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breyito · 3 months ago

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Fear your sins, not your monsters: Part Three: Paths Converging

Continuation of Day 1 and 2 of @painlandweek

Part 1 Part 2 Chapters: 3/5 Fandom: Dead Boy Detectives (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic depictions of violence Relationships: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne/Charles Rowland, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Charles Rowland, Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne & Crystal Palace Characters: Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Charles Rowland (DCU) Additional Tags: Protective Edwin Paine | Edwin PayneUnhinged Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Violence, Torture, Hurt Charles Rowland (DCU), Sickfic, love language: acts of service, painlandweek, BAMF Edwin Paine | Edwin Payne, Angst with a Happy Ending

Here on AO3

A/N: Hello! I'm so, so sorry about the delay! My ADHD has been kicking my ass for the last couple of weeks and istg i feel like i can't do anything. Anyways. I had to split this chapter in half, cause it was getting ridiculously long again, and I wasnt going to finish the rest of it today. (I have this new app on my phone that is voice-to-text and it changed my life! All the dialogues i keep forgetting bc of lack of energy to write i can just *dictate* and it feels so good lol. It also lenghtened this quite a bit, tho.) No moodboard for this one either, not yet. I'll try to make one tomorrow (or in a few hours, as it is, once again, 5am). No beta and English is not my native language, so any mistakes please point them out. I hope you enjoy this one! I'm very curious about what you'll think of this one ;P Oh, WARNING:This contains violence, threats of rape towards Charles and other children's souls, etc.

Part Three: Paths Converging

They headed back to the office. On the way, Crystal with her phone in her ear, Edwin had explained the general gist of things to her. Mainly that the other ghost hadn’t known the location of the lair of the witch, but had visited a few times. To allow him to travel there via mirror, she had given him a token attuned to him and his energy. They could use the token, but not to travel with it more than once; and definitely not to escape the place. (Not to mention that Crystal would have never let Edwin go on his own alone, without even the possibility of helping him. She was glad, still, that the ghost boy had not even suggested that.)

“So how can we use it?” she asked, looking right at him, as she plopped down on the couch. They were inside the office now and nosy taxi drivers couldn’t watch her suspiciously anymore. Also, she was exhausted and couldn’t bother with more acting for a couple of hours.

Edwin had gone straight to the massive pile of books on top of every single flat surface, including boxes full of files. He had looked at the books covering the desk for a full thirty seconds and then sent a wave of the black smoke at them, and they actually began moving on their own towards the floor. Crystal was…ignoring that for now, for the sake of her sanity. (How many things was she already ignoring?)

“I think I can combine a couple of rituals to create a sort of…tether, between Charles and myself.” he replied to her, as he removed his outer layers. “This would, basically, allow us to communicate with him and follow his energy to the place where the witch has absconded him.”

“Don’t tethers usually need something more physical to work?” she questioned, curious. At least that’s what the book she had been reading before their last case went wildly off course had said. Maybe the black smoke allowed him to tweak the limits?

“I have something more physical of his.” Edwin said, touching Charles’ necklace still around his neck. ”And for me, well, some blood or the ghost equivalent should work.” His eyes showed his mind went far, far away for a couple of moments. She said nothing, remembering the sudden rush of cold, dark, wet she had felt the last time she touched it. Edwin eventually shook off the melancholy and straightened his posture.

“I will need to compile the different arrays and rites I need to build this ritual. It will take me at least a few hours, so I suggest you rest up.”

“Are you sure I can’t help you…?” she asked, despite knowing he probably wouldn’t let her. Building rituals from scratch was a whole new area and she had exactly zero experience with that.

“Crystal.” He sighed, already spreading an alarming amount of books on the now clean desk. “I don’t mean to be rude, but unless you have a working knowledge of any of the Celtic languages, Aramaic, Latin or Fuþorc Runes I’ll ask you to keep out of it.”

“Okay, okay.” she rolled her eyes. Kicking her shoes off, she got comfortable on the couch and covered herself with the blanket. “But wake me up if you need to leave, alright?” she mumbled, half asleep already. “I don’t wanna panic if you’re not there when I wake up…”

Several hours later, Edwin shook her awake. Still woozy from sleep, she understood he needed a specific kind of knife he didn’t have but knew where to get. And that he had to travel by mirror to the place. She mumbled her understanding to him, and he left.

It was only when she was about to drop back into a deep sleep that her brain actually zoned in to the important part. She sat up on the couch so suddenly she felt dizzy.

“ Esther Finch’s fucking house!?” she yelled at the flat mirror, frustrated beyond belief. “Are you shitting me , Edwin!?” she cursed at the empty office. She creamed into the pillow a bit more, then got up. At least this should give her time to shower.

—-- —-- —--

Edwin really doesn’t want to go back to Port Townsend. The place was bleak, damp and filled with memories of suffering. Whether it is mental, emotional or physical; he’d experienced more pain in that little town in a single month than in the rest of the world in the last fifteen years.

But Charles was missing. Taken by another witch with a penchant for sick, twisted games and children’s pain. The ritual he came up with was novel and needed every single element to work. The dagger was fundamental. Edwin could not risk wasting more time looking for another knife with the same qualities when he already knew the location of one.

So he travelled to Port Townsend via mirror. He landed in Crystal’s old room above Jenny’s shop, and walked up to the house in a disguise. It was better than trying to travel directly inside Finch’s house, which surely had enchantments against ghosts using her mirrors that way.

As soon as his feet landed inside a ten metre radius, he could feel the repellent wards telling him to go away. This magic felt different than Finch’s. Probably the Cat King, then. Or maybe Tragic Mick? He ignored the compulsion, and kept walking up the path into the porch.

He took off his glasses before reaching the stairs, and became his true self again. A loud caw immediately greeted him. He paused and looked back, and saw Monty in his true form on a tree branch. The pause allowed the crow to land in the handrail of the porch, exuding an air of disapproval. Edwin sighed.

“I need to get something from inside this house.” he said, focusing on one of the crows’ eyes. “I’m not going to-” he paused before he promised something he couldn’t keep. Because he couldn’t promise not to hurt someone with what he took from inside. “I’m going to get something from inside this house.” He said instead. “And you are not going to stop me.”

Monty lifted into the air, agitated, cowing. His wings produced so much wind that Edwin took a step back, but then straightened up and pulled his notebook and held it open with one hand.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Monty.” he stated. “But I will if you try to stop me.” His other hand opened and a bright orange flame erupted, tinged with wisps of black. An alarmed cry made Edwin feel like garbage, but he held the flame on his palm. In control, but ready to attack.

The crow flew off then, shrill caws on his way. Edwin took a deep breath and extinguished the fire, wiping his hand on his coat. He pocketed his notebook and climbed the stairs. Fortunately, he went in as easily as he had done for Becky.

By the time Edwin had found the dagger, and snatched a book that looked like it had been involved in the creation of the ghastly machine that so much pain it had caused him; it was already too late. He felt a pulse of energy from outside, and cursed under his breath. He could try to undo the spells on the mirrors of the house, but that would take too long. So he sighed and marched outside.

“Edwin, Edwin, Edwin. You don't write, you don't call…” the Cat King said with a fake moue. Edwin looked up and saw Monty flying in circles above their heads. Little snitch , he thought, resentful.

“Cat King.” he said, nodding in respect, trying to walk around him. “I'm just leaving.” But diplomacy never worked on him.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk.” The other man clicked his tongue, stepping in Edwin’s path. The ghost boy stopped where he was, not willing to get closer.

“What do you think you are doing, entering the house of the Wicked Witch of the West?” The shapeshifter asked, sauntering around him. He was wearing heeled boots, and it added a little height difference that irked Edwin.

“I already have what I came here looking for. Now, if you please, I'm in a hurry.” Edwin tried to give another step, but the Cat King walked closer again, forcing him to step back. He was not putting himself in reach again. Monty cowed, flying faster, agitated.

“No. I don't think I please.” he tilted his head. “Knowledge like Esther's is dangerous. And I just can't let you leave with something dangerous.” The trickster’s tone was still playful, and it was grating on Edwin’s nerves.

“Knowledge is just knowledge.” the detective said, exasperated. “And I'm not asking you for permission.” he countered, snappish, head held high. “You're wasting my time .” The Cat King’s eyes shone.

“You should always have time for me, dear.” he said, smile cutting. “I can always just trap you here again, Edwin.” He offered, the smile still on.

“...And I can always start killing your subjects until you let me leave. But we are not doing that, are we, Thomas? ” he smirked back, biting. There was something cold in those green eyes that made the shifter want to shiver. The faint wisps of black coming up from the ground were certainly unnerving. Monty screeched in alarm and abruptly landed on a branch several metres down.

“You know my name.” the Cat King realised, stepping back.

“I do. I know a lot of things about you now.” the ghost added, taking a step forward. “You like to play games . But I already knew that, from last time.” Edwin took another step closer. “The difference is, Charles is not with me right now. And I don't have a lot of patience for games when he is in danger.” he snarled.

“So that is why you're doing this? For him? You came all the way to America, to the house where you were tortured in, just for him ?” Thomas asked, indignant.

“I would do many more things for him.” Edwin stated, staring right into those yellow eyes, daring. The shifter scoffed, leaning closer, looking down at the ghost.

“Like threatening me?” The man asked, incredulous.

“I'm not threatening you. I'm warning you.” Edwin said, looking up, teeth bared. It looked more like a show of aggression from a cornered animal than a smile. “You're either on my side, or standing in my fucking way. And I'll get through anything standing in my way to get to him.” Their faces were only a few centimetres apart now, noses almost touching.

Thomas knew, in that moment, that Edwin was being completely honest. He seemed not to care a single bit what could happen to him as long as he could leave to go help his little friend. Nor what enemies he could leave behind. The Cat King felt a bit peeved about it, quite hot under the collar, and a lot jealous. That kind of loyalty to another person, to the point of detriment to yourself? He’d never felt it nor had he had it. It was alluring , damn it.

“Deathly little thing, aren’t you?” he whispered to this mysterious boy, unwillingly feeling more attracted to him still. The tension between them finally broke when Edwin’s lips formed a teasing smile and his eyes softened a little.

“Only when I have to.” he whispered back, before breaking his gaze and pressing the faintest of kisses on Thomas’ jaw, surprising him. He then sidestepped him and walked out of the yard.

By the time the Cat King turned around, Edwin was already jumping into a puddle, travelling to where he needed to be. Monty cowed twice and Thomas felt the hidden amusement.

“Oh, shut it, bird-boy. Like you didn’t defy your witch for him, even after he rejected you.” he snapped.

—-- —-- —--

Charles woke up all at once, gasping. He was sopping wet and chained to the ceiling. The metal of the chains was iron, and they were burning every part of his body that touched them. He was still only wearing his trousers, felt his extremities numb with cold and some of his curls had crusted over with ice.

When his eyes got used to the dim room, he could see it was the same basement he had been trapped in since the beginning. The only real difference was that he wasn’t alone this time. There was a woman on the corner, deep in the shadows. For what he could see, she was pretty fit. Charles might have looked twice if he had seen her on the street. But with her wild blonde hair, tight red dress and tall boots; she looked like she was wearing a halloween costume that couldn’t decide if it was vampire or witch. A large white spider, with its eyes closed, peacefully placed inside her hair didn’t help matters. He had almost missed it.

“You’re finally awake!” she cheered, getting closer. “Now we can finally get started .” her grin was dangerous and the boy felt a shiver go down his spine.

Taking advantage of the fact that his feet barely touch the ground, she spun him around, making him lose balance. His knee buckled under him and his whole weight was left suspended from his shoulders until he managed to find his footing again. He was trembling even worse after that, and tears of frustration began leaking from his eyes.

“Are you crying? How cute .” she cooed, grabbing his face and licking the trail the drop had left on his cheek. ”I’d give you a comfort kiss, but I don’t snog anyone that’s not my man.”

“You. Are. Crazy.” Charles said, leaning away from her. The spider opened its eyes and winked with half of them, waving two of its legs. The shivers got worse.

“Don’t be like that, poppet. Everything I’m doing is for love.”

“ Love ?” he repeated, sceptical.

“Yes! I’m gonna get the love of my life back, and you’re gonna help me.”

“I don’t know anything about love potions or spells; we don’t mess with that shite.” Charles explained, weary. The witch snorted, the spider wiggled, like it was laughing too. (Was this her familiar? Did it share the same amount of sentience as Monty? Somehow, that thought was terrifying).

“Pffff, I don’t mean like that . My boo and I were tragically separated when he was killed by the police and then he got dragged to Hell! ” she huffed. “Like, what even? I just want him back .”

Usually, Charles was willing to give everyone a chance to explain themselves. It’s not like the system was flawless. Good souls could be sent to Hell, like it had happened with Edwin.

However, since he was still shivering from the literal torture this woman had put him through (torture she implied her ‘boo’ would enjoy); he would go out on a limb an bet the bloke completely deserved his tenure in Hell.

“And why was he killed by the police?” he asked anyway, already tired of dealing with this. The chat was a step up from the freezing water, but the talk itself so far was three steps down from the earlier solitude.

“Because his stupid best friend and he decided to rob a bank!” she exclaimed, clearly miffed. This time, when she grabbed him to spin him around, her nails left deep scratches, burning and bleeding. This bitch had iron in her nail polish, apparently. “They were caught doing that. I mean, you have to give it to the pigs. They really messed up on that one.”she laughed. “They were caught and got done in as fucking robbers. They didn't even search their flat! They just killed them and left them at the morgue. They never found out that we were the ones dropping the mangled bodies everywhere.”

“You're sick.” Charles said, swallowing, as he found his rooting again.

“Oh, baby, of course I am. Didn't I tell you already? I love making people break, playing with them.” She licked her lips, seductive. The ghost boy just felt nauseous. “What I love even more is watching my man do it for me. And that's why you're going to help me bring him back.”

“From Hell ?” He asked, incredulous. “Even if I wanted to, I couldn't help you. Edwin is the one with the knowledge of Hell and its paths, not me. You chose the wrong one of us to kidnap.”

“I don’t think I did. Word is, you are the one that I saved him from hell this time.” she smiled. She put her extended arm on his shoulder and placed her weight on the claw-like nails sinking in the muscle there. He felt blood dripping down his back. The spider began walking down her shoulder and onto her arm. Leaning in until their faces almost touched, she looked him dead in the eyes, despite his efforts to keep the blasted thing in his line of sight.

“I did, yeah.” He admitted. “But I had help. I had someone else, much more powerful than I or you ever could be. They opened a portal down to Hell and they kept it open until we got back. You can't do that.” He swallowed. “Can you?” he couldn’t stop himself from asking, now looking at the spider.

