#i simply thought “what sort of lady would i spend the rest of existence fighting over 😌😌💕”

[wildbasil]

everyone say hello to creiddylad! 🥰👋🥳🥳🥳🥳

[lepusrufus]

To bargain for immortality pt.6 END

There were little things, really, that ended up putting her doubts and theories to rest. Nicole hadn't been an active person since she was five, so the occasional mild fatigue didn't stand out from her normal routine. The headaches that came and went or the tiredness that accompanied nights when she didn't get enough sleep were simply chucked to her body adjusting to its newfound immortality. Sometimes it takes longer for the Cadou to fully settle in, Esteria had reassured her, talking from personal experience as her own mutation took close to two years to be done changing her body.

All the doubt was wiped from her mind when she woke up one evening, the day after another particularly unpleasant experiment run with Miranda, with a splitting headache. It soon turned downright nauseating and hasty steps took her to the bathroom connected to Cassandra's bedchambers, where she all but doubled over, as much as her position leaning on the sink allowed.

Her initial plan was to simply splash some cold water on her face, but that soon went out the window when her throat and mouth were invaded by the familiar sensation of thick blood coming and pouring out. The white porcelain got stained in dark crimson as her heart seemed to beat painfully against her ribcage, making a small whimper escape blood stained lips. This experience in and of itself was not unfamiliar by now, but her own body apparently taking offence to simply existing was a new and unwelcomed development. An attempt to take a deep breath was made, but that only seemed counterproductive as it sent a stinging ache through her chest, so she settled for holding her breath until the pain subsided. A few shuddering intakes of the oxygen her body seemed to scream for later, the room and her reflection finally seemed to stop spinning.

Her eyes landed on the crimson mess in the sink and she let out an exhausted sigh, but before it could be cleaned, the bathroom door that she had left ajar creaked open.

"Heyy- ooo that looks bad," Daniela's voice came from her side, tone as over the top as always with the grimace that pulled at her features.

"Oh this? What do you mean, just a normal Thursday evening," Nicole replied, voice dripping with sarcasm and hands still shaking on the faucet when she turned on the water.

The other redhead didn't seem phased, presumably being Bela and Cassandra's sister does render one immune to sarcasm. Instead she shrugged and occupied herself with her sister's collection of perfumes that were placed on an adjacent counter.

Nicole gave her a look through the mirror while trying to splash some water on the remaining blood stains. "Did you… need something?"

"Dumbass number one and two are practicing some sword fighting in the garden. Thought you'd like to see," came the reply complete with an eyebrow wiggle that gained her a playful shove.

"Give me a minute to change," Nicole said, finally pushing herself off the sink when the nausea subsided back to a mild headache and her face was free of crimson trails.

As promised, when they entered the back garden that stood between the castle and its extensive vineyard, the faint clinking of metal against metal could be heard. It raised in volume as they made their way to an area where a few logs had been set on the grass, that made perfect sitting spots around what the sisters reclaimed as their small personal arena dedicated to occasional training. The vine covered statues and bushes with colorful leaves made for a pleasant spot to simply spend time in too, her wife currently dressed in light training gear and sword fighting coming as a big bonus to the beautiful surroundings.

The moment Cassandra's eyes landed briefly on her, a characteristic smirk pulled at her lips, their ashy tone left visible from the choice to skip lipstick for the time being. Their sparring match got cut short by a sudden low swipe at Bela's feet, that knocked her off balance and sent her on the trampled grass underfoot.

"Show off," she grumbled at her younger sister when offered a hand to get up. She took it, but continued to glare daggers at Cassandra as she dusted off her pants.

Not that the middle sister noticed, having turned and came up to her wife for a tender good morning kiss. She let the hand not occupied by the sword's handle rest on Nicole's cheek, eyebrows pulling into a frown upon noticing the tired look in emerald eyes.

"Are you feeling well? You look pale."

"Yeah yeah-"

"Oh just some mild gut-puking in the form of blood all over your sink," Daniela interjected, giving a fake innocent shrug when Nicole turned to glare at her. "You might wanna get a maid to clean it up, she did a shit job of it."

"I did not!" Nicole protested.

"You forgot the underside," Daniela hummed. "That was some mad splatter there."

She was rendered mute as the youngest sister moved to the small fence portion that was turned into an impromptu weapon holder to choose something and take Cassandra's place in another sparring match. Her glare was interrupted when she noticed her wife's worried expression.

"It's fine, just a mild headache now," Nicole sighed as she brought a hand up to interlace their fingers and pull Cassandra with her so they could both sit where Laura and Anita were. "Any chance I'm getting another performance? Since I missed the last one," she then said, a sly smile making its way on her lips.

That got Cassandra to grin, fangs glimmering in the early evening's soft light in a way that anyone else would find downright menacing. "Of course," she answered, eyes momentarily moving to her sisters.

It looked like Bela was winning, despite Daniela choosing her preferred twin swords that she wielded with an odd mix of grace and chaos. A slip past her guard and a hit with the ornate hilt of Bela's sword was what it took to put an end to their match, the youngest sister stumbling forward and breaking into a swarm before she had the chance to fully lose balance and fall face first into the dirt. She reappeared in front of the blonde, tongue stuck out and nose scrunched in an annoyed grimace, complete with a middle finger. If the Dimitrescu sisters had one thing in common, it was that all three of them were the world’s biggest sore losers.

"My turn to kick her ass," Cassandra perked up, picking up her well polished gladius.

Daniela, still miffed about her previous loss, didn't offer her the grace of getting into a proper stance. A flash of flies later, the clanking of metal ringed around them as Cassandra pushed her back.

"We said no swarm!" Bela called out from where she had found a seat on the grass, right in front of Laura.

The youngest rolled her eyes but complied, the buzzing completely dying down in favor of quick swipes and blocks. What Cassandra might've lacked in speed, she more than made up for in an impeccable defense, being near impossible to get near her body even with the apparent advantage of having an extra sword. Their fighting came to a standstill soon enough, with Daniela unable to get near while also being too quick to let any major hit land.

"My ladies."

Alexandria's voice called out from the entrance of their little makeshift arena, distracting Daniela enough for her sister to quickly swipe at her feet not unlike she had previously done to Bela.

The Steward flinched for a second when a long frustrated growl was heard from the youngest, but cleared her throat and did her best to keep up her characteristic poker face as she addressed Nicole. "Mother Miranda's assistant is here for you."

Her face fell, annoyance and dread both bubbling in her chest at having her pleasant day cut short not even two hours after waking up. She got up and exchanged goodbyes with the rest of her family while grabbing Cassandra's free hand in a silent demand to see her to the door.

On their way out, she decided that old jeans and a slightly oversized shirt that had survived her high school days was an attire appropriate enough to being tortured. It should've been concerning how at peace she had become with that idea, at least to any person with a sound mind. She never declared her sanity intact though.

"I'll see you later," she told Cassandra once they were at the heavy doors of the castle's main entrance, a thumb slowly tracing her jaw.

Emma was impatiently waiting for her just outside and blame the slight inherent meanness she had learned to let free since becoming a Dimitrescu, but Nicole took immense pleasure from the woman's uncomfortable grimace when she pulled Cassandra down in a deep kiss that went on for ten seconds too long. Small victories in the face of doom.

---

Nicole choked out a sob that walked the fine line between crying and screaming when the knife that looked way too big for the woman's hands came down at her elbow's joint with a gut wrenching crack.

It felt like Miranda had an unbeatable talent to never disappoint when someone thought she had reached the peak of inhumane with her experiments. The poisons were dreadful as was everything before that. The test on how well she can heal bullet wounds from the previous day had been downright cruel, only stopping after the results that showed how only a bullet through the head can incapacitate her for a while. Today's experiment on regenerating limbs was starting to eat away at Nicole's remaining sanity. It obviously started small, with fingers, but Miranda was always so keen on pushing limits.

She turned on her side with the remaining hand pressed to tear filled eyes and nails digging into skin as she desperately tried to find some sort of distraction from the pain and tingling that felt like static in her veins. Her temples were already throbbing with a headache and her vision was spinning due to the nausea. Miranda and Emma were having some sort of conversation to the side, but it felt distant through the deafening ringing in her ears as she put all her effort into not throwing up due to the sheer shock her body was going through.

The amount of time she laid there sobbing completely evaded her, not bothering to keep a mental track nor raising her head towards the clock mounted on the wall. She just wanted the healing to move and get it over with.

By the time she was mentally prepared to stomach the sight, her hand was already stitching together muscles covering the newly reformed bone, together with the beginnings of skin close to the incision. She tried moving her finger and flinched into a whole body cringe at how utterly wrong it felt.

The door creaking open took her attention away from the unsightly muscles twitching as they got placed together and into their places.

"Lord Heisenberg is here," announced a man, donning a white lab uniform not unlike Emma's.

"Just on time," Miranda perked up, a dangerously gleeful look in her eyes.

She got up, leaving the assistant with the job of timing Nicole's healing as she went to greet Karl. It went on for almost another torturous minute before the tell tale click of the timer and Emma noting it down marked that her arm was once again whole.

"How- how long was that?" Nicole asked, tentatively moving her hand. Good as new, with the exact same mobility function and sensitivity. The only thing missing was the beige nail polish applied just the night prior.

"Five minutes and twenty," the woman replied, not looking up from her paper.

Another few minutes of silence passed, that Nicole spent flexing her fingers. A bit of hot rage coursed through her veins when she noticed her ring finger, the matching band she and Cassandra had having been left on the desk upon entering the lab. At least Miranda had the decency of not slicing her hand off with the ring still on it, but she still wanted it back.

It wasn't long before Miranda came back, motioning for her to follow. "Come," she said, waiting for Nicole to push herself off the hospital bed and onto her feet.

A small burst of dizziness later, she was standing and shaky legs were taking her towards the woman. "Can I get my ring back now?" She did her best to keep the edge out of her tone, too tired to face her wrath.

Miranda simply thought for a moment before waving a dismissive hand at her. "Fine, it won't be in the way anymore."

Nicole wasn't sure if that was good or downright horrifying.

Most of the rooms in the underground maze of corridors were unknown to her. The structure twisting and turning in dizzying patterns that were enough to disorient anyone not familiar with the layout. Not to mention the occasional tunnel that stretched for entirely too long that led to one place or the other from the town above.

Nicole found herself following Miranda through one such unknown area, the corridors new to her but the look not dissimilar to every other part of the underground structure. If it weren't for the numbered plaques on the door, she wouldn't even be able to tell this was a different area than the ones she's seen before.

Miranda pushed open a door and led her inside. It was definitely more spacious than the labs and the space was mostly cleared out save from a few tables lining the walls and some cabinets. The only thing at the center was Lord Heisenberg and a long metal table, leather straps fastened to its sides and a circular saw blade attached to a machine above.

Nicole took a couple stumbling steps back, hips hitting the corner of a table and rattling the papers placed on it. It seemed to peeve Miranda, who grabbed her wrist impatiently.

"Come now, we don't have all day," she said while slowly dragging her towards the table.

With every shaky step, her knees felt like jello under her and her ears started to ring anew with the panic and dread settling like ice in her veins. Her legs finally gave way under her and she fell to her knees with a pathetic sob.

"No please. Please I can't," she said, one hand meekly grabbing at the goddess' lab coat.

Miranda bent down on one knee, brows furrowed in the feign concern that only she could have perfected to such an art. "We have to," she started, voice so soft one could easily believe it belonged to someone else. "We must know the limits of your regenerative abilities. You said it yourself that you want to know them."

She had but not like this. Not like this.

"Then use anesthesia. Please just don't-" she choked out a sob before the end of her phrase. Not that it was going anywhere, it was just a pathetic attempt at bargaining for less suffering.

Surprisingly enough, there were few instances since coming to the Village when she felt truly and utterly terrified. Anxious and afraid? Sure. But not even Lady Dimitrescu hiring her, or Cassandra taking an interest in freaking her out or even getting shot made her feel the dread she was feeling then. She would've rather spent eternity on the cold hard stone under her knees than budge an inch.

Miranda pursed her lips and lifted her chin with one hand, expression like a mother hearing her child make an outrageously unattainable request. "You know that will interfere with the results."

"Then local anesthesia," Nicole suggested, holding onto some kind of feeble hope by a thread.

The goddess seemed to actually consider it for a moment before shaking her head. A hundred meek protests and cries fell past Nicole's lips and on deaf ears as she was pulled up by the wrist and back on track towards the metal table. Miranda was incredibly strong despite her rather short stature, so any attempt at pulling back was completely useless.

Once at the room's center, she pushed Nicole against the table, frowning when she refused to get on. With a sigh, she grabbed her chin once again, putting slightly more force in the gesture. Both a warning and witness to her growing impatience.

"If you keep still it's going to be much less painful," she promised, though the validity behind her words were doubtful.

Though there was something in Miranda's tone that almost demanded to be believed without question. It may have been the inherent authority that came with being almost divine, a goddess in all ways that truly mattered. Or something else entirely, common to every piece of the Megamycete's web, down to the finest and farthest roots.

With a barely visible nod, Nicole pushed herself onto the cold surface of the table. It was far taller than she was so Karl had to spend a few good minutes readjusting the leather straps on the sides until they were in the right positions to wrap tightly around her limbs.

"Uh… sorry kiddo," he said in a barely audible whisper as he fastened a strap around her forehead. "Here," he pressed a folded cloth to her lips, that she bit down on to at least try to not crack any teeth.

He seemed almost as much of an unwilling participant as she was, lips pulled into a tight line under the scruffy mustache. The only one seeming rather gleeful there was Miranda.

The leather was digging painfully into her skin, the belts having been tightened slightly too much to prevent movement. Not to mention the uncomfortable position, with her hands tied above her head and starting to feel numb. Her head also seemed beyond foggy, the shallow breaths she was taking doing a poor job of providing her body with oxygen, to which it protested with a heart painfully beating against her ribcage, almost as if the small parasite that nestled around it was taking offence itself.

Another sob shook her body, deafened out by the metal sound of the circular blade when it was turned on. Thankfully it was clean. At least Nicole hoped as much. And sharp. If she was going through this she prayed that she would at least be granted the mercy of a clean cut as opposed to shredding of skin and muscle with everything underneath.

She shut her eyes when Miranda raised her shirt enough to expose her abdomen and, as the saw forcefully came down, screams were muffled both by the cloth in her mouth and the deafening roar of the saw.

---

The feeble knock on heavy ornate doors was answered by the tall woman positioned on guard duty that night. Nicole did not remember her name and at the moment it was the least of her worries.

She took a handful of shaky steps inside before clearing her throat in an attempt to not let her voice waver. "Cassandra?"

"Out hunting with her sisters and the other ladies," the woman answered promptly.

Nicole simply nodded once and made her way into the castle as the heavy thud of the shutting doors echoed around her. Her movements seemed on autopilot, eyes only focused enough to watch her step as she made her way through the familiar path up to her wife's bedroom. She barely registered passing through the first set of corridors, the paintings and priceless decor she had grown accustomed to every day becoming a background blur.

She felt downright dreadful.

Her ears were still ringing slightly and exhaustion made her limbs feel heavy and aching with every step. The headache from earlier was also back in full swing and throbbing painfully at her temples.

A quick look at a golden clock mounted on the wall in the main hall reminded her that it was near dawn so the rest of her family must be on their way home.

She flinched, a small jump that threatened to throw her off balance, at the heavy footsteps that came behind her. Throwing a look over her shoulder she saw none other than Lady Dimitrescu, her mother in law, making her way under the low arch of one of the doors leading into the spacious room. Thin black eyebrows were pulled into a frown at the sight of the much smaller woman, hunched over and all but shivering, with dark circles under her eyes having taken an almost purplish hue and dried tear streaks on pallid cheeks.

"Oh hi," Nicole greeted with a wry smile. "I thought you were out hunting."

Alcina waved a hand dismissively, eyes still focused on every minuscule shake of her shoulders. "Paperwork had to be taken care of."

At the explanation, Nicole let out an oh and shuffled her weight from one foot to the other, unsure of how to politely book it up the stairs and under the mountain of blankets on Cassandra's bed. There was no escape, it seemed, as a large hand came to gingerly rest on her shoulder, leading her further in and towards one of the plush couches lined in front of the barely lit fireplace. "Come sit," she offered, face softening in a gentle motherly smile.

Nicole just nodded absent mindedly, sitting barely on the edge of the white cushions decorated with a beautiful intricate floral pattern. She passed clammy hands on her jeans, now covered in fine powdery ash from the crystallized remains of the discarded half of her body after she retrieved them following the night's experiments. A disgusted grimace pulled at her lips, deciding then and there that the pants had to be burned as soon as possible.

"How did the tests go?" Alcina asked, taking her attention away from the ruined piece of garment and being met with distant eyes.

"Good," Nicole whispered, but before the word could even be fully out of her mouth a sob shook her entire body, coming out accompanied by choked out gasps as she all but doubled over in an attempt to make herself smaller than she already was.

The Lady's eyes widened at the sudden outpouring of emotion, so uncharacteristic for the woman in the few years she had been part of her family. "Oh child," she whispered, hands resting protectively on small shaking shoulders.

"Did-" Nicole started but interrupted herself with another shuddering gasp. "Did she- do the same thing to-... to you?"

Alcina grimaced, expression unseen by the smaller woman currently curled in on herself in her arms. It had been so long since her infection, the pain caused by her body acclimating to the Cadou a distant memory. Something that would forever remain seared in her mind however was the cruel ice in their goddess' eyes as she ran test after dreadful test, pushing the limits of her body to see how much she can actually heal. It had taken months to finally be content with the results, after her body's defensive response had been mutating and turning into the giant hungry beast she kept carefully at bay from that moment on. Instead of answering, Alcina decided that the better option was to rub her back slowly, not unlike she had done to her own daughters countless times before, to bring some comfort.

"You will get through this," she promised, unwavering conviction in her tone.

---

Date: 20th May 2012

Subject: Nicole [REDACTED] Dimitrescu

Mutation experiments - 5 (Regeneration- 4)

Testing the limits of regenerative abilities - regrowing body parts

Subject can regrow limbs (arm, served from elbow - 5'20'') and regenerate after being cut in half. If the body is cut with a 50/50 ratio, the upper half will regrow the lower half, prioritizing brain activity and the Cadou's placement. If the proportions are different in favour of the lower half, the upper one may still be the one taking priority; results vary. Up to 80% of body mass can be regenerated. If more than that is destroyed (eg. dissolved using acid) subject will presumably crystallize and enter a dormant state like others infected with a Cadou.

The discarded body parts crystallize and disintegrate into a stony/ashy mass.

---

Miranda's enthusiasm seemed to slowly dwindle after a few more experiment runs, the same effects John Abbott's mutations that caused his untimely death coming to knock at Nicole's door every so often.

"You see," the goddess had said the last time she had called Nicole down in the underground labs. "John was missing the healing abilities, which led to his infection slowly corroding away at his body until his death. You can heal, so you won't die, but the negative effects are still present. So try not to get hurt too much too often," she finished, not even sparing her a glance.

And that was the last Nicole had seen of Miranda, at least as far as one on one experiments went. The woman would still pay the castle a visit every so often, sitting down with Alcina for a glass of wine and having the rest of the family joining in on occasion, when their discussions didn't stray too far into matters of their cult.

She was right too. There were days when a migraine would rudely wake her up in the morning, or when her chest seemed to ache to the point where she was sure the parasite that made its home around her beating heart was trying to escape. The Cadou truly was a wretched little thing, constantly at odds with her body's defenses and trying to slowly but surely cause damage to the point of death. But if there's one thing that very same parasite had bestowed upon her was just… being really good at not dying. The healing abilities were in a continuous cycle of repairing any and all internal damage the infection may have caused on a not so good day. Those times had her doubling over the nearest sink, or suitable container if unlucky, a waterfall of blood carrying all the damaged tissue that had been replaced flowing from her lips in crimson rivulets.

A cruel fate, one may think. Not her though, for the knowledge of how her family had helped her through the change was at the forefront of her mind each time she had to sit down due to a burst of dizziness. Cassandra rubbing gentle circles on her back while she was coughing up the clogged blood in her throat grounded her beyond belief. Then, when everything was said and done, there was always something to get back to. A short vacation originally meant for business but that Alcina would always prolong for just a couple days so they could all spend some quality time away from the Village and the cult and Miranda's scrutinizing ever watchful eyes. Or the season's first hunting trip, the genuine glee on her wife's face never growing old to her. Even life's more mundane events, like the weekly movie night that had half the family groaning at Esteria's choice of vampire media. Rinse and repeat, forever under the castle's imposing towers and inside ornate inviting rooms, always warm and welcoming, always feeling like home to her.

If that was the price she had to pay for eternity, then so be it.

---

Subject Name: Nicole Dimitrescu

Cadou Affinity: Favorable

Brain Functions: Normal

Subject can regenerate at an incredibly fast rate, although healing slows down with loss of consciousness. Shows a similar mutation to John Abbott; able to detect illnesses by specific smells. The latter mutation causes the Cadou to have adverse reactions, causing internal damage that is however kept at bay with the regenerative abilities.

An unfit vessel for Eva.

[12timetraveler]

Mysterious Woman

So I got to write for not one, but two secret santas this year and I had a blast writing them.

This piece is for @smithandrogers, featuring their OC Elaine North and F!reader. (I hope this is what you meant when you asked for Elaine content)

I had a lot of fun researching Elaine (reading their story) and I really loved writing this.

@rdr-secret-santa

You’d been awestruck the moment you first saw her after John had brought her back to camp, only for her to run and be dragged back by Arthur. Even dirty, tired, and mussed up, she was still beautiful. Dark black hair and tan skin that, to you, looked like amber as the light of the campfire glowed over her skin. A scar over her eye that only made her more beautiful and mysterious. Elaine drew the attention of everyone who saw her, man or woman. 

As the days had gone on, Elain almost grew more mysterious, not less. Apparently she spoke practically every language in existence, was part of some organization, or rather she used to be but now was on the run. She talked often about her travels, places you’d heard of but honestly had kind of believed were make-believe. She had a sword for gods sake. This woman was something you’d never seen before, and you were smitten. 

Neither Arthur nor John had kept quiet in their praises of her fighting skills. The fact that they even admitted that they were pretty much useless compared to them only furthered the mystery of the woman. 

You had it bad for her, you knew. Numerous times one of the other girls had caught you staring at her from across the camp. If only they knew how many times you’d caught yourself doing it and looked away before anyone else noticed. 

Your infatuation was only made worse by her present. She’d brought something back from Saint Denis for all the girls. You’d simply asked for a new hat, seeing as yours was falling apart. You expected just a simple straw hat of some kind. You were speechless when you saw what she’d gotten you. 

The hat was beautiful, wide brimmed to keep the sun off your face, but not massive like the ladies of the big cities would wear. You weren’t sure of the style. Maybe gambler or cutter or... well you didn’t know hats well enough to know the style. But it was suitable for your lifestyle, good for working and riding. Tucked in the band around it was a small accessory. You recognized the handy work of the local trapper. Not only had she bought you a hat, but she’d gone and bought you a beautiful hat accessory as well.

“I knew that would compliment your lovely face,” She said, smiling as you reverently put the hat on your head. It fit perfectly. You felt yourself flush, and you smiled at her, still unable to form words. The two of you stood there in silence as you gaped, trying to form some sort of words. 

“Come on now,” Abigail said in a motherly voice, barely hiding her amusement. “What do we say when someone does something nice for you?” She encouraged. The other girls giggled. 

“Th-thank you, Miss North,” You stammered. Elaine gave you a beautiful smile, and you thought you might faint. 

“You’re welcome,” She said. “But please, I’ve told you, call me Elaine.” 

“R-right. Thank you, Elaine.” You said, fingering the brim of your hat. Elaine smiled. As she turned to leave, to hand out the rest of her presents from Saint Denis, her fingers brushed against yours. 

Wait... could she... did she like you too? She had gone to all this extra trouble for you after all. Yes, she bought others gifts. But it seemed she’d gone out of her way to get you something you’d treasure. And that smile she’d given you... and the way her fingers brushed yours...

No. It had to be wishful thinking. Elaine was beautiful and mysterious and strong and intelligent. She’d never go for some country outlaw girl like you. Not when she could have any man in the world at her beck and call. 

But still, you couldn’t shake the thought that maybe, just maybe, she put a little more thought into your gift than the other ladies. The rest of the day you couldn’t get her out of your mind as you scrubbed Sean’s suspiciously stained undergarments. 

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

A few days later, you miraculously found yourself with some free time on your hands. There weren’t many chores that needed doing, and even Mrs. Grimshaw had to admit that she was just giving you busy work at this point. She eventually relented and gave you ladies the rest of the day to yourselves. 

The other girls had convinced John and Lenny to accompany them and Jack into town for a day out of camp. You’d elected to stay behind, more than ready to just have a peaceful, lazy day. You lounged under a tree, watching the clouds above and fiddling with grass, straw, dandelions, whatever your fingers idly found. 

It was nice to let your mind just turn off and watch the clouds roll by, day dreaming about a peaceful life for you all, where you could stay free, but maybe find a more legal way to do so. Dutch always talked of such grand plans. You hoped whatever they involved, you could one day get off of laundry duty. You’d run away from home to avoid becoming a housewife, but you sure as shit felt like one most days. 

Maybe you could raise horses, train them, show them. Or maybe you’d have a little garden, growing herbs galore. Maybe you’d tan pelts and sell them. You weren’t sure. You had a sinking suspicion that if you all did manage to find your little quiet corner of the world, you’d likely end up in the kitchen cooking like you were now. But it was nice to imagine at least. 

You were pulled from your daydreams by your name being called from across camp. You propped yourself up on your elbows, and your heart stopped when you saw Elaine striding toward you, her high-waisted trousers making her legs look deliciously long, an elegant, confident sway to her hips...

“You busy?” She asked as she approached. You shook your head. 

“We got all our chores done early today. Most of the others went off into town but I decided to stay behind and relax,” You said. 

“Would you like to go out riding with me?” She asked. You glanced around, wondering where Arthur was. He was usually the one to go riding with her. You saw him sitting in his tent. Why wasn’t she asking him? You pulled your attention back to Elaine, not wanting to look a gift horse in the mouth. 

“Sure,” You said, putting your hat back on and pulling yourself to your feet, brushing your skirt off. “We going on a job or somethin’ like that?” 

“Something like that,” She said vaguely, smiling at you. “Come on. Saddle up.” She said. You paused. 

“Oh...” You hesitated. “I don’t have a horse,” You said quietly. Your horse had been your best friend for some years now. But you’d loaned him to Jenny for the Blackwater heist, and he’d died when she had. You hadn’t had the money, nor the heart to replace him. 

“I’m sorry,” Elaine said gently, clearly reading your somber expression. You shook it off, giving her what you hoped was a reassuring smile.

“It was just a horse,” You tried to brush it off, though you could see Elaine didn’t buy into it. “I’ll see if I can borrow someone else's.” 

“Why don’t you just ride with me?” Elaine suggested. “Ontario’s certainly big enough to carry both of us.” She pointed out. You smiled and nodded. 

“Okay,” you said, mood lightening some at the prospect of riding with Elaine, arms wrapped around her waist, pressed up against her strong back...

“Come on then,” She said. The two of you walked side-by-side to where Ontario was grazing alongside the other horses. He whickered when he saw the two of you approaching. You’d seen him be stubborn, but you knew he was just a big softy. You pulled out a sugar cube from your satchel and fed it to him. He whuffed over your hand in gratitude. 

Elaine launched herself into the saddle, then steered Ontario up alongside a rock, so that you could pull yourself onto his rear. Once you were settled on his rump, hands resting respectfully on Elaine’s waist (despite you wanting to wrap them around her tightly,) Elaine pushed Ontario into a smooth canter out of camp. 

The two of you followed the trail down towards the river. Elaine took a left, following the river toward the lake. The two of you rode in friendly silence for a little ways, just enjoying the sounds of nature. 

“So, what’s this job?” You asked as you rounded a corner and the lake came into view. 

“Oh, I never said there was a job,” Elaine teased. “You inferred that on your own. I simply asked if you wanted to go out on a ride with me.” 

“Then what are we doing out here?” You asked, a slight laugh in your voice. 

“What, I can’t just want to spend time with a pretty lady?” Elaine flirted back. You breath caught in your throat. Before you could respond, a harsh laugh caught your attention. Ahead of you, a wagon lay blocking the trail. Two men in green bandanas stood on either side of it. O’Driscolls.

“Lookie here, gents,” One of the men laughed, “A couple of wee mouses. Now we can have some fun,” His Irish accent made the words sound pretty, but the meaning sent shivers up your spine. You glanced to your left, then your right. More O’Driscolls on either side. You were surrounded. 

“Off the horse, ladies,” Another man called, waving his gun at you. Elaine turned her head to look at you and nodded. You trusted her. If she was half as good as John and Arthur said she was, you weren’t in any danger. You weren’t exactly damsel in distress material either. 

You slowly slipped off the horse, allowing yourself to stumble and fall to one knee. You quickly pulled your secret weapon from your boot, hiding up your coat sleeve without anyone noticing. The nearest O’Driscoll grabbed your arm and pulled you to your feet, holding you close to stop you from getting away. He reeked of shitty moonshine and body odor, and you had to stop yourself from gagging. 

