense it too, little one. Go on. And be careful.”

My cat ran off in to the halls.

My cat walked down the shadowed corridors of the vast manor house, lined with the relics of ancient worlds, and things more unimaginable, all towering over him.

Faint noises echoed in the halls: movements in the shadows in the corners of eyes. My cat was used to reading the endless activity of the city at night, but he was not used to the almost complete stillness here, and so found it hard to interpret it.

So he mostly ignored it, for he had a scent to follow. He was following the strange mix of smells he had found all around the tragic sanctuary of Maud Montgomery.

Outside the quarantine, he had smelt all of the usual country smells of village people but also stranger smells, chemical smells - smells he only knew from certain parts of parts of the city.

When the airlocks had opened he had smelled Maud, sweet and sad, coming from her clothes, from everywhere she had touched, but could not make out the scent of any other person. What he did smell coming out of that airlock door, that had so peaked his interest, was the very faint smell of an animal.

And it was this smell he was following right then.

He followed them down stairs, past kitchens, well passed where the statues began to thin out, with the smell of this animal getting stronger and stronger, and onto a corridor right on the edge of the manor house.

There was a bang! And a scrape!

And my cat hid beneath a statue, as one of the groundskeepers walked by, come back alone from the hunt, and constantly looking behind him.

My cat followed him.

And, at the very end of the corridor, the groundskeeper unlocked a door with three locks and went in. My cat snuck by before he closed the door and went in too.

And there the strange mix of chemical and animal was strongest mixed in with the sweet, sad smell of Maud Montgomery.

It was a small, plain bedroom, and the groundskeeper was lighting dark candles and incense of the kind to ward off dark spirits, filling the air with the smell of chemicals.

Then, in front of a small book case, he put down two small bowls, pushed the case aside, and revealed a small cubby hole, filled with blankets, soft lights, and a tabby cat curled up tight right in the corner.

And a cloud of cat hair spilled out of the cubby hole. The cat had been there a long time. And the tabby cat shuddered – it was absolutely terrified.

The groundskeeper filled one bowl with water, one with food, patted the poor creature on the head, and then left, locking the doors again.

Alone again my cat rose and, very carefully, before he revealed himself, made a thin high yowling noise.

The noise said ‘I am just passing through, and I pose you no threat’

And then he stepped out in front of the terrified creature, and waited for the animal to accept his presence.

But it would not leave its hiding hole. It kept checking on the windows, at the grates in the walls - all of the places a demon could get in. The terrified cat checked all around the skirting boards of the room. It all made perfect sense from my cat’s point of view - it was checking for any gaps.

As far as this poor cat was concerned, if he left this hiding place, the demon would get him.

My cat stayed small and gentle so as not to scare the cat any further. My cat purred and moved slowly to calm the animal and, eventually, my cat approached, sat down next to it, and began licking its fur.

This was Maud Montgomery’s cat, hidden away so that the curse that killed all the other animals would not get to it. It said a great deal that the cat was hidden, rather than given away or left with relatives. Maud was clearly a lady who was not going to give up her cat. This animal was loved, and had been cared for. It is possible that the cat had already sensed that something had changed, and that Maud was never, ever coming back again.

My cat gently groomed the poor creature. And when it was calm, they settled down and napped with each other, just for a little while.

My cat left the animal sleeping and happy a little while later, stopping to eat a bit of the food first. My cat knew the killer of Maud Montgomery now, and he had work to do.

It was the dead of night now. The halls of the Dunnering House were silent and still. And my cat paced through the East Wing to the great glass wall of Lord Dunnering’s quarantine.

The glass shone in the moonlight, smooth and clean.

The Lord was long asleep, the hunting party long since returned empty-handed, and the house closed up for the night.

My cat approached the glass, and he yowled.

And, slowly, out of the shadows withered the hairless cat, its head barely lifted from the floor, its limbs swaying like noodles.

It came and sat on the other side of the glass, its shoulders like knitting needles through the skin of its back.

They stared at each other.

And then the hairless cat straightened its limbs, its eyes narrowed to points, it rose up and sat regally. It opened its mouth and called out in a coarse, breathy hiss. But it was not addressing my cat. It was looking behind him.