Cursing, she pushed him back and started roaming the room, hands wildly gesturing. The spider had quickly climbed up to her head again. Charles had lost his balance and was spinning again, but at least that beast was not near him. He took her cursing as a negative to his question. Charles wanted to believe this was good news (he dreaded the thought of that man anywhere but Hell), but you never knew how others were going to react when you didn’t give them the information they wanted. This woman? Completely bonkers. Hopefully she would just let him in here, until Edwin rescued him. Suddenly, she stopped in the middle of the basement.

“Hmm, maybe I can't open up a portal. But I can make a deal with a demon so that I can get into hell.” She was smiling again. “And you will help me find my way out.”

“A deal with a demon is a terrible idea. Besides, lady, even if I tell you all I know about hell, which I won’t do. The level Edwin was at? It was terrible, but it wasn't that deep. The level your boo must be in… it has to be one of the deepest and darkest ones, just based on what you describe me you two did, to people.”

“I can think of a few things I can offer the demon so that he helps me.” she countered, now pensive instead of agitated.

“Like what?”

“Like you, your soul. Essence, whatever. Or one of the others’.” Charles was almost afraid to ask.

“Others?”

“Oh, yeah. I've been collecting little souls as gifts for my boyfriend when he comes back. Since, you know, he won't be able to interact with the living now he is dead and will become a ghost.”

“... Little souls?” he asked again, disgusted. He tried leaning away, but she plunged her nails into his face to keep his eyes on her.

“Yeah, the souls of little ones!” she smiled, and it was a terrible smile. A wild hunger seemed to seep from her feverish eyes. “He's not that much into kids. He prefers young people, teenagers, you know.” she winked at him, suggestive.

“So he's a paedophile, but not that much of a paedophile?” Charles mocked, deciding to ignore the implications.

She let go of his face only to slap him hard, hard enough to leave deep gouges from the iron on the nails she wore.

“He hates that word!” she screamed, offended. “He just… really loves young people.” The sheer incredulity must have shown on his face, because she just continued. “Anyways, I was collecting these souls so he could play with them when he comes back, you know? I bet he will be in a foul mood, and I just thought 'well what better way to cheer him up than letting him blow off some steam on a couple souls he will find pleasing?’ ' I took great care in ensuring they were innocent, as well. The responses to all the pain and the bit of little pleasure here and there that we can teach them are always the best .” she sighed, dreamy. “And ghosts are so much more resilient! We can play with you and play with you and play with you until you break.” She said, eyes evaluating him up and down. “And then we can start all over again!” she laughed.

Charles puked all over the floor.

"You truly are," he said in disgusted awe " the most despicable person I've ever met. And a few months ago I was at the mercy of a witch that cannibalised little girls. "

“Oh, cannibalism.” she hummed. “That sounds fun, doesn’t it, Ari?” she cooed at her familiar, reaching for the thing. “You have to get me her number.” she said to him.

Charles spat at her. It barely touched her face before she shrieked and sent him crashing to the back of the room. The chains had fallen from the ceiling and onto his torso, burning him terribly.

“And you need to learn some manners." She said as he screamed from the sudden agony. Then she turned her back on him and walked towards the door. "I guess I will just leave you to repeat the cycle until you have had enough."

Charles’ last coherent thought before he was dropped under the thick frozen layer of water of the lake instead of through the ice as always, was that Edwin and he would absolutely need to save those poor spirits.

—-- —-- —--

“That took longer than you said it would.” Crystal said as soon as he stepped through the mirror into the office. “Did the house not let you in?” she asked, remembering how they had just phased through the walls last time.

“The house gave me no problem at all.” Edwin answered, placing the knife on the desk. “It was Monty, actually.” he explained, with a grimace. “I had an encounter with the Cat king,” Crystal’s eyebrow went up “but not much came out of it. He was very insistent about not letting any kind of knowledge leave that witch's house.” He took off his coat and his gloves and, uncharacteristically, threw them onto the couch. It was the only free surface, she supposed. “Which would normally be a good thing, but in these circumstances, I could not abide by it.”

“And did he give you any trouble?” she questioned, sceptical.

“He tried to threaten me, so I just…threatened him back.” Edwin said, unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, trying to play it off as unimpressive. Yeah, Crystal was not gonna let that one slide.

“ You threatened the Cat King?” she said, incredulous. “He left you trapped in Port Townsend for weeks!”

“Ah, but I didn't know anything about him back then.” He countered. “And I wasn't dabbling in anything more dangerous than usual. And perhaps the most important thing of all…” Edwin started, leafing through his notes.

“...It was you in danger, not Charles.” Crystal interrupted, finishing the idea.

“Exactly.” He said, pleased that she understood this about him by now.

As they began prepping the materials for this massive ritual, she managed to corroborate that it was far beyond anything they had shown her so far. The ritual seemed so complicated. Beyond the dagger that he had to pick up from the other side of the world, it required them to move every single piece of furniture against the walls, then grabbing the bathroom mirror for a later use.

After that, they placed a bedsheet on the floor, drawing a big circle on it with black chalk, and drew a set of runes inside it, near the centre. Then Edwin grabbed Charles' backpack, and took out a bottle full of a viscous dark liquid. He then lit a dozen candles inside the marked circle, each one in its specific place. A wave of different smells assaulted Crystal’s nose. She supposed that ghosts weren’t bothered by it since they couldn't smell much. She tried very hard not to sneeze.

Edwin retrieved two different cups from a cupboard, one made from silver and one from crystal, and poured the liquid from the bottle inside the silver one. For the other, he took out Esther’s knife from his pocket and sliced his forearm with it. Blood tinted with ectoplasm began to pour inside the empty cup, and once it was three quarters full he removed the wound from it to avoid overspilling. He slid two fingers over the wound and the black smoke that was becoming familiar to Crystal ate up the blood and sealed the wound. Then, he reached for Charles' chain around his neck and took it off. Gently, he let it fall inside the cup that had his blood. He took a big piece of parchment paper, those old ones that you see only in movies, yellowed with age, thick, and coarse to the touch.

With a grimace, he sank his fingers into the first cup. A low hum came from his throat, sounding almost like words but not really. He began writing symbols with the blood onto the parchment. With the other hand, he began tracing the same symbols again, on another blank sheet of parchment, on top of the first one. These symbols were mirrored, and written with his own blood from the second cup. Once he was done, a string of Latin came out of his lips, and the second set of symbols lifted up in the air, glowing golden light, and fused into the first set, on the first sheet of parchment. The other parchment disintegrated as soon as the last trace of blood left the paper.

Edwin let out a breath Crystal hadn't noticed he was holding. Done, he took the parchment, and began ripping it in pieces, keeping each symbol inside its own square of paper, and placed the symbols inside the circle according to the instructions written down by his own hand. The bloody symbols then sank through the paper and sealed themselves to the linen fabric. Edwin waved his hand and all the blank pieces of paper flew from the array. Then he took the necklace from inside the second cup and put it into the first cup.

He took the bathroom mirror, and placed it in the middle of the circle array spell, then took the necklace out of the cup and flicked it in the air where it remained still, frozen in place at about two metres high. The symbols on the bedsheet and the blood on the necklace pulsed with golden energy every couple of heartbeats.

“I need you,” he started to say, very clearly, “to not, for any reason, enter the circle.”

“All right” she said, heart beating like crazy.

“Whatever I ask you to bring me, you will put it inside the circle without touching inside it.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Edwin repeated, breathing deep. He knelt beside the foggy mirror on the floor and began writing on it with his finger. At the same time, he spoke up, to keep her in the loop. “Charles? Are you there?”

Charles

are you there?

#fear your sins not your monsters #payneland #painland week #edwin payne #charles rowland #edwin x charles #dead boy detectives #dbda

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bleue-flora · 2 months ago

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tbh to me c!sapnap is on the same level of betraying c!dream as c!sam. It may seem far-fetched considering what c!sam did and considering we don't have much real lore content with c!sapnap or c!dreamnap, but when you look at what we DO have, it's kind of a picture

like, he's not just some stupid or short-sighted character, as it might seem at first glance - we have a ton of evidence that he understands perfectly well that prison makes c!dream physically and mentally ill, but he agrees with it. In the dialogue with c!michael he literally says "dream fucked up, prison fucked him up in another sense, but it doesn't matter, cause dream has to get better and become *my* dream again, let him stay in prison and improve, even if it breaks him idc", like wtf is this? funny, but at the same time, c!sapnap doesn't visit dream more than once, how will he know that c!dream is making progress? In c!sapnap's head, prison is supposed to be a rehabilitation for c!dream, only no one checks his progress in stopping being a "fucked up", he either sits there completely alone or people go there to hurt him and c!sapnap understands and acknowledged it, but he doesn't give a shit. I'm sorry, but this gives off sam's "I thought I broke his will to do something like that". He obviously doesn't care about c!dream and just wants his good old *convenient* friend, and he doesn't care about the consequences.

But he's not just passively harming c!dream, he's doing it actively. If the threat could still be interpreted as an emotional outburst, something he could say and regret, then his other actions clearly say the opposite. Like, the dude literally stalked and harassed c!dream for months after he found out where he lived??

The revival book was more important to him than torture. Even in the beginning, he didn't care about c!dream's reputation, when c!wilbur and c!tommy dragged it into the dirt for no reason, and he repeatedly went against c!dream or supported things that directly harmed c!dream. For me, one of the most telling scenes is c!sapnap and c!george's meeting with mexican dream's ghost, where c!sapnap, without any reason, pins the explosion of El Rapids on c!dream, and then, when he finds out that actually c!quackity was the one who did it, c!sapnap immediately says that they urgently need to go and find out why he did it, to check if he's okay and all that. This is literally the attitude you'd expect from c!tommy, to attribute every bad event to c!dream, but no, this is his so-called best friend! And of course, he only wants to know the reasons for an action when someone else does a bad action, but not c!dream - well, of course, cause it's clear that c!dream reasons are "being evil" or smth.

So, I've been in my c!sapnap hate arc for over two years now and you all should join me lmao

I didn't think I'd write SO much, but emotions took over after reading the new chapter of your fic and some of your posts, sorry abt that :"^

[context a & b]

Honestly, in my opinion his betrayal is almost worse than Sam’s, which is saying something since he literally enabled and facilitated daily torture. But like Sam wasn’t Dream’s self proclaimed brother, and at least Sam’s delusion kinda makes sense. Sapnap is just like - the chicken tastes rubbery and overcooked, so I put it in the oven and then it tasted burnt, so I put it back in the oven to help the taste and at some point I’ll take it out of the oven and then it’ll taste good again. No idea how long that’ll take, and no don’t be ridiculous I’m not gonna check on it. I swear though if anyone touches my chicken before it tastes good again like so much as removes it from the oven or seasons it I’m gonna throw it in the trash… vs Sam who’s like - the chicken tastes rubbery but I spent money on it so I’m gonna put it in the oven and turn it to charcoal so at least then it won’t be a complete waste…

ya know? Like at least Sam was corrupted by power, financial benefit, manipulated a bit, and had the blood of a “child” on his hands. Sapnap doesn’t even have that, he has a life long best friend who he heard made a speech about not caring about anything and then later a speech about wanting to control everyone, a fish in a item frame and a letter saying “thanks for visiting”…

Well I don’t know about the “even if it breaks him” I don’t think he is thinking that directing about Dream’s suffering if that makes sense, but Sapnap is delusional no doubt. I also don’t know if he even cares that much about the book in general, he just doesn’t seem to given a damn about the torture. He seems to really just be about the fear of what Dream might do and how he needs to be stopped before that.

And you do have a point, in the beginning even as his “brother” he on many occasions went against him, down to the very first disc war where they killed him multiple times. I mean if Sapnap weren’t American, he’d have probably been right alongside clingy duo in L’manberg and stuff… oh I had no idea about the El Rapids thing but am also not surprised…

What do you even mean, I am literally an engineer of this Sapnap hate train 🚂 choo choo! I be shoveling coal to keep this engine running ya know. like literally the more lore I watch the more he actually just kills me.

but anyways, I mean you read the chapter (and presumably the one before) so you know my thoughts on Sapnap lol. ;D

#No worries lol I’m pretty sure contagious XD.#but anyways I mean you read the chapter (and presumably the one before) so you know my thoughts on Sapnap lol. ;D #dsmp #c!sapnap #c!dream and c!sapnap #hello there #dream smp #can you imagine being punz and Tommy in the finale talking about Dream just being simple in the beginning - it was just George… and Sapnap.#dreblr #did someone order an essay?

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zorosnavigator · 1 year ago

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So here's the promised part 2 of the Zonami fics rec!!

Part 1 can be found here

(i havent got the time to read or do much on this blog and post the rec with all college stuff last week and the beginning of class, sorry !!)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10264637/1/The-Bounty

Already recommended it in the 1st rec (author dreamsinword ) but i still put it again here because i'm in love with her writing, and frankly the experience not only made me smile like in the manga, (Zoro and Nami dynamics, (besides the obvious romantic tones) and the rest of the crew are on point! ) but it nails the characterization of everyone, and with OCs that you feel could belong in Oda's world!!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/37865146

(warnings: if ABO genre is not to your liking then dont read this one!)

So i only went through 1 chapter,( it has 11 chapters up) but so far (which is, not very far, but bear with me 😅) it doesnt seem to fall into the cliche of the'strong omega who doesnt like alpha but in the end falls under the alpha's charm anyway because uuh uh, sexy and smells goood!!!!- a trope that i personally hate because of consent issues... (no flames if you love it though 🙃)

it describes the strawhats crew with a dialogue that seems pretty thoughful (of what the scenario want to do and tell us) and not just in a way it only copies the anime (luffy screamed: i'm hungry!! Nami said: Baka!/ Robin was reading in a chair and Franky was building something that i found often in fic). (also i love any Abo writers who dont focus totally on smut, smells, dominance, and physical side of the genre and rather works on the system, the world and how the implications of the second sex impact the psychology and story as a whole! ) that said, the story seems promising!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/48206047

@cutieininferno on tumblr!!!!

fic where you feels the very obvious attraction between them (but without the too much cringy emotionally stuff like 'he had nice abs, sexy and she was love with him! so strong!) but it still make room for the plot and you want to know what happens next!! (also bonus point for including the witch nickname in the actual plot, love it!! ) all in all, go read it what can i say more beside im sad there isnt more kudos???!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22678642

Good plot. Nami centric (and her origins), friends - to lovers, i enjoyed that one too!

One shots, short fics

https://www.fanfiction.net/u/776756/Rasetsu

Sweets little drabbles,

angstier than the previous one (and can be read as friendship)

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/2430733/1/Because

oh boy this one is a little messy but it hurts in the best way (also mention of implicit sex) love the 'mature' take on them!