“Hey, I know who you are,” One of the O’Driscolls called as Elaine dismounted. “You’re that Van der Linde girl everyone’s kickin’ such a fuss up over.” 

“You’re a Van der Linde mouse, huh?” The man crooned in your ear. “Well that means we can have some extra fun.” He murmured. 

“What can I do for you Gentlemen?” Elaine asked. She glanced around. “And I use that term lightly.” The man who seemed to be in charge barked a laugh. 

“You think you’re in any position to be making smart-ass remarks?” He asked, “‘specially when Seamus is becoming so... familiar with your friend there?” The man holding you had wrapped an arm around your middle and was sniffing your hair. Elaine’s expression darkened when she saw that. You gave her what you hoped was a reassuring look. You could stand men being creepy for a minute, so long as she got you both out of this alive. Elaine seemed to get the message. 

“That’s better, little mouse,” The man sneered, stepping toward Elaine. “Wouldn’t want your friend to get hurt now, would you? You see, Colm wants you brought to him. Dead or alive he doesn’t really care. But he has no interest in one of Van der Linde’s whores. Your friend could go with minimal damage.” the man holding you chuckled in your ear, and you grit your teeth. Yeah. Minimal damage. You sincerely doubted it. 

“So...” Elaine hesitated. “I go with you, and she walks free?” she asked. 

“Free as a bird. She can flit back to Dutch and his boys, ready to whore another day.” He said. Elaine turned back to look at you, eyes narrowing slightly. You nodded ever so slightly. You were both ready to jump into action. You were just waiting for her move. 

“Well, how can I refuse such an offer?” Elaine asked, stepping toward the man. He grinned and reached for her hand. She grabbed his wrist and swung him down into the dirt. You heard his nose crack as it broke, and he went limp as he fell unconscious immediately. 

You spun in your captors grasp, knife slipping from your sleeve into your hand. You lifted your arm and brought the knife down on the mans neck, twisting to make sure you hit your target. You were greeted with a stream of blood when you removed your knife. Perfect. 

You sprinted into the trees, knowing that armed with only knives, you were a sitting duck if you couldn’t get something to cover your back. You slid in the dirt, back slamming against a large boulder as you turned to face the road. 

The O’Driscolls had recovered from their original shock, and were engaged in a firefight with Elaine, who had ducked behind the wagon that was blocking the road. You pulled a throwing knife from your other boot and with a flick of your wrist, downed one of the O’Driscolls. You may not be the best gunslinger in the world, but you were damn good with your knives. You downed two more before something tackled you from the left, pinning you to the forest floor. 

Another slimy O’Driscoll towered over you, holding you down. You squirmed underneath him, trying desperately to throw off his balance, but he stayed steady, holding you firmly in place. You didn’t like the way he was grinning at you one bit, and the hand that was holding your shoulder came to your neck, fingers ready to squeeze. 

With a scream of rage you brought your knife up, stabbing blindly. Your arm jarred as your knife stopped suddenly, knife getting stuck in one of the man’s ribs. He let out a cry of pain, but didn’t let you go, resting his weight on your neck. You coughed and gasped as you felt your airway beginning to constrict, but before he could start to do any real damage, he collapsed on top of you. 

You lay beneath the man, panting, unsure of what had happened. You were aware of warm blood trickling over your shoulder. It was then that you caught a glimpse of the bullet wound on the side of his head. Someone’d shot him.

With a grunt, you rolled him off of you, sitting up. You could still hear at least two gunshots, so Elaine was still fighting with some of the O’Driscolls, but you didn’t doubt it was her who’d saved your life, though you couldn’t quite spot her or the assailants. 

You grabbed your knife and tugged, finally pulling it free from where it was stuck in the man’s ribs before ducking behind a tree. You saw one of the O’Driscolls that was fighting Elaine perched behind a crate, facing away from you, toward the wagon. Grabbing your last throwing knife, you tossed it at his head, hitting your mark perfectly. 

There was one last shot from Elaine, then silence. You waited, still behind that tree. But it seemed the fighting was over. You heard Elaine call your name, and you breathed a sigh of relief that she was okay. 

“I’m here. I’m okay,” you called, stepping out from behind the tree. You located the three men who had died by your throwing knives and retrieved them. Elaine came around the side of the wagon. Her face paled as she took in your appearance, and she hurried over to you. 

“Oh my god, where are you hurt?” She asked worriedly, looking you over. You glanced down at your blood-soaked dress. 

“Oh. It’s not mine,” You assured her. “I’m fine. Just some scrapes and bruises.” Elaine bit her lip, not quite looking convinced. 