Where, out of the darkness, two more hairless cats approached, stalking, like panthers.

The cat behind the glass cocked his head just slightly, as he watched. He showed his teeth, and hissed.

My cat backed away from the hunting pair, towards the glass.

One of the hairless cats circled round to cut him off, rubbing up against the glass to close that escape route, and leaving an oily smudge.

My cat had nowhere to go.

The two hunting cats closed in.

And then two nets came down upon them.

Mr Montgomery and the constable came out of the dark, holding on to the nets.

The cat within the glass howled a shrieking howl with its feet up on the glass wall, unable to do a thing.

Mrs Lipeston called for the lights to be turned on.

Mr Montgomery leaned in close to the cat in his net, and he said “I got my hands on you.”

The captured cats spat and yowled.

Lord Dunnering himself walked bleary eyed towards the glass.

“What is the meaning of this!” he said.

“We have captured the murderers of Maud Montgomery, Lord Dunnering,” said Mrs Lipeston.

The lord rubbed his eyes awake and saw.

“My cats.... Those are my cats! They did not die!”

“No. I imagine it would be relatively easy to live in the roofs and basements of this manor without being detected.”

“They are the killers? But this is ridiculous, Mrs Lipeston! You are making a fool of me! Of Mr Montgomery! Of Maud!”

But Mr Montgomery said, “i’d hear her out.”

“Fine!” said Lord Dunnering, looking at his long-lost pets struggling in the nets. “So tell me: HOW did they commit this murder?”

And Mrs Lipeston took a deep breath, and began:

“It was a simple plan, really. Jason, could you fetch me a chair. Thank you. Last night, the cats waited for the poor lady to fall asleep, then one blocked the filtering system bringing air IN to her quarantine - most probably that one, and you may find some slight scorching on one side of its body, as the machinery can get hot when blocked.”

Jason checked, and confirmed a slight reddening on one side of the cat.

“The other then simply sat on the ventilation port above and their smooth, hairless skin created an airtight seal on the glass. Then they had simply to wait for the oxygen, in what was now a completely sealed room, to run out.

“Poor Maud woke up eventually, choking and already dazed from carbon dioxide poisoning, and fell hard upon a marble statue and quite bashed her head in. Dramatic, but unnecessary, for she was doomed as soon as they sealed off the air.”

“And what about the footprints?”

“Ah,” said Mrs Lipeston, who was finding her rhythm. “The footprints were caused by these cats sitting on the glass while they waited for the lady to sleep. When a normal cat sits down they leave a bundle of hair, but these ones, they leave only an oily smudge of their sweat. The footprints were simply the oily residue of their hairless skin imprinting on the glass the outline of their seated forms, which can easily be mistaken for the footprint of a much larger beast’s footprints.” Then miss Lipeston leaned in. “Those suckers some were so sure helped them walk down the walls were, my dear lord, the oily outline of their hairless ani.”

She said this with some relish.

“But why would they do this?”

“Greed. Selfishness. Covetousness. Do not think that such desires are purely human inventions. They had the Lord and wanted him alone, so they began a campaign of destroying anything that would take the Lord away from them. This was the beginning of the curse. Then they hid in the roofs and grounds of this estate and attacked anything they saw as a threat. Other animals, new pets, staff and now, rising to human murder, the future wife of Lord Dunnering, Maud Montgomery: the biggest threat they had faced so far.”

Lord Dunnering was silent for a long while.

“My god,” he said. “My god.” he had his hand to his head.

“Well,” said the detective. “We shall take away these murderous animals immediately.”

And the Lord said “Stop! They are mine, and I will do with them as I please. Put them in quarantine so that they may join me in two weeks. These cats were my everything, and I thought I had lost them. Now I find them returned, and will not have them taken again, for they are all I have now. So this is done. The curse is complete, and the demon has found me. Leave my estate, you are all of you no longer welcome.”

And so they left. They closed the gates and went down the hill to the village, leaving the manor house behind.

And my cat had a very nice evening on the old lady’s lap, in front of her fire, as she told stories to her very patient friends of the many other mysteries she had solved. And they drank very large glasses of red wine.