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6358367/1/Small-Steps

more friendship, and analysis of Nami from Zoro pov

https://www.fanfiction.net/s/6375303/1/Moments-Like-These

how to write perfect Zonami in 642 words. No comments.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49450201

ANgst angst angst, implied sex, sort of...friends with benefit, (still happy ending) again, from Zoro pov!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8336653

They made out in the storage room. this is uditory torture for the rest of the crew. I laughed during this one!!!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8330107

again, a make out, a drunken kiss and a stupid competition. Love it.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/1128823

Drabbles so sweet i have to brush my teeth.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/8336968

One shot abt Zoro first time - do you know how much i like this headcanon???? no? now you know. Virgin Zoro with accidental rizz is awesome!! (Luffy is always this element in the fic who made me crack up!!!)

#zonami #zoro x nami #nami x zoro #zonas #zona #opla #fic rec #one piece #zoroxnami #this is for my discord girlies!!!!#awesome people procuring me a lot of joy!!!!

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soaps-mohawk · 6 months ago

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Hii! I love your COD fic so much. I’m just beginning my own writing journey, and was wondering if you wouldn’t mind sharing what your outlining/writing process is like? ^^

Hi!! Hello!! Thank you!!! 💚 Aww, best of luck on your journey!! Writing is so hard but it can be so fulfilling at the same time!!

Hehe yeah, so I don't usually really do outlines for fics. I just kind of get a general idea of what I want to happen, and in the case of fics that follow plotlines of shows directly how the character/reader is going to fit into those events, and then just start writing what comes to me when it comes to me 😅 that's led to some fics getting quite out of hand, though, in the past.

I think CRCB is the first fic I've actually like physically laid things out as far as chapters and what I want to happen in them (which has changed about 10 times since I started around chapter 3). So yeah, I just kind of lay out how many chapters and what I want to happen in each chapter. I don't come up with everything that happens in the chapter right away. More filler type stuff I kind of just write as I go depending on what fits the vibe of the chapter. Sometimes things change a lot, and that's okay. My original outline had like 25 chapters and then the fic would be done and, well, as you can see we're nowhere near that now lol.

As far as the writing process, I just kind of take the outline and lay out what's going to happen in the chapter by section and then start writing. Sometimes I start at the beginning of the chapter and sometimes I start in the middle. Quite a few I've written the last scene first and then just kind of jumped around as inspiration came. I've found that's helped a lot with writer's block and motivation, as I can just kind of go where the words are flowing in the chapter and not have to worry about getting a certain section done before I write the next.

I also do a first draft where I can just lay out a basic description of something that happens if I get stuck and move on. If the words aren't flowing, drop a quick little summary of what happens in that scene and then move on and come back to it when you edit. Sometimes the first draft is just a super basic walk through of what happens and then I go back a second time and add in all the fluff and details. That can be really good if you're going to write smut scenes. Just get down the basics and then go through and add everything else later. Same with dialogue. Just write the lines and then go back and add in details, other things happening in the scene.

Your first draft does NOT have to be the final product. Sometimes it is. Sometimes the words are flowing and you can put out a masterpiece with just some light editing needed. Sometimes it takes two or three tries before you're happy with it. That happens to me a lot. Some chapters are basically first drafts with a little grammar/syntax editing. Others (like chapter 10) I wrote up, sat on it for two days, read it through and was unhappy with it, so I went back and added in like over 1,000 words of fluff and details.

So yeah. Take your time, sleep on things if you're not happy with them, don't be afraid to change things and jump around while you're writing. I know a lot of writers struggle with wanting to be linear in their writing and write a fic or chapter start to finish. You don't have to. Jumping around while writing has saved me so much stress.

I hope this helps, and best of luck with your writing. The best way to get good at it and figure out what works for you is just to write. Practice, practice, practice. It's taken me well over a decade to get to this point where I've figured out what works best for me and I'm still learning to this day.

#answered #writing advice

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nellyofthevalley · 11 months ago

Text

truths, ch.7

astarion x fem!tav rating: explicit

content: piv sex, fingering, biting/blood drinking, emotionally repressed losers who can't communicate, angst, hurt/comfort, extended sickfic?

summary: this fic started as an excuse to write a bunch of dialogue bouncing around in my head. astarion is a sad little idiot who never learned how to love. tav is kind of emotionally repressed and a bad communicator too, and he has to learn how to deal with this. with her, and her … affliction.

How could he resist her like this? In her little dress and warm all over, after being so cold for so many weeks, after he couldn’t do anymore than hold her tightly in the night and hope that one day, she’d feel alive again? And after the run-in with that vile drow, he wants to thank her in the only way he knows how. “Gods,” he sighs, trailing his hands further up her body, lifting her dress as he went. “I missed this.”

chapters: ch.1 | ch.2 | ch.3 | ch.4 | ch.5 | ch.6 | ch.7 | ch.8

read it on ao3 or below the cut

It’s but a few days before Astarion breaks his promise.

Exhausted after exploring every corner and every inch of Reithwin town, Tav comes to his tent as she started to do every night, and falls asleep early. Astarion carefully uncouples from her and finds Halsin by the campfire, reading. And more importantly, alone—this might be his only chance. If he has to break his promise, he’d prefer to only do it once.

“Astarion,” Halsin greets him as he sits on the log beside. “How can I be of assistance?”

“She’s sick,” he answers, shifting uneasily, and then he reconsiders and adds, “No. It’s more than that.”

“Tav?”

“She’ll stake me for telling you.”

“Then it must be dire,” Halsin notes, and what’s left unsaid between them is that now, Halsin knows the full truth of it: how Astarion’s become wholly captivated by her. Not that it’s such a shock, not after she started to creep to his tent every night; she’s never as silent as she tried to be, but most likely assumed it was physical.

It’s a weakness.

Cazador would have him brutalized for it, and he’d kill her too. No, he’d do worse than that—he’d cut her apart and put her back together repeatedly before draining her and making her his spawn and he’d make Astarion watch. And if he didn’t, the master would tear him apart and put him back together, too, over and over again until locking him away in the kennels for months or into another dusty tomb.

“What’s happening to her?” Halsin asks, bringing him back to the present.

“She’s—she’s cold, just ice fucking cold. I don’t know how else to explain it,” he says, stumbling over his words, flustered and unsure why he didn’t see this earlier. “I’ve felt plenty of people before, and none felt like that.”

“How long?”

“Months,” he answers, and his mind continues, chastising himself for letting this happen: who else could have seen it? Who else had spent so much time with her? “Can you help her?”

“I can prepare an elixir to raise her temperature,” Halsin offers. “But it’s a temporary comfort.”

Astarion hates the sound of that. If Halsin doesn’t know, who will? Will they be taken on another goose chase, desperate to find the one healer in the realm that can be of assistance, much like the journey the tadpole had sent them down?

And what happens if they turn up short even after they’ve reached the city? Death?

How cold can one’s body get before their very essence can no longer survive? How long can a person live off fucking elixirs? It’s horrid timing—they might as well be at the edge of the world. On the cusp of reaching Moonrise Towers, unable to move forward, and too far to go back. The only possibility behind them is the grove, and they’ve already acquired its most powerful asset.

Astarion’s getting antsy waiting to hear more about his end of the deal with Raphael, there’s been no trace of him since meeting at the inn. Tav read the Infernal on his back, but the words themselves were meaningless. And he starts to think that maybe if the bargain is fair enough, he’d be willing to negotiate a second one.

Raphael’s a smarmy, obnoxious devil, but he has power, and perhaps he has the power to cure this.

The most surprising thing is that Tav doesn’t question it when he gives her the little bottles of liquid fire in the morning. She doesn’t ask where he got them, she doesn’t ask if he’s betrayed her trust, she doesn’t say anything; she slips the bottles into her pack and carries on like nothing happened, eating the breakfast Gale made and donning her armor.

The trip to Moonrise Towers is… not what Astarion anticipated.

“Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?” the blood trader says, looking to Tav—the ‘True Soul’—and she ignores him completely. Araj pays him no mind at all as she attempts to negotiate with Tav for him, for what he would be trading in exchange for a promised powerful potion. She only glances at him once, when she practically drools over him and talks about her fantasy of being bitten since she was a young girl. It’s sickening.

And Tav could ask him to do it. He will, if she asks, and he’ll hate it.

But she doesn’t. She says she’s surprised he didn’t go for it, and he tenses up, fearing she’ll push him on it. He wonders, too, why she questioned it at all, though he doesn’t dwell on it; he’s used to being used anyhow, and at least if he has to do this, it’ll be for the party’s benefit.

He pulls her aside and asks, “Are you really asking me to do this?”

“What? No,” she says. “But I know you have nothing to eat out here. I thought you’d be starving.”

Tav’s right on that, he is starving. She offers herself time and time again and he refuses and he never finds anything else to sink his teeth into, not since the night in the cemetery, but he reminds himself every time he comes up short that he’s endured worse.

“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do,” she says, and that’s the end of it; she doesn’t ask him to justify himself.

Astarion declines Araj yet again and he expects to feel disappointed with himself for not sucking it up—he’s endured worse, he reminds himself once more—but he can’t. He can’t feel anything but gratitude. A novel emotion. One he’s not yet grown accustomed to feeling.

“A pity,” she sneers right as the group turns to leave.

“Fuck off!” Tav shouts back, and he might’ve laughed if the whole experience wasn’t so dreadful.

“Thank you,” he finds himself saying to her once they’re out of earshot, and just like when he invited her to his tent without intending to, it feels like someone else speaking on his behalf. “I… appreciated that.”

“I would’ve killed her if the time were more opportune,” Tav remarks.

When Tav retires to his tent that night, she has his coat with her, but she’s not wearing it and she lays it on the crate. Instead, she wears her nightclothes: a thin dress draped over her undergarments that hugs her body so perfectly… Oh, he’d caught a glimpse of her in it once before, but that was months ago, before he had his eyes painfully opened.

“Come here.”

Astarion immediately drops his book and, when she crawls over to join him under the covers, he pulls her right into his lap and she’s warm. He immediately forgets anything else he had on his mind; he grabs her thighs and rubs his palms into them, just admiring her skin, admiring the blood that runs through her veins.

And after the run-in with that vile drow, he wants to thank her in the only way he knows how.

“Gods,” he sighs, trailing his hands further up her body, lifting her dress as he goes. “I missed this.”

He slides his palms further up her dress, lightly running over her breasts before settling on her back and pulling her closer, until he feels her warm exhales on his face and presses his lips to hers. His mouth is needy—no, greedy and hungry, he kisses her like he might never get to again. Tav can’t even think about where they’d found themselves before his tongue is pushing past her lips and finding hers.

On cue, her heart thumps against his chest and when his feet find leverage on the ground and he starts to rock his hips up into her, her nails dig into his chest and she moans into his mouth and he swallows it, eager for every part of her he can have. His body’s eager too, cock hardening and pushing against her cunt through the layers of fabric, begging for more; it’s been so long since he’s had any form of release…

“You missed this, too,” Astarion teases, pulling down harshly on her waist as he thrusts upwards, smirking with satisfaction when he coaxes another noise from her throat. “Didn’t you?”

“Ah, fuck you,” she teases back.

He grabs her tightly and then, in a flash, turns her over onto the bedroll and pushes her legs up and apart as he kneels before her. He guides her underwear over her ass, her legs, lingering at and kissing along her ankles—soaking in her ticklish laughter and playful ‘ah, don’t!’—before finally taking the garment past her feet and tossing it aside.

Then, Astarion hesitates, towering over her with his cock straining at his pants, twitching in anticipation of more, and he stares at her, a blank look in his eyes.

“Astarion… are you…” Tav pauses, struggling to find what she wants to say, and how to say it. “Do you want this?”

“I want to. I want this,” he assures her, flatly. “What makes you think I don’t?”

“I’m only making sure you’re fine.”

“I’m fine, darling.”

He bends forward, lifting her dress over her head and pushing up her bra, then leaves soft kisses between and over her breasts and along her collarbone before pausing at her neck and brushing his lips against her skin. He starts thrusting into her again, faster and harder as he kisses her ear and groans quietly with every movement, until he’s frantically rutting into her like he’s fucking her with his clothes still on, but he’s silent, and something’s just—just not quite right.

It’s awkward, but it’s not awkward in the way learning a new lover would be awkward, or the way Tav anticipated it might be awkward when they laid together again. It’s uncomfortable. It’s obvious that Astarion’s not himself and it happened so suddenly, like something inside him changed or like he’d woken up from a dream and found himself here.

“Stay with me,” she says.

He pulls back, but he doesn’t speak. He hovers over her with her legs pushed back and her face flushed and continues, fumbling clumsily with the buttons of his pants before Tav takes his hands in hers and moves them away.

“Astarion, please. Let’s stop.”

“Godsdamnit,” he curses, “I want to…”

Astarion rolls over and sits back into the bedroll, angrily pulling the blankets over his lower half and staring off, away from Tav, willing to look anywhere but at her. Fuck! This is even worse than performing, he thinks, this is humiliating—to start something he couldn’t finish, no matter how much he wishes he could.

And what would he even tell her, if she asks and he has to explain? Would he start by telling her he failed miserably at seducing her and most definitely piss her off? Or would he lead with the realities of what he did for his master, and then tell her he tried to ruin her just like he ruined everyone else he slept with, too?

“I know you do.” He hears Tav shuffling as she sifts through her bag, gathering her clothes, and begins redressing. “Do you want me to leave?”

“No,” he answers. “Stay with me.”

She settles back in the pile of blankets and asks, “Can I touch you?”

After a short period of silence, he replies, “You can,” and the aggravation is beyond evident in his tone. It’s not directed at her, and yet he waits for her to lose her patience with him, certain that at any moment he’ll become too much of a drag to bother with.

Instead, Tav nudges at his shoulders and ushers him to move, silently leading him to turn and sit with his back to her. She takes the hem of his shirt to pull it over his head, and he obeys, raising his arms.

“Relax. Lean forward,” she orders.

Astarion glances over his shoulder at her and the way she meets his gaze, nervousness evident in her eyes and a lack of confidence he normally never sees, he’s sure she has something to say. He’s not sure if he wants to hear it, but not knowing would be worse; he’d never stop thinking about it, he wouldn’t be able to relax as she’d asked him to.

“Spit it out.”

“Now’s not the right time,” she argues.

“Tell me. I want to hear it,” Astarion insists. “Help clear my head of all the things I wish I could do to you right now, and share your burden with me.”

She’s silent for a brief moment and then asks, “What is this, between us?”

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “Is that fine with you?”

“Yes,” Tav says, without hesitation.

Astarion relaxes and leans forward, and she presses her palms to his skin, firmly but carefully massaging his shoulders and neck. She works slowly, adapting to his body language—more here, or not there, his body says in the way he stiffens or slacks—and she patiently works through every knot.