“Come on. Let’s get out of here and get cleaned up.” She suggested, whistling for Ontario. She pushed you up onto his rump before climbing up in front of you and galloping away. 

~~~~~~~~~~~

You rode down to the lakeside, hidden from the road by the trees. Elaine had dragged you out into the water, helping you scrub away the blood. As it washed away, it became clear that you were right, and none of the blood was yours. Elaine seemed to deflate with relief. You felt a warm feeling your stomach at the thought that she’d been so worried for you. 

Once you’d washed the blood from your skin, and as much as you could from your dress, the two of you had gone to shore to dry off. You carefully cleaned your knife as you did. 

"Where'd you get that?" Elaine asked, looking at the knife in your hands. 

"Family heirloom. Supposed to go to my brother but I stole it when I left home."

"No, I mean where were you hiding it?" 

"Oh. My boot." You said, drying it off and lifting the hem of your skirt. Tucked into your boot was a little sheath for the dagger. You slipped it back in. "I've got some throwing knives in the other boot," you said, turning and showing her the bundle of throwing knives. "And a hunting knife in my garter." You added, lifting up your skirt to show Elaine the holstered hunting knife tucked into your garter. Elaine whistled.

"You are full of surprises, aren't you?" She chuckled. You felt your face heat up. You shrugged, quickly looking away to hide your blush.

"Guess I learned a few times, better to keep armed than be caught without." You chuckled. You glanced over at Elaine to find her staring at you. “What, you thought I’d run with the infamous Van der Linde gang and not know how to fight?” You laughed. She shook her head. 

“No. I knew you all likely had secret strengths like that,” She said. “I’m just glad I got to witness you in action.” She said. “You’re really good with your knives. I saw you down those men.” 

“Well, that one man would have had me if you hadn’t shot him,” You said, fiddling with your skirt, unused to praise. “Thanks for that, by the way. I’d probably be dead if it weren’t for you.” She was quiet for a moment. 

“Well we can’t have that,” She said. You jumped in surprise, but didn’t pull away when you felt her fingers come up to your cheek, pushing a stray hair out of your face. You glanced over at her, giving her a shy smile. She grinned back, tilting her head slightly to admire you better. 

“N-no I suppose not,” You stammered. “I very much enjoy being alive.” What the hell were you even saying?! How did this woman turn you to mush so quickly. With her... muscular arms and warm eyes and plump lips. Lips that were slowly moving closer to yours. Or were yours moving closer to hers? 

You sucked in a breath through your nose as your lips met hers, automatically melting into the kiss. You weren’t entirely sure you weren’t dreaming, or dead and in heaven, but you weren’t going to question it, or ruin it. You were here, on the beach with Elaine, looking over the lake as the sun touched the mountains to your right. 

Elaine’s hand came up to cup your face, and you scooted closer, fingers carding through her beautiful dark hair as you leaned closer, kissing her more eagerly, sloppily. Elaine’s lips kept a calm pace, gently reining you in some, and the kiss once again returned to something sweet and soft. 

Elaine was a mysterious woman, that was for sure. But when she kissed you, one mystery became perfectly clear. Elaine North was just as sweet on you as you were on her. And fuck if that didn’t feel good.

[scoundrels-in-love]

I want to be with you to where the sea sleeps (However the waves, I’ll hold on)

Jaime discovers that the difference between loving Brienne quietly and loving her with a future unfolding ahead of them is separated by a difference the width of the Straits of Tarth. Now, with their return to Winterfell imminent, he has to find the words that will bridge it.

Also on AO3. Part of the Tomorrow (with you) series.

Jaime discovered that the difference between loving Brienne quietly and loving her with a future unfolding ahead of them was separated by a difference the width of the Straits of Tarth. Not wide enough to be uncrossable, but very disorientating when one suddenly found themselves in the middle of the Shipbreaker bay with little but oars and sense of direction to get them the rest of the way.

It was not that he hadn't thought of pressing sweet, lingering kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her hands at every opportune moment. Of loving her with open sincerity that felt as foreign as his own right hand of flesh and blood would have felt now, but just as welcome.  Of wedding her and watching the eventual sunset of his life glow brighter for the way the sea of her reflected the light.

He had, so much that the want and the dreams had all blurred together and he could not tell which had come first any longer. But he had never thought much of how to proceed from one scene to another, other than carried by the whim of his imagining mind.

So now that Jaime had to face these questions, he felt rather at a loss.

A sennight had passed since the Festival of Mother, a night when bonfires and music, and wine (but no regret) had swept Brienne toward him and him into her arms.

They had not spoken of the whats and hows, a discomforting echo of secrecy prickling at Jaime, but she did not protest when he'd hold her hand and entwine their fingers or greet her with a kiss in the morning. So if she had intended to keep it secret, she had put in the least amount of effort he had ever seen her using.

Even Selwyn Tarth, who had welcomed him simply and fairly, before warming to his presence gradually and then all at once, had taken notice and spoken to him - well before the night bonfires and wine had lit courage or desire in Brienne's heart to kiss him.

"The day you arrived and she showed you around Evenfall Hall, I thought - I know my daughter still, as grown as she may be now, but I did not know she could smile like that. Or looked at the way you do," her father had said and Jaime had bristled on Brienne's behalf, half swallowing a sharp comment because she loved her father, and equally wanting to say it all the more exactly because of that.

"Consider me chastised," the older man had chuckled, taking notice of the shift in his expression, before growing somber and clasping a large hand on Jaime's shoulder. There were few people who could make Jaime feel small but not insignificant (like his own father had made a habit of), but it seemed to be a shared Tarth trait.

"I have made my share of grave mistakes, and many of them regarding her, and though Kingslayer would not have been my first choice of her husband then… a man that makes her happy, I will gladly take for my godson now, Ser Jaime." Selwyn had used the title before, but it was deliberate now in a way that pressed in Jaime's ribcage with an odd sort of warmth. Back then, there had been a tinge of bitterness, too, for for all of the encouraging words, Brienne's heart had seemed as far as the moon it outshone.

But now?

Now the chance to call her wife felt as close as the brisk, seasalt whispering breeze he could feel upon his face. He had come to the lighthouse to take in the sight as well as to seek some answers, as if he could scry them upon the horizon.

It was not that he doubted his feelings, or even Brienne's. He had confessed to loving her that very first night, but much like the gods, she hadn't said anything in return. Not with her words, though her kisses and hands that held him together and afloat at once sang sweetly. But there had been clouds of disbelief in her eyes, rising with the sun next morning, and they remained there still.

He wasn't good with his words, not when they weren't said in retaliation to a strike that hadn't always come, or passionate pleas - but even those had fallen on deaf ears. Whenever he thought of how to ask, it came out too mild or overwhelming in a way Brienne might not even believe.

But he could convince her, if not with words then with time poured into courting her, as a lady and knight both. He just needed to make sure she knew it was what he intended. And that her unspoken love wasn’t just for simplicity their unconventional union would offer - a man that’d respect her and trust her and one she could do the same for in return, a sizzle of friendship and echoes of the golden man he had once been. He knew it was not, yet thoughts and knowledge were not always the same.

In similar vein, part of him loathed to think of the long trip to Winterfell, in separate rooms and separate lives still, of touching no more than her hand in the North or stealing kisses like he was sixteen and not a man with decades of bittersweet secrecy beneath his skin. That part of him said: ask her, clumsily if you must, but ask her and she may be stunned enough, caught up in Tarth's golden sun enough, to say yes. Marry her, before she changes her mind or comes to her senses, and sees you for the one handed wreck that carries too many graves with him.

But marriage held no man or woman in the feelings it was borne of, neither love nor hatred though the latter often proved to be more enduring. He had seen far too many women trapped in marriages and he had failed to protect them all, from Rhaella and Elia, to his own once-sweet sister, to ever ask Brienne to bind herself to him without the certainty of lifetime in her heart.

And it always came down to words, but how does one say 'you have born an ocean in me and I wish to grow old by its' side, treasuring you every day'?

The sea below threw itself against the cliffs as if in sympathy or perhaps a fortune.

Midday approached and so did steps on the lighthouse's stairs. He thought it might be the keeper, but soon they grew familiar and then a blonde head emerged.

Brienne came to lean against the stone edge next to him, silent but equal parts comforting and unsettling in her presence, the way he had to divide his attention between imagining the taste of seaspray on her lips and remembering that he was allowed to discover it now, if only he solved his conundrum first.

"We should start preparing for departure in a month's time," she spoke, subdued somehow, but he couldn't read her eyes very well when they were fixed on the horizon.

And with that, the clock that had already been whispering at the back of Jaime's mind began its song in earnest.

"As you wish, my lady," he nodded, watching her hands, pale and tender against the dark stone, curl just so, a far cry from the anger and hurt the title used to invoke. He wanted to hold them, warm and shielded from wind and seaspray upon it.

Her voice is just a touch weary: "Jaime, I am no lady, you know that. It has not changed since we last spoke of it."

Which had been sometime during their journey here, he thought, when he had insisted she took the last room remaining at an inn. As always, he had argued that since swearing himself to her, she could only be free of the title and his service (even if it was to protect her back from hurting) by dismissing him. He had fallen asleep next to her on the narrow bed that night because she had yet to yield a fight.

Jaime didn't wish her to, not even now. The title had not been a weapon for a long time, but a way for secret wishes to be spoken out loud and Brienne deserved to know that, instead of the teasing she always seemed to find in it instead.

"It is true it has not changed since then - because my meaning has been the same for years now." He again briefly lamented that he could not entwine their fingers atop the rock ledge, for her hands were too far to grasp in anything but desperate reach. (But was that not the nature of this conversation?)

She was looking at him now and he thought there was only a hint of skittishness in her eyes. If he didn't want it to fester endlessly, he had to speak now.

"Brienne, this… isn't a passing flight of fancy to me. Gods know I am incapable of such a thing. If we are to head back to Winterfell, I do not wish to go as your mere swornsword, though that alone is more than I deserve. I love you and it has not been a secret to anyone but you for a long time now."

She inhaled softly, eyes wide, and it was not the first time he said it, but every time felt new and branding still, like it was raising gently from his bones to press warm marks into his skin from beneath, and perhaps not just to him. But Jaime would brand himself a thousand times as hers and still find joy and warmth in it, he knew that as surely as that the sea would forever worship the shore.

He wanted to tell her that, to give her the wedding oaths here if she'd not have them otherwise yet, to give her that before he showed his heart with actions, too, but before he could, Brienne stepped closer and like the moon, she pulled the tide between them to her - and him with it.

"Let's get married, Jaime." Her voice was quiet, but not out of hesitation. She had thought of this, Jaime realized, and later, he'd ask for how long, but right now he marveled in its existence. It was neither demand nor plea and for that alone, he felt swept away by it, toward her, as her hands came to hold his - and the stump.

"Before we leave because I do not wish to wait for years till we return and I'd rather marry here, in my home. We have waited long enough and to spend more time pretending we have not seems wasteful." She was practical even when her heart was spoken softly, and he couldn't love her more for it. But there was flush to her face and a brightness in her eyes that told him of joy tempered by worry.

“You know, I did intend to court you properly before proposing,” he told her, buoyant and like he could float off on this cresting feeling of happiness, finding anchor only in entwining fingers with hers.

Brienne looked soothed at his admission, though it was a faint shade of how much he had wanted to marry her, wanted it still. That his want far outweighed what he could give her, now that he was titleless and more gray than golden in more than shade of his hair.

“But all things considered, I doubt I could top the courting gifts I’ve already given you, so perhaps this is for the best,”  Jaime laughed now instead.

She attempted to scoff, but her lips could not be contained in a frown and spilled into a smile almost immediately: “I don’t need them, Jaime, but if you have given me any, they escape my memory.” “That is surprising, considering you wear one around your waist most days.” She had not today, or most of the days they had spent on Tarth, having also exchanged her blue armor for a brighter blue tunic with rich embroidery and earthly toned breeches that Sansa had gifted her before their departure. There had been visible discomfort about her at the start, like she did not know how to exist without this shell anymore. But gradually, it had eased away, leaving Jaime to marvel at how well peace suited her, too.

“Surely, not back then?” Brienne asked, disbelief apparent, and he could only laugh at the way they had both lost each other and themselves in this smoke and mirror game they had created, just to protect their hearts.

“Even then, Brienne,” Jaime reassured her softly and watched her jaw go briefly slack, before she bit down on her lip, overcome. To give her a chance to think on it, he did what he always did: ran his mouth.

“And you gave me quite the favor in return, bringing back my honor.” He had meant to say it as a soft jape at the expense of himself, but it came out warm and heavy all at once, like a bundle of truth wrapped in warm furs, spilling at their feet. Because she had, had brought him the second most precious gift in the world, outshone only by her heart.

At that, she shook her head fiercely, the frown he had already predicted as soon the words left his mouth, settling on her face. “No, Jaime. I did no such thing.”

“You said it yourself - you would do it for Catelyn and for me. I never forgot it, it haunted me in some ways. Like a light that I couldn’t follow, nor ignore. I tried. At Riverrun. And the Dragonpit. But you were too bright.” Someday, he would tell her for how long she’d been both the sea and the lighthouse and even the storm to him, crashing in on his cage and beckoning to the rocky coast, welcoming even in its sharpness as it offered a chance to live again.

“If every man could be inspired into doing the right thing with a few words, the world would be a far better place than it is, Jaime. You were and are a good person, you have made bad choices and good ones, but you only claim the bad ones as your own.” Brienne spoke with conviction and he heard a bell toll in her words, but he could not think of it now when this hadn’t been meant to be about him.

(Later, when he would lay awake at night and spin her light through his fingers like a thread of sunlight, he would examine the sound and try to let the truth of it in his heart of hearts, every night a little more.)

They had spoken of this before, though never quite as plainly, and his heart swelled with bittersweet ache. The way she’d always believe in his goodness while disregarding her own importance was never changing and spoke too loudly of her believed worth. On the road, she had mentioned that Sansa had said thank you to her, for being a good person at the right place and the right time, and he had seen how the acknowledgement had lit her up, though he knew she must have downplayed it.

He wanted her to take pride in her good heart, realize it for the treasure it was to those she shared it with, instead of finding a way to reflect it back at him. "Even so, without you, I would not have remembered that there was a way to make them. That there is still honor and love left in me and for me."

Her fingers tightened around his, dug in the soft cover over his stump, but not enough to hurt him. She was capable of it, in more ways than she knew, but she always treaded around even these underwater rocks and he wanted to kiss thank yous for that into her skin every day.

"I do know you are not a lighthouse that needs a keeper, Brienne, But if you do wish someone to be by your side, to tend to your needs and guard your light when you are weary, if that can be me… it would be my true happiness and my honor," his voice grew choked at the end, because even that wasn’t enough to express what it’d mean to him. What being next to her already was.

She leaned down just so, her forehead pressing against his, and her smile was a sunrise, slow and unstoppable.

"I would have no other, Jaime."

His hand trembled as he cupped her jaw, before tiptoeing to kiss her, sweetly and deeply. He hadn't known how much he needed it, to be chosen as the only one, no buts and no ifs, to be treasured in this simplest way he had never known. It was more than any I love you Cersei had ever whispered to him, it was commitment that no matter what life threw or offered to her, her hand would always find his. He wasn't the unconventional but easy choice, he was loved and he would be chosen again and again, through battlefields they had waded through and the ones still ahead. There was no criteria he was going to be weighed against daily, no mine until this one line.

He had known that and yet, her words rebuilt castles in him that had never been finished or fallen to sieges of pain and shame and rejection years ago.

When they parted, breathless, Brienne rested her forehead against his again and there was a glimmer of tears in her eyes, like the joy in her was too much to be contained, and he thought of a room in Winterfell, a lifetime and so many ways of loving ago. Thought of all the things he could do to recreate this feeling again and again for her. For his bride. His wife.

Her hand untangled itself from his curls on his nape and cradled his face. Jaime stroked his thumb over her knuckles, soothing little movements as the uncertain seas in them turned to ponds of insecurity and fears, hidden from sight and inconsequential to their current happiness. Eventually, he thought, they would become overgrown enough to be almost completely forgotten, not aching in their depth on most days.

Then, her smile gave way to soft laughter, eyes warm and full with affection he could drown in, but knew he’d learn to swim instead: “But I did already propose, Jaime. No need to do it twice.”

“I think you will agree that it is only fair if I have my chance, too.” He gave her his most obnoxious grin in return.

And if she had any opposition to ‘my lady’  this time, it was stolen from her lips between their kisses by the wind and swept away toward the horizon.

[razeluxe]

Razeluxe’s Top Ten Female Characters

Yep. It’s here. A list of my all time favorite ladies in anime/video games. This list was way harder for me than the male version, after compiling my favorites I had like 20 characters so I had to cut it down... I will shout them out somewhere further down towards the end...warning you right now that this is long...I have a lot of thoughts about these characters and I did my utmost to avoid outright posting spoilers - enjoy!

10) Bianchi (Katekyo Hitman Reborn!)

Once again someone from Reborn makes the list. What can I say, they have great characters and omg Bianchi is incredible. She’s Gokudera’s sister that I was harping about on the male list...she develops from this hyper focused girl to a true mother figure who helps care for her group as well as being a mother figure to some of the younger girls. Later on in the series she’s very attentive and always knows the right things to say...she gave some advice to some of the girls about men, especially in one particular episode that I will not mention but if you know it you know it - I was floored with on the nose she is about things...she can read people and situations extremely well and she serves as like this backbone to her group...there’s stuff between her and her brother that are extremely interesting too - this girl despite being there for others has this considerable weight on her that she tells her brother about at the end of the series - Bianchi is a complicated character who really deserves more love - she doesn’t fight often in this anime but she has proven time and time again that you don’t always have to be out on the front lines in an shounen anime to be a great character and also...she’s hot.

9) Emma Millstein (Trails of Cold Steel)

Emma in ways is similar to Bianchi here, being a mother figure as well as President of Class VII but what I find interesting about her character is what she’s hiding, as well as her insecurities. She spends a really long time hiding things because reasons I will not mention because you need to play the series - when she comes out with what she needs to say she really grapples with her feelings as well as her inferiority complex when she compares herself to her sister. She grows though..man does she grow...she starts to believe in who she is and stops doubting herself as hard and she really shines later on in the series. When you see what she can do... Like I said in the other list I have yet to play the fourth game in the series which is coming soon and I know she plays a major part. I also think she’s a great fit for Rean.

8) Velvet Crowe (Tales of Berseria)

Velvet is a character that has an extremely strong drive, comparable to someone that is yet to come on this list. Velvet is betrayed by someone who has raised her and her heart turns cold and she is motivated by hatred and vengeance for the sake of those who were massacred by this person. Velvet is a raw character whose type is rarely explored in this way, the way her personality shifted from being more upbeat and chipper initially to, post hell breakout, using people to get forward in her goals without giving an fudge. There comes a time when her resolution to revenge falters once something happens, anger and sorrow come together and she makes some interesting decisions...Velvet is a morally gray person whom showcases real struggles and real feelings that I’m able to relate to on a personal level...Velvet knows grief and in a world of black and white, she makes mistakes as a result of her PTSD, some more fatal than others and eventually, she learns. It’s ugly to see, but she learns. Her development is unpleasant to watch compared to a lot of characters, however as a result in my opinion she’s one of the most raw/realistic characters in the Tales of Series currently. I said it. Also she’s hot.

7) Rise Kujikawa (Persona 4)

Here’s a girl I wasn’t expecting to put here. Rise is a girl who is also known as Risette and decides to take a break from showbiz by moving to a small town, going to school, working at her family’s business, you know, doing what she considered to be normal girl things. She is very upfront when it comes to her flirting which I like to think is because of her position as a famous idol. She’s really bubbly and animated, but what made me interested in Rise was her voice and her eyes when you first meet her. She looked and sounded empty...and you learn it’s because she sick and tired of portraying this ‘Risette’ character and not being herself. What I like about Rise is after running away from this persona for so long she eventually acknowledges Risette is also her and she makes the choice to only bring her true self to the public. She’s sassy and just has this ability to brighten an entire room. Originally I favored Yukiko in P4 and while I still do like her a lot, after going through Rise’s social link, well...the rest is history. 

6) Milla Maxwell & ‘Fractured’ Milla (Tales of Xillia)

Yep. Both of them. I know they’re different characters however I acknowledge both of them equally and they’re both deserving of this spot on this list.

Starting with Milla Maxwell, what I love about her is her drive. She knows who she is and is willing push herself to fufill her duty. She’s not unlike Velvet who turns away from her emotions to do what she sets out to do, considering emotions to be a distraction from her mission. Made her instantly relatable to me. It makes her come off as uncaring towards other people but her mission is strictly to protect the people in the world. I’ve always imagined Milla as this literal pillar of strength, like when she loses mobility in her legs, she pushes herself even further, nearly killing herself in the process. Heck if you thought Velvet was crazy determined, I mean she is but Milla in my opinion is on a whole other level. What I love about Milla is that she isn’t portrayed as a character who has to second guess or experience things before resolving herself to a choice, she is born with this innately and she does not waver no matter what. She’s not a conventional Tales character who bonds super well with everyone. She has her mission and she’s out to do it. Milla isn’t perfect and her opinion on people is for lack of better word, immature, but she grows to understand people throughout her journey.

Fractured Milla...this character is rife with pain and guilt. This Milla is basically an Alternate Universe version of the actual Milla...on the surface level she’s very aggressive but she carries a different weight compared to the original Milla...she bares a guilt about what happened to another character and her world...she also bears a guilt when it comes to her comparing herself to the original Milla and.. inhibiting the original Milla Maxwell from existing... What I love about Fractured Milla is that she’s a completely different take on a character that I already greatly enjoy, she has her development and her vulnerabilities which the OG Milla didn’t need as much because spoilers, Maxwell stuff. I love her relationship with Elle and Ludger and definitely approve of the LudgerxFractured Milla ship.

Holy Crap this list is getting long, if you need to take a break please do! I’ll wait...you good? Okie doke! Continuing on...

5) Estelle Bright (Trails in the Sky)

I love Estelle so dang much. She’s such a glowing character and a breath of fresh air. She’s tomboyish, she collects sneakers, she’s incredibly headstrong and boy does this girl have a mouth on her lol. Like look at all my Estelle stuff on my tags lol. Oh, I should mention she’s Joshua’s ‘brother’ so you can imagine all sorts of interactions with her hotheadedness and his calm and collectedness. Estelle is such a caring character though, like out of everyone I know in the Trails series, I think Estelle ranks the highest in terms of kindess alone. She doesn’t hide crap for the most part, until...well...oh I’m just gonna say it: she develops and hides her feelings for Joshua. She knows it isn’t right but she can’t help herself...anyway Estelle has this naive outlook when it comes to the world, but when certain heavy things happen Estelle kind of...wakes to the realities of the world and she changes her line of thinking. She becomes more considering of her options during situations for starters and she really starts to become the Bracer she wants to be. I was kind of floored how she allowed her pain and her source of affection (Joshua) to empower her to become a stronger person without being simply lovestruck like how people tend to write ladies. She umm...has this scene with Joshua in SC...and I’m not saying anything more but it to me it’s probably one of her highest signs of development. I’m truly happy with what Falcom has done with this character and I think she’s probably the most developed character in the entire Trails series.

4) Rem (Re: Zero)

I never in my thought I would put a character I only just met this high on my list but wow this character blows me away. Rem is a character who has a major inferiority complex to her sister alongside guilt, yet as a maid she performs her duties and speaks very...proper even though that’s typically not how she truly feels. She’s also a very wary person...one reason she’s so high on this list is because of episode 18 how Subaru gives her a reason to live and fought to save her from herself literally. She becomes this incredibly devoted character towards this goofball Subaru with such tenacity that I have seldom seen. She also falls in love with him and not just because he saved her. Eventually she confesses her feelings at one of Subaru’s lowest points but not due to selfishness. She encourages him through her confession because he failed to stop to realize how much he’s worth to her. She displays a lot of strength in her confession and I think this is one of the most well done confession scenes I’ve ever seen period, even with her insert song playing in the background. That said I’ve only seen up to episode 18 because I honestly don’t know how much better Re: Zero can get from this point. I mean I’ll watch it eventually but I’m in love with these first dozen episodes so much I need an emotional break with all the heartache and the darkness .-. (Also please listen to her insert song omg its so precious https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fV3Fu5csdcA  )

Before I list the top three, like my male list I want to at least some other ladies that also did not get into Smash but are still worth mentioning as characters I really like and enjoy, no order here except for the first character because she is hot. Literally. No pictures or additional text here sadly, I mean look how long this post is I don’t even know if all of this will fit ;__;

Lal Mirch (Katekyo Hitman Reborn!)

Athena Cykes (Phoenix Wright Ace Attorney: Dual Destinies)

Primrose (Octopath Traveler)

Midna (Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess

Winry Rockbell (Full Metal Alchemist Brotherhood)

Makoto (Persona 5)

Sinon (Sword Art Online)

Akane Tsunemori (Psycho Pass)

Rikku (Final Fantasy X)

Ruiko Saten (A Certain Scientific Railgun)

Alisa Reinford (Legend of Heroes: Trails of Cold Steel)

Senna (Bleach Memories of Nobody)

                                                 Alright, moving on...

  3) Sara Valestein (Trails of Cold Steel)

Sara leads off the top three. She’s initially Rean’s instructor. She has a sense of humor, loves all things drinking, and is lax on her instructor duties...for the most part. There’s a lot of backstory involving this character that I won’t pile on here but I will say that despite her goofy nature Sara is ridiculously strong and it always amazes me how someone like Sara be so silly and not only be so stupid strong but also have her own moniker known around the world as ‘The Purple Lightning’. She was initially a top ranked Bracer before becoming a teacher. You eventually learn about her past through Rean and how it isn’t always all as happy go lucky as her personality...what I really like about Sara is how her strength is the culmination of all the things she went through. There’s one scene in CS1 where she tells some of her students that if they don’t like her assignments for a school trip, they’re free to team up and beat her to get her to change her mind. Needless to say they got their butts handed to them.

2) Garnet Til Alexandros (Final Fantasy IX)

Zidane’s other half. Considering I write Zidane I’d like to call her Dagger from this point on if you don’t mind .-. (Dagger is her own decided alias based on Zidane’s weapon)  I really love how she can break the norms of your stereotypical princess. When Zidane firsts meets her she’s chasing her down in her castle and she’s trying to leave her castle, something she mentioned had actively trained to do. And she’s leaving because she’s trying to resolve an issue with her mother... Dagger is a very strong character who has no issue taking matters into her own hands when it comes to issues. Holy crap what she does to Zidane at one point...she’s a bold one. She feels really strongly and she goes through a lot of crap, but she comes out stronger for it. She wasn’t one with much experience for the outside world but she takes to it at levels that the well traveled Zidane did not expect...I don’t want say much because of spoilers but she really finds herself as she journeys and goes from strength to strength, really owning her responsibilities. She’s also the main person who helps Zidane in one of his lowest moments... In my opinion these are just some of the many reasons Zidane falls for her more than any other girl...she’s also a Summoner and I love me some Summoners. She and Zidane also go great together and their relationship builds properly in a way that makes sense. Definitely one of my favorite ladies period.

1) Aurica Nestmile (Ar Tonelico: Melodies of Elemia)

Number one is this lovely lady. Aurica is a Reyvateil, Reyvateils are people who have the ability to convert sounds into energy...all Reyvateils are assigned a rank according to how powerful their ability is. Aurica had it rough, being out of her hometown when it was attacked and destroyed, and she took the blame herself, believing she could have made a difference, being a Reyvateil and all...because of all of this she became very withdrawn and her abilties suffered...she was ranked ‘D’ which is one of the lowest classes of Reyvateils. She was picked on and treated like garbage because of her rank...she did make a friend though, a friend that was also a Revytail, one that everyone liked and one Aurica looked up to, which only made her look like more of a shadow than anything else...which did not help her already lacking confidence and low esteem. She has a literal hole in her heart and is emotionally dependent.

I mention all of that because this character for me is extremely relatable to me, she’s had it pretty rough however in terms of development you see her grow like crazy...before she was so deathly scared of people she would instantly shut herself down and repress herself but with some help from her partner Lyner she gets better and starts to believe in herself more...it’s not easy for her though, as she gets stronger and Lyner trusts her with more responsibility she gets attacked through the hole in her heart and her newly built confidence gets shattered and she starts believing she’s defective, that only defective Revytail have these holes in their heart...what I love about Aurica’s story is how real her issues with building up confidence are, she starts from practically ground zero and over time, through a repeat of this vicious cycle I described, goes from being considered one of the weakest Revytail to the strongest 3rd generation Revytail all because someone believed in her. 

I think out of both my male and female lists, Aurica was the only one to make me burst into tears at random points. (not gonna lie Rem came close but she’s not number one here :P) This girl here is one of the firsts ladies I ever connected to in my earlier naive years and back then I didn’t even think it was possible for me to relate to a female this much...

If you got to the end, you deserve a cookie. -offers chocolate chip cookie- This took a lot of thought to write out, there’s so many great characters and I look forward to encountering even more down the road. I may eventually do a list for couples...here’s hoping I won’t have to edit this...

RIP 10/25/2020 I HAD TO EDIT TO ADD SATEN TO HONORABLE MENTIONS ;_;

[solynaceawrites]

Wires [4]: Frustration

Rating: Mature Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Major Character Death Categories: F/F, F/M Fandom: Devil May Cry Relationships: Dante/Original Female Character(s), Implied Nero/Kyrie, Implied Vergil/Original Female Character(s), Implied Lady/Trish, Dante/Lirael Thorne, Dante/Lir Characters: Dante, Morrison, Nero, Original Female Character(s), Lirael Thorne, Lir Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Detectives, Violence, Gore, Dark, Horror, Supernatural Elements, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Serial Killers, Angst, Eventual Romance, Eventual Smut Summary: In Red Grave City, a serial killer stalks the streets. Lirael Thorne, recently transferred from Fortuna and looking for an escape from her past, winds up on his trail. Hunting him with her veteran partner, Dante Redgrave, they try to piece together the wires that bind the three of them together. In a race to catch him before he leaves more victims in his wake, the things thought buried will come to the surface, tearing lives and comfort apart.

»��————-　⚜　————-««

“Death and life are the same thing- like the two sides of my hand, the palm and the back. And still the palm and back are not the same . . . They can neither be separated, nor mixed.” —Ursula K. Le Guin

»»————-　⚜　————-««

Lir takes Simon Marson’s statement with a grain of salt. It’s not that she doesn’t trust him—she doesn’t trust lawyers as a whole, but nothing so far has given her a reason to believe he’d outright lie—just that she’s learned firsthand how memories get clouded and fuzzy, particularly about routines. Sure, their victim worked for him. And, yes, she probably did the exact same thing every day, going to her paid internship at her father’s office Monday through Saturday, taking Sunday off, and spending Friday night bar-hopping with her friends. Yet there’s simply too much Marson was unaware of. The questions of who her friends are, what she did when she wasn’t working, her hobbies, any potential lovers, hell even where she lived, are all ones he provided no answer to or understanding of. To him, Sophie truly existed only in the hours between 8:00 am and 6:30 pm. Which isn’t exactly unusual, but it makes her job of following those leads harder, and she ends their interview feeling more irritated than she had when she started.