After a day or so, the cat moved on, walking through the strangely quiet village on his way out.

It still was as bright and cheerful as ever, but it was not the same.

Some of the bunting lay coiled, higgeldy-piggeldy in the street where the wind had blown it down and no-one had picked it up.

And, on top of the hill, the manor house darkened and was shuttered up, its ground left to wild, its unused wings closed up and left to rot, and deep at its heart, three cats wrapped themselves around a man, alone, and lost, deep in an unfathomable darkness of his own.

THIS HAS BEEN EPISODE FIVE, OF SEASON FIVE OF THE LOST CAT PODCAST, CALLED ‘THE DUNNERING DEMON’, WRITTEN AND PERFORMED BY A P CLARKE

THANK YOU FOR LISTENING

Links:

https://apclarke.bandcamp.com/album/the-lost-cat-podcast

thelostcat.libsyn.com

twitter.com/LostCatPod

thelostcatpodcast.tumblr.com

facebook.com/lostcatpodcast

soundcloud.com/a-p-clarke/sets/the-lost-cat-podcast

#CAT #lost cat #thelostcatpodcast #lostcatpodcast #podcast #audiodrama #horror #comedy #murdermystery #transcript #dunnering #demon

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femme-is-my-gender · 4 years

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Lesbian ask game 5, with a twist 1-50 👀

OK BABE YOU CAN'T FOOL ME but you're cute and ily so

(I know you sent this like 5 days ago but this was a lot to answer and I wanted to get them all right because HAPPY 6 MONTHS BABE IF WE CANT GO ON A TRIP THEN THIS WHOLE DAMN MONTH IS OUR 6MO CELEBRATION 💕)

1. Their hair is fucking gorgeous I love the texture and its teal (I did the dye and cut!!!)

2. Their eyes are beautiful mid tone brown i love seeing the way the sun reflects off them 💕

3. Their age? Either a wise elder stuck in a teenagers mind stuck in an adults body or did you mean like in dog years?

4. We met on an app 🤷‍♀️ love finds you when you're not looking

5. S is very ticklish I don't even have to touch just wiggle my fingers in their direction and they fall over giggling

6. Their favorite song??? Idk if they have a #1 fave but their fav band is Mickey Darling

7. Their fave movie is avengers we watched it the other night at a drive in:)

8. Their fave book... idk babes a dork Harry Potter probably :P

9. Their fave TV show is She-ra honorable mentions for Avatar and My Hero

10. Their celebrity crush is........... me 😎

11. Babe wants a cat but allergies make that a uh problem (still trying to convince s to get a naked cat we will see how successful I am!!!)

12. There are SO MANY songs that make me think of them heres a whole Playlist but #1 is smother me and I'll follow you into the dark

13. Does s play sports.. well. Do you count the bedroom?

14. My favorite things about their body.. their dimples! Their hands! Their smile and the way their eyes crinkle when they do, the sound of a big belly laugh, their soft tummy and thighs to lay on, their butt is pretty cute too idk

15. My favorite personality traits! Don't get me started! The way they can uphold their boundaries firmly but not unkindly. The way they will get rude if needed to get someone to listen, the way they listen so intently when I talk about the Deep Stuff and the way they listen to my suggestions on the bad days even when they don't want to do what I suggest. The way they look at a new leaf unfurling on one of our house plants and the way they will talk and sing to my bird, the way they care so deeply for their loved ones and would do anything for them, the way they hold me almost every night bc its easier for me to fall asleep since I work early even though their work day ends right before I have to sleep. The way they rub my head and my back when I can't sleep and the way they absent mindedly rub their thumb on my hand or say I love you for the millionth time or do the arm jerk robot arm dance when they're excited or nervous and so many more i gotta go lay down....

16. Their style is emo boy/tacky 80s dad and I love it!

17. Our first date we went to a little vegan restaurant/bar then to an emo night at a bar! The bar double booked though so we didn't get the emo night we anticipated but thats okay!