#astarion #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #tav x astarion #bg3 fanfiction #astarion fanfic #my fanfic

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justfor2am · 2 years ago

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hi my interview has been rescheduled once again because of course it is ^_^ nothing wants me to be interviewed ig ^_^ anyways 🥺😈🛒🎢✨💋🎶⛔🍦🌞💖💌❌🧐🦅👀🤗💞🧠🤩🤯💔🤭 for the fanfic writer asks or wtevr they're called??? didn't realize until just now u even rbed an ask game so apologies 🫡 side note the 💥 emoji is so fun . its just like 💥💥💥💥💥 yk??? also feel free to skip any of those i just threw down the ones i think would be most interesting but as usual there r many

i am manifesting an interview AND a job for u, get that bag king!!!

also waough ty for giving me an excuse to talk abt my blorbos 🥺🥺🥺

and ya 💥 feels like ur comboing someone really well in a fighting game, like 💥💥💥 K.O. yanno?

this is def gonna be a long one tho soooo the rest underneath the cut this goes lmao

🥺 Is there a certain type of moment or common interaction between your characters that never fails to put you in your feels?

Anything having to do with touch. I'm a sucker for physical gestures, so anything that involves details like brushing someone's hair out of their eyes, hooking a tentative pinky around someone else's hand, it doesn't need to be overt to get me in my feels every single time.

😈 Has there been a point in a story where you did something just to be playfully mean to your readers?

Yes! I threatened a major character death in [though I've closed my eyes, I know who you pretend I am] late in the final (12th) chapter lmao

I knew that being that late into the fic most people would've forgotten what the specific tags were and even less would be willing to scrolling all the way back up to check lol

🛒 What are some common things you incorporate in your fics? Themes, feels, scenes, imagery, etc.

Like I said in the first Q, touch is a big thing for me. Eyes and anything having to do with vision also tends to be a big one, if you read a fic with both of those elements there's a decent chance I wrote it.

As far as overarching things, I prefer to write scenery over dialogue, and put a heavy emphasis on describing what the characters are feeling/thinking over having them verbally express it.

🎢 Which of your fics would you call your wildest ride?

I wanna say my [detroit become human au] has shit hit the fan pretty quickly. The fic opens with the conflict and it takes a few chapters for the reader to get any context, but once you've got it, going back to the start just makes your heart break.

✨ Give you and your writing a compliment. Go on now. You know you deserve it. 😉

booo hiss grrr

no but actually uhhhhhh... I will say that when I've got a good idea rattling around in my head, I can churn out a fic for that premise very quickly. to the point that i accidentally wrote three chapters for one of my fics all within a day, because I'm unhinged like that

💋 First kiss fics. Love em or hate em?

LOVE but only if they're done right. I appreciate first kiss fics that aren't perfect or a little clumsy, but also i'm a sucker for those picture perfect moments too

🎶 Do you listen to music while you write? What song have you been playing on loop lately?

YA i do my best writing with some music on. I've been listening to a mix of things lately (Love from the Other Side by FOB, that new Shakira collab, and Flowers by Miley Cyrus) but i've also been looping my 14+ hour long exo playlist

⛔ Do you have a fic you started, but scrapped?

I had a sculk!Grian fic from like, I wanna say October last year that I was 1k words into that just. Disappeared. No clue where it went or how I lost but, but in hindsight, it wasn't my best work.

I'm still a bit sad to have lost it, but considerably more proud of the things I've written since.

🍦 What’s the sweetest fic you’ve created so far?

I have come to the realization that I am horrible at writing fluff without some level of conflict within the fic. Whoops! Closest I've got is a [scarian sick fic] that I wrote recently lmao

🌞 Do you have a preferred time of day to write?

Either while I'm at work when it's dead during the day time, or frantically at like, 11 o'clock p.m., there is no in between.

💖 What made you start writing?

Wayyyyy back when I was 12/13 I used to be big into rp, and I came into the realization that the rps I was doing could just as easily be formatting into fics.

None of those fics were ever published, but getting to learn how to edit and rewrite scenes that had been planned out with another person made me want to start creating stories of my own.

💌 How do you feel about comments and feedback?

Love love LOVE comments and feedback. Literally getting a comment is like a serotonin boost directly into my veins to write more, esp comments that'll point out specific scenes or moments/lines they liked.

someone pointed out that they liked the way I described fresh hickeys like blooming violets and I haven't been able to stop thinking about that comment ever since.

❌ What’s a trope you will never write?

That's a good question.... I'm trying to think of one that isn't like, a blatantly obvious icky trope.

I'm not sure if it counts as a trope, but Y/N fics. Not only are their primary function to act as fan service, they end up coming off very RPF to me which I'm not a fan of.

Oh, also RPF. Any fic i write has to do 100% with the characters those people portray, not the real person.

🧐 Do you spend much time researching for your stories?

Depends on the fic! For my [actor au] I've just been kinda flying by the seat of my pants, doing the occasional googling but not much. The opposite of this would be my [detroit become human au] where I literally rewatched jacksepticeye's d:bh playthrough and scoured wikis to make sure i'm describing androids correctly.

tl;dr: generally no, only as needed unless I get fixated on it.

🦅 Do you outline fics or fly by the seat of your pants?

Fly by the seat of my pants, but i'm trying to change this! For my multi-chaptered fics I've started actually planning out future events, and even for this one big one shot im working on, i've got an outline in the works.

...though generally, i don't plan. it's a bad habit.

👀 Tell me about an up and coming wip please!

GLADLY so speaking of that big one shot, it's going to be a boatem superhero au, i've started outlining it and getting my concepts together, i'm very excited for it!

here's a snippet:

It was fairly obvious that the Mayor had pulled some strings to get Scar to this stage; once a nobody vigilante who seemed more preoccupied with dazzling the camera over saving lives, Scar's public image had taken a hard left turn during the past few campaigning months.

The situation was more of an open secret— it was all too convenient for Scar, who practically lived in the Mayor's pocket, to be joining the city's most elite crime-fighting team.

it's VERY early in development so don't expect this one for a while tho

🤗 What advice would you give to new fanfic writers that are just getting started?

I'd say figure out your character's voice is a big one. It's easy to fall into fanon tropes and while they're fun, they can cause lots of warping in the way you write your own fics, which might make them sound off.

So look out for fanon tropes! Personally I've run into people who make Scar very sweet and innocent, to the point of dusting his hands clean of blame. It's an easy hole to fall into, and no one should fault a writer for falling into tropes.

There's a line to walk, and I find that watching content relating to that character really helps shaping that "inner voice".

Also, get someone to proof read your work who is willing to point out your mistakes. Editing/betaing is never meant to be a personal attack, but rather to make sure that the fic you present to the rest of the world is cohesive and clear.

💞 Who’s your comfort character?

Scar! He just gets me fr. He's one of my favorite guys to write because of how versatile and how much variety he has. He could be a silly salesman one minute, and a quietly scary assassin the next. Whatever the bit or joke is, he fully commits to it, often to the detriment of himself, but god does it make for good content.

Also he has a really good narration voice ok

🧠 Pick a character, and I’ll tell you my favorite headcanon for them.

(ty for the speedy discord reply lol)

Grian! my darling baby boy who has every mental illness ever

no but actually, i'd say my favorite grian head canon is anything having to do with him being an alchemist. i want that man brewing potions, getting blown up, and curing all his friends ailments with the most illegal looking brew you've ever seen in your life.

🤩 Who is your favorite character to write?

Grian, mostly because he comes easiest to me! There's such a sense of endless potential when I get ready to write him, and like, idk what it is, but longing too?

We've been getting it pretty heavy w/ his whole "I Miss Mumbo" campaign but like, grian to me feels like someone who's always thinking about reaching a hand out, and pulls it back at the last second. It's very relatable.

🤯 What’s a genre you struggle with as a writer (ex. romance, action, etc.)?

Weirdly enough, it's fluff. I always feel compelled to write stories with some level of conflict or it's not "satisfying" to me. I love reading the genre, but for whatever reason when I write it, I get in my head about if it's "good enough" or not without conflict. I'm working on that lol

💔 Is there a fic of yours that broke your heart?

EDIT: so i misread this, you get fic recs as a bonus. my proper answer is: [my bad ending fae two shot], it will shatter you as it did me </3

i'm going to give two because i do what i want. the first being [It's Only Logical by TSTrashCaptain] which is a sanders sides fic that to this day, i can only dream of writing something so good. tw for themes of abuse and nsfw at times, but god. just reading the title again puts a knot in my heart in the best way possible.

now, this fic. [your heart rots in my hands by thepigeoncat]. this fic slaughtered me the first time i read it. i left a long ass comment on it. tw for major character death, but this is the perfect last life scarian fic.

it's beautiful, and tragic, and it makes me feel as though the world has truly ended /pos. please go read it.

🤭 Do you have a favorite tag to use when posting your works?

my favorite tag for when i post unbetaed work is "no beta we die like scar to the boatem hole"

as far as a REAL tag, hurt/comfort >:))

and my favorite one off funny tag is "i cannot emphasis to you enough how much blood is in this fic"

[fanfic writer emoji asks!]

#justfor2am #justfor2talks #long post

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1864-66readingproject · 5 months ago

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Queer reading chapter 3 of Our Mutual Friend:

Mortimer has to go to the Hexam household as part of the Harmon case, and Eugene tags along with him. For some reason.

It's mentioned that Eugene and Mortimer were "two friends (once boys together at a public school)". The mention of public school is partly a class indicator ('public schools' in Britain are a certain type of fee-paying school, strongly associated with the British 'ruling class'), but could also potentially be a hint at sexuality - most public schools encouraged the development of homosocial bonds between the boys (partly to stop them seeking out girls), and some of the schools (especially Eton) would tend to overlook if those homosocial bonds became sexual. The idea was that when boys left school, they would leave any homosexual leanings behind them, but of course this was not always the case.

We learn about Eugene and Mortimer's professions: Mortimer is a solicitor and Eugene is a barrister; they both entered those professions at the instigation of their families, not through any desire of their own; they are both lazy, and do not commit to their professions; the Harmon case is Mortimer's first paying case; Eugene has had no previous work at all.

It does seem to me that Eugene and Mortimer are characters who are very much in dialogue with other characters from the mid-nineteenth century: Arthur Pendennis and George Warrington from Thackeray's Pendennis (who went to separate public schools, went to the same university, and lived together as young adults, and whose relationship can be read as queer); Clive Newcome from Thackeray's The Newcomes (who went to the same public school as Arthur Pendennis and had a "rapturous" "romantic" friendship with him); David Copperfield from Dickens's David Copperfield (who did not go to public school, but who formed a fairly queer relationship with another boy, James Steerforth, at a private school); Sydney Carton and Mr Stryver from Dickens's A Tale of Two Cities (who both attended Shrewsbury public school, who both studied in Paris together, who essentially jobshare and who have an (unhealthy) relationship that can be read as queer); and Robert Audley and George Talboys from Braddon's Lady Audley's Secret (who both attended Eton public school, who travel and live together for a while in adulthood, and who have a relationship that can be read as queer). With the exception of Clive Newcome (artist) and George Talboys (soldier and gold-digger in the literal digging-for-gold sense of the word), all of these characters are - nominally at least - lawyers, just like Eugene and Mortimer. Most of them - especially Robert Audley, the most 'recent' to Eugene and Mortimer - are presented as in some way 'lazy' or otherwise not committed to the practice of the law. Robert, Eugene and Mortimer seem to me to be the pinacle of this 'ambiguously queer lazy lawyer' character type which has been developing over the previous decade or so.

In the cab, Eugene puts his legs up on the opposite bench, and Mortimer asks if he can put his legs up too, then does. I sort of assume they have to cross their legs over each other for both their legs to fit on the bench? unclear; but regardless, they are sat side-by-side and seem comfortable being in physical proximity with each other.

Eugene lights Mortimer's cigar, and they both smoke. The lighting of someone else's cigar / cigarette is often framed in popular culture as erotic - there's a post floating around tumblr somewhere about the intimacy and eroticism of lighting someone's cigar for them.

In the scene with Eugene and Mortimer talking in the cab, we see a different dynamic between the two of them than we saw at the Veneering dinner table in chapter 2. If anything, Eugene now leads ("I shouldn’t know how to do it", "I hate my profession", "It was forced upon me [...] We have got a precious one", "There are four of us"), and Mortimer responds ("I am far from being clear [...] that I have much advantage over you", "I hate mine", "It was forced upon me [...] And we have got a precious one", "I am one by myself, one"). Eugene also appears to lead physically: putting his legs up and presumably lighting his cigar first, and Mortimer asks to follow.

On a more general note, pay attention to this exchange - this is going to be important for Eugene in particular:

‘Precisely my view of the case, Eugene. But show me a good opportunity, show me something really worth being energetic about, and I’ll show you energy.’ ‘And so will I,’ said Eugene.

Dickens's narratorial style in Our Mutual Friend is interesting, in that it shifts about quite a bit. For example, while much of it is in past tense (such as chapter 3), some chapters are in present tense (such as chapter 2). The point of view can also switch, including within a chapter.

For most of chapter 3, the point of view seems to stay fairly close to how Mortimer is experiencing the events that unfold. However, towards the end of the chapter, the narrator stops 'following' Mortimer, and instead follows Charley Hexam home, before switching perspective to a narratorial voice seems a bit more distant from the characters.

Compare the following:

‘Only papers on the unfortunate man, I see,’ said Lightwood, glancing from the description of what was found, to the finder. ‘Only papers.’ Here the girl arose with her work in her hand, and went out at the door. ‘No money,’ pursued Mortimer; ‘but threepence in one of the skirt-pockets.’ ‘Three. Penny. Pieces,’ said Gaffer Hexam, in as many sentences.

and:

The boy lifted the latch he had lifted before, and found his sister again seated before the fire at her work. Who raised her head upon his coming in and asking: ‘Where did you go, Liz?’ ‘I went out in the dark.’ ‘There was no necessity for that. It was all right enough.’ ‘One of the gentlemen, the one who didn’t speak while I was there, looked hard at me. And I was afraid he might know what my face meant. [...]’

When Mortimer's perspective is guiding the narrative voice, Lizzie is nameless - "the girl" - and apparently motiveless: she goes out of the door without any explanation. The reader can infer that this is the same girl who was rowing the boat in chapter 1, and she is probably leaving the room because she is ashamed about her father stealing from a dead body, as she was in chapter 1, but that's not expressed by the narrator because Mortimer doesn't know that (we can tell from the dialogue he's got his suspicions of Gaffer, but these suspicions do not appear to extend to Lizzie).