Dante, too, must be frustrated, because he says nothing at all to her when he leaves the observation room to join her at their desks, merely clacking angrily on his keyboard as he types his report. Lir does the same, transcribing the interview with Marson and her notes to send to Morrison later. A stiff drink is what she needs, maybe a call to Joan for a bit of relaxation, but she settles for chewing aspirin and drinking the bitter coffee unique to precincts. By the time she’s done recounting the events of the last thirty-six hours, her fingers are stiff and the throbbing in her temples has turned into a fierce clawing that makes her eyes water, and she’s keenly aware of the fact that they’re fast closing in on the forty-eight hour mark and how much more difficult this investigation is going to be beyond it.

“You eaten?” Dante asks. Lir shakes her head, and he picks up his phone, dialing quickly. “Me neither. ‘Bout to keel over, if I’m honest. You good with pizza?”

“Sure. Whatever toppings are fine.”

He flashes her a grin before speaking into the receiver, and Lir uses the time to read back over Trish’s findings. They aren’t pretty. While there were no ligature marks, showing that Sophie was neither restrained nor strangled, there were heavy levels of Rohypnol in her blood, meaning she would have been unable to do anything at all. In fact, Trish notes that the dose probably would have been fatal, given the fact that Sophie was well over the legal limit for intoxication, clocking a BA of 0.16%, putting her at the threshold for alcohol poisoning. Did she normally drink so much? Lir runs her fingers over the paper, frowning slightly as she thinks. Joan hadn’t said much more about Sophie’s habits other than her cocktail of choice, and they hadn’t asked for a receipt, a stupid oversight that needs to be corrected. Because if that much liquor was’t common for Sophie, it means either she was drinking a lot more, which could lead them to recent stresses.

Or that the killer was feeding her margaritas all night to make sure she was too weak to fight him.

“There was no phone recovered from the alley, right?” she asks. Dante gives a grunt as he hangs up the phone, and she leans back, stretching to relieve the tension in her shoulders. “We’ve got to find her friends, talk to them.”

“What about the mother?”

“Gone. Parents divorced when Sophie was . . .” Lir checks her notes. “Six. The original custody agreement was for the mom to have supervised visitation, but she went no contact when Sophie was twelve. The last Marson heard from her, she was living with her new husband in Portland.”

Dante whistles. “No contact? Think Marson was abusing her?”

“Maybe. But why would Sophie hang around, if that was the case? You watch your dad beat on your mom for six years and wind up working for him?”

He grunts and leans back, crossing his arms over his chest and staring thoughtfully at a spot just over her right shoulder. “Abuse doesn’t always make it to the kids,” he says after a moment. “Sure, maybe pops was an asshole, but he was probably smart enough to keep it behind closed doors. Or maybe there wasn’t anything goin’ on other than two people who didn’t want to be together anymore.” He pauses to take a sip of coffee. “Could have been mom, too.”

“Right.” Lir massages her temples, and the pressure there subsides enough that she no longer feels like her eyes are going to burst. A migraine is the last thing she needs right now, but that’s exactly where she’s headed if she doesn’t get some sort of rest soon. “So, we have a victim whose father knows nothing about her personal life, a killer who was smart enough to make sure we couldn’t trace her beyond the bar, and, after nearly forty hours, no real answers.”

“Sounds about right.” Dante’s grin is bitter.

“Fuck.” She drums her fingers on her desk. “Crime scene still roped off?”

“As far as I know. You plannin’ a visit?”

“Yeah. I need to get some air, and I want to take it in now that it’s quiet.” Lir grabs her coat from the back of her chair as she stands, sliding it on before leaning to open her desk and grab her gun and badge. Fastening them to her belt, she mutters, “Maybe something got missed.”

Dante gets up, stretching with a loud yawn. “Alright. I’ll go with you.”

“I don’t need—”

“I’m not babysittin’ you, Lir.” His eyes are somehow both grave and mocking, and she’s not sure which irritates her more. “There’s a killer. None of us should be goin’ out alone, especially with the statistics about who else might show up there to get their jollies.”

That gives her pause. “Right. Okay. You driving?”

He dangles his keys. Lips twitching, she turns and heads down the stairs and out to the lot, listening to the quiet thumping of Dante’s shoes as he follows her. For someone so big, he doesn’t make a lot of noise when he moves, and she wonders idly if it’s a force of habit or just how he is as she slides into the passenger seat of his car and fastens her seatbelt. Like always, he flicks on the radio and finds a classic rock station before starting the drive, and he ignores her popping two aspirin into her mouth and chewing them dry. 

The ride back to the alley passes in the silence between them. Lir looks out of her window, the rain sliding along the glass turning the world outside to a muted painting of blurred shapes and bright flashes of color on an otherwise dreary background, and thinks. Sophie Marsons had gone to the bar, as was her usual weekend habit, and ordered her preferred drink. Had she gone with friends? Had they danced, and laughed, until a stranger stole into their group, with eyes only for Sophie, eyes full of murder that she might have mistaken for desire? Despite what she had said to Dante about their victim being chosen randomly, Lir has little doubt that she knew her killer. Statistics point to it, the inevitable need for the comfort brought by familiarity that a new killer needs to do his work. Statistics, the voice of her old academy instructor rasps in her mind, are statistically incorrect.

If Sophie wasn’t the first, then there’s another victim out there.

Cold, bitter rain lashes her as soon as she steps out of the car. Huffing, watching her breath condense and twist in the air, Lir pulls her hood up around her face and tucks her hands into her pockets, wishing she had a slicker even if the garish yellow color of it would make her stick out like a sore thumb. Dante joins her, grimacing as he sets a black trilby on his head, water dripping from the brim steadily. “Good thing we already got forensics,” he mutters.

“Mm.” Making a non-committal noise in her throat, she ducks under the crime scene tape and walks into the alley, where she stands and takes it in. Without pedestrian and vehicular traffic on the street, it’s unnervingly quiet; is this how it was at four in the morning? Nothing but silence as the dull oppressiveness of the city while Sophie was carved open like livestock? 

Lir is moving towards the dumpster when something rustles behind it. Pausing, she stares at it, her brow pinched and her hand moving slowly to her gun, waiting. Cat, she thinks, or rat. Something digging for scraps now that humanity has gone away. But the silhouette she can just make out on the other side is too large, and, as she watches, a tanned hand grips the edge before a rain-soaked head pokes cautiously around, the eyes that she sees wide enough that the whites are like spotlights. Behind her, she hears Dante hiss, the faint splash of water as he slowly comes up beside her. Looks like he was right. Someone else had shown up, and now all that’s left to do is figure out whether or not they’re the murderer.

“Police,” Dante barks. “Don’t move!”

The man jumps to his feet and takes off, and Lir lets out a string of curses as she darts after him. They always fucking run, guilty or innocent, because seeing a cop always makes them feel like they’ve done something wrong. Bearers of bad news, thugs with guns, she’s heard it all, and she wonders how this guy thinks of the police even as she chases him down the winding alleys of a city she’s already growing to hate. “Thorne!” Dante shouts, his voice dwindling as the distance between them grows. “Goddamnit, Thorne!”

Up ahead, the black coat swirls as the man rushes through the maze. Sometimes all she has is a glimpse of fabric as he turns a corner, others, on the straight, narrow stretches, she can make out more of him, and her mind catalogues these snapshots. Slender build. Dark jeans. Heavy boots. The glint of a ring. A pair of wild eyes peering over his shoulder. Despite knowing she should draw it, Lir leaves her gun holstered. Don’t you ever, her instructor had said gravely, take that thing out unless you intend to shoot, and she’s got no desire to fire a bullet that would at best embed itself harmlessly into a wall and at worst ricochet and cause more damage.

Her hood falls back, rain plastering her hair to face and neck. In her chest, her heart is a drum, and her blood roars in her ears, equaled only by the low whistle of her breathing as she tries to control it to fight off fatigue. Keep moving, she tells her legs, don’t fucking stop until you know who he is.

At her hip, her radio crackles, only to be ignored. Right now, it is only her and her prey, locked in the chase until one of them is forced to stop. Guilty people run, sure. So do frightened ones. Which is he? Killer or morbid onlooker, dangerous or afraid? 

Lir never gets the chance to find out. They burst into a side-street, the cars around them blaring horns of fear and anger at this sudden intrusion, and a hand clamps onto her shoulder and yanks her back as a truck passes through the space she’d been about to step into. By the time it and its trailer clear out, the man is gone, and a scream bubbles in her throat that she fights to swallow. She knows who grabbed her—the scent of Dante’s cologne, muted by the rain, wafts into her nose, accompanied by the spiced, salty blend of sweat and deodorant—and she allows him to lead her back to the sidewalk, where she doubles over with her hands on her thighs and struggles to slow her breathing from the harsh, jagged pants to something close to normal. At this angle, she can make out the way water has turned the leather of his shoes a dull brown. Never gonna look nice again, she thinks, and closes her eyes against the swell of nausea that comes from exertion on an empty stomach.

“What the fuck were you thinking?” Dante growls, his voice rasping and hoarse from chasing her. “You ever stop to think for a damned second that we’d need backup? Or that chasing that idiot could have gotten you killed?”

The scolding makes her angry all over again. “I’m sorry,” she snaps, straightening to glare at him. “Should I have let our only lead so far go?”

“If it meant surviving? Yeah, you should’ve. Or were you hoping to wind up like Marsons?” His eyes are cold with fury, his cheeks flushed with it. “I told you, I fucking told you—”

Lir’s phone rings, cutting off whatever tirade he’d been heading towards. Scowling, she answers it. “Thorne.”

“You with Redgrave?” Morrison asks, crackling with static. 

“Yeah.” Dante makes an impatient motion with his hand, and she holds up a finger in the standard request for a minute of silence.

“Get your asses over to Tellula Park. He’ll know where it is.”

There’s something so foreboding about Morrison’s tone that Lir knows the answer to her question before she even asks it. “What’s there?”

Morrison sighs. “Another body. Looks like our killer didn’t want to wait for us to catch him.”

“We’ll be there.” She hangs up, then looks at Dante, frustration and defeat welling within her to make her voice curiously flat. “There’s another victim in Tellula Park.”

Dante curses. “Our guy?”

“Morrison said it was,” she replies.

He glances around, studying the street sign at the intersection. “C’mon. Car’s about two blocks away. We’ll have to book it if we don’t want Morrison to rip us new assholes for taking our sweet time.”

Lir nods. Dante turns and starts down the sidewalk, and she follows, craving a drink and a good night’s rest and maybe a bit of company, angry to have wasted time on some idiot onlooker when the killer was busy leaving them another corpse, another family to notify, another twisted web. I didn’t know, she thinks, and that just makes her feel worse. Tunnel vision, that’s what she had fallen into, too focused on what was in front of her nose to take a second to really contemplate if a killer who took such care not to be noticed would have been so stupid as to come back to the scene of his crime in the middle of the day with cops still around. 

They’re sweating and miserably damp by the time they reach the car. Dante pulls towels from the backseat for them to sit on—something her father had done, to keep water from damaging the seats—and turns on the heater to fight some of the chill. It’s only once they’re on their way to the new scene that he says anything at all. “It wasn’t your fault.”

Lir’s head snaps towards him at both the words and the sympathy within them. Not that it’s unusual for cops to know how their partner feels, but usually that takes years of working together, not days, so either he’s particularly good and reading the people around him or he’s projecting. “What?”

“The new victim,” he explains. “Wasn’t anything you could have done. We had and have nothing to go on, and you chasin’ that guy didn’t get this one killed. Or,” his mouth twitches, “do you think you’re better than every other cop on the force?”

“Of course not,” she protests hotly. “I just . . .”

Dante cracks the window and lights a cigarette that he pulls from the pack in his door. “Look,” he says, exhaling smoke, “I get it. You’re new, gotta prove yourself, and this guy is a pain in the ass. But you ain’t got any control over him, or what he does. Only thing you can do is learn, be better, so you can catch him.”

It’s spoken in the same tone he might have used to console a weeping toddler, and she bristles. “You don’t know me.”

“No, but I read your file.” He glances at her as he tosses the cigarette, still half-lit, out of the window. “You know what was top and center on the behavior section? Empathetic. You feel things, Thorne, feel ‘em deep, maybe, and that’s great for gettin’ inside the head of whoever’s doin’ this, but it means he can get inside your head, too, if you let him.”

She sinks into her seat, thinking of her dream, and gooseflesh breaks out across her arms despite the warm air blowing from the vents. “So what’s your drive, then? Fame? Promotions?”

Dante snorts. “Nah. Just don’t like bastards who hurt women, that’s all.” He pauses, then exhales slowly. “Look. I’m not gonna rat you out to Morrison. You made a decision that anyone else would’ve made. Doesn’t mean it wasn’t a fucking stupid decision, but . . . It stays between us. Right?”

There’s a rush of gratitude that she hates feeling. “Yeah. Okay.”

“Okay,” he agrees amicably.

[kpopisamood]

Queen’s Clan { 15 }

Summary: y/n is plagued by nightmares. She realizes that the more she runs away, the less frequently they haunt her. However, in running away, she’s also running straight into her ultimate demise. Will she be saved in time by those who would lay down their lives for her, even if they don’t know of each other’s existence?

Monsta X/Reader, Human/Vampire(s), Reverse Harem

Warnings: light smut?, violence, language

Word count: 2.03k

Tag list: @noonaduck @lovinggalaxies @elenaramos1 @girlwith-thecinder-blockgarden @snowythellama @stargazersara @luvthatleader-nim @sugasheart @vincent-stargogh @perrshian

It’s been a...minute? since I posted, heh. I’m not really “good” with grieving and I didn’t know if I should post so soon given what has happened so I kinda held off on posting just to give everyone some space. It still feels a bit awkward coming back so soon but I hope you all will forgive me. This is just kinda how I move on? I don’t know, I’m weird I guess.

Also, how do y’all feel about period sex? Because the next couple of parts depend on y’all with this. I don’t want to make anyone uncomfortable on my first fic on here so I’m asking now just to see where your mind is at.

***

According to Miss Kudrow, the Gathering had gone off “without a hitch”. Your little confrontation with Silvia didn’t hinder your position and, if anything, aided to your status as an up and coming leader. You’d made a good impression on a few Queens other than Astor and Sonaelina and the former two had invited you over to their homes if you ever wanted to get away.

There was just one problem.

You’d unknowingly let Shownu feed from you. You weren’t sure what the rule set was for this sort of role reversal, but it caused quite a ruckus amongst your Mates.

Being the first to be taken into your Clan, Minhyuk was a bit envious; wanting your attention constantly, even when you were preoccupied.

“I’m just asking why he gets to feed from you and I don’t.” Minhyuk pouted from behind the locked door.

“I swear on all things that are holy, if you don’t let me piss in peace, you won’t be able to complain!” You threatened from your porcelain throne.

For a beat, it was quiet and that led you to believe he was gone until, “Does this mean I’ll get a taste?”

“MINHYUK!” You yelled, hearing footsteps scurrying away.

You truly didn’t know what you were doing with Shownu at the time. When Silvia had touched him in front of you, your mind had gone blank and you wanted to show him he was yours, damnit. Call it whatever you may, but you’d let him take a few licks and now the whole house dynamic was all sorts of messed up.

The only solace you had was from one of the younger ones; Jooheon. He’d stay by your side and wouldn’t ask or pout at you. He’d just simply follow you around. You would think it would get annoying, but with him around constantly glaring at the boys who tried to approach you and ask for a taste kind of comforted you. You didn’t know if he was simply trying to get on your good side, but his behavior didn’t go unnoticed by you.

***

“As you see, you have a long list of potential nesting sites. None of them have actually been built yet but these are rough sketches for you to choose from, should you want to leave this house.” Kudrow had blueprints upon blueprints laid out for you. Houses that you would have never dreamed of were within your grasp all because of your supposed lineage.

You were slowly starting to come into your role as a Queen and the bank accounts that had almost made you pass out, were something you were starting to take in stride. It was...nice to not have to worry about bills and such, but it still made you a bit uncomfortable to spend so much of your family’s money.

You’d narrowed your search down to a few homes and Miss Kudrow had asked you all the questions under the sun. Including, how big do you want your bed, bathtub, etc. and what you wanted in certain rooms that made you blush.

Apparently, Royals had nests where they settled down and made their families. This is also where all the Clan Mates stayed as well as servants who were sworn to protect your name. It was a bit daunting to think about, but you were taking things one day at a time.

“So we’ve established the people currently living and their arrangements. What do you want for the kids’ rooms?”

You nearly choked hearing Miss Kudrow’s words. They were harmless, but you weren’t thinking of kids. Not now when you’ve just been thrown into an entirely new world.

“Kids?!” You shrieked, standing up to pace the room.

“Well, of course. How else would you continue your lineage? Have you decided which of your Mates will father the children? Or if you’ll have more than one father for several?” She kept going, not really paying attention to your panicked state. “Oh, just think of a nice house with several little ones running around! It would be so wonderful to see your reign continuing on and—are you alright?” She cut herself off, finally seeing you.

The moment you thought of running away and living in the woods the rest of your life, Jooheon came running in. He approached you slowly while giving Miss Kudrow a glare that could kill and then focused entirely on you. He gently grabbed you and pulled you into his chest, holding one hand behind your head and the other around your waist to try and somehow protect you.

“You’re alright.” He cooed, kissing the side of your head and just holding you.

“I’m not ready for kids, Jooheon.” You mumbled against his chest.

“That’s okay. We don’t have to even think about kids right now. We can just enjoy each other’s company. We’re here for you and we’re not going to make you do anything you’re uncomfortable with.” He reassured, pulling away to look you in the eyes.

You nodded nimbly, somewhat comforted.

A throat clearing brought your attention to a weary Changkyun, trying his best not to look you in the eye.

“You have a visitor, My Lady.” He nervously shook his hair with his hand and not a few seconds later, there was a gentle knocking on the front door.

All at once, your Clan Mates joined you. Jooheon had already had a place at your side and was holding your hand, Minhyuk took your other side but let you have some space, Shownu stood in front with Wonho and Changkyun remained at the doorway.

Miss Kudrow had gone to see who it was before returning with a hesitant look.

“It’s Yoo Kihyun. Chae Hyungwon’s Clan Mate.” She announced.

Chaos erupted amongst your Mates.

“He’s not coming in.”

“Don’t trust him.”

“We can take him on.”

They were all on high alert and it worries you a bit to see them so wound up over one person.

“Who is he?” You asked, taking a glance towards the hallway where the front door was.

“He’s Hyungwon’s Queen killer.” Jooheon explained, gritting his teeth.

“Kihyun is with King, Hyungwon. He just so happens to be his Alpha, or right hand man. Anything Hyungwon won’t or can’t do himself, falls on Kihyun. This usually means killing Royals or using them for his benefit.” Changkyun rephrased.

You had read all the documents Miss Kudrow had given you, but this was nowhere in any of them. Had you have known about this, Hyungwon would not be on the top of your potential ally list.

“They’re baseless rumors, but it’s troublesome nonetheless. Royals gossip, but they never spread word of murder; their ranks are too underpopulated to even joke about killing one another. Do you want me to send him away, Your Grace?” Miss Kudrow softly asked, fully prepared to tell Kihyun where he could go.

You didn’t want someone so dangerous around your Clan, but you didn’t want to send him away and not hear what he has to say either. Were you prepared to face on someone as Kihyun? He had made quite a ripple effect on your Clan and you’d be a fool to go against him so blindly but you wanted to know more about this; more about them.

“Let him in.” You told her bravely. Miss Kudrow nodded and left the room. You could hear the front door open and closing and heard another heavier set of footsteps following behind Miss Kudrow’s dainty ones.

You made your way to the living room and sat on an oversized couch, your men taking their respective places. Shownu sat in between your legs in front of you on the floor, Jooheon to your right while Minhyuk on your left, and Wonho leaned against the wall nearest the couch as Changkyun took the opposite end of the room.

Though they didn’t show it, you could tell your decision had put your Clan on edge. They’d kill for you and die for you, but that would mean leaving you alone to face whatever Hyungwon had in mind for you.

When Kihyun had finally approached your group, you wanted to gasp. His hair was a short, dark brown with lighter brown highlights that framed his sharp features perfectly. He sported a kind smile but you could tell he had a darker being inside him. He wore a black long sleeve, dark dress pants, and dark brown boots and he strode in with a careful confidence that made you want to hide and fight all at once.

“Your Highness,” he nodded at you. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

You gave him a slight nod and waited for his next words, opting not to speak to him just yet since he was the one who sought you out in your home.

His smile slightly widened and he looked around at your Clan Mates, meeting each of their eyes. “You’ve already grown quite a Clan, I see.” He said in an impressed tone.

“What do you want, Kihyun?” You demanded, not wanting him to beat around the bush.

He nodded to himself before continuing on. “My King would like to request your presence in a private dinner with him two nights from now.”

You could feel Shownu and Minhyuk tense up around you while Jooheon gripped your hand a bit tighter.

“And why would I do that? Your King had his chance to meet me at the Gathering like all the other Royals, why does he want a private meeting now?” You challenged, and almost wished you didn’t.

His gentle smile turned into a sinister smirk and back so fast you almost got whiplash. “You were a bit...occupied when he was finally about to meet you.”

You could feel he was trying to embarrass you. He knew you were new to this and sharing your affections with your Clan so openly should have made you ashamed but you honestly didn’t care. You wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

“So what you’re saying is, he had the opportunity to meet me, but he backed down. That sounds more like a problem for him rather than me. Don’t you think?” You smirked back, causing his smile to loosen a smidge. But that was all your confidence needed.

“It seems so, Your Grace.” He replied.

“Since you came looking for me, I’ll meet with your King. But on my terms. That’s only fair, right?”

“I will give him the excellent news, Your Grace.” He bowed slightly and made his way for the door. Miss Kudrow followed behind him and softly closed the door behind him, letting out a deep sigh of relief that everyone else also let out.

“Are you alright, My Queen?” Minhyuk asked, taking your other free hand and pecking the back of it in comfort.

“Tell me everything about Kihyun and Hyungwon. If Hyungwon is anything like Kihyun, I want to be prepared to face him as well.” You stated, tightening your grip on Jooheon and Minhyuk ever so slightly before dropping their hands and getting yourself mentally ready for another Royals lesson.

***

“She’ll meet with you.” His Alpha greeted from his cell. “But on her terms.”

Hyungwon chuckled and shook his head, as if he had heard an old joke. “Of course, as expected of an intellectual Queen. I’ll let our Guardians set it up.” He waved off.

“Her numbers have grown tremendously.” Kihyun told him, waltzing straight for the blacked out car awaiting him in front of your home.

“And they’re about to get more significant.” He chuckled before hanging up.

Kihyun took one last look at your home and smiled softly before entering the car and driving away.

Please do NOT repost! All rights reserved!

*PLEASE TAKE A LOOK AT THE NOTE ABOVE THIS CHAPTER!*

[thepilgrimofwar]

Warplanning 2 - Edited Roll20 Log

[Backdated from after Breaking the Line & The Wintergales, and before The Whole Hog]

[Event Start]

Days had passed since the start of the civil war and the weight of it all seemed to bear down upon the members of house Emberheart. Dark rings could be seen beneath the eyes of Solendis and his son Stenden. Sleep did not come easy for either of them. One, worrying about the life of his son, the other, worrying about the lives of his people. The Lord and his Steward both did what they thought was best, but so far, had nothing to show for it apart from the coalition that gathered before them.

Judereth and Relriah had both opted to stay on the frontlines with the other officers at the head of their militiamen. Keeping up the fight against Illithia as they gained ground from their initial winnings. Zarannis too had decided to stay on a frontline of her own, keeping an eye and ear on Mediea Wintergale, and speaking with her sister Illsei. She believed that decisions moving forward were left to those ready to make them and as the party gathered in the War-Room the unfolding of what was to come would soon become clear.

[Banter]

Thanidiel spends a long, long, drawn-out moment staring at Beathyn particularly. Then to Renalays. Then to Beathyn. Just Beathyn. Her long platinum brows entrench in the polar opposite of 'pleasure.'

Kebha is about as focused as she's ever going to be, which is not a lot. Her ear flicks as Thanidiel edges closer.

Lirelle looks between Renalays and the woman on the opposite side of her. She looks askance at Thanidiel briefly before turning to the inquisitor. "What are you doing here?"

Thanidiel definitely seems to prefer the Illidari over the -Inquisitor.-

Ethalarian sits with his arms folded over his chest, leaned back in his chair with his feet propped up on the table like the uncouth dirt farmer he is.

Stenden looks across the table to all the officers who came today. The rest were seeing to their troops at the front no doubt. "Thank you all for coming." The boy gestured to the walls where briefings and reports on the major players in the conflict. "If you need to get up to speed, especially for the new comers, feel free to have a gander." He said, in reference to the Inquisitor and the Illidari who both seemed to cause tension with their very existence in the war room.

Vissehn yawns and scratches under his arm, looking unkempt and delightfully uncouth. He waves to the others, before listening to Stenden with the fullness of his short attention span.

Kebha seems to be absolutely oblivious to this tension- but then, she also doesn't see a problem with her eating habits. She instead chooses to bounce on her heels, 'looking' down the table at the assembled lot.

Vissehn:"Oi, hail scary Inquisitor lady. Eat any babies t'day?"

Renalays:"Sir Valcinder -humbly- requested my presence here on behalf of the Lord Emberheart here. Not that it has been an inconvenience; the Inquisitors have been... sorting the Kingdom province by province, as it were."

"Are you offering?"

Vissehn makes a show of warding off danger, feigning a stricken look.

[Planning Starts Proper, Summary of Turn 1]

Solendis:"So now that we're all gathered: Goodember is in our custody. The frontline against his realm of Shalemarch is holding for now. The Illithian front has gone well thanks to your efforts- And House Wintergale has, just last night, declare their loyalty and support."

Thanidiel:"I assume Fish saved the day in the Cloudrend Glades?" That's a veiled insult.

Lirelle:"Hm. Wasn't aware you knew each other."

Thanidiel:"Don't."

Renalays:"Are you ashamed of your service, Phoenix Guard Highdawn? No matter - this is not the time to coddle or press egos."

Beathyn clears his throat loudly and dramatically, attempting to keep some ensemble of order on Solendis' behalf. "As per our agreement that we came to," he gestures towards the compatriots of the diplomatic team of Vissehn and Renalays. "He will be providing us verbal support and access through the Cloudrend Glades. He won't however, be providing soldiers for the war effort unless he is attacked by House Illithia directly."

Isilos raises an eyebrow at the mention of his Nephew's organization before slienlly returning to the table and ignoring the rabble.

Lirelle squints at this weird shared history. Right.

Thanidiel stares at the Inquisitor for a steady moment - the vile burning bright in her felfire eye before she huffs and focuses on the report. "That's good," she can -at least- claim.

Thanidiel:"It would be harder if we had to drag him by his ancient ear from skirmish to skirmish."

Stenden:"Going by how old he is, that ear might come off."

Thanidiel:"Withdrawing support whenever things bothered him again would have struck the morale."

Lirelle:"It saves us the trouble of having one last player to deal with after this is over. As long as he keeps his word."

Kebha loses interest in the table, and retreats to crouch on those lovely chairs right there like some kind of weird, folded gremlin. She can hear just fine from here thanks.

Solendis gave his son a LOOK. Which chided him back to a more official tone.

Vissehn:"He's piss-scared of throwin' lots. Wants to be independent an' his own entity."

Vissehn shoots a look to Solendis, and murmurs to Stenden.

Ethalarian 's eyes flick back and forth between Renalays and Thanidiel, but he doesn't seem interested in saying or doing much. Above his paygrade, probably.

From Vissehn: "Might rip off half his face wivit, yeah? He'd look a right horror, like from Northrend."

Renalays:"Exactly. Complacency is what we need from your people. Not a... tenuous simulation of it."

[Wintergale gives nominal support]

Stenden folded his arms. "So, what should we do about this development. Before we move on to... Other affairs that need dealing with." Stenden looked to the military minds at the table.

Esheyn also chooses not to get involved in... any of that. She folds her arms across her chest, listening silently.

Lirelle:"Zarannis will keep him in line, one way or another. There are other things more important for now."

Oosaarn released a frosted breath into the air with a snort. "Don't suppose they would simply follow whoever kills their leader."

Beathyn flings his arms into the air at Oosaarn's comment. "That's what I kept saying!"

Renalays:"Inefficient."

Beathyn gives a look at Renalays.

Oosaarn:"It's the only way Warsong decide who's right."

Renalays:"The Sin'dorei do not rally as easily as the other cultures of the Horde."

Kebha perks up at that- that was what she was good at. The killing thing. The talking thing, not so much.

Renalays:"They would spend weeks, if not months, fixing together all of their pieces into a different puzzle with different names."

Ethalarian exhales a long sigh through his nose.

Renalays:"Less energy dedicated to -killing.-"

Oosaarn:"Just saying. The other person can't win the argument if they can't argue."

Vissehn jerks a thumb towards Renalays. "His death can wait til the present unpleasantness is done."

Solendis:"So, logically speaking. We could start up a Western front against Illithia. Only real question is, how much ought we invest into this- and does the Coalition wish to be part of it- Rather than continuing to advance as they are now against the more defensible frontlne."

Thanidiel:"A token force would demonstrate 'allyship' between Wintergale and Emberheart."

"Otherwise, I doubt Illithia has interest in traversing the Cloudrend Glades either."

Stenden tapped his finger on the map. "So, a token force. Diversion perhaps to draw numbers away from the east?"

Thanidiel:"Possibly. It's easy to feign numbers."

Thanidiel:"Tie branches to the horses' tails, burn more fires than there are squadrons every night. Yes?"

Lirelle:"If you intend to create a diversion, you still send -enough- men to handle being a diversion."

Renalays gestures her gloved hand in Thanidiel's direction. For both seeming to -dislike- each other, they're almost speaking like two halves of the same weapon.

[Muroco offers Rockhoof Guerilla Warfare.]

Muroco:"I can act as a diversion."

Thanidiel:"Honestly I like that."

Oosaarn:"I would like to see the Grimtotem acting like a diversion."

Stenden looks at Muroco. "I'm listening." His ears perked up at the sound of that.

Thanidiel:"He counts for thirty of your ill-fed Northerners."

Lirelle:"That is honestly not a terrible idea."

Muroco bangs his fist on Mammoth with a resounding thud. "Your locals aren't used to seeing someone like me, and they haven't seen Grimtotem tactics before."

Ethalarian arches a brow in the big Tauren's direction. "I didn't realize smashing everything in sight to a pulp was tactics." He scratches at his chin. "It works for you, though."

From Lirelle: you could do an event for mark when hes got free time since he's not around as much

Thanidiel:"Grimtotem are quite known for guerrilla warfare amongst the Shu'Halo."

Oosaarn:"It's called psychological warfare."

Muroco:"They're going to smash themselves into a pulp against me."

Oosaarn:"And also regular warfare."

Stenden:"It'll spread our forces more thin, but if you believe you can do so, I can give you one division of troops for support. If you can instruct them- I am certain they will be very useful to you."

From Lirelle: or he can write a story cause he's really good with those, you can talk with him imo

Kebha nods in the background. "The big one is good."

Muroco is now a leader of fledgling guerilla fighters to-be.

[The Fate of Nelio Goodember]

Stenden turns their attention back to the front. "So. Now onto the other matter at hand. Nelio Goodember."

Renalays:"Ah, you have contained the fat bastard?"

Oosaarn:"Horrible name."

Renalays:"His petition records at the Magistrate annoy me."

Kebha subtly perks up, resting her cheek in a clawed hand and looking like she might actually be paying attention.

Vissehn beamed. "I dangled him off a balcony!"

Nelio Goodember is dragged into the room, bound, but not gagged. "UNHAND ME!" he screeches as he gets shoved onwards into the corner of the war room.

Renalays:"Did you break your wrist in the process or did your youthful years prepare you for that?"

"Hello there, Lord Goodember."

Lirelle:"Oh for fucks sake. Who thought it was a good idea to drag him in here?"

Vissehn laughs at Renalays, brows waggling at her.

Kebha literally hisses at the loud bastard.

Oosaarn:"You're surrounded by enemies. And at least half of us don't so much as blink at the idea of removing someone's head. Best to keep a silver tongue."

civil*

Thanidiel:"What the orc said. Shut your jowls."

Solendis gives a wry smile. "My idea, I think it was best to let him listen to his fate as he's decided- and to plead his case accordingly." He walks up to Nelio. "Hello friend."

Lirelle sighs. Fucking diplomats man.

Ethalarian glances up and leans forward to take a peek around Esheyn at the bicc boi currently dragged into the room. He grunts and then goes back to being a grouch and leaning back. Exactly what he figured one of these northerners to look like.

Nelio Goodember pouts and shuts up for now. Not wanting to aggravate the warriors with a blood thirsty reputation. "Well?"

Vissehn waves to Nelio. "Oi! Nice seein' ye again! Thanks fer cushioning my landin!"

Oosaarn just... marched right up to the trio and sized up Goldmember. "Could untie him and let my worgs chase him around until he feels like being cooperative."

Esheyn glances to Ethalarian with a shrug as he takes a better look around her. She comes to lean against the table when she turns to face Goodember and the others, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly.

Kebha:"He looks like he would make good crackling, no?"

Vissehn elbows Stenden. "See, I got manners."

Stenden speaks up. "So. I've been told I should execute you."

Nelio Goodember visibly sweats as the orc steps up to him. "W- Worgs?"

Oosaarn:"Yes. Giant wolves. Worth ten of your pitiful chickens."

Thanidiel:"I'll repeat myself and my say that I dislike the concept of killing him if we can use him. Shove him back in the dungeon with his House's seal and give him a treat every time he stamps off orders for his people on our behalf."

Ethalarian throws a hand up and shakes his head in Esheyn's direction. "You could also let Muroco just step on him a little at a time." He tips his chair back on two legs now. "Unbroken bones make for good bargaining chips."

Muroco:"True."

"I could break the bones he can live without."

Kebha:"Ooooh! Can we hear his toes crunch?"

Oosaarn:"Mokra hasn't tasted elven flesh since the second war."

Muroco:"He's too corpulent. He won't put up much of a race against worgs."

Solendis:"Bargaining chip sounds the most useful. But by not just having his head- I fear we will be sending the wrong message about how we see traitors."

Vissehn looks to Stenden. "What you wanting for him?"

Vissehn:"You're the Lord here, we're offerin' the peanut gallery of commentary."

Thanidiel:"Fish has a point for you, Lordling. In the end, we stand by your choices whether they feed us or burn us." That's... not comforting in spite of the -fervent- loyalty expressed.

Ethalarian visibly cringes. Smooth, Thanidiel.