18. A tiny detail they don't know I notice... idk I say most things I'm thinking outloud so if I notice something i say it lol no secrets here

19. Their talents! They are good at viddy James and they are good at cooking especially seasoning and just throwing random things into a meal, they are good at planning down to details, also the talents don't stop in the bedroom I'm just sayin

20. A tiny poem about S

Ways I say I love you that aren't outloud

Making sure you drink water

Scooting closer

Making you laugh

Asking how's your day been

Tracing my fingers on your skin

Giving us a clean place to spend our time

Encouraging you to try something new

Opening the blinds

Being your cheerleader

Baby you're my sunshine

You shine so bright and even on the cloudy days you're what warms my soul.

I love you.

Have you had any water today?

21. Do they have a tumblr? Yeah! Baby come off anon lol

22. What makes them laugh? Well any goofy noise or silly song i make up usually will get them, they're pretty ticklish so that works too also memes and cat videos

23. S is a Taurus sun with dominant Aries chart and im a sag sun with dominant Capricorn chart depends which app you ask but I say we are pretty damn compatible

24. Babe has always wanted to travel in general. I know Colorado was a plan for a while, Germany has come up before. I think as long as we are together and near a beach we both would be happy to go anywhere

25. Things that are interesting to baby are heros/magic people, babies, animals, romcoms and anything to do with live music

26. I realized I loved them like on our 2nd date! I was so stressed bc I had just gotten out of a toxic relationship and while I was totally over the romantic connection to that person I was still feeling alot of hurt and trying to recover and I met S while I was slutting it up on tinder and I was Not Ready to be in love again like I WAS but I was so scared of fucking things up between us by committing "too soon" but S was so patient and never pressured me but I could tell they had feelings and so did I but like I was better at hiding them. I love them so much I'm so glad we met.

27. Their favorite food group is comfort food/toddler menu: grilled cheese, nuggs, pizza, also their top fave is fideo

28. Babe hates alot of foods I don't know them all yet but bell peppers, onions, also new foods are scary but they will try something if I make it/want to eat somewhere they've never been which just makes me 🥰

29. Hogwarts house is slytherin!

30. Babes element? Well their chart is fire/earth heavy. I say earth is their element!

31. Something that makes baby angry is people being rude for seemingly no reason also people who don't respect boundaries

32. S is taller than me by like 5 inches i think

34. Idk if they want their name on here so

35. Their aesthetic is like kitchy/goth/boho vibes. Dark vibrant colors, lots of plants, lots of art, skulls, comfortable space with blankets and pillows that's pretty and interesting to look at

36. Well the first thing I bought them was a drink lol but the first proper gift was a stuffed sloth they had wanted for a long time bonus facts I had to snoop on their insta to find a picture of the sloth and zoom in/brighten the picture to read the tag and did some sleuthing online but I found it! His name is theo

37. Baby is def a night owl

38. I brag the most about babe's just general goodness. I tell anyone who will listen how good they make me feel and how they listen and give good advice even when I don't want to follow it, and their top priority is keeping me safe and secure and also they're really fucking hot but I can't say that normally.

39. S has some rings and a necklace they like to wear if they're looking Certified Fresh

40. I'm a vegetarian, babes not

41. Oh fuck idk what their fave school subject is I would have to guess lit/reading??

42. Their clique is skaters/emo/scene lol

43. We have been together 6 months almost exactly!! 😍

44. Describe their laugh. Oh my God, well there's the cute nervous/goofy laugh they do most the time, there's this snort/chortle they do when I'm being extra goofy that I love, and sometimes I get them to do the whole throw head back full belly deep laugh and my heart goes 🥰🥰🥰🥰!!!!!!!!!!

45. Nah they don't wear makeup

46. Favorite art medium? Like to do? Painting I think.

47. Babe plucks around on bass and ukulele sometimes and they're a PRO at belly bongos

48. S identifies with cats the most

49. Babe likes the outdoors but it's not their comfort zone so there's resistance when I suggest it but if I insist they end up having a good time. Idk if s would like camping though.

50. This picture is my wallpaper I love them so much and bought this shirt for them!!! (Fun fact I left the store and went home and later decided to go back and get the shirt bc I LOVE them and their tacky 80s dad vibes)

#you think youre slick!#well jokes on you!!! compliment shower!!!!!#i fucking love you so damn much #asks #rb bait #ask games #wlw #personal #donut rebagle

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