However, once Mortimer is no longer there and the narratorial voice has 'left' him for the time being, we get to see a conversation between Charley and Lizzie where Lizzie explains her motive for leaving the room: Eugene was looking at her. She says she was afraid that Eugene might see in her face her guilt over her father's stealing, so she left the room.

What's notable about this to me from a queer lens is that Eugene looking at Lizzie was entirely absent from the part of the chapter told from Mortimer's perspective.

On a more general note, I think it's possibly worth noting that Eugene's interest in Lizzie predates him ever seeing her. Near the beginning of the chapter, Charley is talking about his education and how "it's my sister's contriving". He then speaks "slightingly" of her, and Eugene appears to take exception to this. Eugene is also presumably the one who says, "You seem to have a good sister."

#queer reading omf #queer reading #omf #omf part 1 #mortimer omf #charley omf #eugene omf #lizzie omf #may 1864 #death mention #long post

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glitxhwayventeen · 3 years ago

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The Motherly one

Chan

Characters: Chan x female reader

Warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of stalking, child abuse (well kinda?), mentions of blood, mentions of violence, mentions of mate stealing/collecting, semi unrequited love, verbal and physical fighting, mentions of nudity. Please let me know if I missed anything!

Author’s Note: So this is a long ass Chapter whoops. Anyways, hope this makes up for the inactivity. It’s a good story line that ties in to a few others and has a major plot that’ll be revealed later. Please let me know how it is or if I fucked anything up. I didn’t write it all in one day and I tried to reread it but my minds a mess so i probably missed things.

Please remember that all of these chapters and the content within them are a work of fiction! They’re just for fun/entertainment!

Paved With Good Intentions Master List

Tag List @babyminghao

🥀 & ☁️

Bold- Dialogue Italics- Thoughts Pink- Native language

Your brother told you it would take him some time before he could get to Seoul. So you were on guard 24/7. You hardly ate in the while you anxiously awaited his arrival, and you definitely didn’t sleep. You just stayed up all night, constantly checking outside your windows for any signs of danger and watching your sweet baby boy dream through your stress.

Since you had made contact with him, your fears were proving to be more and more right. Every night as you read San a story or sang him songs from your home land to try and lull him to sleep, you’d see a glimmer of something not too far out of his bedroom window.

At first, the logical side of you tried to calm down both you and your son’s nerves, but as the nights went on, the shining just seemed to be getting closer and closer. You were too scared to leave the house. You only did when you absolutely had to like to the store, to which you still took your son with you.

Most people would’ve probably called you paranoid and laughed at you. But you didn’t care. They didn’t know what you had been through. And they didn’t know what you were running from.

It’s easier to leave your abusive significant other when he doesn’t have razor sharp claws and rows of tearing teeth to use as a weapon when he caught up with you. But none of it mattered. Your son, he mattered. And you’d do everything in your power to keep him safe.

Before everything happened, you were a stay at home mom who hadn’t even graduated high school. Now, you were going back to school after having got your GED and were doing a tech job from home so you could be near and watch San.

You were lucky enough to find a job that would let you stay in your home while doing it, and you were even more lucky that the university you now transferred to would let you take most of your classes online.

You still had to go to school once a week for a lab, something you dreaded as it meant you had to leave San with a sitter you had found and heavily vetted.

And so that’s what happened on the second day of waiting for your brother, as much as you wanted to bring San with you or miss your class, you knew putting your education on hold when you needed a solid career to support your family would only end up hurting the both of you in the end.

So you kissed him goodbye and left him with his sitter, told her to NOT go outside under ANY circumstances and promised to be home only minutes after your class would end. She politely agreed, awkwardly smiled to hide her internal questioning of your family processes, and you walked out the door.

The one class was advanced chemistry, something that you ended up being surprisingly good at considering you never really had much of an education to begin with. Whether it was natural talent or sheer luck that got you into the class, you weren’t sure. You just knew the more advanced your classes, the better you degree would look. And the better the degree, the better the career opportunities.

Nerves ran through you in anticipation of what the class could end up being, but when you walked through the doors to the lab you had to attend, you noticed that a boy sitting at the stools was one of the boys that came and knocked on your door not too long after you had moved in. It was the cute younger one who was acting funny.

He was already staring at the door when you had walked into the room. You figured he was just curious as to who was coming to class. The second he saw you, his lips turned into a bright smile and he waved at you to come to him. You had only spoken to the boy the one time, yet here he was telling you to sit with him. How strange.

And, while you were never one to get close to people, your Korean still wasn’t great and he gave you a sense of familiarity, a sense of… warmth. So you shook off your initial reluctance and took a seat on the stool next to his.

“Hi there! I didn’t know you went here too!” He beamed, a smile never leaving his rather beautiful face.

You politely bowed your head to him as was custom in your own home country out of habit and nodded, “Yes. Most classes of mine are online, but labs have to be in person. Hence my presence here. Though in truth, it is a bit nerve racking to not know anyone here…”

“You know me! That’s all you need.” He declared happily, almost in a possessively proud manner, “I know you know already but I’m Chan by the way. Sorry I didn’t get to properly introduce myself before, I was… having an off day.”

Watching as the boy in front of you stared down at his hands solemnly, you felt a tug at your heartstrings. For some reason, you didn’t want him to feel bad about the awkwardness of the day you met.

So you brushed him off with a smile, “Don’t worry about it. I understand. Some days can just be difficult. Speaking of difficult, is this class not a little too…” You tailed, thinking as carefully as you could to choose your next words carefully, “advanced for someone your age…?” You inquired, doing your absolute best not to offend the overly friendly boy.

He shook his head, the toothy grin never faltering as he spoke, “No, not really. I’m pretty smart. And I test pretty well. But i don’t think I’m too much younger than you though you know…” He trailed off as he rested his head o his hand that was now setting on the chemistry table top.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” You expressed in a small panic, “I didn’t mean it in a bad way. I just meant… I- I don’t know what I meant really. I feel really old for my age so I just assume people even the slightest bit younger than me are kids.” You earnestly explained to him as the last of the class came flooding in.

“It’s alright, I get it. But believe me when I say that I’m no kid.” He winked at you, making you lightly blush at the random action.

Normally, you’d just act like you didn’t see the wink. But it had been so long since you had had any sort of affection or flirtation thrown your way, and there was just something oddly innocent and loving about the starry eyed boy that you just couldn’t help but let your guard down a bit.

Soon after all the students found their final seats and sat down, the professor began his lecture and experiments began.

You had to keep asking poor Chan what certain things the professor was saying were or if you were doing it right since you weren’t 100% fluent in Korean yet.

You felt awful for having to take away parts of his class time and for interrupting his learning. But he he pushed away your worries, gave you the answers you needed and helped you happily, which confused you. You thought if anything you were impeding his learning and you knew you would’ve gotten sick of you if you were him already.

And he wasn’t hitting on you. He didn’t even flirt with you aside from the cheeky action he did earlier in the class. He knew you had a kid and you knew once people knew that, they didn’t even want you as a friend at your age, let alone as a significant other.

So there was nothing there for him romantically. And there was no one there telling him he had to help you. You couldn’t fine a single reason for him to do what he had been doing. So why was this pretty stranger being so nice to you?

After class that day, the professor announced that whoever was your table partner would be your Chemistry partner for the remainder of the term. And part of you was actually really excited by the idea because it meant you’d get to spend more time with Chan at and away from school as you’d no doubt have projects you’d need spare time to work on.

Just because you were a mom and a few years older than him didn’t mean you didn’t find him attractive. When he stopped by to say hello when you first moved in, you could barely see him but you saw that he was kinda pretty.

During class however, you realized just HOW pretty he was. A guy like him would obviously never go for someone like you, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t look at him. And just because you had no intention of going any farther than the school partnership didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy his company. He’d never even know how you actually felt about him as you wouldn’t act on it. What’s the harm in that right?

So both exchanged numbers and spoke about potential meetings for potential projects, you thinking the entire time about how mesmerizing his eyes were. But you hurriedly shook the thought out of your head. He’d NEVER go for you, you needed to stop daydreaming.

Little did you know the whole time you were together, in his head all he was doing was counting the seconds until he’d get to be near you face to face again…

On the third day of waiting for your brother, San had convinced you to let him play soccer outside for an hour. Chan had come over early that morning to work on a project the professor had emailed everybody about the night before. You loved your son so much but getting school work done with him around was nearly impossible with a new person around.

He’d get too excited as you didn’t have people come around very often given your situation. Chan ended up spending most of the time he had been at your house playing games with him. And even you had to admit that the scene was rather adorable.

San would pull at or hit Chan for whatever role he was playing and Chan just… let him and went along with it with a giant grin plastered on his face. But you had to keep reminding yourself that you had work to do. Focus is key.

It was right in the middle of the day and it was only supposed to be for an hour. You could see him playing from your kitchen window where the two of you were studying, so you figured what would the harm be. It wasn’t until he came bouncing back into the house with his little soccer ball chirping on to Channie about a “nice doggy” that nudged his ball back to him when it went too close to the tree line that the idea of going outside terror struck your heart.

You were so busy with Chan that you didn’t even realize your son could’ve been in danger. You quickly asked Chan to leave, something he didn’t even protest. He was already packing up before your son had come into the house for some reason, which you thought was strange. You weren’t done studying yet he was already rushing out the door before your son could even get finished talking about “the puppy”…

“Alright!” Chan smacked his backpack on the kitchen table with a loud thud to gain all his brother’s attention, “Which one of you decided to come and interrupt me and ______‘s study session huh?!”

All the boys gave each other a funny look…

“Channie, what the actual fuck are you talking about…?” Jeonghan spoke up in the now tense atmosphere that was their living room.

“Don’t give me that Hyung! You all KNOW what I’m talking about.” He ran his hands through his hair in a huff, “And you guys! One of you jackasses decided to come spy on me and ______. Seriously??”

The pup knew he may have been a little emotional about the whole ordeal. But it could’ve ended badly and they needed to know that, “Do you guys even know how embarrassing that is??? Did you guys completely forget that I could sense you from inside the house??”

The youngest in the pack had heard sounds from outside while sitting next to you studying. But it wasn’t until the hair on the back of his neck started to stand up and his fangs threatened to elongate that he realized it was another wolf he was sensing. The only problem was was that he was too far away and boxed in to smell or see whoever it was clearly. So he had no way of already knowing which of his brothers had come to check on him.

“And going up to HER SON in wolf form??? Are you fucking kidding me?? What if she found me out??”

He never thought his pack would want to try and embarrass him so much that they’d risk their shared secret. And he definitely didn’t think that they’d go up to your son.

“Channie, I didn’t tell them anything. I swear!” Jeonghan put his hands up in defense mode.

Chans eyes shifted to red, melting the brown contacts they used to hide their true eye colors, “Bullshit!”

Jihoon stood from his place of chilling on the couch, “Down boy!” He joked coming over to pat the pup’s shoulder fondly, “None of us have even left the house today. We literally have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, most of us didn’t even know you went to see _______. How would we had gone down to watch you guys.” Seokmin stated with a bit of annoyance lacing his tone.

“Then who the fuck came up to her son in their backyard??” Chan shouted, a round of silence settling in the whole conversation.

All the wolves seemed to shift their attention to one another, trying to quietly guess who could’ve actually done something so stupid and not let the rest of the pack in on it. But no one could seem to come up with a solid culprit.

That’s when the realization seemed to hit him, “Shit. If it wasn’t one of you guys… then who was it…?”

Seungcheol got up from his seat and put his hand on the younger boy’s shoulder, “I hate to say this Channie but… it could be the wolf we smelt on them the first time we met them…” The alpha suggested, sending a wave of aggravation and fear through the youngest’s spine.

“Oh Fuck.”

“But that doesn’t make any sense!” The pup of the pack shouted as he gripped his hair in thought, “San acted as if it was a random dog, if it was his dad or someone in their family he would’ve known!… Right?” Chan argued with his brothers.

“Maybe.” Wonwoo partially agreed, “You don’t know that though. He’s still little. They may not have told him anything about wolves yet. Half of our parents didn’t tell us till we were about to shift/had actually shifted.” He pointed out, cleaning his glasses out of habit from the darkly looming situation, “Hell, It may not have even been him, it could’ve easily been another pack coming to check out her area after having smelt a new wolf scent.” The sharp nosed wolf corrected, trying to make his youngest brother feel better anyway he could.

Seungcheol shook is head in disagreement to the other boy’s idea, “I don’t think so. We know most of the packs around us and I haven’t heard anything from the other alphas suggesting any of them even know something’s up.”

“Oh man,” Chan paced back and forth between the couches in living room like a mad man, worried now not only for your safety, but for your son’s as well, “Oh man this is bad. This is like REALLY REALLY bad…” He grabbed at his neck.

He felt like he was suffocating. He couldn’t breathe. You were supposed to be his. The chances of it being just a random strange wolf were slim to none. And if it was your ex, he wasn’t sure what he could do. If you wanted him over himself, he couldn’t stop you.

Sure you guys had been texting each other for a few days and all, but he was still practically just the guy down the street to you. But the pup was also worried for another reason. He had noticed whenever he seemed to get too close to you during your classes or project sessions, you’d flinch.

Not to mention you were always unbelievably jittery and constantly vigilantly looking over your shoulder. It broke Chan’s heart to see you so on edge all the time. When he mentioned it to Joshua a few days ago in conversation, he told him those were signs that you had came from an abusive situation.

You just moved here seemingly out of no where, you had no friends and you weren’t really trying to make any. You kept to yourself, you didn’t like leaving the house. And you always had to have your son within your line of vision and you’d always look around as if you were making sure you weren’t being followed. It all made sense the more and more he thought about it.

It just made him all the more frightened for you. If it wasn’t another pack, then it must be whoever it was you were running from. He knew literally nothing about him and yet he knew he didn’t like him.

He had a sinking pit in his stomach that he’d done horrible things to you and he refused to ever let any of it ever happen again. So he promised himself he’d go over to see you again tomorrow, in his human form. Just so he could be sure you were alright.

It was another four days after the incident before your brother could get to you. Your country was going through a war and was thousands of miles away from Korea. You were honestly shocked he made it as quick as he did. He must’ve traveled almost without breaks or sleep to see you.

You passed the time waiting for him to show by caring for your son and talking to Chan, who you just couldn’t seem to stay away from at this point. You couldn’t help it, the kid was irresistible.

He didn’t seem to mind the constant texting and study sessions you had, which just seemed to be more like playdates between him and your son. It was easy to say that the two had become fast friends.

And, while you were still always worried for your safety, you were truly glad he kept coming around. It made your son happier than you’d seen him in a long time. You missed seeing him laugh and smile and Chan just seemed to have a way to bring it out in both of you in the best of ways.