Stenden looks at Vissehn, and at the man that was visibly shrinking by the moment into the corner of the room. "I'll hear everything at my disposal first. What I want is for the realm to stop tearing itself apart- and how we handle this... Traitor, will determine that." He gives his agent a nod. Wait, see. For now at least, he supposed. 

Thanidiel doesn't seem concerened at all. 

[Judereth Swiftquiver nominated to rule Shalemarch]

Lirelle:"He has no worth to us as a prisoner, he is simply consuming resources. What Highdawn said is made much more smoother if someone else is in charge of Shalemarch. Someone capable. And loyal."

Renalays:"Do you have a recommendation then, Lady Dawnbrook?"

Solendis snaps his fingers at Lirelle. "What was that? Who would that be?"

Lirelle:"I'm sure you have minor lords that you could elevate to that position, those who have served your family all this time. Failing that, give it to Judereth. She is capable enough, and you no longer have the Black Banner to call on. Someone martial is not out of the question."

Oosaarn:"I offer no useful advice except that which entertains me. Former general. Not diplomat."

Nelio Goodember sweats more.

Renalays:"Judereth is an individual that the State would appreciate in control of Shalemarch."

"She has merit and war to her."

Kebha hasn't a sane thought in her head, she is not the one to be asking.

Solendis scratches his chin. "That would work. She's known to the peasants as a good leader too."

Solendis:"So where does that leave you?" he looks at about to-be-not-Lord Goodember.

Renalays:"It sets the tone as well for your government, I will preface, however, Lord Emberheart. Embrace one group to alienate others."

"Although, your uncle and his father before him had no taste for noble-blooded aristocracy and I suspect you have some inkling of that in you."

Vissehn looked to Renalays. "Stenden ain't neither of them, he's willin' to do what it takes."

Nelio Goodember:"I have-" he paused. Gold? That'd be ceased. Influence? In chains? "I have the love of the people? I pulled them from poverty and kept them well cared for in a time of heavy Horde levies- If you remove me, I believe any still loyal are likely to resist the decision!"

Oosaarn:"Want my advice? Side with those whose loyalty and honor are iron. Not sniveling nobles who more likely to respect their dinner plate than you."

Renalays:"I will believe that when he takes after the traditions." She stares plainly at Stenden, "A leader should fight, like the Farstriders who warden and guide us."

Ethalarian rolls his eyes.

Stenden sighed and joined his father. "I am the Emberglades." he says coldly. Looking at Renalays, he gives a small smile and a nod. "I can't please everyone. But I can keep the peace, even if it costs blood."

Thanidiel:"--Lady Illithia spills enough for her family."

Muroco:"Want me to punch him in the stomach for you?"

Stenden frowns but says nothing at Thanidiel's comment.

Lirelle:"Enough Brat. He is a child. If he dies on the front lines, this becomes an even bigger mess than it already is."

Oosaarn:"Too easy of a target."

Vissehn bristles visibly but says nothing.

Ethalarian:"Much as I'm loathe to admit it, the fat bastard raises a valid point." He turns his attention to Lirelle. "How certain are you that this replacement of yours won't have to contend with sedition from within?"

Renalays scoffs behind her white mask - more reigned by Lirelle than anyone else who had barked back at her.

Lirelle:"I don't know, and I don't care. His subjects love his money more than they love him. Any disorganised mob that forms can be easily crushed."

"If necessary I will remain here with the Crows to handle any sort of consequences."

Ethalarian:"Oh, right. Murder more of the common folk. That's always the solution."

Oosaarn:"So take his money for yourself."

Renalays:"If you are going to install your own woman in Shalemarch, then have the process be organised. Order is what comforts the lost."

Thanidiel:"Fish could help there if he doesn't miss the frontlines."

Lirelle:"Common or not, once you take up arms, you have already made your choice."

Thanidiel:"No faster courier and herald in Quel'Thalas."

[Summary]

Stenden stands above Nelio Goodemeber. "I have heard your council," he gives a nod of appreciation to the heroes gathered in his hall. "As Lord of the Emberglades, I hereby strip you of all lands- titles- and assets- They now belong to me to redistribute as I see fit." He says, clear as day. "Bladeborn," Stenden looks back over his shoulder. "Fetch Judereth Swiftquiver. Tell her what has transpired here and that she needs to meet with me immediately." He turns back to Nelio. The man who had severely- Severely- underestimated him. "And you. You will remain in the dungeons. A hostage to your supporters. Hopefully they're not stupid enough to get their 'Lord' killed by rabbling."

Vissehn nods. "I got a way with the lowborn. Bein' one, yanno."

Renalays:"Hmm."

Kebha looks almost disappointed that she's not going to get to murder anything, but she just sighs and taps her claws on her cheek.

Vissehn bows low, silently and obediently, and immediately slips away to do Stenden's bidding.

Renalays does have a glint of what appears to be genuine appreciation of Stenden's mandate - even with that subtle behaviour to the boy's agent.

Nelio Goodember eyes started to water. At least he'd live. Right? Right?

Stenden:"Thank you. All of you. I do appreciate your council."

Thanidiel:"Shall the rest of us push to the western front?"

Oosaarn:"Is that where the fighting is?"

Stenden looks to Muroco. "Especially you, Rockhoof. I have high hopes for your efforts and high hopes that my soldiers will not disappoint you or your methods."

Stenden:"Yes, keep where you are- And when Rockhoof draws more than they can afford away from their lines, it should give you an opportunity to strike once more as you did."

Lirelle mulls over Stenden's ruling. It was at the very least, acceptable. A hostage was not her preferred method of doing things, but it had its own merit at least.

[Event Ends]

[rogueshipagogo]

ppl have been asking me my opinions on space channel 5 vr... and i guess since i bought a vr headset off craigslist just so i could play it and speedrun it before work the day it came out... i should talk abt it now... i dont rly think i’ll be able to separate it into ‘good’ and ‘bad’ things i think i’m just going to do a rambly stream of consciousness bc i have a headache... but i DO have good things to say abt this game... so st.... sta stay t tune  d

right off the bat, the thing i appreciate most abt this game- i like that space channel 5 vr doesnt have cash grab vibes. i Do genuinely believe that they Wanted to make this game For the people who are still obsessed with it, and that they ultimately did what they set out to do when they intended to scale certain aspects of the series up conceptually to match the way the fandom perceives it nowadays. but like i’ve said before... i’m not going to Disagree with the very common conclusion that it Needed to be longer, or at Least more intricate plot-wise. one of my fun and fresh excuses for sc5vr being as short as it is is because you arent really supposed to be playing vr games for too long anyways, its really disorienting and kinda painful, but even that doesn’t account for why so much of the game that we got is a rehash of old settings, concepts, songs, and characters. [i dont even have a problem with reusing old songs, i just think the ones they chose ended up being misleading]

for example i think it makes sense that the first report is a remake of the first games first report on the surface, it’s meant to take you back to the way the first game felt and give you an idea of what it means that the games classic scenery can be rendered in actual high quality detail now [same with the recurrence of events like encountering the space pirates in the asteroid belt/the last battle against a villain being singing to it about what it’s done wrong], but i really thought, like, report 1 was going to end up being a simulated scenario for the benefit of lou and kee’s training... which i dont think ended up being the case??? i think they really did write ‘ok here you are in the first game’s setting again, fighting the old enemies again, because... :^) ok have fun playing report 2!’

and then whats report 2... you fight another old boss from the first game... but theres Still no clear villain or motivation for anything thats happening... and there wont be until like... basically the end of the game...

like, glitter is a really cute character, but its kind of underwhelming that shes just a random citizen who was kidnapped by an entity that we NEVER LEARN ANYTHING ABOUT... like part 1 was extremely notable for being about corporate greed and corruption, part 2 honestly wasnt that political in comparison but at least made you do a think wrt purge’s motivation and his methods, and this game just has a plot device that feels like it’ll do smth but then ends up not doing anything beyond what we already learned about it from the information on its character bio before the game was out. if it turns out that cell x is actually relevant again in a future entry in the franchise and they do have a more developed concept for what cell x Is in mind, i’ll do an entire backflip, but for now its just chalked up to being the result of More Space Hijinks that dont need to be explained

ESPECIALLY WITH ALL OF THE ALLUSIONS TO CELL X BEING AN ENTITY THAT FEEDS OFF OF DANCE ENERGY... it had me thinking that there would have to be some New Method of fighting it off that didn’t just lend it more power in the process, but nah apparently just tacking on the disclaimer ‘*this dance energy is not for glitter’ is enough to turn it from smth it can consume for power into big attacks you can use to kill it... like honestly it sounds like im asking for a lot from a game that has Never made too much sense, but considering that in part 2 they could add details like ‘oh didnt you know purge can open pocket dimensions? ulala is capable of manifesting tangible dance energy and the only other person who can do that is purge???’, its not like they havent come up with weird new shit for dance energy to do within the plot before. they just didnt do it in this game fsr

like did anyone else think that cell x/glitter was going to be the result of tossing purge out into deep space and him encountering the sc5 universe’s equivalent of an eldritch alien creature, smth more bestial than morolians?? even if purge wasnt part of it, when you say ‘uh oh, this guy Eats this society’s only source of energy!!!’ i expect the stakes to get HIGH, and i want the ramifications of it to be kinda STARTLING, because blank wanted money and purge wanted to ritualistically end the world but something this near to an ecological disaster that would force an entire paradigm shift hasn’t occurred yet in the series?? its totally new!!! there’s a lot they could do with this but OH DONT WORRY ABOUT IT EVERYONE ulala knows how to make dance energy kill cell x instead of feed it she’s got this we’re good no need to investigate more into all that

i can’t explain why the game is like this. and i dont expect grounding to address it in any meaningful way either. i’m sure they’re Aware of these complaints by now- the game reviewing community has Not been kind to sc5vr specifically due to all of these shortcomings [i didnt even touch on the issues with motion sensing and how many of the games mechanics were removed in favor of smth presumably easier to program yet much less satisfying, like Secret Moves just being mini quicktime events and Turning Your Ratings Into Stars just being replaced with the standard Three Strikes You’re Out method of scoring], but the pr team still seems very enthusiastic abt the game and is still promising dlc and potentially even more games in the series after this one- heres hoping that they’ll at least take these grievances to heart and consider making the experience not only more accessible [aka it will... go back to being a rhythm game with controller input.... and not... an exclusive vr experience...], but also as immersive and detailed as the old games, with less reused plot beats. i can let some of it off the hook in this game simply because i’m aware that it began its life as a tech demo that was only supposed to be that initial first report from the first game But Happening All Around You!, but i Really dont think they could get away with doing this little to expand upon the groundwork set by the first two games again. not with the way people remember part 2 being such a vast upgrade from part 1... the bar had been set so high that this just felt like a huge backslide into something even sillier and harder to take seriously than part 1 before we had any idea what kind of staying power the franchise would have as a hallmark of sega’s quirky antics. like... this game is what i think space channel 5 looks like to people who don’t understand the appeal of the first two games. and that scares me

but i guess for the most part, aside from wishing they had done more to revitalize the setting and the lore of the sc5 universe itself, im kind of glad it didnt do a lot to change the existing storylines the characters have kinda forged for themselves- here i was stressing out that they would pull out some plot development that would utterly and drastically change the way we talked abt the series for the rest of time, but so little happened and so little was added to the bank of sc5 lore that we can kind of all just carry on as usual and keep having the same headcanons we always had.

BUT!!! there ARE a lot of cute little details here and there that make the experience feel wholesome and like i said not an utter cashgrab- like so many of the character profiles referencing previous games [all of the references to npcs in this game being relatives of the npcs of the last games made me lose it] and how often ulala changes her expressions up and looks right at you and talks to you. the new music they wrote for the game also all slaps and everyones redesigns [if they got a redesign... rip pudding] are stunning

one of the most important things they did in this game was give a nice sort of Update to every character.... for example explaining that ulala isn’t a rookie reporter any more like she was in the first 2 games, that she’s moved up to being in charge of training new channel 5 reporters, and that while pudding is still somewhat stuck on her rivalry with ulala her career isn’t stagnant either, she was just cast in a romcom series as the lead... which is really nice considering how in the past she was portrayed as somewhat of a loser with almost no remaining fans left from her idol years

and you knew i was going to bring up jaguar at some point HES ALL OVER THIS GAME AND IT LITERALLY MADE ME FEEL LIKE MY LIFE WAS WORTH POWERING THROUGH THESE LAST FEW YEARS AND ALSO LIKE IM A GENIUS FOR SPENDING SO LONG POSTING EVERY SINGLE DAY ‘NO REALLY, HE’S THE SECONDARY PROTAGONIST OF THE STORY, ITS ABOUT CHANNEL 5 AS A COMPANY AND THEIR IMPACT ON EVERYONE WHO HAS EVER ENCOUNTERED THEM AND THAT INCLUDES JAGUAR AS WELL AS ULALA HES INTEGRAL TO THE PLOT BC SHE WOULDNT BE ALIVE IF IT WEREN’T FOR HIM’ i feel like it’s really incredible how in this game he has genuinely nice energy and doesnt withhold praise from ulala just to be helpful in a mysterious way later and he like HAS FRIENDS now. like consider how he went from disgraced former ch5 employee who got mad every time he saw them, to kidnapped robot henchman kinda humbled by the fact that now the turns tabled and ulala had to rescue Him, and now 3 years later his bio is all about how he has a new tv show thats super popular and he has a new entourage of ladies who he considers his '’’’’’comrades’’’’’’’ within the station he founded??? AND AFTER 20 YEARS THEY WERE FINALLY ABLE TO GIVE HIS MODEL JUICY ASS CHEEKS??????????????? NO MORE PANCAKE BOOTY???? THE BOY HAD A GLOWUP AND NO I WONT STOP TALKING ABOUT IT

WHEN I SAY MEOW MATCH THE POSE MOTHERFUCKERS THIS BLONDE BASTARD GETS TO BE IN CHARGE OF THE HUNDRED STAGE BATTLE NOW TOO THIS IS THE YEAR OF THE SPACE PIRATES BAYBEE

[the-light-followed]

MORT (1987) [DISC. #4; DEATH #1]

“‘Why did you have to save me?’  The answer worried him.  He thought about it as he squelched all the way home.  …As he lay shivering in bed it settled in his dreams like an iceberg. In the midst of his fever he muttered, ‘What did he mean, FOR LATER?’”

Rating: 6/10

Standalone Okay: Yes

Read First: Sure, why not!

Discworld Books Masterpost: [x]

* * * * * * * * * *

I’m just going to get it out of the way right off the bat: as much as I hate to admit it, the Death books are my least favorite of the Discworld sub-series.  (I mean, I still love them, a lot, but I don’t love them as much.)  And I know, I know—Death is an excellent character, and I love all of his cameos in the other Discworld books.  I love Susan Sto Helit, because I’m a sensible human lady with eyes and I recognize a brilliant, beautiful powerhouse of a woman when I read about her.  But the Death books just…aren’t my favorite.

And it’s doubly strange that I still think that’s true, even though Reaper Man might be my favorite Discworld book, depending on the day.  It’s definitely top three.

Mort, though, is—kind of boring.  Actually, no.  Let me rephrase that, without the italics this time: Mort is kind of boring.  The story itself is unique, and the concept is fantastically interesting, and I’m almost sad about that.  Because Mort, the character, is unimpressive.  I spend half the time reading this book wanting to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.  It might just be that he’s a teenage idiot—I do sort of have the same feeling with him (and especially all his interactions with Princess Keli) that I do any time I’m forced to read Romeo and Juliet. It’s a sort of constant, high-pitched, internal shriek of rage and distress.

Stop that!  Stop what you’re doing right now!  Grow some common goddamn sense!!

But he never does.  I am continually disappointed.

Even beyond his regrettable life choices, the kid is just dull.  Some early text flavor we get for Mort includes gems such as: “Mort was interested in lots of things.  Why people’s teeth fitted together so neatly, for example.  He’d given that one a lot of thought.  Then there was the puzzle of why the sun came out during the day, instead of at night when the light would come in useful.  He knew the standard explanation, which somehow didn’t seem satisfying.”

Yikes, buddy.  Yikes. Might as well be interested in watching paint dry.

It’s wild to me that of everyone and everything involved in Mort, Pratchett picked—well, Mort—to be his main character.  Mort, who complains that he’s not an ordinary human being living an ordinary human life.  He’s got a super awesome thing going for him, given that he’s Death’s actual apprentice, and he wants to be normal and boring?  By the time he makes this complaint, he’s already messed up reality and, frankly, a very easy job by being a lovestruck twit over a girl whose eyes he met exactly once across a crowded room—just before her father was brutally murdered.  He’s clearly already the king of bad decision-making.  It’s baffling that he wants to be even more boring, too.

We’ve got so many cool and interesting characters that we could have focused on instead!  Actual, literal Death!  Ysabell, his immortally teenage daughter, who’s been sixteen for thirty-five years!  We’ve even got Albert, a formerly great and terrible wizard so terrified of death (and Death) that he chose to become Death’s eternal servant rather than die!  Any one of those would make a cool as hell main character.  We could have had it all, but instead we focus on a dunderheaded teenager, distracted by hormones and totally lacking in common sense.

I get that Mort is acting as a sort of audience surrogate, coming from a vanilla human background, learning as he goes, and only just beginning to move in the occult and magical circles.  But I would be about one hundred million times more interested in following Ysabell’s journey from normal human orphan to the never-aging daughter of Death, both rescued and trapped by her father in his land outside of reality, where time never moves and there’s no one to interact with except the stories of the outside world as they write themselves in the library.

She’s a cool goth romantic trapped in the body of a sixteen-year-old for decades.  Her favorite thing to do is read real, historical accounts of love stories where everyone dies horribly.  Death is her dad and why is this book not about her?

Mort, I’d argue, doesn’t really get interesting himself until he and Death start picking up some of each other’s traits.  And even then, if Mort-going-inhuman is cool, it’s overshadowed entirely by Death becoming a person rather than simply an anthropomorphic personification.  It’s, just, damn.  Death’s arc is beautiful and poignant and has lasting implications for the Discworld. Meanwhile, Mort’s whole…thing…will soon be fridged so that his daughter, Susan Sto Helit, can begin her reign as unstoppable badass and also queen of my heart.

Susan is great.  On second thought, I wish this book was about Susan.

Conceptually, everything about this story is wonderful.  I love the plot elements, the concept itself is so unique and executed well, and Mort does an amazing job of setting up the rest of the Death series within the Discworld.  It’s impossible to read Mort and not think about what it means to be a person—recognizing that everyone must and will die, that there’s no rhyme or reason to it, but also knowing that fighting back against that inevitability is built into us on a fundamental level.

Not yet.  Not today. Fairness might not matter; justice might not matter.  But part of what makes us human is that we think they should.  We want them to.  

And, by the end of Mort, Death agrees.

Part of the reason I keep coming back to Mort is that I do like seeing the seeds of what Death will become in later Discworld books. Mort, Ysabell, and Albert—and eventually Susan as well—all give Death the experience and the space to become more than what he was meant to be.  Rather than just an anthropomorphic personification, just a thing, Death becomes a person.  He has wants and desires and needs, and he acts on them, sometimes despite the fact that it causes problems with The Duty—his literal, actual reason to exist.  He grows and changes.  He cares.

Compared to the Death we see in The Colour of Magic, who seems relentlessly antagonistic to poor Rincewind—who implies, several times over, that he is actually, actively, trying to kill people himself—the Death we meet at the beginning of Mort is already a relief. He’s perfectly neutral, not threatening at all.  He’s an entity who performs a necessary service without any sort of emotion at all.  But by the end of Mort, the Death we see is—well, I find him flat-out comforting.

It’s the little things.  He goes fishing.  He makes jokes, even if they’re creepy and morbid and so specific to his field that most people don’t understand them at all.  He likes cats.  He’s a good cook.

[Death’s Glory, by Paul Kidby, off his website. Shit, I love his official Discworld art. This, I think, shows his attempt at making a fishing lure that Pratchett describes in a way that seems—nightmarish at best.]

And it’s the big things, too.  Death makes mistakes.  He plays hooky from his work, which is a bit more impressive when you remember that it’s the literal reason for his existence.  He knows right from wrong, and when it comes down to it, I think it’s less important that he chooses to do what’s right over the letter of the law (though I also appreciate that he does), and more important that he can choose at all.

“THERE IS NO JUSTICE,” Death likes to say, “JUST ME.” But when Death is a person, and on top of that, a good person, it almost feels like the same thing.

You have to love the see-saw of Mort and Death going wrong in equal but opposite ways, both of them fascinating (and horrifying). Mort starts losing his humanity as he picks up aspects of Death, leaving him with more and more of the power and knowledge, but none of the steadiness and impartiality that Death has shown so far. And as Death gains humanity, gains personhood, he starts to feel and to understand those feelings.  

It’s beautiful to see, but it’s also desperately sad.  I think it’s almost cruel to give an emotional range to an undying being who must be there for the end of every life, who must be alone for most of time.

But he gets the good things out of existence, too. Over the course of the Death books, he seems to think it’s worth it more often than it’s not.  So it’s a good thing that even after everything’s sorted out and the humans have been given back their normal lives, Death keeps what he has taken.

One of my favorite quotes:

“WHAT IS IT CALLED WHEN YOU FEEL WARM AND CONTENT AND WISH THINGS WOULD STAY THAT WAY?  ‘I guess you’d call it happiness,’ said Harga.  Inside the tiny, cramped kitchen, strata’d with the grease of decades, Death spun and whirled, chopping, slicing and flying.  His skillet flashed through the fetid steam.  He’d opened the door to the cold night air, and a dozen neighborhood cats had strolled in, attracted by the bowls of milk and meat—some of Harga’s best, if he’d known—that had been strategically placed around the floor. Occasionally Death would pause in his work and scratch one of them behind the ears.  ‘Happiness,’ he said, and puzzled at the sound of his own voice.”

While Death moves more and more towards being a person, Mort goes the opposite way, and I, reluctantly, have to agree he’s right to give it all up and go back to being purely human.  As conceptually cool and interesting as it is to be apprenticed to Death, to be more powerful and more real than any other living person, people aren’t meant to live like that, and certainly not meant to live forever.  Mort understands that.

As Death says, “YOU COULD HAVE HAD ETERNITY.”  

And in reply: “‘I know,’ said Mort.  ‘I’ve been very lucky.’”

Honestly, in the course of writing this all out, I’ve almost talked myself back around to really loving this book.  It’s got everything we all want from a Discworld novel: exquisitely crafted and delivered puns, punchy and memorable quotes, unique and well-written characters in a unique and well-crafted setting, a perfect blend of humorous absurdity and heart-wrenching sincerity.  And unlike the first few Discworld books (especially The Colour of Magic, but I’d include all of the previous three novels), Pratchett is clinging less to established High Fantasy tropes and relying more on Discworld-specific flavor. Ankh-Morpork feels more and more like a real place with every visit, and even the other regions of the Disc come across less as never-explored, baffling and bizarre foreign lands (Here There Be Dragons!) and more as places that really do exist, even if we haven’t seen them personally just yet.

And, if nothing else, Mort is so, so important to the rest of the Discworld books from this point on because it establishes exactly what and who Death is on the Discworld.  He’s a person.  He is, at his core, good.  And maybe, as Death says, “THERE IS NO JUSTICE, JUST ME,” but I think it’s incredibly reassuring while reading the series to know that no matter how badly things go wrong, no matter how much danger our Discworld heroes are in or how nerve-wracking things get, the absolute worst thing that could happen is that they end up in Death’s hands.  And Death will treat them as they deserve.

I will always appreciate Mort for that peace of mind.  (And I can appreciate Mort for it, too, even if I still want to grab that ding-dong dumbass by the shoulders and just shake—ahem.  Sorry.)

* * * * * * * * * *

Side Notes:

I need everyone to read this quote about a party at the Patrician’s palace and join me in my confusion: “In fact some two hundred of the Patrician’s guests were now staggering and kicking their way through the Serpent Dance, a quaint Morporkian folkway which consisted of getting rather drunk, holding the waist of the person in front, and then wobbling and giggling uproariously in a long crocodile that wound through as many rooms as possible, preferably ones with breakables in, while kicking one leg vaguely in time with the beat, or at least in time with some other beat.”

Vetinari let them do WHAT

Sure, he’s not technically Vetinari yet, he’s never been named at all, but that’s still proto-Vetinari’s guests at proto-Vetinari’s house and he’s letting them do WHAT

Rincewind pops up briefly in this book, serving as an assistant to the Librarian.  Is this an important cameo?  No, probably not.  Does it make me smile down at my book like I’m seeing a long-absent friend, even if there’s only been one book so far in the series that does not include him? Absolutely, yes.  Hi, Rincewind!  Missed you, buddy!  See you in a minute, Sourcery is coming up next!

Ysabell and Mort have such a strange love story.

“‘I don’t want to get married to anyone yet,’ he added, suppressing a fleeting mental picture of the princess.  ‘And certainly not to you, no offense meant.’  ‘I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man on the Disc,’ she said sweetly.”

“‘Obviously we shouldn’t get married, if only for the sake of the children.’  Mort nodded.”

“DAUGHTER, EXPLAIN YOURSELF.  WHY DID YOU AID THIS FOOL?  Ysabell curtsied nervously.  ‘I—love him, Father.  I think.’ ‘You do?’ said Mort, astonished.  ‘You never said!’  ‘There didn’t seem to be time,’ said Ysabell.”

Teenagers. Honestly.

We get a lot more discussion about belief and reality in this one—Mort himself kind of embodies the point as he becomes “more real” and begins to stroll through walls, or doors, or arrows.  Nobody can see Death wandering around the mundane world (with the exception of cats and the magical community) because nobody expects to see him; they don’t believe he’ll be there, and so they don’t see him.  Princess Keli died, according to history, so even though Mort “saved” her, history (and the population of her kingdom) start to write her out.  Belief = reality.  We change the world with the force of that belief.

Favorite Quotes:

“I?  KILL? said Death, obviously offended. CERTAINLY NOT.  PEOPLE GET KILLED, BUT THAT’S THEIR BUSINESS.  I JUST TAKE OVER FROM THEN ON.  AFTER ALL, IT’D BE A BLOODY STUPID WORLD IF PEOPLE GOT KILLED WITHOUT DYING, WOULDN’T IT?”

“Let’s just say that Ankh-Morpork is as full of life as an old cheese on a hot day, as loud as a curse in a cathedral, as bright as an oil slick, as colorful as a bruise and as full of activity, industry, bustle and sheer exuberant busyness as a dead dog on a termite mound.”

“‘How do you get all those coins?’ asked Mort.  IN PAIRS.”

“‘Are you going to send me home?’ he said.  Death reached down and swung him up behind the saddle.  BECAUSE YOU SHOWED COMPASSION?  NO.  I MIGHT HAVE DONE IF YOU HAD SHOWN PLEASURE.  BUT YOU MUST LEARN THE COMPASSION PROPER TO YOUR TRADE.  ‘What’s that?’  A SHARP EDGE.”

“They’re always telling people how much better it’s going to be when they’re dead.  We tell them it could be pretty good right here if only they’d put their minds to it.”

“It had been a long afternoon.  The mountaineer had held on to his icy handhold until the last moment and the execute had called Mort a lackey of the monarchist state.  Only the old lady of 103, who had gone to her reward surrounded by her sorrowing relatives, had smiled at him and said he was looking a little pale.”

“Logic would have told Mort that here was his salvation…Logic would have told him that interfering with the process a second time around would only make things worse. Logic would have said all that, if only Logic hadn’t taken the night off too.”

“‘Why did you have to save me?’  The answer worried him.  He thought about it as he squelched all the way home.  …As he lay shivering in bed it settled in his dreams like an iceberg. In the midst of his fever he muttered, ‘What did he mean, FOR LATER?’”

“‘I mean, friend or foe?’ he stuttered, trying to avoid Mort’s gaze.  ‘Which would you prefer?’ he grinned.  It wasn’t quite the grin of his master, but it was a pretty effective grin and didn’t have a trace of humor in it.  The guard sagged with relief, and stood aside.  ‘Pass, friend,’ he said.”

“The sword burned icy cold in his hand, dragging him on in a dance that would not end until there was nothing left alive.  And that time came, and Mort stood alone except for Death, who said, ‘A fine job, boy.’ And Mort said, MORT.”

“‘I think there’s something you ought to know,’ said the princess.  THERE IS? said Death.  (That was a cinematic trick adapted for print.  Death wasn’t talking to the princess.  He was actually in his study, talking to Mort.  But it was quite effective, wasn’t it?  It’s probably called a fast dissolve, or a crosscut/zoom. Or something.  An industry where a senior technician is called a Best Boy might call it anything.)”

[writer-k-pop]

Black Widow - Part 4

Description: Hoseok is the leader of the number one gang, BT, and everyone knows he has a knight of sorts. This knight sits in the shadows and keeps an eye on the leader and his men, never stepping in until necessary. All the lesser gangs know who you are but they don’t know who you are. You are a wicked shot, long and short range, a skilled knife fighter, and a silhouette without a name. By the underground network of whispers, you’re referred to as BT’s Black Widow. The number two gang decides to rebel and you are forced to finally show your face. Pairing: Hoseok x reader, this also focuses on reader’s friendship with Tae. Word Count: 2.9k Genre: Mafia/gang-esk, action Warnings: nothing too gory, swearing

Part 01 | Part 02  | Part 03 | Part 04 | Part 05 | Part 06

“You’re sure it’s locked away?” Jin asks me for upteenth time.

We just finished lunch and are waiting for the last of the officers to join us in the round table room. He’s been asking me since I first saw him this morning.

“Yes, Jin.” I pointedly say, “I made sure to see it with my own eyes. My girls put it in the vault.”

“Alright, we’re all here now.” Hoseok says before Jin can ask me again. “Let’s start this meeting.”

The leads take their seats and the officers stand, waiting to hear what we have to say.

“Yesterday, we gained some intelligence about Switch and their tactics.” Hoseok starts, deliberately leaving out that Tae is our source for the information. “We obtained a file with the blueprints of their buildings, their tactics, and past attacks. As many of you have heard, we only have the rest of today and tomorrow to prepare for a fight with them. Just like we always do, we wait for them to make the first move. But there is a plan that we will follow through with no matter what they decide to do.” He nods at me and I stand.

“As all of you know, I have my own group of shadows.” I begin to tell them of our plan. “They are going to be posted all around, protecting each lead as I have on multiple occasions. You will not see them, you will not hear them. But know that they are there. Should anything go awry, they’ll be your secured escape out of the situation.”

“What about you?” One of Jimin’s officers asks, noticing that I’ve left myself out of the explanation.

“I will not be with them in the shadows.” I say, addressing the officers, “I will be with you in the open.”

“You’re revealing yourself?”

“Why would you do that?”

“Then who will protect Hoseok?”

“Holy shit.”

“We’ll lose our weapon!”

“It’s a shit plan. I don’t agree with it.”

“Will you all just shut up for second?” I say over their protests and they quiet in an instant. “I am revealing myself because we need them to trust us when we say we have no other tricks. We need them to trust us so that you all can still be protected.”

“We give up one but gain eight who are just as skilled.” Hoseok adds, “I say that’s a pretty sweet deal.”

“Up until now, my girls have been hidden from the public, only going out at night and only on reconnaissance missions. That’s been for a reason.” I continues to explain. “It’s been part of their training. They are seen by no one so know one even knows they exist. It’s how I was trained.”

“Will we know where they’re posted?” One of Namjoon’s officers asks.

I shake my head. “No. Their posts and movements will remain a secret for their safety. If you know, there is more of a chance that you’ll give away their location through a word or a look in a direction. Again, they will move and act as I do. In complete secrecy.” The officers nod in understanding.

A timid hand raises up from the very back of Jin’s officers.

“Yes?” I instruct for him to speak.

“I apologize, but I thought you worked alone?” He asks.

“I do.” I nod, “I guess Hoseok has been keeping my girls a secret from most of the group as well.” I give him a side glance. “I usually do things alone when it comes to BT as a whole. However, when I need to do something on my own, I have my girls accompany me. Even most of the leads don’t know who my girls are, only that I have them.”

“Yeah, and are we going to meet all of them this time?” Jungkook asks.

I nod, “Of course. If I’m being revealed, you’ll need to know who your shadows are. I’m not going to leave you in complete darkness.” I say and nod to the men by the door, telling them to open the doors.

As my girls walk in dressed in reconnaissance gear, jaws drop and eyes widen. Whispers begin to circulate the room.

“I thought she was in the tech room?”

“I’ve never seen her before.”

“Doesn’t she work in the range?”

“Holy shit.”

“I think I trained with her once.”

“Ladies.” I nod towards my girls. They all nod back. “Gentlemen, these are the Shadows. As the patrols are divided, I have divided my girls.”

“Lina and Yuqi,” I say and they step forward, “Have been assigned to the North leads.” They bow slightly and step back. “Kaelin and Julie have been assigned to the South leads. Soyou and Grace are assigned to the West leads. And Monica and Bree are assigned to the East leads.”

“Again,” One of the officers says, “What about you?”

“I will be out with the leads on the front lines.” I explain again, feeling sorry that they haven’t come to terms with it yet. “My girls know that once I’m out of the shadows, I’m out and that they are to protect the leads first. I can fend for myself. I cannot tell you which lead each shadow has been assigned to but do spend the next couple hours getting to know your shadows. They have been observing you but they still have a lot to learn. I wish we could’ve done this earlier but such is life.”

“What do they need to know??” Taehyung asks.

“How you move, how you think when under pressure.” Lina responds.

“Your body signs when it’s about to react to something or when your tense.” Soyou adds.

“Simply put, things we need to see to prepare for what will come in the next second.” Monica finishes.

A beeping draws all of our attention to the computers.

“It’s the East.” Elise says and continues to figure out what the alert is. “A plane flew over and dropped… papers?” She says in confusion at the camera footage.

On all the screens shows footage of bright orange papers fluttering down to the ground. Many of the residents walk outside and begin to pick up the papers in curiosity. The leads and their officers begin to chatter about the footage and a few phones begin to ring.

I walk over to Elise and whisper in her ear, “Follow the plane.” While the rest of the screens continue to show the footage, the screen in front of Elise flips to a tracker that tracks the plane as it continues to fly north.

“It landed here.” Elise says after a few minutes.

“Coordinates?” I ask and she simply hands me a piece of paper with them written down. I pocket it and can feel Hoseok’s eyes burning holes into the back of my head while I walk over to my girls, about to head out with them.

Just as I reach them, a movement in the corner of my eye catches my attention.

I pause.

The conversations of the leads and officers are normal, just discussing battle plans and tactics.

But something is not right and my girls can sense it. The Shadows have their hands hovering over their guns in a natural but anticipating stance.

Daring to look a little more, someone is moving their hands.

As if they’re on a phone, texting.

In half a second flat, I have my gun drawn at the group behind me. “Officers. Step away from the leads.” I yell, eyes scanning for any sudden movements.

All the eyes in the room stare at me and no one moves. Without having to look, I know the eight Shadows behind me also have their guns drawn.

“What are you doing, (y/n)?” Hoseok asks, taking a cautionary step forward.

“I said.” I repeat, removing the safety off my gun. “Officers, step away from the leads.”

The officers step away, some with their hands up, others with anticipating hands in case their lead says to do something.

“(y/n)!” Hoseok barks.

“What are you doing?” One of the west officers dares to ask and I turn to the left, my gun aimed at him. “We were trying to plan an attack. You know, to save our home?” He says with a spoonful of attitude.

At this, Hoseok whips his head to look at the officer. We have silent rules and he just broke a prominent one: whenever there’s a gun out within the ranks, especially higher ranks, don’t give attitude.

He’s not one of us.

“Who are you?” I ask, stepping towards him, a singular silent footstep following me.

“You don’t know me?” He asks with a smirk and more attitude, like he’s having fun. “I’m hurt.”

I narrow my eyes. “I know every single face of every single rank. But I’ve never seen you before.”

“I’ve come to a few meetings in the past.” He stares at me with glowering eyes.

“Check his phone.” I command the closest officers. They nod and move towards the officer in question.

As the officers’ hands touch his skin, he twists and punches both officers. One in the stomach and one in the face.

When he is free from the officers, he charges at me and my girls. I stand my ground as I was trained to, my finger closing around the trigger with each step he takes. But before I can get a shot off, a bullet comes from my right and embeds itself into the his thigh. He crumples to the ground just in front of my feet, his phone sliding out of his pocket, coincidentally.

The man reaches out for the phone but Soyou quickly steps on his hand and scoops up the phone.

As I holster my gun, I look over at Hoseok who is re-holstering his gun, a stoney expression laid across his features. Inside my chest, a little flame of pride burns. The leads are always trained to go for the deadly shot. But more often, I need said person to be alive and if they have a bullet through the head, they are not that. So I’ve been trying to get the leads to stop that. Old habits are hard to break, yet, Hoseok is obviously taking the training seriously. Proud girlfriend moment right there.

“Give. Me. Back. The. Phone.” The man on the ground growls, one hand still under Soyou’s boot and the other gripping his thigh as blood seeps through his fingers.

“I’ll ask again.” I kneel down to get a closer look at his face. “Who are you?”

“None of your damn business.” He spats at me.

“I-I thought he was a new member.” Tae stutters in shock.

“When did he show up?” Hoseok asks.

“Just, just before the first signs of Switch’s- oh shit.” Tae trails off.

Hoseok stalks over to where I’m still kneeling beside the Switch spy. “Soyou, you can let go of his hand now.” Hoseok instructs her and I give her a small nod. She steps back.

“Get him up.” Hoseok commands his officers and they dutifully drag the officer to his feet. I rise to my feet again.

“We were right.” The spy snarls, “It took you way too long to notice I didn’t belong. You lack the eyes, the sight, and the focus.” He chuckles, “And to think, it took that bit-“

Before he can finish, Hoseok slaps him across the face. “I wouldn’t finish that sentence if I were you.” He says through clenched teeth. “Get him out of here, lock him up. We’ll deal with him in a bit.” Hoseok’s officers nod and begin to drag the man out with Yuqi and Monica trailing them.

Hoseok walks back over to the table where the other leads and officers are trying to think of what to do next. His shoulders are hunched and I can practically see the anger swirling off of him.

“Elise.” Hoseok says, looking at my right hand woman, “Find out what you can from the phone. We need to know who he was contacting and how much information they got.”

Elise doesn’t wait for my instruction but simply takes the phone from Soyou and starts to dig around the device.

Tae stands up from his seat, “Hoseok, I didn’t know, I’m so sor-“

“Don’t apologize, Tae.” I cut him off after taking one look at Hoseok’s face, knowing he won’t reply. “It’s not your fault. I should’ve noticed him sooner.”

Taking another look at Hoseok, I can see the gears turning and turning in his brain. Which means he won’t be talking for a bit.

“Any updates on the papers that they dropped?” I ask, taking charge of the group.

Jin shuffles through some papers that have somehow appeared on the table. “Here is a copy. My mother sent them.” He says and slides a black and white copy across.

“Make the Switch.” It says above their switchblade logo. “BT can’t protect you forever. They have secrets that could hurt you and your children.” It continues under the logo.

“Here’s the other one, too.” Jin adds, handing over another sheet.

“Abandoned warehouse on the border. Midnight. Tonight. Be prepared to hand over the keys to your city.” It reads with Switch’s logo in the bottom right corner.

“They said two days.” Jungkook says, “Those bitch-ass liars.”

“Everyone’s a liar these days, Jungkook.” I reply still studying the papers in my hands. “Even me.”

“He was texting someone within Switch’s property borders.” Elise says and Hoseok is out of his seat and at her side faster than you could say ‘bitch-ass liar.’

“They had been communicating since just before Switch starting acting up.” Elise continues, unfazed that Hoseok is intently staring over her shoulder. “I can’t tell you who the phone belongs too but I could track it and see where it goes to get a clue as to who it might be?” She suggests.

“If we have time later.” Hoseok says curtly. “What did he send?” He asks.

“Uhm, let me pull up the texts.” Elise says and works the keyboard.

“A lot of the texts are about Taehyung.” Elise says scrolling through the texts.

“You got drunk with him?” Jimin asks after reading a particular text.

Tae shrugs, “It was all my officers and I.”

“They know we did an information mission on their property and what we think of their property.” Elise says, “He was taking notes on what we were discussing today. Presumably to text the information later when he could formulate it better.”

“So they nothing about (y/n) and the Shadows?” Hoseok asks for clarification.

Elise shakes her head. “They only know that she really does exist. He must’ve heard the others talk about her around the compound. They don’t know (y/n) is Black Widow. I also checked his call log and there are no calls, present or deleted. Texting was their only form of communication.”

Hoseok nods in satisfaction and turns towards the group again. “It makes sense now how they knew so much about Tae. But they don’t know about any true plans we have, so we’re safe there. We can make tweaks but it will mainly stay the same. What was on the papers?” He finally asks.

“A propaganda sheet, urging our residences to swear alliance to Switch.” I say handing the first one over, “And a location and time for a fight.” I add, handing him the second paper.

“Jin, tell your mother she’s the best for sending these so fast.” Hoseok nods at Jin who beams proudly.

“She’ll be glad to hear it.” Jin replies. Jin’s father was a BT member and his mother has been more than willing to help her son where she sees fit. This being one of those times.

“Okay, this is the plan for the rest of the day.” Hoseok says, setting the papers down on the table. “We’ll spend the next few hours with the shadows. After dinner, we’ll go over plans and gear up. At midnight, Switch is going down.” Hoseok says with a firm gaze of determination.

“Got it.” Namjoon nods.

“Sounds great.” Jin seconds.

“Those bitch-ass liars are going down.” Jungkook says excitedly and the room chuckles slightly.

“Yuqi and Monica are on their way.” Kaelin says after checking her phone. I nod back, knowing that every second they can learn from the leads is valuable.

“Where would be the best place for them to learn?” Hoseok asks me, catching the atmosphere change.

“Obstacle course.” I tell him and a few of the leads smile in excitement. Though it is for training and exercising purposes, it’s often used for fun. “And I’ll be controlling it.” I smirk and many smiles fall from their faces.

“That’s not fair!” Jimin whines.

“Why can’t we control it?” Jungkook asks.

“Because you’d know what’s coming next. This way, your shadows can learn from you in the proper way.” I explain, internally rolling my eyes.

Jimin and Jungkook pout, “Fine.” They mumble as Yuqi and Monica join the room again.

“Let’s go.” Hoseok says with authority, “Officers, update your men and look over the plans.” All the officers nod and in seconds, the entire room is filled with bodies moving, talking, and picking up their papers.

In the chaos of moving bodies, my girls disappear into the shadows, but I can sense them everywhere.

“God, they’re good.” I hear Jin whisper and I smile to myself.

“Lead the way.” Yoongi says and gestures me forward.

I smile widely and lead the group to the obstacle course.

[hollandroos]

Blow a kiss, Fire a gun | Part 5

Teaser Pt.1 Pt.2 Pt.3 Pt.4

PLAYLIST

Words: 2.2K

Summary: You’re arranged to marry Tom Holland, Londons most feared mobster, but it’s never easy. He doesn’t seem to want you and you don’t want anything to do with him.

Tom knew he was screwed the moment you walked away from him in the club, leaving him standing alone in the middle of the floor surrounded by women that he could pay reckless amounts of money, none of which would leave even a dent in his bank account. But for some reason, he didn’t walk up to a single one of these women, too focused on following you out after telling Harrison that he was off. Not even bothering to bid his two younger brothers a farewell.

He wouldn’t admit that he kept his eyes trained on the bare skin that showed where your dress ended, spending the half hour ride home imagining what it’d feel like to run his hands up your bare thighs, pushing them aside and pressing rushed kisses on the insides until he reached your core. He wanted to hear you whine, moan his name as the words fell from your lips. They were dirty, unholy thoughts that he didn’t feel an ounce of guilt about.

Tom could only imagine exactly what you wore underneath that red dress. It took everything in him not to palm himself on the way home, but he wouldn’t give you the pleasure of knowing what you’d done to him so he simply tapped his foot impatiently against the foot of the car. This made it no surprise that as soon as the car pulled up, he jumped straight out, heading to his room where he ripped his black jeans off, gripping his length with one hand and the bed sheets with the other as he thought about you, the girl that only days ago he wanted gone.

Tom had always thought with his dick instead of his brain when it came to women, and in this case, it may have meant mistaking his growing feelings for lust. The mobster that didn’t beg for anyone didn’t chase or fall to his knees for any girl, wanted you moaning his name, and he was willing to put up a fight.

“I don’t know the man she’s just, she’s getting into my fucking head”

Harrison shook his head, a cheeky smile covering his features because for the first time ever, his friend was learning that sometimes you had to actually work for what he wanted, instead of kicking his feet up and bossing everyone else around. “She’s a fiery one, I’ll give her that. Are you sure this isn’t just about getting into her pants?”

“Of course not, I don’t want anything serious.” He tore up another useless piece of paper, chucking it behind him with the rest of them. “I’m used to girls running after me but now she shows up and she teases me and suddenly I’m fucking weak?” Tom groaned, shoving a stack of papers off of his desk. “God why isn’t there anything in these damn files” He muttered, slamming his laptop shut.

By now his office looked like an absolute mess but this was what Tom did when he was balls deep into a task, he made whatever mess necessary to find the truth.

“I don’t get why you can’t just find the people that threatened her when she was little and deal with them, then you could send her home and bam, you’re a free man once again,” Harrison said it as if it were the easiest thing in the world, eyeing up the stack of discarded papers.

“Don’t you think I’ve tried? There’s no traces or anything. It was all done so well as if it didn’t even exist in the first place or the person was really fucking smart”

His eyes fell over the contract, as well as the other information he’d collected about this girl and her past. All traces of their former mob was wiped, as was half of her childhood and any information about the killing. He’d buried himself in work, attempting to print off any documents, news articles, whatever he could find about you and your past but not much came up, much to his disappointment.

“Then take that information and go from there” Tom was getting frustrated now.

“I’m trying but god-, i don’t even have a clue what i’m looking at” Rolling up his sleeves, Tom dropped the paper. It was getting hot in his office, but maybe that was simply his anger.

“Her mother was murdered, correct?” Tom nodded. “How? You know some mobs have certain uhh-, ways of doing things, how was she killed?”

“I’ve looked for that too but there’s nothing, Haz, nothing. It’s like this is all some fucking test.”

“Keep digging, there has to be something. Very few people could completely erase something as big as this.”

That group of very few people consisted of his father, the man that could completely remove a set of people without a single raised brow. Papers were spread out all over the floor, empty cups of coffee lined the desk and Haz had to ask himself whether or not his best friend had gotten in too deep this time.

“Why don’t you find out from Y/N? If anyone knows it’ll be her”

“I can’t do that though can I? Who knows what sort of shit she’s been through”

“If this were anyone else you’d interrogate them, demand the truth but now you’re too afraid to approach some girl you’ve been living with for a week? What happened to my best friend?” Harrison snarked, snorting when Tom gripped the roots of his hair.

“You’re a fucking idiot. Get Sam and Harry, tell them that if they want to play even a small part in the mob, now there time. Inform them of what we’re trying to do and the rest is up to them until I find the time.”

It was the warmest it’d been since you arrived at Tom’s and you weren’t planning just to sit around and do nothing, so slipping on the bikini that’d been stuffed into your bag, you decided to explore the pool.

It was beautiful, different flowers and vines hung from the safety fence and you made yourself at home on one of the long chairs. You’d hate to admit that this place was slowly becoming your home but you were starting to feel more homesick by the day and despite how large the house was, you felt constricted, confined. You had definitely been thinking up ways that you could escape the large gates, knowing that if you asked to go home he’d possibly say no.

You were laying in the sun, a book in hand when you heard footsteps. You ignored them until they stopped, a shadow covering the sun and groaned because god, you were actually enjoying just being alone in the sun.

Noticing it was Tom, you put the book down, sitting up. “What’re you doing? Don’t you have work to do?” A part of you felt pleased that he’d found you this time, you were still proud of your work last night and were prepared to hold it against him.

“I saw you from my window and had to come say hi” He didn’t move. “Plus, I don’t want my men seeing my lady in nothing but a bikini” He teased, standing above you.

“You’re odly protective over someone you don’t give two shits about?” You stood up, taking the sunglasses you were wearing off and chucking them back down onto the seat.

“Did you come here to flirt or…?” He’d originally come out to ask you about your mother’s murder, but now he found himself drooling at the sight of you in the tight, black bikini.

You rolled your eyes. “I’m getting in, think your men can keep their eyes off of me for a bit longer?”

“They know better” Tom sat back, watching you walk down the steps and easily slide into the water. He couldn’t help but train his eyes up and down your figure, hating how the bikini covered the parts he desperately wanted to see.

The sun was out but he noticed the way you lip began shaking ever so slightly and his mind filled with ways he could warm you up. Tom mentally cursed, knowing he was working himself up yet again. But he couldn’t get that image out of his head, you grinding up against him, lips so close to his and the way your skin felt underneath his hands. It was heavenly.

You smiled wickedly to yourself when you noticed him stand up, peeling his shirt off but that wickid look was replaced by awe when you saw what was underneath. Admittedly, you underestimated the man. He was defined in all the right places and that awe only increased when he slipped his pants off, leaving him in simply a pair of boxers.

Tom would be lying if he said he hadn’t noticed the way your eyes widened, mouth agape slightly. Dropping his discarded clothing, he walked towards the pool, climbing in and swimming over to you.

It was cold, he’d give you that but your cheeks were flushed red from something else. The water was merely a factor but as he got closer, you seemed to back yourself against the side of the pool. Whether it was you trying to initiate something or simply trying to get away from him, he didn’t know. All he knew was that he’d been winding himself up since you walked off last night

“You left me very sexually frustrated last night, princess” Tom was awfully close to you now, his breath fanning your neck. “Do you think that’d be the end of it?”

Maybe a part of you thought that it’d be the end of it, but a bigger part of you knew that you couldn’t tease him and get away with it. Did you want to get away with it? “Not exactly,” you breathed out tilting your neck to the side a little and allowing him greater access to the skin, which he gladly accepted.

He pushed you into the edge of the pool wall, one arm around your waist, the other tangled in your hair as he fluttered his lips over your neck. Your eyes closed and you felt trapped, but almost in the best way possible as the water splashed around between the two of you with even the smallest movements.

This time you weren’t planning to walk away at the last moment, you needed this just as much as he did but you still didn’t want to give in to him so soon, but as he pressed you harder against the wall, trapping you between the concrete and his crotch you could practically feel yourself melting into his grasp, become almost jelly like underneath him.

“Tell me you want this” He coaxed, but you didn’t reply, simply stayed almost limp in his arms. “C’mon, the longer you drag this out the harder it is on the both of us” he pressed his lips to the area beneath your ear, sucking on the skin softly before flicking his lips over the area. The action was so gentle yet it almost made a small gasp escape your lips. “Tell me how much you want me and I’ll give you exactly what you want, poppet.”

It was hard to believe that only minutes ago you were shivering slightly, the water seemed almost icy cold but now it felt as if every fiber of you was on fire simply from his touches.

“I want you, Tom, F-fuck” You groaned, gripping the edge of the pool.

“Let’s get one thing straight, princess” Tom smirked, grinding his hips into yours slowly. “I’m in charge.”

The hand that was in your hair was no underneath your chin, making you look at him dead in the eyes and Tom couldn’t help but lick his lips as the sight of you, dripping wet and breathing deeply beneath him.

He hadn’t even touched you yet and your cheeks were flushed a bright red (though that was probably due to the cold water), eyes wide with need. His thumb went to your bottom lip first, wiping off a drop of water before planting his lips on yours roughly. For your first kiss together it was messy, definitely rushed and but his lips were hot against your cold ones.

Wanting to skip the chit-chat, you agreed. “You’re in charge, I get it”

The sexual tension between the two of you had been growing since the moment you first sat down in his office and by now, it was almost too much. You didn’t want to give up so easy, but you couldn’t help but fall apart.

Tom pulled away though it was the last thing he wanted to do right now, his mind was so clouded with lust and desire as he gripped your hand with his and staring at the windows. “Everyone can see us here, let’s go somewhere else”

PART 6 @barnsism @trashqueenbitch @gab-spidey @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @peterparkerdeservesbetter @ambrosmar @calmdownyall @xxxxdelenaxxxx @deadlyaffairs @stop-wonder-think @thollandtrash @butcanyoujustimagine @leni-lion-luke-larb-logic @highladyjel @study-at-the-disco @r-i-d-g-e-s @giuliavxox @dreams-in-different-colours @spideynblackcat  @vividcelestia @okayypotato @unknxwn-intrxvert @highkeymood @tra2embrel shqueenbitch @imahuricane @thefanbasewhore @lyssilinn @thebittygirl @spn-worm @theamuz @hollandsmuse @theromanmockingbird @revivalbenito @asfaraslifegets @avahodge @eternallovers65 @rosecoloredshawn @spoofagoofonyou @soldmysoultofandomshelp @wintersoldierbaby @lizzie-143 @laucontrerasv @heavydartysoul @noakantor14 @themegatron1999 @galcxykisscd @majestichoechlin @yellow–inlove  @fragcc @chasingsuperheroes @petersunderroos @letrashailen @eclecticbooktaster @hiccups-are-better @bubbles1642  @lydiasobrien @qtest-trash @carrotsunshine @ccold-as-ice @friedwhisperstheorist @moopai @naria-hime @dafnouche @ellebella1238 @ashram12 @jasxn-txdd-8-14 @laucontrerasv @lovee-roaslie @anytimebitches  @teenage-book-lover @faangirl101 @bored-green @curlshawnholland @tryn25 @xx-fandom-potato-xx @lowkeyspideyyy @fandomnerdsarecool  @fvckjamesbarnes @taylorjrs13 @cthoodaf @modern-day-citrus-cowboy @hellodarknessmysweetfriend  @hailhydrabarnes @overdramatic-teen @spideyboiiiiiiii @baileyxrudesalx @briefzipperapricotbagel @parker-underoos @officialchainreaction @aubreylovesthegames @shipitliketheussenterprise @your-1up-girl @peterparkerstolemyheart @dej-okay @0hanx @all-my-friends-are-german @captain-loki-xavier

BAK: @aussie-mantle @highladyjel @revivalbenito @spider-mendes @iris1697 @theamuz @zseonlydavinci @bridiereads @sophie2003003 @parkeret @baby-baker @marvelgladers @dreamsofbeingsomeoneelse @sighaislin @marvel-zip @oreosrockover18 @whystopkeepon@draqcnheartstrinq @hollanderheart  @peters-vlogs @no-aaaahhhh @underoosie @cosmetologynerd @holland-ish @kaciidubs @spidey-pal @call-me-wisegirl @khai-day-the-13th @leni-lion-luke-larb-logic  @panicatttckiss @marriedtopeterparker @stormyparker @mysticsthinking @elyshugh @spider-mendes @girl-in-the-chair @sort-of-pretty-in-pink @bloom003-blog @nextkaratekid @saracastickid @prof-scribbles @holyrose96 @riverdalemami @strangerthantheflash @sams-hollands @tiau-man @tiny-friggin-human @thollandtrash @amidblogger @tiau-man @zseonlydavinci @therealme13posts @zseonlydavinci @httpmcrvel @acciorinn @shakespeare-and-shenanigans @satellitesweetpea @maddie-leighhh @spideymanss @stephie-senpai @sherizaraiyah @tomsh0lland @spidey-pal @casualprincess77 @starlightfound @fandom-feathers @spidergirlwanab @smileyhollander @notthepersonyouwerelookingfor @tomhollandsworld @necromancer-inwell @doloreatroce @hottrashformarvel @fragcc @woosh-pear @spider-mendes @softhollandhoe @ill-be-your-temporary-fix @thegirlwiththestories @elyshugh @stilinski-parker @misscookie-monster16 @amidblogger @lovelynerdytraveler @tmrhollandkay @lafayettes-baguettes-1 @thedoctor-and-her-fallenangles @peachesnmei  @ocaptainmycaptainrogers @fuckmerunningtomholland @chingonaconcha @johannaapagan @tomhollandsmouthfr0g @cielofiorito

[lavarislightshield]

Prompt 4: Called Out by his Wife-to-Be

@sea-wolf-coast-to-coast here’s the next one! cw for implied drug use, and abusive parents

Leif Prinion wasn’t like the other Warriors of Light. She wasn’t like her sister Pria, independent and wise. She wasn’t like Xieron, whose strength and loyalty were unmatched. She certainly wasn’t like Lavalia; their leader was a goddess made flesh. She was unmatched on the battlefield, a master of combat and a sense of justice that was unwavering. Leif was… just Leif. She’d joined the group because they needed her cane. She was a decent enough healer, though she lacked the combat experience that Ofir had, and she hated fighting. She was terrified in her role, and it was only through sheer force of will that she hadn’t fled at the first sign of conflict.

Pria was probably right that she was too young to be doing these things, but desperate times and all that. She wasn’t sure what she brought to the team, but the fact that she was less traveled than some of the others meant she could be an asset. This part of town was almost as scary as a charging dragon. She could feel eyes on her as she passed, and she pulled her cloak tighter around her. She was a young woman, alone, in a place that was known for all sorts of seedy dealings. Still, she pressed on. The ‘house’ – if it could be called that – was almost hidden. If it weren’t for the specific instructions she’d been given, she might have passed it by.

Find the house with the blue door. It will be next to a market stall selling dried herbs, and close to the aetherite.

Her heart was racing as she approached, and a low whistle pierced the air from the group of men across the ally. “Where you going, baby?” Leif reached down and touched the wand at her side. She thought about bolting, heart hammering in her chest, but chose instead to ignore the men, squaring her shoulders despite the fear that sank its icy fingers into her stomach. She raised her hand to knock, flinching when a voice came from behind her. “Hey! I’m talking to you!”

Leif turned, finding one of the men far too close. She took a step back, bumping against the doors. “B-back up.” She said, drawing her wand. Her heart was beating too fast. He steeped closer and she could smell the sour of his breath. Leif started murmuring a spell when the door behind her opened, sending her stumbling back against a firm chest. One hand pressed to her lower back to steady her. Silvairre glared at the man from the doorway.

“You, inside.” he slurred, pushing Leif behind him. “And you.” He reached back as if to grab his sword, but scowled when he only grabbed air. “Get off my steps and leave the lady alone or I will feed you your tongue.”

Leif barely had time to take in disarray of his home before he slammed the door so hard it knocked dust off the window beside it. Leif drew her cloak tighter around her, waiting for her eyes to adjust. The house was filthy. Clothes were strewn across the floor, and the smell of old food and sweat and something else she couldn’t place filled her nose.

Silvairre cursed, slumping against the doorway. “Are you all right?” Leif asked, stepping forward, one hand outstretched though she didn’t touch him.

“’m… was fine until you came and ruined my buzz.” He snapped. “Whatcha doin’ here Angel? Hero send you to collect?”

“I was worried about you.” Leif said simply. She took his arm, gently pulling him towards a nearby chair. It creaked when he dropped into it, but at least he wasn’t in danger of falling over.

“Well, clearly I’m fine.” He tried to stand again, but couldn’t seem to coordinate his limbs. Leif clicked her tongue and went to light the lantern. He hissed at the light, glaring at her. She could see him better now, the stains on his clothes and his too large pupils. She should have guessed that he would be high. The evidence of Somnus was still on the table.

“Are you? Because you left in a hurry after we saw your parents.”

“Is that why you’re here? I don’t want to talk about them. You can leave.”

“Listen, I get it, they want you to come back but-”

“You don’t get it!” he snapped. He tried again to get his feet under him and growled in frustration. His long, blue-grey hair hung in his face in a frizzy mess. “They decided that I was going to be one way and I decided another. I’m not going back. They can’t force me to marry some spoiled noble or be a proper anything.”

“I’m not asking you to talk to them...” Leif replied, “I just-”

“You just want? Thought you come here and have a tearful reunion? Thought that you’d save me like the good girl you are?”

“N-no, but-”

“You think that I shouldn’t be upset that my entire existence has been planned out for me, and I can’t even die without being dragged up for another fight. You think I like being like this. I should have died so long ago. Save everyone the trouble, and-”

"You're allowed to be upset, but that doesn't excuse you acting like an ass!" Leif snapped, ears twitching. "You act like you're the only one that's ever had to bend to obligation. If Pria and I had been able to stay in our village, I would have been given to the Watchers where I would spend the rest of my life in the forest. Alone. I would come into town to mate and then I would go back to patrolling, to hells with what I wanted. You don't see me acting like some entitled brat who thinks that just because things are hard you can just give up and hide in some hole! You made your choices, regardless of what led you to them, you made your choices, now own up to them." Silvairre didn’t say anything so she continued, “I’m not saying they aren’t overbearing or… whatever but you can’t just blame someone else because you’re miserable. I want to help you, and invite you to dinner because you obviously haven’t eaten, but you’re acting like a prick!” Tears burned in her eyes, and she swallowed them down.

Silvairre opened his mouth and closed it again. He couldn’t seem to find his words.

Leif was breathing hard, blonde curls bouncing, “You’re a part of this team, and no, your life isn’t perfect, but you are what you make it. You’re allowed to be upset and… I don’t know, I just don’t like seeing you self-destruct like this.” She squared her shoulders again, “So I’m going to go home. I’m making tomato soup. You’re welcome to join me,” she reached into her bag and pulled out a potion, setting it on the table in front of him with a sharp click, “once you sober up.” She expected him to say something, expected some tearful apology, but instead he just stared at her like she’d slapped him. Leif sighed, and shook her head. She walked out of the room, leaving him there with a silent prayer that he would join her.

[rmg91]

The Woes and Antics of Living Together-Chapter 1

Well...Here it is! My big project I've been working on after getting latched onto by what I thought would be just a random short Trolls kick! But nope! It stuck and I'm here now. Anyway, after staying up all night reading 'A Little Change' by tisbubb/lolitea (GO READ IT IF YOU HAVEN'T!) I was inspired to do my own Broppy Roommate AU because we need more of them out there and the bug to write this wouldn't leave me alone.

Anyway, I hope you all enjoy this and hopefully I've captured the characters well enough XD Admittingly, I'm still getting the hang of writing some of them.

I own nothing canon.

Also found on: AO3/FF.net

                                                            ~*~*~*~*~*~

It was dark, it was late and it was storming, a perfect representation of the mood Branch Hawthorn found himself in as he trudged his way up the flight of steps to his apartment. Spending a good six hours at college wasn't a walk in the park, especially when his professors decided to pop-quiz everyone or add extra homework to the already overflowing piles they had. His lousy waiter job burned another seven hours as he dealt with difficult customers and a prick of a boss and then he spent at least a good three and half hours at the school's library studying and working on homework, only to have to walk back to his crappy apartment building, four blocks away, in the pouring rain. He was marginally grateful that his backpack was waterproof as he was soaked though and his beat-up sneakers squished with water as he shuffled down the hallway.

Said hallway might have seen better days but was now just dirty and falling apart with peeling paint and creaking floorboards, something that always made Branch worry he would fall though the floor one day. Finally reaching his apartment, in-between the only two flickering light bulbs, he fished his keys out of his pocket and unlocked the faded door, only to find it wouldn't open.

Of course it would stick tonight.

Sighing, Branch hit his forehead against the wooden barrier before trying to open it again by shaking and jerking the handle. Crying out in frustration when the door wouldn't budge, the dark-haired young man gave it a kick before slumping down against the wall. The universe just loved to torture him it would seem with everything that always seemed to go wrong around him. Horrible, almost full-time job? Check. People avoiding him because of his personality? Check. Crappy apartment with a door that got stuck in rainy weather? Double check! You name it and it has probably happened to Branch.

Groaning, he buried his face in his knees and tried not to entertain the dark thoughts swilling in his head. He really didn't want to spend the night in the hallway, he'd wake up with a cold for sure and he couldn't be certain that his oh-so-lovely neighbors wouldn't rob him in the night. Branch was fairly certain they were all either drug dealers or thugs for hire, with that not-as-innocent-as-she-thought-she-was little old lady, Mrs. Wallflower, being the boss of them all with her mob connections. He had overhead voices one day about 'taking someone out' coming from her apartment and he'd been avoiding her ever since.

Branch was also very unwilling to call his landlord for any sort of help, knowing one: the bastard that he was wouldn't even come until it was convenient for him and two: Branch was avoiding him as he was a little behind on rent and didn't have the energy to deal with him. Not to mention his phone was dead, if it wasn't he might have thought about calling Gristle for a favor but that would mean dealing with both Gristle and his well-meaning girlfriend, Bridget, and Branch just couldn't tonight.

Sighing again, Branch moped for a few more moment before getting up to try opening his door again. Taking hold of the doorknob, he turned it fully before ramming his shoulder against the dense material. He continued, progressively putting more power behind the hits before suddenly tripping into his dingy abode. Straightening up, Branch glanced back at the door and noticed that now the upper hinge was broken and his door hung awkwardly. Cursing under his breath because now he would have to call his landlord, Branch pushed the door closed and flipped all his extra locks, they would be able to hold it closed for the night...he hoped.

Dropping his backpack, Branch dragged himself to his tiny bathroom to change out of his wet clothes and to dry his hair. Once in his threadbare pajamas, he dug around in his ration box for anything he could eat without heating up, he didn't feel like fighting the stove tonight, and found a can of peaches. Popping it open, he ate them while leaning against the counter and listening to the rain hit the only small window. Placing what was left in his empty fridge, Branch went to plug his phone in next to his bed, which was really just a mattress on the floor. Making sure his alarm was set, the young man turned the small radio beside him on, tuning it to play the soft melodies of some classical music as he wrapped himself in the few blankets he had. Branch let himself fall onto his flat pillow and hoped sleep would claim him soon and end this sucky day...even if he would probably repeat it tomorrow.

                                                    ~*~*~*~*~*~

The morning was just as dreary as the day before but at least it hadn't started raining yet and for that Branch was thankful as he made his way across Bergenville University's campus to his first class. He had left a note on his door before leaving, and made sure what few valuables he had were either with him or locked under the bathroom sink, detailing that his door needed to be fixed. Then he had, begrudgingly, left a voicemail to the landlord saying he needed some maintenance and Branch hoped he wouldn't have to deal with the bastard at all until he had the rest of his rent ready. Had the damn hinge simply loosened Branch probably could've fixed it himself but no, it had to break and he didn't have the means to get a new one. Sighing, Branch prayed to whatever being was out there to give him just one tiny little shred of mercy this time and to let this be handled swiftly.

"Branch! Hey, Branch, wait up!" A voice suddenly called out.

Groaning quietly to himself, Branch stopped and waited for the other student to catch up. Sky blues watched the portly young man stop a few feet away and rest his hands on his knees to catch his breath. Gristle King Jr. wasn't exactly what you'd call attractive with his green tipped hair and crooked teeth but he was well known and liked among the student body for his lively personality and odd sense of humor. It also helped that his family had owned the land Bergenville sat on for centuries and owned most of everything in the city. He also considered himself one of Branch's best (and only) friends, all due to Branch helping with him and Bridget getting together. Of course all Branch did was give the girl some advice.

Heaving one last gulp of air, Gristle stood up and grinned at Branch, "Morning, Branch!"

"Morning, Gristle." Branch answered dully, beginning to walk again.

"Whoa, hey! You okay, dude?" Gristle asked, as he fell into step with Branch, "Did you stay up late studying at the library again? Cause..uh...You kind of look like crap."

Branch rolled his eyes, "Gee, thanks. And I got plenty of sleep just..." Deep down he knew Gristle cared about him but Branch just didn't feel like sharing his problems today, "Long morning already."

"Ah, well...It happens I guess." Silence fell between the two as they weaved by other students, something Branch relished in, before Gristle spoke up again, "Oh yeah! Hey! When was the last you ate? Like real food?"

Branch glared at his acquaintance, he hated when Gristle and Bridget tried to take care of him, "I eat real food."

Gristle rolled his eyes at the typical Branch reply, "Yeah, yeah but I meant like a real, hot meal? Cause Bridgey and I are having a little party toni-"

"No." If there was one thing Branch hated even more than his existence some days it was parties.

"What?! No! Not a party!" Gristle suddenly backtracked, "I meant a uh....intimate get together! Yeah!"

"Still no."

Gristle groaned, "Come on, man! It's not a party, I swear! It's just some of my classmates wanted to meet Bridget and to help her feel a little more comfortable, she's invited a few of her friend's over as well. It'll be six people tops! Seven including you!"

"Gee, thanks for making me feel like the extra wheel there. Still no."

"It's just dinner! I mean it!" The other man begged, "A nice hot meal and some company. And I know you get off early tonight, so don't go saying you have to work. Please, Branch? Come on, it won't hurt."