But when your brother did make it to you, you realized he must’ve ran all day and all night at full speed. When you opened your front door to greet him, he looked beyond exhausted.

“Mako!” You exclaimed, throwing your arms around your big brother’s shoulders as he caught you when you opened the door.

He gave you a small pat on your petite back, “Hey _______.” He replied softly with tears glistening in his hardened eyes.

It had been a few months of not seeing each other. Before everything happened, you used to be so close with all your siblings, you’d tell each other everything. Now, you were thousands of miles away from home for your own safety and your family back in your village refused to acknowledge you ever existed. It broke your heart so you tried not to think about it. Your brother didn’t have that luxury as he still lived with and saw everyone everyday.

“Uncle Mako!” San pushed his way from behind your legs and slammed into his towering uncle’s thighs, holding on for dear life as if he was scared that if he let go he’d vanish before his eyes.

“Hey Asanar! How are you little man?” Mako knelt down towards your son and gave him a great big bear hug. He very evidently missed your son as much as you had missed him because he was all but crushing the poor boy as he held onto him.

He pulled himself out of your brother’s death grip with a little giggle, “I’m okay. Mommy says we’re both okay... Is that why you’re here? To make sure we’re okay?”

Mako gave you a concerned look, to which you narrowed your eyes and shook your head, signaling to him that your son wasn’t 100% in the loop with the situation, “T-That’s right buddy. I came to just come check on you guys, just to see how well you’re doing here.” He skeptically answered your son.

San looked to be sad for a moment before he regained his bubbly little personality that everyone loved so much, “Good. Because mommy’s too stressed!” He taunted, to which you stuck your tongue out at him playfully and he returned your action.

After that, you all went inside your home and you bolted the door shut quickly, something that didn’t go unnoticed by either male in the room.

“Are you okay mommy…?” San tugged at the edge of your shirt with worried eyes.

You held your hand lovingly against his face, “Yes my love. Don’t worry! Mommy just has to speak with uncle Mako about something. Why don’t you go play outside for a moment.” You very hesitantly told him.

Even with your brother there to now help, you didn’t really love the idea of letting your son go outside alone. But it wasn’t super far and your brother would know if anything was wrong. You needed San gone so you could speak with Mako without his little prying ears listening in from behind.

Mako found himself a home on your arm chair with a small groan, “So how are you my little sister? You didn’t sound well over the phone.”

“Truth be told…” You whimpered out behind watery eyes, “I’m not” Your voice broke at the end of your sentence as you tried to swallow back a lump that had formed in your throat.

You took one look at your brother and you broke out in sobs. He sped up from his seat and wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his chest in the process, “Hey, shhh shhh shhh… It’ll be alright. Don’t worry. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

“But- But it’s not nothing Mako.” You informed him softly, trying to not alert your son outside with your volume, “I’m so stressed. It’s all I think about and it’s never gonna stop. At this point, if it were just me, I would’ve let him kill me already just to be done already. Just so I wouldn’t have to fight anymore. But I can’t give up! I have a son! I can’t- I can’t let him take him! Tell me what to do Mako, please just- just tell me what I have to do to make this all stop!” You wailed quietly as you gripped onto your brother’s torso for dear life.

He retracted you from his chest and wiped your tears with a sad smile, “I don’t know _______, but I promise you, I’ll figure it out. You’re not alone.”

You looked up at him with a defeated smile with the best reassured look you could muster up. You were so tired, you just wanted to sleep for days on end. You just wanted to curl up into a ball and disappear from existence.

“Why don’t we make some coffee and we’ll figure out where to go from here okay?” Mako gestured just as the doorbell rang throughout the house.

You gave him a knowing look, “OkAAAAAy…. How about I make the coffee and you answer the door?” He joked went left you by the door so he could head to the kitchen.

Opening the front door, you were met with a familiar face that sent your heart rate spiraling, “Oh Chan! Hi! What- what are you doing here?”

“Oh you know- I was just in the neighborhood and… and I thought I’d stop by to make sure you… um… got everything done for your part of the project like we talked about…” He very awkwardly smiled at his clearly made up reason for coming to see you.

Seeing his cute shyness made something swell in your chest you hadn’t felt before, “Oh… well yes I did. I finished it last night. I can send it to you if you want!” You suggested just as a loud fumble originated from the kitchen, causing concern to plaster itself on the young boy’s face.

“_______, are you- are you okay? Is there someone else here? I thought you and San lived alone…?” He quizzed.

“Oh yes- yes we’re fine. That’s just… that is just someone in my family visiting from home. Im sorry, if he had not come here I’d probably ask you in but he physically JUST got here and I- um well we have some catching up to do. Is there anyway we could do this another time?” You sweetly begged him, trying your best to not upset him.

You really had begun to like Chan. You knew you shouldn’t. You knew it was wrong. But he was just so… sweet.

How could you not love someone who was not only amazing to you, but amazing to your son as well. It happened so rarely. You stopped dead in thought, did you really think you loved him? Were you going crazy? You didn’t know him and he didn’t know you. You were just lab partners. Still… It almost seemed as if he didn’t mind that you were a young single mother.

“O-of course! I understand. Don’t worry! We’ll get together later and- and we can finish the project as a whole then!” Concurred the boy in front of you as he waved you goodbye and started his walk back home.

You quickly shut the door once he was mostly out of view, only to suddenly be met with a very strange faced brother.

His appearance made your heart beat race. You put your hand over your chest to help soothe it and bring your pulse back to a normal speed.

“Aya! Why do you have to be such a stalky creep Mako! You nearly gave me a heart attack” You giggled and slapped your brother’s chest playfully to lessen the tension, but your brother’s serious face was not fading.

“Who was that boy??” He questioned you as he got closer to you and took a sniff of the surrounding air.

You back up a little to regain some personal space, “Oh… him?” You gulped, “That was just Chan. He’s- He’s my lab partner at school and he-” your brother started circling you, “He just wanted to finish the project we had to work on but- but I told him now wasn’t a good time. So- so he left.” You finished, following your brother’s figure in his little dance around you.

“You should be more careful ______. He’s a wolf.” Mako informed you as he finally stopped his pacing.

Your heart all but stopped at his statement, “W-What…? No… no he- he couldn’t be. He’s- he’s just the boy next door…” you ran your hand through your hair in nervousness.

“Well boy next door or not. He’s a wolf. I could smell it all over him. He probably lives with a bunch of them too from the harshness of it all.” He declared while walking into your kitchen, “Are you sure he’s not the one you’ve been feeling around you? They could be a house full of mate stealers or collectors you know. They definitely wouldn’t be the first.” He took a sip of his coffee in a reformed manner.

You were in disbelief. Chan? Your sweet Channie was a wolf? How was that even possible? He didn’t seem like any werewolf you had ever met. He was considerate and thoughtful, not that some wolves weren’t it’s just the ones you’ve been near, minus your own brother, weren’t usually as attentive or loving as he was. It didn’t make sense. You just couldn’t wrap your brain around it.

Your brother sensed your reluctance when you started to zone out of the conversation, “______, he’s not like, your boyfriend or anything right?” He asked while setting his cup down and handing you your own.

“W-What? Channie? No he’s- he’s just a friend. One of the few I actually managed to make. I just- I just can’t believe he’s one of you. I never would’ve thought. He’s so gentle, I never would’ve made him out to be a big bad wolf.” You take the cup from your brother and down the bitter brew to gain you back some of your footing.

“Well maybe he’s who’s been stalking around. Before I came in, I saw paw prints leading to your backyard. I think whoever it was has been watching your house.” Mako disclosed to you with a somber face.

Your own fell, “But just a minute ago you were telling me it was probably nothing!” You protested.

“Well yeah… but that was also before I knew a wolf pack had been hanging around you. They’ve probably been stalking you.”

“That doesn’t even make any sense! Why on Earth would they do that?? What reason would they have to stalk me??” You angrily huffed at your brother’s insinuation.

“Well if they’re mate stealers or collectors, they’re trying to find the right time to strike…” He trailed off and leaned on the counter behind him for support.

You shook your head in defiance, “Why the hell would a pack of them want ME?? Huh? I’m all used up and broken. I’m a single mom with a tornado toddler. I’m no good to anyone let alone some sickos just trying to get off!”

“_____, I know how you feel about yourself given everything that’s happened to you, but regardless of that these guys would still want you. Collectors are crazy about finding the best girls they can to share. No matter what you think of yourself, your still very beautiful. And the fact that you’ve been in such a situation, to them, it would make you…. Well it would make it easier for them…” he stiffly explained to you.

“No!” You shouted while throwing your hands in the air, “Chan isn’t like that! He wouldn’t do that! He wouldn’t hurt a fly!”

Just as you finished your sentence, an ear crippling scream broke its way into your conversation. It was coming from the backyard. Both you and your brother’s faces dropped in horror.

“San!!”

You burst your way through the doors of the hospital ward, holding onto your son’s hand for dear life, “It’s okay my love,” you say in your native language so only you, San, and Mako could understand, “It’s gonna be okay.” You did your best to fake a smile for him.

When you went outside to find him, you couldn’t believe the sight you were met with. Your son was laying on the now red covered grass, crying his eyes out. He was holding his little arm and screeching in pain.

“San baby!” You wailed and ran and knelt down beside him trying to find the source of his bleeding as your brother went back in the house to grab some supplies, “Baby tell me what hurts!”

He turn himself over just enough for you to see his arm in a better light. It was torn to shreds. You could see part of his bone and a lot of deep red blood coming from the newly exposed skin. It looked like it had been put through a meat grinder. You wanted to throw up and cry all at once. But you knew that wouldn’t help anything.

Your brother and out with some towels and a little medical supply bag you had for emergencies. You had been through your fair share of brutal ‘accidents’ and at this point, you’d learned how to fix things yourself. You quickly grabbed one of the towels Mako had brought out and wrapped it around his arm, “San my love how did this happen??” You all but bawled as you held pressure on his arm.

The next thing he managed to say caused every bone in your own body to go cold: Puppy.

Now here you and your brother were, sitting in a hospital room while the doctors had taken your baby into surgery to try and save his arm. You couldn’t stop crying. Your hands were still stained with his blood, your clothes were now soiled with your son’s tears. Your brother had his arm around you to try and get you to calm down. But it was no use. You were a wreck. Your only reason for living was laying on a hospital gurney fighting for his life.

Why didn’t you watch him? Why did you let him go outside? Why didn’t you protect him? How could you let your baby get hurt? What kind of mother were you?

It got so bad that your brother had to ask the nurse to give you a sedative. Normally they wouldn’t do such a thing, but given that you were basically flailing yourself in the middle of their lobby, she didn’t have much of a choice.

After the shot, you felt like everything was going in slow motion. You were still crying, but the tears were less severe. You weren’t shrieking in gut wrenching pain anymore. You just… numb.

It was another six hours of your brother consoling you in the hospital before a doctor came out to speak with you. As soon as you saw him, both of you stood up to greet him.

“Ms. ______?”

“Yes. That’s me. Doctor please tell me, is my son okay?” You trembled.

“Yes Ms. but his arm is badly damaged. We did what we could to repair some of the damage. But unfortunately until he wakes up and heals more, we have no idea about the extent of the long term damages. He may never be able to use his arm again. But you can go see him whenever you’re ready, though he’ll be unconscious for a while longer.” And with that, the doctor bowed his head to you both and took his leave.

You all but fell into your brother’s arms. You had to explain to him in your native language what the doctor said as he didn’t speak Korean and the severity of the situation just knocked you off your feet.

He’s only a baby. How can he grow up without he function of his arm?

“I told you so.” Your brother just had to let out as you both sat by your son’s bedside.

You sighed loudly with watery eyes, “Mako, don’t-” he quickly interrupted you.

“No. I told you so. It was that boy. I know it was.” Of course when you were at your worst, he would still have the balls to taunt you.

“Mako, I’m not in the mood right-” you tried again to be met with failure.

“No. My nephew is in a hospital bed right now. We both know he’s the only other wolf you’ve been around. He was there right before it happened. It HAD to have been him-”

“I KNOW ALRIGHT! I know! You don’t have to lecture me! I know it’s all my fault! I should’ve been more careful about who I was around!” You barked at him as volumized as you could while still remaining quiet enough to not arouse suspicion, “I was stupid. It won’t happen again.”

“Well… good. Just as long as we both know you fucked up.” You scowled at him from across your son’s bed.

“So what do we do now?” You asked.

“We take him home. Then I’ll deal with the problem as soon as I can.”

You gulped. Part of you hurt at the thought of your brother hurting Chan. You didn’t know why. He was just the boy next door. You shouldn’t have cared so much about him being eliminated.

Especially after it looked like he was the one who mangled your son. But you did. It hurt so fucking badly. Almost as badly as it hurt seeing your son bleeding on the ground. Almost.

“Okay.”

“How are you feeling my love?” You quizzed your son once again as you opened the door to your shared home and let him in.

You stayed at the hospital for five days. Five days was all they kept him. You felt like it should’ve been longer do to his injuries. But they let him go once he started to walk around since they ruled out child abuse.

Once he started talking about the puppy, much to your dismay, they started believing it was a random dog that had found it’s way into your backyard and you went with it as to not gain any unwanted attention. Now he was acting as if nothing happened. As if he wasn’t maimed by a wolf. He was just his usual little happy self.

“I’m okay mommy. Can I go play now?” He smiled as he kicked his shoes off.

You gave him a sad grin bad, “Yes my love. If you feel up to it. But stay in the house. Understood?”

He bobbed his little head up and down, “Yes mommy. I promise.”

Your brother made his way in with all the baggage you all managed to accumulate at the hospital. He just got through the door way to your house before he started to drop everything to the ground, “Man I may have wolf strength, but that shit was rough.” He chuckled.

You couldn’t believe that they were both acting as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. They had just moved on from it like nothing.

“Yeah well, get over it. We’ve got bigger things to worry about.” You reminded him, causing him to roll his eyes.

“Aya, don’t you ever let up ______. Just sit down and breathe for a second.” He pushed you to sit down on the couch after shutting and locking the door.

You groaned at him, “Mako. We do not have the time for breathing. My son was almost killed by a wolf. We need to deal with this and we need to deal with it now!” You almost shouted at him, just staying quiet enough to make sure San couldn’t hear from the other room.

“Look I’m concerned too. But dealing with the problem can wait a day or two while we recover from it all. Besides, don’t you have class today?” He clicked his tongue as he sat down on the couch across from you.

He was right, the realization hit you. You did have class today, “So what,” you shrugged, “I’m obviously not going. My son was nearly killed. By my lab partner in fact. I’m sure the professor will make an exception and be understanding.”

“You know you can’t just say that to them. Plus, what better way to get a feel for where the kid’s at than to speak to him in person where he can’t run away.” Mako suggested, leaning back in his seat in the process.

“I want to claw his eyes out for what he did,” liar. Even after he did what all evidence pointed to him doing, you still couldn’t find it in your heart to hurt him. “What makes you think I’ll be able to hold a conversation with him? I haven’t even answered his texts the last few days.” You tried to convince yourself.

You didn’t really hate him. You couldn’t. Even if all evidence pointed to him being the one who harmed San. Your heart hurt just thinking about him. You were telling the truth about not texting him back though. You hadn’t. Not since the day San was mauled.

“I have faith in you. You can do it. Just act normal and make him think we don’t suspect him. Then I can deal with things.”

“But- but what about San? I can’t just leave him here!” You stomped your small foot on the ground to try and make a point.

Your brother just chuckled at your foolishness, “I’m here _____. And we both know I won’t let anything happen to him. So you need to go.” He pushed. On one hand the thought of having to speak with Chan after everything made you sick.

But there was still a huge part of you that wanted to hear his voice again for some reason. And it seemed to be stronger than the disgusted part because the next work out of your mouth was, “Okay.”

When you walked into class, he was once again staring at the door, as if he was waiting for someone. Part of you wanted to roll your eyes. The other part was hoping it was you he was waiting on.

That part of you was more than satisfied when his face grew into a smile and he waved you over to him like he did last time. Only this time, you didn’t return his smile. Just like you didn’t return his texts.

Honestly, Chan had begun to worry about you. After he left your house the other day, something started to feel… off once he got home.

He couldn’t REALLY put his finger on WHAT was off, but he knew something was up. So naturally, he texted you to make sure you were okay as he thought going over to your house twice in one day would’ve been too clingy. But you didn’t answer him.

Nor did you answer his next text a few hours later. Or the next one. Or the next one after that. He had begun to panic. He was worried you were in trouble. His brothers all tried to play it off as you begin busy but honestly, they were worried to. This didn’t sound like the loving motherly girl their brother had talked to them so much about.

So after a few days, Chan, Mingyu, and Minghao planned to go over to your house to go check and make sure you were okay. They could always make some excuse like ‘they just wanted to be sure their baby brother got to your place okay’ or something stupid to make you believe it was more as a joke and not so serious. But really, they were concerned that something had happened to you so they wanted reinforcements.

Once they got to your door and knocked, no one answered. They knocked and rang the door bell again and once again, no one answered. They did this three more times to no avail. So they decided to check your place out quietly to see if they could figure out why you weren’t answering because, surely even if you were asleep at this point, you would’ve woken up and gotten the door. Mingyu went around back towards your backyard while Chan and Minghao went to check inside the house after Minghao picked the lock.

The two boys found nothing odd or out of the ordinary upstairs or near the front door. It wasn’t until they went to the kitchen/living room that they saw and smelt the blood. It made Chan’s pulse skyrocket. There were little drops scattered about on the floor and there were bloody towels in the kitchen sink.

Once they opened the back door and let Mingyu in, his report wasn’t any better. A bloodbath in the backyard on the grass. Paw prints everywhere. Torn bits of clothing scattered about.

Chan started to hyperventilate. What could’ve happened to you? Why didn’t he feel it? How could he not feel that you were in danger? You were his mate, he was supposed to protect you. But he couldn’t even do that. How could he not have protected you?

The older two boys tried to calm their baby brother down by insisting that if something bad had actually happened to YOU, he would’ve felt it i me the depths of his soul. It did help relax him a bit, but that only meant one other thing: it must be San. He was the only other one that actually LIVED in the house.

That’s when another thought dawned on him: you had someone staying with you. You told him someone had come into town to see you that day all this started. What if they hurt you both somehow? What if it was HIM?

So he followed the mating pull and his brothers tracked your scent to the hospital. They figured you must have been in there. You didn’t smell like death, you must’ve been alive.

And as much as Chan wanted to crash through the doors, run around until he found you, then smash his lips to yours promising to never let you go again, he knew he couldn’t. He’d just have to wait till you came out. So that’s exactly what he did. He waited. And waited. And waited. And soon, it was time for him to go to school.

At first he didn’t even want to go in case you came back home, but his brothers convinced him by reminding him that you also had Chemistry that day. So he bolted down to the campus and sat on his usual stool and prayed to any god listening that you’d show up unharmed and unhurt.

For most of the class, you completely ignored him. You sat there straight faced and tried your best to pay attention to the teacher and not to the boy burrowing holes in the side of your head. But god, you wanted to look at him. You NEEDED to look at him. You couldn’t though. You had to be strong. He hurt your son, you had to keep reminding yourself, you had to leave him alone.

It wasn’t until after the class had ended and literally everyone had cleared out but the two of you that he spoke to you.

“______! You don’t even know how glad I am to see you!” He’s joking right? “When you didn’t answer my messages, I thought- well i dont really know what I thought really. I was just sooooo worried for you.” For you? What about for your SON?

You scoffed in his direction and loaded your backpack full of your books and pads of paper.

“______? Why aren’t you speaking to me…? Did I- did I do something to offend you?” Yeah. You nearly ripped my son’s arm off you jackass.

You pulled your pack on and made your way to the door of the classroom. You were ready to go off, it didn’t help that this class was one of the only ones going on at this time of night. You were hungry and worried and tired. You wanted to leave.

“______?” He followed you to the door. He FOLLOWED you to the door.

The audacity he had was almost enough to make you slap him. You were supposed to remain cool. To make him think everything was fine so your brother could deal with it. But he was testing your limits.

“What do you want Chan huh?!? What is it I could POSSIBLY do for you after what you did??” You growled at him, sending him jolting back slightly in his place.

“What- ______, what are you talking about? What did I do?” He asked all doe eyed and helpless as he pulled your shoulder gently so you could look at him. God you were so angry with yourself for wanting to kiss him.

“You know what you did Chan!” You yanked your arm back, “And how could you? My son?? MY SON??? What did he EVER do to deserve that?? You’re a monster!” You declared as you pushed him back and made your way out the door and down the hall to the exit.

Aside from the initial shock of having you be pissed at him for no reason, he had to find out what the actual fuck you were talking about. So he pushed his feet to copy your movements and went towards the exit into the parking lot. When he finally hit the pavement, he felt small rain drops fall onto his skin.

“_____! Wait please! Please talk to me! I don’t understand what you’re talking about!” He pleaded as you got into your car and tried to roll over the engine. It was an older car so it was taking more tries than you would’ve liked.

Finally, the lights went on and the engine began to roar, just as he found your parking spot and put his hands on the hood of your car.

“_____ please! What happened? What do you think I did? I know what you’re saying!” He repeated with glossy eyes.

You just rolled yours, “Move Chan or I’ll make you move!” You spit at him at venomously as a viper.

Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t try and push to the point of potentially getting ran over by a car, but he couldn’t leave things like this with you. He LOVED you. He was just hoping for his own sake that part of you already loved him too thanks to the mate pull so he wouldn’t get hit.

“No! I won’t move until you tell me what’s going on!” He shouted over the volume of your engine. You just put your foot on the gas pedal and revved at him in an effort to scare him. But it didn’t work.

“Go on then! Hit me! If you won’t talk to me then I don’t want to live anyways!” Tears we’re already falling down his face.

He couldn’t help it, he knew you didn’t know, but this would be considered a rejection in his wolf parts eyes. He’d die anyways if you didn’t accept him. So what did he really have to lose by standing his ground?

You heavily sighed at yourself for being so weak and pulled your keys from your engine, getting out of your vehicle and standing in front of the now distraught boy, “I could’ve killed you Chan!” You threw your hands in the air at his stupidity.

He just smiled slightly and bit his lip, “Yeah… but you didn’t.”

You mumbled something in your native language that he didn’t understand and ran your hands through your hair, “I just want to know why you did it? I thought-” you swallowed a choke that was bound to set itself free, “-Some crazy part of me thought that some part of you liked me… and then you- you go and attack my son! How- how could you? He’s just a baby!”

Chan’s eyes widened in disbelief, “Wait! San got attacked?!?!? By what? Is he alright? Where is he? Is he hurt?” He seemed genuinely concerned, which confused and infuriated you even more.

“Dont bullshit me Chan! You were the only one who could’ve done it! You were the only one of your kind around other than my brother and he was inside with me the ENTIRE time!” You stood right in front of him and poked at his toned chest.

“My kind…” he looked down and seemed to be in thought for a moment before he let out a breath you didn’t even know he was holding in, “So you know about me then…”

“Yes of course I do!” You pushed at his shoulders.

“How?” He mumbled.

You scoffed at him for what seemed to be the millionth time that night, “How? HOW?!? My brother told me. He said he could smell you from a mile away! Then you go and mangle my son! What do you mean how?!?”

His head shot back up, “Wait! You think I hurt your son?!? ______, I would never hurt San! Or you! Because I- I….” He trailed off.

“Because you what??” You interrogated him with tears threatening to fall from your eyes in anger.

“I- I love you.” He stuttered.

You drew yourself back to stand up straighter and your face fell, “You- You what?”

He tightened one of his hands into a fist by his side in comfort as he prepared to speak again, “I said I love you. I’d never hurt you. Or San!”

You felt a tear slide down your cheek as you blinked to confirm you had indeed just heard what you thought you had. You stared into Chan’s eyes deeply, looking for any sign of trickery or maliciousness and found none, “You-” You shook yourself out of your trance, “You don’t love me Chan. You’re- You’re just a kid.”

“That’s not true! I may be younger but I’m not stupid!” He stepped closer to your form and pushed a piece of stray wet hair behind your ear, “I love you. Since you already know what I am and since your brother is one, I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out by now. You’re my mate _______.” He tilted your chin up so you’d look at him, “I’d never hurt you. I love you. I’d do anything for you.”

You felt like you were in a daze, “Then- Then who hurt my son?” You looked at him frightened.

“I don’t know. But it wasn’t anyone in my pack. We’ve actually gone through great lengths lately to check on you to make sure you were okay. The second San came in talking about the puppy I went home and told them and they were all busy that day. It wasn’t them. I figured it was whoever you were running from…” he earnestly told you.

That snapped you out of your little bubble, “I’m- I’m not running from anybody!” You tried to emphasize to him.

You didn’t really want him to know. It was bad enough your family knew, you couldn’t tell him too. It was humiliating.

He took your shakey hands in his own soft solid ones, “______, I know that’s not true.” His eyes glistened into your own with such love, you broke down and started crying.

You told him everything, right there in the deserted parking lot of your university with rain pouring down on you both.

Though it very much surprised Chan, he didn’t hesitate to pull you into his torso, even though you slightly flinched at the contact. To him, it felt unbelievably natural, like he had done it 1000 times before. You started sobbing. You started sobbing hard. Being held by him felt like coming home after a long car drive. It felt like you were floating lost in space and he had pulled you back into orbit.

You weren’t sure of much in life, but you were sure of one thing: you were positive he would never hurt you or your son.

He kissed the top of your soaked head and put both hands on the side to have you gave him, “______, I’m sorry about what’s happened to you in the past. But I promise you, I’ll never let it happen again.” And when you looked into his eyes, you could tell that he truly meant every single word he said.

(Edited 10/20/22)

#seventeen #seventeen au #seventeen angst #seventeen fanfic #seventeen fluff #seventeen smut #seventeen x reader #svt au #svt chan #seventeen chan #lee chan #svt dino #lee dino

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thomaslightwood · 4 years ago

Text

The Sanctuary || Thomastair (from Alastair's POV)

From chapter 19 & 21 from COI!

This was weird to do and even tho I had the dialogue it wasn't as easy to write as I expected. I tried to make this how I imagine Alastair's thought process and it hit a little too close to home so tried my best to do this scene justice. I hope you like it!

•

Alastair barely moved since the door had closed and locked behind the Consul for the last time.

It has been hours. Alastair was rereading pages of The Prince over and over again, without actually understanding most of them. He randomly turned on pages from time to time, at least to look like he was reading.

Even without looking at Thomas, he was aware where he was in the Sanctuary. Alastair wondered what Thomas thought of him now. After founding out Alastair literally had been stalking him for weeks. Or maybe he was worrying about the fact he was accused for murder.

At some point, Thomas walked to the door and shook it, like he was hoping even for the slightest chance that the lock and wards had failed.

“A little menacing that the Sanctuary bolts shut from the outside, isn’t it? I never thought about it much before,” Alastair said, his voice was the first loud thing in hours.

Thomas turned around to look at him. There was something desperate in his face.

“I, er, suppose one might have to keep an unexpectedly dangerous Downworlder out, or something,” Thomas said awkwardly. Alastair looked away.

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “On the other hand, it does give the Institute a makeshift prison.”

It was a little creepy when he thought about it. A Sanctuary was supposed to be a sacred place. A place that provides safety and protection. Alastair had never thought he would be held as a prisoner here. And definitely not with Thomas Lightwood.

Thomas wandered a little closer to him. Alastair didn't look away from his book. With the corner of his eye he could see Thomas' messy hair, clothes stained with blood and dirt. His tattoo was bright on his arm.

“Why have you been following me around?” Thomas demanded.

Alastair’s breath hitched. He didn't expect Thomas to speak to him. “Someone had to,” he said, still staring at his book.

“What on earth does that mean?” Thomas said.

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to, Lightwood,” Alastair said sharply. He didn't want to have a fight with him, not now. Not ever.

Thomas sat down with a thump on Alastair’s mattress. Alastair blinked at him in surprise.

“I do want the answer,” Thomas said. “And I will not get up until you tell it to me.”

Alastair slowly set his book aside. He could see Thomas' neck, the edge of his white shirt and if he moved his gaze further below there was the promise of his chest, hidden underneath the cloth. Alastair thought about their time in Paris, in the cafe. Thomas' warm skin under his fingers. And many months later, in London, his skin was warm as he remembered it, but marked with the rose compass tattoo.

“I knew you were taking extra patrols,” Alastair said, still thinking about Thomas' tattoo. “And more than that - going out by yourself with a murderer on the loose. You were going to get yourself killed. You’re meant to take someone with you.”

It sounded logical, didn't it? Alastair hoped so because if not Thomas would reveal that Alastair followed him because he wasn't just worried Tom would get himself killed - he wanted to be close to him, to take care of him, to do something for him, even if Thomas wasn't aware of it.

“No, thank you,” Thomas said. “All these people going out in pairs, announcing themselves every time they speak, unable to make a move without consulting each other - they might as well ring a bell to let the killer know they’re coming. And meanwhile, if you’re not on the schedule, you’re supposed to just sit around on your arse doing nothing. We’ll never catch the murderer if we avoid being out on the streets. That’s where the murderer is.”