Branch doubted that, he wasn't really a people person after all. Then again, Gristle wouldn't quit bugging him if he didn't say something. "I'll think about, ok?! Just stop begging, people are starting to stare."

"Yes! Bridget will be so happy to hear you're coming!" Gristle fist-pumped the air, "You won't regret this! Gotta run to class now, see ya tonight!"

And then Branch was left standing a few feet from his classroom, already regretting saying anything at all. Sighing, and hoping for a quick death so he wouldn't have to feel guilty when he texted and said he wasn't going to make it, Branch entered the classroom.

Making his way up to his seat, he noticed the distinct lack of students and wondered briefly if maybe they had all drunk themselves into oblivion or finally had enough of their professor. Sitting down and digging out his materials, Branch hoped that his usual desk mate didn't show up today, already having had enough of extroverts for the day. Once settled, he buried his head in his arms and waited for class to begin, lecture days were at least easy enough to get though when he had already read though the text book.

Just when he thought, maybe, just maybe, he wouldn't have to deal with the worlds biggest distraction, well...his biggest distraction anyway, the telltale jingle of multiple rainbow bangles made their way to his ears as the one wearing them skipped up to the seat beside him. Branch kept his head down and hoped she wouldn't talk to him.

"Branch! My man! Goooood morning~!"

Then again this was Poppy Meadows, the young woman who always talked to him even when other people told her not to. She was also the one that believed everyone was her friend and still believed in unicorns and magic and that singing could fix any problem. She was always positive and talking about the 'bright side' of things, partying all weekend long with her annoying crew and insisted, insisted on inviting him along every single time even when he said no! Not mention she dyed her hair a bright, almost highlighter shade of pink, wore too many bracelets and other jewelry that were just screaming to get caught on something, dressed in bright, colorful clothing and had the most beautiful amber eyes that Branch had written, and still could write, many a poetic prose about. He had hoped his childhood crush on her would go away after he had pulled away from everyone but no, it had only gotten worse.

He groaned silently to himself before glancing up at her, "Hi, Poppy."

Poppy dropped noisily into her seat with a grin, "Aww, what's got you so grumpy this morning? Wake up on the wrong side of the bed?"

A grunt was her only answer as Branch stared resolutely at the board as he waited for their professor to begin. The pinkette wasn't deterred though and poked his check, "Come on, you grumpy troll, smile. It's a beautiful day~"

Branch looked at her like she was crazy, "Beautiful? Last I checked it was cloudy and going to rain again."

"And?" Poppy grinned brightly, "Rainy days are the best! You can cuddle up in your favorite blanket with some hot chocolate and watch your favorite movie! Or read! Maybe even scrapbook if the right inspiration comes along."

"Yeah...sure. Unless you're out in it, then you're cold, wet and bound to get sick. Not to mention the safety hazards with the wet roads and lack of visibility. Hell! A flood could happen at any given time! Disaster is just waiting to happen. Therefore rainy days suck."

Poppy rolled her eyes as Branch ranted about another way things could go wrong, "Oh stop, it's not gonna rain that hard. You need to stop worrying so much."

"And you need to worry more. Not everything is all cupcakes and rainbows. Now shhh! Class is starting!" Branch said as he pointed toward their professor.

Rolling her eyes fondly -Branch would one day see that looking on the bright side and worrying less would be good for him- Poppy opened her notebook and tried to pay attention as her teacher started to drone on about history. Branch glanced over at her, wondering if she was actually going to focus on class this time before tuning into the lesson himself.

It was halfway though class, thirty glorious quiet minutes that had passed, before Branch was reminded of Poppy's presence. Well...not true, he was always, inexplicably aware of her presence, he just did all he could to ignore the urge to just look at her and take in her every move. Like he was now as she started to continually poke his arm with more and more vigor.

"Branch. Branch. Branch. Branch. Branch."

"What?!" He hissed, flicking his eyes over to her before watching the professor in case he turned around.

"Could I borrow a pen? Mine just ran out. Please?"

He turned his head at that to glare at her, "Really?"

"Uh-huh~" She grinned at him.

Rolling his eyes, Branch quickly dug in his bag and pulled out an extra pencil, handing it off to her. "You really should be more prepared," He scolded quietly as he glanced at her notes, "And stop drawing kittens on your notes!"

"But they're so cute," Poppy whined before giggling, "And thanks, you're a life saver~"

Branch quickly turned back to the lesson, hoping to hide the blush he felt heating up his cheeks.

                                                     ~*~*~*~*~*~

The bell rang and as their professor called out what chapters they needed to read next, Branch quickly shoved his things back into his bag, hoping to leave before Poppy could start talking to him again. Unfortunately, she was already grinning at him and bouncing in her seat.

"Oh! Hey! Before you leave! There's a party this weekend and-"

"No." When would she learn he didn't want to go any crazy, out of control college parties.

Poppy pouted and Branch tried very hard not to think just how adorable it was, "Come on! It'll be fun! And good for you! All work and no play makes Branch a grumpy boy~ Plus-" She dug around in her bag before pulling out a bright blue rectangle, "I made you an invite!"

Branch groaned and made no move to accept the expertly put together pieces of paper, "No, Poppy. I don't like parties, get it though your head and I don't want your invites. Ever. Give it to someone else, I'll just throw it out."

"Aww but I made it special just for you!" She slid the small packet over to him as she got up, "Just think about it, okay? It'll be super fun and everyone will be there! It's gonna be our biggest party yet!" Poppy gave him one her mega-watt grins before flouncing off down the stairs, "Bye, Branch~! Please come!"

And just like that, she was gone and off to her next class. Branch glanced down at the invite before rolling his eyes and scowling, he really should just throw it away. Instead he left it sitting there for someone else as he slouched off...before turning around and grabbing it. He'd curse himself later for adding another to his collection after the rest of his classes.

                                                 ~*~*~*~*~*~

It was late again by the time he returned home, having almost missed the rain this time so he wasn't as soaked as last night. Trudging tiredly up the stairs for the millionth time, Branch was grateful for the extra shift at work tonight so his excuse for missing Gristle and Bridget's little dinner party wasn't a lie. Yawning, he approached his door and saw a piece of paper hanging on it and wondered if it was the same one he left that morning. Looking blearily at it, he realized it wasn't and took a closer look at it.

#13,

Ya been late on yer rent too many times, ya got 10 days to get out or all yer stuff's gonna be thrown out.

-Griff, the landlord.

PS: The new hinge is coming out of yer deposit.

Branch read and then re-read the note before groaning and banging his head against the door. The universe officially hated him.

                                                       ~*~*~*~*~*~

Poor Branch :c I feel bad for all the crap I've put him through already but it's all necessary for things in the future to happen. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed and are looking forward to the next chapter!

[jimlingss]

Starlet and Moonstruck [2]

Chapter 1||Chapter 2||Chapter 3||Chapter 4||Chapter 5 Words: 5.3k Genre: Fluff & Humour, Actress!Au Summary: As a newcomer actress struggling to make a name for yourself in the tough industry, you’re absolutely ecstatic to see your Dispatch pictures on the front page of Naver....but..what is this?! This isn’t about you!

Who’s the third guy from the left?!

Cr.

Once the digital clock, blaring red numbers back at him, has switched the minutes from 59 to 00, Seokjin refreshes the page immediately. He knows the competition is low but he can’t risk losing out on this opportunity. He would regret it for the rest of his life.

The blank screen switches to one with a catalogue full of posters, plushies and hoodies. Seokjin glimpses over at them, putting each object into the shopping cart. In five minutes, he’s at the online checkout section, grabbing his wallet to pay.

As he opens up the leather pouch, he finds himself with less than thirty dollars in cash but whatever. Seokjin brushes it aside, grabbing his card and purchasing the items with express shipping.

Even if he’s broke, as your number one fan and with you as his ultimate bias, he’ll always make an exception in his funds to buy your merch.

Oh...the stanning life.

//

“Nice job, Seokjin!” “You’ve got this in the bag!” “Great job!”

He stands in the corner, arms folded in front of him, head dipping with each compliment and growing sheepish from embarrassment. The owner of the coffee shop has never been this kind to him before. In the past, he was often told to scrub the brown toilets back to white or to go diving in the dumpster for a cheap necklace she accidentally threw out. He even has to sweep up her toenail bits after she’s clipped them at the front entrance, sitting on the stool, waiting all day for customers.

But ever since Seokjin’s obtained the name ‘Third Guy From The Left’, business has been better. Thus, the lady has treated him with a strange amount of courtesy, going as far as to tell him to simply sit there and do nothing.

He got this part-time job on the side to help him make ends meet while he chases after his real dream of being a director. Of course, he has the job of being your bodyguard now but the owner of the café can be very persuasive and he found himself continuing to pick up shifts.

“Oh my god!” Yet another girl swoons and he ducks to hide his warming face. “Can you please sign my phone?”

Her friend jumps, “me too! Me too!”

“Nope! Nope!” The stingy owner stops him from signing with the permanent marker. “You have to buy a drink first!”

The girls stare at her before huffing out, grabbing the wallets from their bag. As if that wasn’t enough, his boss continues to capitalize on his popularity, setting out a drink package that allows others to take a picture of him, increasing the price if people want to take it with him, continuing to increase if they want him to sign something and the list goes on.

The owner goes out, setting up a large sign that the ‘Third Guy From The Left’ works here and she goes to social media to rave about it. There should be lineups winding all the way down five blocks but the coffee shop is ridiculously hard to find. Seokjin, himself, gets lost frequently and initially, he only found this place by accident. It’s a huge maze of through alleyways and unnamed streets, passing through rough neighborhoods and unpaved roads. It’s no wonder the café doesn’t get many customers and why the rent for the place is so cheap; location, location, location - the realtors always said and this place sucks.

A lot of people went on the internet to say that the owner of the café was lying and such a place doesn’t even exist when they’re unable to find it but a few people tread on and they do manage.

“You should keep working here forever!” The middle-aged lady snickers under her breath, licking her thumb and counting up the wad of cash. “I’d make sure you wouldn’t have to lift a finger or use that brain of yours until retirement!”

Seokjin merely laughs, hoping his shift will end soon.

//

“H-hello.” He bows from his waist, accidentally knocking his head into the desk and wincing with an ‘ow’. He steps back, standing straight again with his navy blue binder hugged to his chest. “My name is Kim Seokjin, I am twenty-four years of age and I’m looking to apply here at this company.”

The man behind the desk and the team of interns turn their heads to look at him. Upon finding that he’s unrecognizable, the man turns down to his papers. “Sorry. We’re not hiring.”

“I-uh…”

Another intern steps up, guiding Seokjin out the door before he can provide any sort of explanation for his cause. The door shuts. The binder falls to his side when his arm slumps. He presses his forehead against the wall, sighs through his teeth, the feeling of rejection tingling his senses. How is he supposed to move forward with his dream when no one will even give him a chance?

“Seokjin?”

He spins around but doesn’t know who it is. The boy drops his chin once again, only to do a double take, eyes widening at the sight of you. “Y/N?”

You skip up to him, chewing a snack in your cheek and swallowing it down. “What are you doing here? I thought this was your day off.”

He spends a long moment staring at you, soaking in all your features and making sure he’s in reality, not dreaming up a storm at night. He’s still trying to get used to seeing you around in real life and not on the digital screens or behind metal fence barriers. But today, it’s much different.

You’re makeupless and sporting an old hoodie from your high school alumni. It’s not bad. You look fine, the same eyes and sparkle, the smile and sweet voice. It’s simply that he’s used to seeing you flawless, without a blemish to spare, hair blow dried with copious amounts of products and volume. Seokjin always considered you as a goddess.

But you’re much more human than he thought.

“I...uh...I’m trying to apply for a job.”

“At the company?” You raise your brows, digging your hands into the sweater’s pocket. “Don’t you already work as my ‘bodyguard’?”

You make air quotations and he fights back a smile, glad that you’re a burst of vivid energy in his monochrome life. “I’m looking for a job where I can-”

“Right, right.” You remember now. “You want to be a director…..hmmm…..let me try.”

This is your moment to shine. It’s now that you can truly show off your status and the position you have in this place. You can finally flaunt off your power to someone and impress him.

“Ahem.” You tap on the desk, interrupting the presentation of the interns who are scribbling ideas for a new production on the whiteboard. The man swivels around his chair, exhaling in exhaustion and he gives you an unimpressed expression. “Mr. Wang, please give this man a job.”

Your hands are on your hips and you cock your head to one side. The man narrows his eyes at you, pupils boring into your visage. The interns have quieted down, waiting impatiently for the shenanigans to be over. Seokjin gulps, anticipating an answer.

To him, your backside is the strongest, the most admirable and he’s already proud of himself for not dropping to the ground in screams over his bias actually fighting for him-

“Who are you?”

//

Well shit. If that guy didn’t work at the company, you would’ve punched him in the face.

“It’s okay, Y/N.” Seokjin repeats as he gazes at you, repressing soft giggles as he observes you rub your eyes for the millionth time with the sleeve of your sweater. Upon asking, you strongly denied that you shed any sort of tears. “Really. It already means a lot to me that you tried.”

It’s embarrassing. You’re ashamed. Your entire face is red and you wish the earth would open to swallow you whole. Your pride is too much sometimes and for your ego to be bruised, you feel angry and upset. Someone at the company, your company, didn’t even know who you are.

“Y/N?”

“Shut up.”

Seokjin wonders how you can be so cute.

He smiles happily, walking back to your apartment with you alongside him. It’s a rare day off for you too - granted by Soo-Ae who’s scrambling to get several more auditions for you and then it’ll be back on the grind of memorizing lines and practicing the scenes out until they become muscle memory.

“HEY!”

You shatter Seokjin out of his daydream and he watches as you go flying to your car in the parking lot. A horde of kids go sprinting out of the bushes nearby, rushing past him in scattered giggles, feet hitting against the concrete pavement. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

You bend over, hands on your knees, whimpers and whines leaving your throat. The man who was with you approaches in light steps, bewildered when he heard you cussing aloud. But then he spots the big brown turd on the hood of your car and the bright yellow word ‘POO’ sprayed across from the doors.

“Dammit.”

You always knew doing that laxative CF was a bad idea.

Out of the corner of your hawk eyes, you find an empty can of spray paint rolling near the tree and you scream. The two kids jump up in response, laughing their heads off and you chase them around the parking lot, spitting on the ground and yelling at them to clean up the mess they made or you’ll find their parents and sue for damages.

Meanwhile, Seokjin is in a state of incredulity, unable to comprehend that this adult woman who he’s idolized and worshipped, is running after the neighborhood kids, uncaring that the fabric skirt is being flipped up and giving him an eye-full of pink panties.

It’s not a bad thing. He finds it kind of funny in a way.

“Got you now!” You wiggle your fingers, cornering them by the front entrance of your apartment. The two children exchange a look, excited from the chase as if you were playing a game of tag with them. There’s good reason why they’re not afraid of you - sure, you’re pissed that someone took a shit on the hood of your car and vandalized it but the vehicle was always a piece of shit anyways.

And you have no plans on beating them up, reporting them to the police or suing poor kids who already didn’t have enough to eat. They were simply mischievous children making memories for the future. You were at that age once and if you got in trouble for all your mischief-making, you’d be in prison by now.

The two of them swap looks and at the same time, they bolt in different directions, right out of your grasps, a hair away from nipping them by the collar of their shirts. You sigh with a smile, shaking your head. “Seriously stop it! I’m going to actually call the police one of these days!”

If you become rich and famous in the future and you move to a nicer part of town, maybe you’ll look back on today and miss being around these terrorizing kids. They’re one of the few things that make you feel less lonely.

“You know...” You tilt your head with a pout, exhausted from the ordeal. “-You’re my bodyguard. Aren’t you supposed to defend me? It’s your one job.”

Seokjin stifles back a laugh, opening the door to your apartment complex. “Against little kids?”

The pair of you enter the stairway, marching up a few levels and conquering the mountain of steps. But as you fish out for your key to the door, the thought floods back in your head and you drop your arm, sigh dripping of tiredness. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” He blinks in his innocence, not understanding the purpose of the apology.

“I couldn’t get you the job. I couldn’t even get them to hear you out. I….I couldn’t do anything for you.” The shame and self-disappointment cripples your confidence, prompting you to blink away the tears and clench your fist. An urge to pull on the strands of your hair overwhelming you.

But Seokjin places his hand over yours and you lift your chin, locking your eyes with his warm ones. He shakes his head and smiles at you graciously, the corner of his lips raising, looking as handsome as he did in the photos that caused you to be here with him. “You’ve already done enough for me. It’s okay, Y/N. Thank you.”

“If anything,” he adds on, “it didn’t really matter that much. I-....I actually have another interview with a director I really admire and if he could bring me under his wing, that would be...a dream…..it’s just...”

“What?”

“I’m nervous.”

“Don’t be.”

You smile back at him, melting in your spot. Your heel spins around and you finally unlock your door. “Anyone would be happy to have you.”

//

With your reassurance in mind, voice echoing in the hollows of his brain, he takes a deep breath and enters the shop, smoothing out his polo shirt and his neat hair. Seokjin’s hands are shaking and quivering, yet, he takes the courage to step forward. Immediately, he finds the table where the esteemed Park Chanwook is, reading the menu and pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

If Seokjin stanned you and had you as his bias, Park Chanwook is his role model. The man began as film critic and from then on, helped to create masterpieces like ‘Lady Vengeance’, ‘Oldboy’, ‘The Handmaiden’ and ‘The Truth Beneath’. He’s won thousands of awards, Best Director to Daesang, famous in his field and to be several meters away from him, Seokjin feels nauseous.

“H-hello.”

“Oh, you must be Kim Seokjin. Nice to meet you.” The older man motions to the unoccupied chair across from him. “Take a seat.”

The younger man blacks out for a few minutes. He doesn’t remember making small talk or ordering from the waitress but by the time he focuses back in, the director is chuckling and he has his entrée half eaten in front of him. “You’re a very charming individual, Seokjin. I'll give you that much but I think we should start looking at your credentials.”

The director wipes his mouth with the tablecloth napkin, setting aside his unfinished lunch and grabbing his file folder. He has Seokjin’s binder as well, flipping through the perfected portfolio that’s had heart and soul poured into each page. Seokjin holds his breath, knee bouncing underneath the table, watching as the director hums every so often and looks through his resume.

“Alright.” Mr. Park Chanwook closes up the documents, clasping his hands onto the table. “You have a good education and a good personality. You’re likeable and easygoing which is very refreshing to see.”

He blushes, flustered from the amount of praise. Seokjin had graduated from the prestigious Seoul University two years ago with a Film Studies degree; albeit not a popular major, one he was shamed for and one where he finds difficulty finding a job in. After graduating, he worked on honing his camera and writing skills before officially applying and entering the entertainment industry. Unfortunately, he never received any calls back and he had given up on his dream of being a director long ago until he found you.

It was you that reignited the fire within him, you who inspired to chase after his ambitions again.

“But aside from those things-” The older man shakes his head and Seokjin’s heart falls to his stomach. “-you have no other background, no experience, no network, no connections. And because of those things, those crucial things, I don’t think you’re suited for this job.”

The bomb drops upon his shoulders and Mr. Park continues, “perhaps in a few years time but I’m deeply sorry Kim Seokjin, you’re not what we’re looking for.”

There’s a moment of silence.

Seokjin gathers his wits and he breathes out a steady breath. “H-how can I improve?”

How can he receive more experience if no one wants to give him a chance? How is he supposed to build relationships when others won’t even talk to him? How is he supposed to make it if no one helps?

Park Chanwook sits back in his seat, crossing his arms and exhaling an extended stream of air. He seems to contemplate the question deeply before answering. “You’re kind and earnest - that much, I can tell. It’s admirable and something I hope you won’t lose in the future. I have a son your age and you actually remind me a lot of him, so, allow me to be frank with you. I hope you won’t take my criticism to heart.”

“Y-yes…” Seokjin nods, “please go ahead.”

“Not everyone can become great people. If it were that possible and easily obtainable, then everyone would be great. Every single person would be a superstar but in reality, there is one.” He holds up his finger before putting it down again. “Not everyone can achieve greatness. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a family?”

“I do.”

“Good,” he hums. “Take care of them. Take care of your parents and support them, start your own family, settle down. Your dream isn’t just your own. It affects everyone in your life.”

It’s at this second that Seokjin really looks at the man in front of him, the person who seems to have exhaustion permanently etched into his bones, wrinkles in places where there shouldn’t be, tired eyes and sunken in cheekbones. “As someone who’s been in this business for a long time, too much...I know when it’s enough. I know when it’s better if someone were to let go. I want you to make a living, Seokjin, and this isn’t it.”

The man has seen things, lived through hell and came back, turned a blind eye when he shouldn’t have but was forced to. The industry is cut-throat and competitive, full of backstabbers and liars. For the sake of keeping another person sane, he pours out all his honesties.

“The sooner you quit this race that has no finish line, the better your life would be.”

Seokjin sits alone in his chair. The world pulls away from him. He can’t do anything but listen to the heartbeat that pounds in his eardrums. His head downcasts to his lap. And he receives the painful advice as best as he can. “T-thank you.”

//

The darkness came before the light could even fade away.

Seokjin is collapsed in the corner, arm rested on top of his knees, head leaning against the wall, phone pressed against his ear. His portfolio binder, full of photographs and writing, his countless ideas, are abandoned by his side, discarded and dumped. “Come home.”

His father tells him on the other line and his mother’s tearful voice can also be heard. “We’re not sad, son.”

“If you’re worried about disappointing us then don’t be. I’m already happy you’re my son. I don’t need anything else from you. You’ve just been gone for so long.”

“We miss you,” his father intercepts again. “Jjanggu doesn’t even remember you anymore. Your younger brother asks about you a lot. We miss you. Don’t you think you’ve spent enough time in Seoul? Son, just let the dream be a dream. Come home to us.”

He sleeps that night.

When his guilt, his agony, his turmoil has become too much to bear, Kim Seokjin escapes the world of reality to the ones in his dreams, letting his exhaustion release him from his nightmares. But when his mind prevents him from leaving into a deep slumber, his tear-stained pillow tells more stories than his broken voice can manage.

He only finds a sense of solace in your presence. You, who is too nervous and preoccupied with the audition to notice his anguish, too ignorant to realize his suffering. It’s a good thing. He doesn’t want to speak out his bleak future and the prospects of having to desert what he wants most.

“Why are you eating right now?”

Soo-Ae, your manager, is on the phone and she excused herself to the washroom, leaving you with your bodyguard. You’re still chewing on the way to the conference room and Seokjin giggles at your cheek that’s stuffed with chicken. “I gained weight for the role. This is my last chance to gain some more.” You lick your fingers off, using a wet wipe to fix your lipstick and clean up any greasy messes. “Alright, wish me luck!”

He opens the door for you, “good luck!”

At least if he couldn’t achieve his ambitions, if he saw you make it, maybe it’ll be enough for him.

“You should dump him!” You visibly sulk, hands on your hips, bottom lip jutted out. The role was created in order to promote the chicken company that would sponsor the drama. It’s a side character and not of any importance to the plot but as long as you get screen time, you don’t care what kind of things you have to do. “You should eat chicken instead! Don’t you know that chicken can cure all kinds of things like the flu to heartbreak?”

You pause, pretending that you made the main role laugh. “See?! It’s already helping you already! I’m telling you he’s too-”

“Stop! Stop! Stop!” The middle judge of the three rubs his forehead and frowns as if he’s under a massive headache. “Look, to make this go by faster, we need someone with more charm or someone with more fame. It draws in more attention to the drama but you obviously….wha-.....what’s your name again?!”

You scoff openly in disbelief. Your resume is right in front of him and he couldn’t look down to read your name? Meanwhile, Seokjin sits at the back of the room, watching the entire scene play out and he wishes it was part of the audition. Unfortunately, he’s about to witness you get slaughtered.

“I’m going to be clear with you - you’re not talented,” the lady to the left remarks in a cold tone. “You don’t have the skill or the material we want. Your posture is bad, your expressions are stiff, you recite lines like a robot - really, why are you even acting? Is this a joke to you?”

A muscle in your cheek twitches but you keep quiet. “I recommend you reconsider your career choices,” she says and you tremble in a mixture of emotions, all threatening to pour over your head like a bucket of ice water.

You slowly turn off to the last lady at the right, your only hope left remaining. But she seems to be distracted, staring off at the glass windows of the city buildings. They’re prepared to call for the next person and you hold back your tears, bawling up your fist to your side.

“I..I’m still going to act! I’ll make it one day.” You manage without your voice wavering and you look at the producers straight in the eye before bowing from your waist. “Thank you for your constructive criticism. I will work hard in the future to improve my abilities and I’ll come back.”

The man pulls his hands over his face, wondering what he has to say to get the message through your thick skull. “No. Don’t.”

“I will. It’s my dream. Thank you for your concern but it’s my life.”

Seokjin’s heart has stopped. His eyes have grown wide. Something strums within his chest.

“If your words alone could make me give up, then that means I lacked sincerity within my dream and that it meant nothing to me. Thank you and goodbye.”

You hold your head up high, strutting out of the room, leaving the producers rolling their eyes in indignation and shaking their heads at your ignorance. On the other hand, Seokjin trails behind you, watching your backside and wondering how you could be so close but so far away.

He marvels at you. You’re a star shining in the sky, a starlet that he can never reach.

//

If only the image in Seokjin’s head and his high regard for you was true, perhaps, you would be a perfect, immortal angel. Regrettably, you are a very flawed individual.

“I can’t do this anymore.” You ball up the damp tissues in your hand, the tears continuing to cascade down your cheeks. Seokjin is at a loss of what to do, the person he reveres is broken in front of him, mascara running down your cheeks, oversized sweater enveloping your frame.

It was an act.

The entire outburst in front of the producers was a mere facade to save your pride.

You were lying to them, lying to the world, lying to yourself. And now you’re tired. You’re simply exhausted of running in the absolute darkness, chasing after nothing, meaninglessly wasting your days away without an inch of improvement. You can’t do this anymore.

“W-what about all the things you said in there about coming back in the future?”

Seokjin doesn’t understand. You were so cool in front of the producers, level headed and calm. On screen, you’ve been even more amacculate. To see you crying on the floor, huddled up by yourself with the apartment lights off is utterly baffling to his mind.

“It was a fucking lie!” You scream at him, hurling the paper tissue box at his stomach to which he catches. “I’m so tired. Do you know how long I’ve been doing this for? Six years! More than half a goddamn decade! I lost contact with all my friends, my family doesn’t even want to call me, I don’t have food to eat, the hot water doesn’t even work in this stupid place and the only thing I thought I was good at, they told me I suck.”

How is he supposed to comfort you? How is he supposed to make things better? Seokjin doesn’t have any clue.

“You said that if their words were enough to tear you down, that means your dream wasn’t sincere…”

You chuckle mirthlessly, shaking your head and wiping your cheeks with the sleeve of your hoodie. “You don’t understand. T-they’re professionals who’ve been working there longer than I’ve been alive...they know what they’re talking about. They know from first glance who’s good and who’s bad…”

You gasp for a breath of air. “You want to know something?”

Seokjin sits across from you on the floor, gazing at your face soaked in by the moonlight. He always thought you looked the most beautiful in the milky wash, where your beauty wasn’t dissected through harsh artificial lighting and your skin glowed instead. He’s especially transfixed at the way your tear drops twinkle, rolling off your cheeks like sparkling diamonds.

“What is it?”

“I’m good at acting. I fucking know I am.” You bitterly smile to yourself, sniffling the cries away. “It’s true that I was inspired at a young age but it was a stupid dream. “My entire life, I’ve been likeable, pretty, outgoing. It’s easy. It’s easy to act happy.”

You’ve always had a talent for smiling on cue, acting as if everything’s okay, putting on an appearance that you’re put together.

You whisper your words out, each syllable wrapped in an unadulterated pain. “You know, if you start to pretend you’re happy, it might feel like it’s real. For a long time, you’ll believe in it. But in the end, it’s fake. It’s bullshit. I’m not happy - I hate myself - and I live a shitty ass life.”

Seokjin has always put you on a higher pedestal. You are the flawless actress, the beautiful goddess with a shining smile that he could only imagine pinning after. You were the one he daydreamed about, the person out of his league, the individual behind the screen, the black mirror of his computer and phone, the one he glorified and looked up to.

There’s almost a sense of betrayal by the way you’ve broken down in front of him. You’ve been presented so perfectly that witnessing your tears, your bitterness, the human inside of you, it should leave a sour taste on his tongue. He’s been lied to. You’re far from the image you present. You've broken the fourth wall. You’re not the impeccable, happy woman that he thought you were.

No.

Each teardrop that rolls from your eyelashes to your chin, dripping on the floorboard, echoes loudly in the apartment, causing him to wince, shattering his expectations, piercing straight through his soul and slapping him across the face with a simple realization-

You’re no longer merely someone he idolizes.

You are L/N Y/N, a dedicated starlet trying to make it in the cut-throat industry, a girl who was initially crass to him but only as a defense mechanism. You aren’t that far away figure anymore, shining brightly in the sky to which he gazed upon from a distance with admiration.

You are here. You are a human.

He repeats the same words the director gave to him. Only, this time Seokjin twists them around.

“You’re earnest. You work hard. You’re good. I know it. Not everyone can become great people - if it were easy then everyone would be a star. In reality, there’s only one. You’re that one.”

You scoff, stealing another tissue to dab at your eyes. “Yeah right.”

“You are.” He reasserts in a strong voice, timbre shaking the walls of your home. You look up at Seokjin, the boy who’s black cloud of hair nearly pricks into his eyes, his irises that have softened and plush lips downturned in frustration. The white sweater on his frame and black, ripped pants are worn but still firm on his body. “You just have to keep going in order to make it and never stop. Your dreams are your own and you shouldn’t put blame onto other people or make excuses because of them. If they care about you, they’ll understand. It might be difficult but I’m here. I’m here for you.”

“The race doesn’t have a finish line but the point of it isn’t to finish. It’s the process of running.”

You laugh aloud, a ringing and familiar tone that has him easing. You wipe your eyes again but there’s no point, not when more are accumulating by the second. “What are you talking about?”

“Don’t give up.”

It’s not only to you but for himself as well.

“Don’t be naive,” you mutter past the thick lump in your throat, too stubborn to hear his sweet encouragement. As much as you want to listen to him, step back up again, you don’t want to be disappointed again and again. For your entire existence, you’ve been let down over and over again. There’s only so much you can bear by yourself.

“You make it sound so easy. It’s not. You don’t understand-”

“Maybe I don't.” He retorts back in a sharper tone. “But I know this is just the beginning. If you can become so easily knocked down from a few words and rejections, then maybe you do lack sincerity within your dream.” Seokjin traces the same words you used earlier and you tear your eyes away from him.

“Y/N. If you can overcome these struggles, you’ll rise higher and higher. And you don’t need to do it alone. So...don’t give up. The most beautiful days haven’t even begun yet.”

You burst out crying, grabbing the entire tissue box to weep on. He smiles down at you, wiping away his eyes and Seokjin finds that he doesn’t care that you’re not as perfect as he remembered. You’re no longer the actress he loves.

You’re Y/N. And somehow, that’s a million times better.

//

Seokjin opens up his laptop, clicking a few times before a blank document is on his screen. He inhales a huge breath of air, fingers hovering over the keyboard and after a moment of mustering courage, he begins to write the first few lines of a new script.

Lights. Camera. Action.

[yeoldontknow]

As Still As Sound: 2

Author’s Note: omfg i have missed this story so much it’s causing me physical pain. i adore this world so much. thank you everyone who has been so patient waiting for an update on this <3 its like a little early holiday present! Pairing: Chanyeol x Reader (oc; female) Songs For This Chapter: Bye Bye Blackbird - Joe Cocker; Lady Grinning Soul - David Bowie Genre: Soulmate!AU; angst; fluff Rating (this chapter): PG Word Count: 7,285

masterlist

For days you keep Chanyeol’s name tucked behind your teeth, locked selfishly away as you casually suck at the sweetness of it as though it were treacle. It glides down your throat, warm and thick and delicious, and tasting like yours.

Tasting like yours but without any sort of clarity, the flavor blurred and diminished around questions that make your brow furrow and your mind tired. Beside his name, so too do words take shape: who, why, and how seeming to latch onto syllables, becoming prefixes for your clouded daydream.

One hour after he says it, you remain stoic on the bench in Camden, letting yourself become drenched in the rain and letting it soak through your Converse, turning your socks damp. Your hands wrap around the wood, grounding yourself as your fingers dig into the chipped crevices. Alone, you wait for something to bring him back, though you are not entirely sure you want him back, simply that it feels as though you need him.

You play through the album, front to back, twice, and not once does it sound remarkable.

Holding on tightly, you close your eyes and release a shuddering sigh. Something important has been found and yet it seems that other important things are slowly being taken away, the discovery of Chanyeol suddenly meaning that you must carefully maneuver through your music. First, he took Neil Diamond. Now, he has staked a claim over the Eurythmics, and your stomach fills with a tepid dread over what he will take from you next.

This, however, implies that you will let him win, which you will not. He is nothing, a formless shapeless idea of a man who seems to make your blood run hot and your heart fight against the cage of your sternum. He is nothing, and yet your body chooses to let him lord over your heart, and so you decide not to let him rule your mind.

Stubbornly, you continue to listen to the album, over and over until you anticipate every word and chord. Even as you do this, frustrated and almost irritated, you know it will be in your head for weeks, a jumbled mess of sounds, too many songs fighting for dominance, but you don’t care. Eventually it will all become static, and it too, along with Chanyeol, will be forgotten.

The night after he says it, you expect to see him in a dream, as though the shape of his name could bring to life his features. Body exhausted and heart starting to feel sick with a sort of mourning, for him, for yourself, for your music, you close your eyes and try to envision him. His voice brought to mind the idea of chocolate, rich and warm and melted, and so you hold onto this, clutching it tightly like a lure. Unpracticed with your heart, you try to will yourself towards him, try to bring to life the idea of elation or the hollow fragments of yearning, unwarmed and unkissed as you are.

And when he does not come, when the space behind your eyes remains blank and empty, instead covering you only with the blackness sleep, do you start to think it was all a fluke. Reasons run through your head in a list, both for against his arrival in your music, and you try to rationalize your way out of sentiment. But in the end, you don’t think there need to be any at all.

This is not, and was not ever, something you can merely explain away. Logic does not exist behind this, for rarely does logic exist within the realm of wishing.

Days pass in which you do not hear him again, days in which you find it easy to separate wishes of the heart from wishes of fantasy, and learn that the line between the two is thin. At first, you find it easy, laughing in the hallway as you pass Mr. Kim, the adrenaline rush of deja vu tugging emphatically at your chest. Anticipation and expectation soon dissolve when song after song passes and you hear nothing from him, not even the sounds of the people beside you on the tube.

When he is not there, you find you do not miss him, not really, not in any true sense of the word. You know nothing of him, merely his name and the languid way he relaxes into music, and neither of these are tangible enough for you to hold. Perhaps, you think, you miss the feeling of elation that made your fingers swell with affect, tingling and struggling in the hold of your phone. Mostly, you think you miss the feeling of connection, the sudden, unbridled inclusion to the magic of the universe. And, most of all, you cannot understand why you have been included only for it to be taken so ruthlessly away.

Behind the bitterness and the disdain you keep at the forefront of your soul, guarded and wrapped taught around you like armor, lies your ignored heart. Spending shifts surrounded by music, nights at home letting yourself be selfish mean that it is easy to pretend nothing has changed. In your small world, people are people, and there is little more to be said about them. In your small world, love is simply a word that gets tossed around by eager tongues and caught between careless sentiments. Love is a word given freely and without thought, because it feels real. It feels real, and therefore it is.

In your small world, it is easy to pretend.

Now, considering Chanyeol means you are forced to consider the change. The universe has changed and, somehow, so have you, irrevocably and against your will. Now, you have to consider the holes your indignation poked into your heart simply because you never let yourself really look. Now, you think your heart is hungry for majesty, and so it has taken to denting itself, damaging itself by fabricating a man you think could be yours.

Rather, should be yours, if only the universe would acquiesce.

One week is all it takes for you to decide that Chanyeol was a dream, a transient thing born out of the anxiousness buried in your lonely heart. It’s not that you can’t believe, it’s simply that you don’t, and the ebb and flow of Chanyeol’s voice makes you less inclined to want to. Soulmate bonds stick, are permanent and unyielding in their attachment, and your distance from him, both physical and temporal, makes it easy for you to move on. If the bond were real, you would be broken, not carrying on with life wearing little more than a frown. If he were real, you think you would feel him, all over you and under your skin.

You think you would know.  

Two weeks is all it takes for the grief in you to feel like a sea.

You aren’t sure when it started to fill the spaces between your ribs, but you find yourself overcome during a closing shift. With the sun set, the lights of the shop give the street an amber glow, and the interior begins to feel warm, comforting and cozy, and wholly out of place for a space of employment. Resting your elbows on the till counter, you consider the empty shop and all the records in rows and rows, stacks and stacks.

Through the speakers a song plays softly, the soundtrack for the closing routine your hands and feet manage with little concentration. Your fingers idly toy with the bracelet around your wrist, mind starting to wander as a chasm seems to open in the center of your chest. Beneath your feet, the floor begins to fade, surroundings blending into one ongoing blur of nothingness, the edges of everything beginning to smear. The breath in your lungs becomes constricted, the sudden tightness keeping it trapped long after it begs for release, and shudders when it finally escapes through your parted lips.

As though you are acutely aware of the whole of your existence, you realize at once you are both alone and lonely. Always, you have been like this, even though you rationalize with yourself that it is not true. You know it is not true, for you have memories of happiness and memories of love, youthful and terrible, messy crushes that always ended badly, but a type of love just the same.

And, because you can count each memory along the tips of your fingers, you do not think the thing you have lost is love. Rather, you think you are constantly chasing a thing that feels like hope.

‘Goddammit, Chanyeol,’ you murmur, casting your eyes down to your clenched fists.

It feels good to blame him, to force him to shoulder the pain, even though it does not provide you any sense of relief. He is not yours to crave, the fault not his to hold, and so your shoulders remain tense and your heart starts to thunder. This is the fault of your overactive imagination and the denial you have etched into your bones with a headphone jack. Tuning out the world means you have somehow tuned into a daydream, and now you do not think you could ever silence the illusion.

Figures attempt to take shape before your eyes, whistful and lost and faded, but you do not let them. Not here, and not now. Not when you know it’s your imagination running away with itself, running loose and wild in its efforts to find Chanyeol. You decide they cannot win you, his absence means he cannot have you, shaking your head with closed eyes to erase the vision like an etch-a-sketch.

When you open them, the vision is gone but the overwhelming feeling of loss remains, worsened somehow by your refusal to let it in. Almost nothing is left of you, you think, here and now all that remains is a cavity. In you, a chasm has torn itself open with a cavernous mouth, wide and deep and making the memory of Chanyeol’s voice burn in your mind as an afterimage. This is a missing, you are missing, and you simply do not know where you have gone.

And three weeks is all it takes for the longing in you to feel like a fever.

It spreads itself over you, beneath your skin and even across your lips, consuming you like a plague and growing you like a garden. In your craving, you are flushed, heated, missing not only hope now but the sound of an even inhale. Something about the severity of this anguish makes it easy for you to say you miss Chanyeol, and makes it easy to accept that you do. The brief words you shared resonate in your mind at a deafening volume, drowning out all your other thoughts and giving you a distracted, yet somewhat austere, distant smile.

Tucking your knees to your chest you sit upright on your bed, body weary and eyes heavy, unwilling to greet the day. Beside you, music plays from your phone, constant now in your efforts to spark a connection. It borders on obsession, you know, frowning sadly at your phone and waiting to feel the world change.

Song after song has played from your phone, your computer, your stereo, one after the other with little pause in between, and, somewhere along the way, you became familiar and comfortable with the way your hitched breath tastes like disappointment. Joints and muscles in your fingers and back ache, exhausted with all your futile attempts to keep hope in hopelessness.

Time pulls at you, reminds you of your lunch date, reminds you of Kate - weeks on with her soulmate and suddenly excited to share everything with you. Warmth fills you, tepid and not altogether lingering, at the thought of seeing her. It will help, she will help, but it isn’t what you want. You miss her, frankly have too much to tell her waiting on your tongue, but the hours with her mean hours without music. At least at the shop you can let things play but, with her, all you will have is each other.

And you really don’t know when that suddenly stopped being enough.

The tension in your fingers as you dress is almost painful, knuckles taught and movements jagged, sharp. In the back of your mind, you tell yourself the sooner you see her the sooner you can go back to the musical cocoon you’ve wrapped yourself in, but this sentiment feels unfair, selfish. You shake it from your mind the same way you shake your arms as you settle into your jacket, regarding your tired body in your mirror with a halfhearted smile. Pointless, you think, to make yourself look nice for people who will not be looking, not even yourself.

Studying your feet as you walk to the bus stop, you realize suddenly how much the pining has consumed you. Your footsteps fall heavier, now, sluggish in the understanding and acceptance that you will spend the day alone, without any miracles to childishly look forward to. Even still, you choose to take the bus rather than the tube, worrying over the potential missed connection via lost service - regardless that it has not happened, not yet, and regardless that you have remained above ground for weeks with no result.

Silly patterns, useless patterns. Mindless and born out of romantic superstition, wholly unlike you but unable to be broken just the same.

You settle into a seat on the top level, tucked towards the back and rest your head against the window. The slight coolness soothes the warmth of your skin, eyes closing as you finally let yourself begin to relax. Kate has offered you a respite from your lonely routine, and the farther you pull away from your flat the more like yourself you begin to feel. It isn’t much, mostly the haze of a memory settling over you like dust, but enough for you to remember you were whole before this and you can continue to be so even after the yearning for Chanyeol fades.

A smile spreads across your face, the first genuine one you’ve felt in days, as the song changes and moves over you like a wave. Along your skin, sparks ignite, raising goosebumps at the first notes of the piano keys, and you bite your lip to stifle a laugh. Fitting, you think, for this song to play, the hand in the dark always guiding you from a young age.

And then you feel it, no longer a hand in the dark to guide you but a hand reaching for yours to hold. Warmth spreads deep and down into your fingers, igniting a fire in your bones as your heart begins to flutter. Time, you think, is drawing to a halt, the world moving slowly around you. Eyes snapping open, you watch bewildered as the world takes on a vivid technicolour, colours somehow brightening and multiplying in their rich intensity.

Your own breathing halts momentarily, giving pause as your mind begins to process every note and beat of the song. It’s the most important song you’ve ever heard, important long before this moment but somehow more pertinent now. Everything about it demands your full attention, demands you study the blue of the seat before you and the almost blinding red and yellow of the stop buttons along the poles.

Someone sat here, in this seat, on this day and many days before you, late at night in and in the early morning. People on their way to work, on their way home after a show, people simply living on the route, riding it around and around until they have the courage to disembark and find a new, temporary home.

Tears gather in your eyes, hot abrupt and somewhat unwelcome, your hands hurriedly coming to wipe them away in confusion. It does not help, simply provides a blinding sort of clarity that shocks you, makes you squint as you struggle to inhale a ragged breath.

Partnered only by the familiar sound in your ears.

His breath comes differently now, not the gentle, rhythmic inhale you remember but heavy, just as thick as yours, ecstatic and erratic. Keeping silent, you wonder if he can hear you or if he can feel you. You don’t think your skin feels his, this is not the pressing of bodies against bodies, but souls against souls, and your heart seems to recognize him as though peering into a mirror. Against the seat, your fingers scratch the fabric, curling inward as you struggle to keep yourself calm.

A small voice in your head tells you you're wasting this precious moment, and becomes fractious in its desperation to hear his voice. Conversation should be happening, it shouts. Think of all you could be hearing, think of him! But you keep silent. Sharing silence is infinitely more important than sharing words, united as you are in this wanting.

After one peaceful minute, during which you drew and memorized the nodes of his lungs, you cannot keep your tongue still.

‘There you are,’ you breathe, staring vacantly off into the distance as though you might see him. You can almost manage it, the haze of a figure so warm and grey, but it fades before you can even bring it to life. Sight unfocused, your heart wanders in search of the body you have lost, touching and holding the useless things around you for traces of Chanyeol.

Again, you wince at the sound of your voice. Usually confident with your speech, you find he reduces you to awe - not by the removal of your most valued pieces, shocked at the horror of who he has made you to be, but by the recognition your are merely a fraction without him. You were halved before this moment, and you don't know how you could not have felt the lack.

‘You,’ he says simply, the low and rich intonation of his voice sounding relieved.

It's his mutual relief that makes the tension in your shoulders dissipate, body rounding forward as you tuck your chin into your chest. Your headphones slide forward, slipping over the crown of your head and you quickly reach to stop their trajectory.

Fire ignites in the tips of your fingers, burned yet comforted by the touch. Eyes wide, you study your feet and try to remember when the band of your headphones started to feel like flesh. Blood rushes beneath your fingers, though you cannot discern if it is yours or his.

For a moment, you remain silent, allowing yourself to exist in the fantasy of touch. Closing your eyes, you imagine his hand on yours even though you cannot envision the size. Even still, it remains a comfort.

Heaving a shaking breath, you ready yourself to speak. ‘Where have you been?’ you ask, weakly, keeping your eyes tightly closed.

Seeing the world, and all its magic, is a distraction. Right now, you want only him, surrounding you always.

He pauses briefly, chuckling to himself and your chest clenches at the sound. Melodic and sweet, and utterly, possessively yours.

‘Minding my own business,’ he replies, playfully, and at this you smile. Coy and charming, the words he says are not the words he means.

Looking for you, is his truth. Waiting for you, is what your heart hears.

‘Where have you been?’ There’s a delicate shyness to the way he asks the question, as though he is scared of your answer, fearful, somehow, of the weight of your honesty. The words come slowly, pointed and conscious in their efforts not to fall in a rush. He's just as eager as you, just as scared as you, and apprehensively reminding himself that you are not his.

As if you could not or would not want him. As if you were not waiting for him, at all.

Trusting that you have him, that he will not be taken from you again, you open your eyes and lean back against your seat. Biting your lip, you study the world beyond your window, vision capturing nothing but colours.

Shoreditch is glowing, the brick buildings and cobbled alleyways no longer grim or dark, but radiant. The clouds become silver, metallic and iridescent in their majesty as they cling to droplets of rain. Even this sky, grey with its gloom, is beautiful.

Smiling with a sigh, you blink and expect the ugliness of everything to return. And when it does not, when Chanyeol breathes with you, filled with pleasure and happiness and wanting, and a sadness you recognize down into your blood, you lick the words from your tongue as though they are honey.

‘Minding my own business, too.’

‘So you just decided to arrive, now?’ You can hear his smile, hear the way it shapes and kisses his phrases. Not expectant, not even hopeful, simply existing because you have been found. ‘Because it’s your business?’

‘Excuse me,’ you laugh, ‘I think you’re the one intruding.’

‘I’m in my bedroom,’ is his quick reply. ‘The only thing I’m invading is my sheets.’

Images flare behind your eyes, synapses becoming an architect of his private spaces. Cool tones of blue and green crowd your vision, jersey knit sheets and hardwood floors. A mess. He is a mess, you imagine. Or, perhaps terribly neat and organized, books and music stacked in perfect rows for quick access. The layout escapes you, looking similar to your own bedroom because it is familiar and it is a space in which you seek comfort.

You imagine seeking him, and your skin begins to tingle.

‘Well,’ you say, clutching to the vision of his imagined room, ‘I’m heading to the pub so…’

For a moment, he remains quiet, though you can sense the thoughts racing in his mind. Gently, you press your headphones slightly against your ear, hoping to hears every unsaid word, every shudder of breath, every move of cloth against his skin.

‘There’s a lot to invade in public,’ he says defiantly, teasing wilting off at the end as his tongue licks at the final syllables.

Rolling your eyes with a snort, your turn to look out the window, choosing instead to pretend he is beside you if you are not truly looking. The bus comes to a halt beside a small pub garden, tables and chairs pushed together for a large party. Drinks are passed between hands, laughter loud enough to penetrate the upper deck of the bus. They're celebrating - a birthday, a bonding, luxuriating in their togetherness.

‘Maybe,’ you hum absentmindedly. The bus jolts to a start, bringing you back to yourself. I’ll definitely be invading a pint,’ you add, voice stronger than before.

‘Mmmmm,’ he moans, happily. ‘I'm jealous. Though, wouldn't the pint be invading you?’

At this you chuckle. ‘Yeah,’ you say, glancing down to your hands. It’s pleasant, this conversation, but there's a more important one you need to have, and you don't think you'll ever be ready.

On his end, the hesitation to speak is always born of reverence. That much you can feel by the way he delicately chooses his words, his heart wanting to give you only the best ones. But if he truly is meant to be yours, if he really is the one picked for you, then the flaws the comprise your whole may well be ingrained within him.

Automatically, you love them. Without question, you accept them. But if you have been resistant than so too has he, and nothing about you two will ever be as simple as surrender.

‘Chanyeol…’ you begin, sentences dying before you can birth them.

But he stops you, his deep gasp of surprise making your mouth close abruptly. Again, movement rustles, clothing and sheets jostling as you imagine him sitting up in bed. His hand covers his lips, breath muffled and exhales starting to shake. Hearing his name has startled him, shaken him, moved something within him neither of you knew existed. Saying his name has forced a tether between you into existence, and your own heart starts to race.

In your chest it flutters, battling mightily against the flood of adrenaline his name unleashes. Tightness builds in your throat, eyes searching wildly for a reprieve from the tension that wracks your body, and you suddenly have the passing sensation that these emotions are his, joy and elation combined with an all encompassing sensation of confusion and need. It’s too much for one body to take, too much for one heart to feel, and together, in unison, you cough, urgently trying to seek relief from all the sentiment.

‘You remembered,’ he whispers, and it is clear he is crying. His voice is a broken, fragile thing, amazed, and trapped perilously in a state of disbelief.

In him you hear the fear, the terror of being forgotten, the trauma of being left behind. Your name on his lips is a holiness, a sanctity he could not fathom, and will likely never forget. At once, you are jealous, needy in your desire to have your own name roll off his tongue. You think he’d kiss it, savor it, refuse to let it go until his mouth had sucked it clean and purified it.

You want it almost as much as you want him.

‘I -’ you stammer, suddenly frantic.

But the song changes, Bowie suddenly replaced with The National, and you lose him entirely.

The absence in your headphones feels like a cavern, your heart and your soul suddenly hollowed. A great distance has been made, between you and all the things you want, between you and yourself. Your body lingers but all your goodness, all your kindness have seemingly disappeared, departed from you to be with a boy who weeps beneath the weight of ardor.

You blink once, twice, hoping to bring the magic back but find that, where everything before was vivid and bright now, the world around you is terribly beige.

The remaining length of your bus ride is spent swimming: in your thoughts, in your memories, in the feeling of waste. Waste and wasted, time slipping between your fingers and leaving you with fragments of a heart, pieces of a love, shards of a need that cannot be put back together. Building yourself into someone presentable for Kate takes effort, a considerable amount of thought that makes your gaze blur as you turn inward. You stare straight ahead, eyes seeing the stops on the screen come and go, arm robotically reaching to push STOP when letters fall in the correct order.

When you reach the pub, you’re thankful Kate is not there, glad for the minutes you have to yourself. The bartender takes your order, and even as you say the words you aren’t entirely sure what you order. A glass filled with amber is handed to you, and you nod, feeling curt and impolite though he does not seem phased.

You slide into an empty booth, claiming the side that faces the door to rid yourself of any surprises. The air around you stirs too easily, makes your skin crawl and your mind worry you will be caught doing something you shouldn’t. Thinking about Chanyeol, thinking about love, thinking about why everything feels terribly misplaced and misordered. Thinking on if this thoughts are truly ones you should be having at all.

Anxious, you bring your glass your lips to make yourself look busy, sipping if only to make yourself appear you have a purpose. It settles you, somehow, and you are glad you managed to order cider.

When Kate arrives she wears delight on her lips and cheeks as though it was made just for her. She moves quickly and elegantly through the pub, the inherent joy that flows throughout her somehow making her weightless.

Seeing you, her brow furrows, and quickly straighten your back as you fix a smile on your features. The action feels odd, slightly grotesque for how you feel, and you know undoubtedly it does not reach your eyes.

‘Hi,’ you manage, cringing slightly at the strain in your voice.

Kate frowns, eyes moving over you as she swiftly takes you in. Concern wrinkles the corners of her eyes, hands folded primly on the table.

‘What's with you?’ she asks, cutting straight to the point.

‘What?’ Feigning ignorance raises the volume of your response to an uncomfortable level, a shocked non admission that gives you away.

Widening her eyes at the volume, she smiles impishly. ‘You look like you've seen a ghost.’

True to her nature, you know she reads you, sees straight through to the heart of you, and will make you say the words that plague you. Her gaze pulls at you delicately, tugging gently until you're eager to share and explain everything. Patiently, she sits across from you and waits, eyeing the condensation of your cider before bringing her inquisitive stare back to you, pleasant, yet knowing, smile at her lips.

It feels too soon to give her what she deserves, not because you do not want to, but because you simply can't. Every explanation feels empty and unjust, every word tarnished as though immediately doing a great disservice to how compressed into yearning you truly feel.

So instead, your brain fires quickly, races through and between your options and comes away with a meek, halfhearted retort.

‘I have indeed seen a ghost,’ you tease, turning your voice low and dark. ‘It's been weeks since I've seen you.’

Rolling her eyes, she laughs and leans back into her seat. And, for just one moment, you are relieved.

‘What, you thought I’d disappear?’

‘Well,’ you shrug slightly, idly running your fingers over your glass, ‘you saw what happened with Maria. If she didn’t have Twitter I’d assume she was dead.’

‘I got brunch with her last week,’ she counters, slightly incredulous.

‘Ah, yes. The soulmate club.’ You don't mean for the words to come across so harshly, weighed down by the memory of your friend, your friendship group, and the way it was so easily fractured by love. ‘You’re bonded now so that means you get mimosas with strawberries and, I don’t know, duck pate.’

‘I hate pate,’ Kate mutters, grabbing a lunch menu and refusing to comment on Maria and Jimin and precedence and the splinters of an aching heart.

Reaching to the side of the table, you grab your own menu and decide to focus on the friend who has chosen you in conjunction with her soulmate.

‘Same,’ you agree, frowning slightly at the idea of pate. ‘How’s Baekhyun?’

Glancing up from your menu, you study her reaction at the sound of his name, wondering if this is how you look when Chanyeol speaks. It's gradual, the way she smiles without looking up, the tug turning her smirk into a grin that feels like seeing the sun. The glow, however, is instant, blossoming from beneath her cheeks at the sound. She grows into herself, blooms and sits a little taller, as if his name alone has given her wings.

‘Good,’ she affirms, though the eagerness in her voice gives her away. ‘We had our first fight the other night.’

At this, you snort, regarding her with a sardonic grin. ‘You say that like it’s the best thing that ever happened to you.’

‘Well,’ she nods airily, ignoring your expression in favor affirmation, ‘it was kind of amazing.’

Narrowing your eyes, you smirk as your drop your menu. ‘Fighting?’

‘No,’ she laughs, shaking her head, ‘after.’

Eyes wide, your own laugh matches her volume. ‘The sex?’

‘I mean, that too.’ Setting her menu down, she looks at you suddenly serious. ‘But it was how easily we forgave one another, even after all the harsh words.. It cleared up so quickly, with no resentment.’

Earlier conversations swim in your mind, lucid memories of your critical regard for soulmates. The topic of fighting, you always said, was contentious as you couldn't imagine there should be any, that, if a person was made for you, surely you’d be aligned on issues.

Kate watches you carefully, pointedly as though examining how you let the words build tension in your jaw and shoulders, your own mind reeling at her announcement. She means to unmake you, means to dismantle your opinions and build new ones in their wake, slowly and with a smile.

Bristling, you drop your eyes to your hands, pressing against the table as though grounding yourself, knowing full well her intentions. Looking at her now would give you away, show her that you have already started rearranging your system of beliefs, partnered and in unison with hands you have never felt.

‘Isn’t that how normal arguments are supposed to be?’ you ask mildly, hoping she does not hear you.

Visibly, Kate seems to soften. ‘Yes, in an ideal world.’ There's a gentle tenderness to her voice, different from how she'd usually counter all your arguments.‘You know it rarely happens that way.’

Shrugging, you sigh, trying to imagine raised voice and clipped words fitting into a space usually comprised of intense ardor and devotion. ‘I just didn’t think soulmates fought.’

‘We’re human of course we’re going to fight!’ she laughs, sympathetically.

‘Sure,’ you concede, brow furrowed from the effort of picturing what you think is an impossible thing, ‘but aren’t you supposed to be perfect for one another?’

‘Fundamentally, yes,’ she nods, ‘but that doesn’t mean you just stop being your own person.’

Hard to consider, you think, when the ownership of your own thoughts and feelings seems to be halved. Chanyeol has taken part ownership of you, moved in simply because you gave an unspoken form of permission, and now you cannot fathom every fighting against him. Not that you can’t, simply that you don’t want to.

‘Maybe you’re right,’ you murmur dismissively, eyes darting around the pub to seek distraction.

Kate watches you momentarily, a smirk playing with her features as studies the way you look everywhere and nowhere, avoiding her gaze simply out of self-preservation. ‘What’s up with you?’

Biting your lip, you look back at her and feel your eyes go wide from the effort of remaining under her stare. ‘Hmm?’ you hum.

Leaning forward, she folds her hands on the table and forces her features into an impassive expression. ‘You gave up on that pretty quickly. What’s happened?’

A shiver rolls down your spine, the pressing concern in her voice suddenly making you feel terribly exposed. Always, she gets under your skin and pulls at the honesty you keep tucked beneath your tongue. Now, her fingers are seeing Chanyeol, seeking the sudden shift in your perception of reality, and, for the first time in the years you have known her, you fight against her touch.

The truth tumbles around your throat, desperately seeking an ear to listen, begging to be freed but the words, you think, feel wrong. About everything you are wholly uncertain, unable to label thought, feeling, action, and whim with appropriate terms. Announcing anything now would feel like a lie, feel like giving something away before you have truly been given a chance to learn or adore it, and so you keep silent, gnawing on your tongue as though your teeth could carve an answer.

‘Did you bond?’ she urges, lowering her voice as though this kind of surprise is too important for an eager mouth.

Hearing the words somehow makes it easier for you to process it, as though the acknowledgement somehow gives you permission to process it as a truth. Your body caves in on itself, somewhat defeated in your inability to understand the why and the how, even though the adrenaline of saying yes makes your veins feel like fire.

Drawing your glass closer to your as you lean forward, you sigh. ‘No,’ you begin, though you immediately scowl at the wrongness of the statement. ‘Maybe,’ you clarify, though even that too feels inaccurate. ‘I’m not sure.’

Bemused, Kate watches your inner turmoil as though she recognizes a similar battle of conflict. Fingers pressing against your glass to ground your mind in the coolness, you find it unfair she chooses to empathise with you at all, her own bonding so vivid and clear and simple.

‘How can you not be sure?’ she asks, gently, but even this makes your stomach turn.

‘Because it’s so inconsistent,’ you snap, suddenly invigorated and gesticulating wildly. ‘It isn’t like I get a clear cut number of when I’m meeting a person, it happens with music -’

Kate’s sudden laughter cuts you off, her eyes wide with shock as she covers her mouth, feigning politeness.

Frowning at her reaction, you slump back in your seat. ‘What?’

Waving her hand, she catches her breath. ‘That’s so you,’ she begins, calming herself down, ‘I’m sorry, really. I didn’t mean to laugh, that was so rude of me. But you laughed when I said Covent Garden. This is very you, you have to admit.’

Thinking back to the day Kate told you she bonded, in a pub similar to this, you realize you did the same. You laughed, surprised and alarmed that something so her would have resulted in something so big. Butterfly wings take flight in your stomach, lifted now by the idea that maybe you too could have been lucky with something so inherently personal. The elation, however, lasts only for a moment, hopes and wishes stifled by the reality of your memory.

‘Okay, yes, it really is,’ you concede, smiling though you are sure it appears sad. ‘But it doesn’t last, I can’t keep it. It’s only happened twice in a month.’

Saying it outloud, much like the admission of possibility, allows your shoulders to feel slightly unburdened. Though, this, you think, feels entirely different, soaked in despair at the understanding your bond simply does not stay.

Cocking her head to the side, Kate softens her expression and reaches a hand towards you in support. ‘What happens?’

Body bracing as though for a fall, you close your eyes and think of yourself as in the moment, bring to life Chanyeol’s breathing and calculate why and how it starts. It’s futile, you know, aware that there is no science in this magic, but still you wish for simplicity, for surrender. Breaking the memories apart bit by bit, you seek a pattern and find none, only that it starts and then it ends, and, sometimes, it does not start at all.

‘I don’t know,’ you manage, sounding lost and filled with an extraordinary longing. ‘I read all the stories about people hearing their soulmate’s thoughts and how quickly it happens.’

Pausing, you regard her outstretched hand, gaze following the line of her wrist and up to the pale numbers beneath her skin. For a moment, you let your gaze linger, silently assessing your thoughts and yourself. Taking her hand, you continue once more.

‘I mean, even with you,’ you say, nodding in the direction of the numbers. Kate lowers her gaze briefly, studies them with a softness the makes the corners of her eyes relax, before looking back at you. ‘You had the clock and when it was counting there was nothing and now that you have him, you have so many somethings. Like, a lot of something.’

Tightness in your chest begins to build, moving through your heart and lungs like wildfire. Squeezing your eyes closed, you will your emotions to settle, will yourself to live through the give and take of hope with dignity. Questions burn at your mind, the thought of wanting something with Chanyeol versus wanting everything; the variance between if and is; the unbearable weight of certainty matched against the agony of assumption, and frown at the intangibility of all these things.

In the end, the only thing you really have is the knowledge that you are a little more hollow in the wake of wanting.

‘Yeah,’ Kate says after considering your words, ‘but you’re not technically hearing his thoughts.’

Keeping silent, you study her features and urge her to continue.

‘You say it happens over music?’

‘Yes.’ You hate that it sounds tired, wilted. A conversation like this, you think, should turn your voice into something emphatic, gregarious in its joy.

‘You’re not hearing what’s in his head,’ she reasons, ‘just the fact that you both are listening to music and connecting.’

You want her explanation to feel sweet, want to take hold of it and run freely with it. Something like this should feel victorious, but instead you are burdened by comparison.

Nodding, you let impatience bite at your words and do not apologize for the sharpness of your tongue. ‘Sure, but shouldn’t I be able to bring him to me whenever I want? Isn’t that how this works?’

‘I don’t think there’s a standard for how bonding works,’ she urges, evenly. ‘It’s different for each person.’

‘Well it’s annoying,’ you whine, instantly regretting the tempestuousness of your tone. ‘And it doesn’t...feel like he’s my soulmate.’

The moment you say the words, deep fragments within your heart and soul begin to ache. Scorned, is the word that lingers in the bile the thought brings to your tongue. Ignored, is the flavor of the fire in your joints. Hissing, you lean back in your seat and breathe through the pain, wondering if this is your agony or his.

‘Do you feel any different?’ comes Kate’s voice, distant through the pain of unintended rejection.

‘I’m certainly more confused,’ you manage, and this is not a lie.

‘You know what I mean.’

Taking a deep breath, you focus on the feeling of presence and disregard absence. Hard to fathom, when all of you wishes for his fingers between yours, but somehow you bring him forward. Somehow, your mind lingers in the memory of his as though he is beside you.

Letting yourself get lost, you find you have no real way to describe the transience he brings to your skin, and struggle even more with the language necessary to explain your beating heart. ‘How am I supposed to feel?’

‘Warmed,’ she says, somewhat confidently, and you’re amazed she can even articulate the depth of her love. ‘Inside and out. Safe, too, but not because you’ve found them, simply because you know they exist. Moved, deeply, like your heart is making room for things without your permission, but you’re okay with it.’

It’s a familiar feeling, the one that comes with the sound of his voice. The feeling that, somehow, spaces in your heart have been made and are suddenly filled, without you knowing when or how. But she does not have the after, she does not have the loss, and this you suffer alone. This, you think, is not what soulmates give each other.

This kind of pain, is not endemic to love.

And so you keep your eyes closed, let yourself bathe in a darkness that feels like Chanyeol’s skin, and whisper your response. ‘That sounds terribly heavy.’

You do not see her, but you imagine Kate is satisfied with her explanation. You hear her sit back in her seat and pick up her menu once more as she speaks. ‘It is.’

It takes you several minutes before you can bring yourself to open your eyes, doing so only once you hear Kate rise to order her meal. After swimming in darkness for so long, the world around you feels like a fog, dimmed and muted, and you silently miss the way Chanyeol seemed to brighten the world. Pressing your hands into the table once more, your fingers find a carved groove in the table that tickles at your skin.

Focusing on nothing, your let your fingers move over and over the carving, following the shape of a C without committing it to memory.