Well, this sounded logical too, Alastair thought. Stubborn and reckless but logical.

Alastair was a little amused. “Never before have I heard such a concise statement of the ludicrous philosophy with which you and your school friends go through the world, running toward danger,” he said, stretching. “But that’s not why you were doing what you were doing,” Alastair added. “There’s a little truth to what you just said, but not the heart of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You couldn’t save your sister. So you want to save other people. You want revenge, even if this isn’t the same evil that took Barbara - it’s still evil, isn’t it?” Alastair knew what he said may sound rude and was definitely not his business. But he was also determined to speak the truth. No matter how ugly, no matter how painful. The truth must be faced. “You want to behave recklessly, and you don’t want your reckless behavior to compromise a patrol partner’s safety. So you went alone.”

Thomas' face told him he was right.

“Well, I don’t believe you really think that we’re stupid,” Thomas said, “or that we willingly court danger for danger’s sake. If you believed that, you would do more to stop Cordelia spending time with us.”

Alastair scoffed. Like he could stop Cordelia from anything.

“My point,” Thomas went on, an edge to his voice, “is that I don’t think you believe the rude things you say. And I don’t understand why you say them. It doesn’t make any sense. It’s as if you want to drive everyone away.” He paused. “Why were you so awful to us in school? We never did anything to you.”

Alastair winced. For a long moment he was silent. What he could tell? What he could tell to make Thomas believe he's not terrible? Maybe he couldn't. Maybe this wasn't possible. He could only tell Thomas the truth and let him decide.

“I was awful to you …,” he said at last, “because I could be.”

“Anyone can be a bastard if they want to be,” said Thomas. “You had no reason to do it. Your family are friends with the Herondales. You could at least have been kinder to James.”

This wasn't untrue, mostly. But there was so much more than this.

“When I got to school,” said Alastair slowly, the effort costing him, “loose talk about my father had preceded me. Everyone knew he was a failure, and some of the older students decided I was an easy target. They … let’s just say that by the end of the first week, I had been made to understand my place in the hierarchy, and I had the bruises to remind me should I ever forget.”

Those were painful memories. The jokes, the vicious words and the other kids' fists. Back then he thought he would never allow someone to treat him like that again, even if this meant he would become a monster himself.

“After about a year of being knocked around,” Alastair went on, “I realized I could either become one of the bullies, or suffer for the rest of my school days. I felt no loyalty to my father, no need to defend him, so that was never a problem. I wasn’t very big - well, you know what that’s like.”

He eyed Thomas for a moment. Looking self-conscious, Thomas shrank back a bit. Physically he had grown so much, his muscles were visible through the shirt.

“What I did have,” said Alastair, “was a savage tongue and a quick wit. Augustus Pounceby and the others would collapse laughing when I cut some poor younger student down to size. I never got my hands bloody, never hit anyone, but it didn’t matter, did it? Soon enough the bully boys forgot they’d ever hated me. I was one of them.”

“And how did that turn out for you?” Thomas said in a hard voice.

Alastair looked at him matter-of-factly. “Well, one of us has a close-knit group of friends, and the other one has no friends at all. So you tell me.”

“You have friends,” Thomas said. Alastair snorted at this. He didn't. Not really.

“Then you arrived, a bunch of boys from famous families, too well brought up to understand at first what went on far from home. Expecting the world would embrace you. That you would be treated well. As I never had been.” Alastair pushed back a lock of hair. His hands were shaking. He was so bitter then, so full of anger at the injustice of the world. He took a breath, hoping Thomas didn't notice. “I suppose I hated you because you were happy. Because you had each other - friends you could like and admire - and I had nothing like that. You had parents who loved each other. But none of that excuses the way I behaved. And I do not expect to be forgiven.”

It hurted Alastair to say it, to think about it. But he really didn't think the Merry Thieves would forgive him - he wasn't surprised. If he was at their place he probably wouldn't forgive himself too.

“I’ve been trying to hate you,” Thomas said quietly, “for what you did to Matthew. You richly deserve to be hated for what you have done.”

Alastair looked Thomas in the face. “It wasn’t just his mother I slandered. It was your parents, too. You know it. So you don’t have to—to act all high-minded about this. Stop pretending you are only upset on behalf of Matthew. Hate me on your own behalf, Thomas.”

Part of him wanted this. One small, self-destructive part wanted Thomas to hate him. To tell him so. To lash out his anger at Alastair, so he could feel his pain in his bones, to remember it and to carry it with himself like he carried his own.

“No,” Thomas said firmly. He looked so sure, like this wasn't even an option. Like it was the law of nature, something that cannot.

Alastair didn't know how to react. Tension was freezing his body and mind and he could just blink at him.

“The reason I cannot hate you is because—because of those days we spent in Paris together,” he said. Alastair stomach flipped. “You were kind to me when I was very alone, and I am grateful. It was the first time I realized you could be kind.”

Alastair stared at him. The little light they had was doing strange things to Thomas' appearance. His hair looked lighter but his face was in shadow, making his eyes seem darker and deeper than usual. “It is my favorite memory of Paris as well.” Was Alastair saying this? Was this really his voice?

“You don’t have to say that. I know you were there with Charles.”

Alastair stiffened. He looked away. “Charles Fairchild? What about him?”

“Wouldn’t that be your best memory of Paris?” Thomas raised an eyebrow.

Alastair’s jaw was rigid. “Exactly what are you suggesting?”

He didn't want to do anything with Charles anymore. He wanted to move on. But it wasn't his business to reveal Charles' secrets. Alastair wouldn't do this to him.

“I’m not suggesting anything. I’ve seen the way you look at Charles, the way he looks at you. I’m not an idiot, Alastair, and I’m asking …” Thomas shook his head, sighing. His face was different than the past few months. The way he looked at Alastair… like he was searching for something. There was a deep ache in his eyes. “I suppose I’m asking if you’re like me.”

•

“Thomas Lightwood,” said Alastair. “I am nothing like you.”

If there was something in the whole world he was sure about, it was this.

He saw how Thomas' eyes widened. A pained expression on his face. Terror and humiliation were creeping in his eyes.

“I am nothing like you, Thomas,” Alastair continued, “because you are one of the better people I have ever known. You have a kind nature and a heart like some knight out of legend. Brave and proud and true and strong. All of it.” He smiled bitterly. He meant every word. “And all the time you have known me, I have been a terrible person. So, you see. We are nothing at all alike.”

Thomas’s gaze snapped up.

“I’m not—” Thomas breathed. “That’s not what I meant.”

“I know what you meant.” The words hung between them, neither daring to move a muscle. After a moment Alastair added in a gentler voice, “How did you know about Charles?”

“You wouldn’t tell me what you were doing in Paris,” said Thomas. “But you mentioned Charles, over and over again, like you got pleasure out of just saying his name. And when you came to London this summer, I saw the way you looked at him. I know what it is to have to hide the—the signs of affection.”

“Then I imagine you may have noticed I don’t look at Charles that way anymore,” Alastair said and couldn't not think what a lovesick fool he was.

“I suppose I did,” Thomas said, “though for the past four months, I’ve been trying not to look at you. I told myself I hated you. But I could never really make myself. When Elias died, all I could think about was you. What you must be feeling.”

Alastair winced. “I insulted your father and blackened his name. You were under no obligation to care about mine.”

Elias was something Alastair carefully avoided to think about. The unsaid words, the anger and all the disgust, resentment and undescribable loss of his father in so many ways was too much to bear.

“I know, but sometimes I think that it is much harder to lose someone who we are on bad terms with than it is to lose someone with whom all is well,” Thomas said kindly.

Tears filled Alastair's eyes.

“Bloody hell, Thomas. You should hate me, not be thinking about what I must be feeling—” Alastair swiped at his eyes. Raziel, his kindness. It was good he didn't deserve, a blessing so precious it made him want to cry. Why couldn't Thomas just hate him? Why couldn't he be like Matthew Fairchild and hate him? It would be deserved. It would be easier. “And the worst of it is, you’re right, of course. You always understood other people so well. I think I partly hated you for it, for being so kind. I thought, ‘He must have so much, to be able to be so generous.’ And I thought that I had nothing. It never occurred to me that you had secrets too.”

“You were always my secret,” said Thomas softly, and Alastair turned a surprised gaze at him. His face was so open, so vulnerable. It was so different, they both were, since the first time they met but… at the same time so soft, so kind like it was at the Academy, at Paris and now, at the Sanctuary again.

“Does no one know?” said Alastair. “That you—like men? How long have you known?”

“Since after I came to school, I think,” Thomas said in a low voice. “I knew what caught my eye, quickened my pulse, and it was never a girl.”

“And you never told anyone?”

Thomas hesitated. “I could have told my friends that I liked men. They would have understood. But I couldn’t have told them how I felt about you.”

“So you did feel something for me. I thought-” Alastair looked away, shaking his head. “I didn’t see you—you were this boy, following me around at school, and then I met you in Paris and you’d grown up and turned into Michelangelo’s David. I thought you were beautiful. But I was still caught up with Charles—” He broke off. “Just another thing I’ve wasted. Your regard for me. I wasted my time and my affection on Charles. I wasted my chance with you.”

It would definitely be easier if Thomas hated him, Alastair thought with bitterness. But now, knowing he wasted his time with a man who would choose his career over Alastair every time when he could be with Thomas—it was too much. Another tragedy in his life, another wasted opportunity….

“Maybe not,” Thomas said. He sounded dizzy. “About me, I mean.”

Alastair blinked. “Speak sense, Lightwood,” he said testily. His words couldn't reach Alastair's brain. “What do you mean?”

“I mean this,” said Thomas, and leaned towards Alastair.

It was a quick kiss. Unsure and shocking and so, so sweet.

Thomas drew back hesitantly. It was obvious he didn't know if this was alright, if he wasn't crossing a line. Alastair caught hold of Thomas’s shirtfront in a firm grip. He slid onto his knees so that they faced each other; with Thomas sitting back on his heels, their heads were at the same level.

“Thomas—” Alastair began. His voice was rough, unsteady. He had a hard time getting a grip on himself. Abruptly, Alastair let go of Thomas’s shirt, started to turn his face away.

“Just imagine,” Thomas said. “What if we’d never gone to the Academy together? What if none of those things had happened, and Paris was the first time we’d met? And this was the second?”

Alastair said nothing. It was an impossible scenario. Just a comfort fantasy for the cold, sad nights that ended up hurting you more than healing you.

He smiled weakly. “Damn you, Thomas,” he said, and there was resignation, yes. Because he was so done pretending, so done hiding what he was feeling towards this amazing man. He wanted to feel every dark, forbidden and sweet thing there was with Thomas.

A moment later he was pulling Thomas toward him. Their bodies collided, awkward and thrilling. Alastair knew he was probably the more experienced of the two but he was barely aware what he was doing.

He had never imagined he would be able to do all this. To touch Thomas' chest, his shoulders and back, his tattoo and Adam's apple. He had never imagined Thomas would tenderly kiss the arch of his throat and smile against Alastair's skin. He had never imagined he would be so happy while waiting to be proved innocent for a crime. But while he was kissing Thomas Lightwood, he thought it was worth it.

#thomastair #alastair carstiars #thomas lighwood #tlh #tsc #coi #the last hours #the shadowhunter chronicles #chain of iron #coi spoilers #chain of iron spoilers #cassandra clare #tsc fanfiction #tsccreatenet #sav's writing #my post

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lubdubsworld · 4 years ago

Text

Better Man. ( Taehyung x Oc)

Rated 18 +

Post Divorce, Getting Back Together, Second chances, Angst.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2 ~ Its okay to want something to end and also be sad that its ending.

With infidelity, its never black and white.

There’s different kinds of infidelity and you can’t ever say which is worse. That depends entirely on the people involved and the values they hold dear. What may be a small indiscretion to someone, may well be an unforgivable act of betrayal to someone else.

And that’s fine. People aren’t one dimensional. We can’t all have the same perspective.

So infidelity is also never one dimensional.

Sometimes its a one night stand. Something done and forgotten. Discarded from the mind like the used condom in the motel room floor.

Sometimes its a dear friend who betrays you, your best friend who apparently always had a thing for your husband and felt perfectly fine making a move on him. That one stings . Because you lose two people. Two very important people at the same time.

Sometimes its a coworker, someone who stays by their side majority of the day. Who offers a sympathetic ear when your husband wants to relax.

Sometimes men just fall out of love and are too much of a coward to say it out loud, opting to cheat on you instead.

Sometimes, they are jealous, of your career, of your kid, or your friends. Too lazy to win your affection they go find satisfaction in some one else’s bed.

Sometimes it never even gets physical. Sometimes its just someone catfishing your husband or sending him nudes.

And sometimes, its an emotional connection. They actually fall deeply in love with someone else and I think, for most women, that would be the one that would sting the most.

With Taehyung, it had been a night of drinking. He had had one drink too many, had tumbled into bed with some trainee a decade younger and had broken our marriage vows.

Not really a very thought out or planned mistake. He hadn’t cheated with the intent to cheat. He had just been too drunk to know better.

So, why did I leave him?

Because it hadn’t been about the cheating.

It had been the drinking.

When we first met, Taehyung couldn’t hold his liquor. Not that it mattered because he didn’t like it all that much. Didn’t mind sipping juice when other’s nursed beers.

But as he grew older, as he grew more successful, he had started accepting drinks from producers and directors and fellow actors... Because, it was rude not to and Kim Taehyung was nothing if not the personification of politeness.

His tolerance hadn’t increased but his drinking had and that was a bad combo.

:”You need to stop doing this Tae. You can’t just come home black out drunk, every time you have an after party.... You’re going to hurt yourself or god forbid someone else... some day and I’m not going to sit here and wait for you to wreck your entire life over a stupid drink....”

It was a speech I had made way too many times. The words recycled and reframed, and rearranged to try and give them more weight , to help him realize how serious the issue was. To help him understand that what he was risking, it wasn’t just his reputation. It was his entire career, his life if he somehow got behind a wheel someday.

And Taehyung, who had won a bunch of Daesangs for his acting always convinced me that he understood what I was trying to say. That he understood the magnitude of my words and would heed them the next time.

So really, what people didn’t understand was that....

That evening, when he stood in front of me and said that he slept with another woman because he got drunk out of his mind, it wasn’t the sleeping with the girl that had bothered me. ( at least not that much. it hurt of course but it wasn’t that strong. it stemmed more from a place of “why didn’t you just ask someone to drive you home, you idiot.”.. rather than, “ how dare you sleep with another woman?” )

It was the got drunk out of my mind thing.

That was what I ended my marriage over.

That was it.

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

The details were hashed out easily and I didn’t particularly protest or change anything. Taehyung suggested an equal division of assets and I quickly disagreed. I wasn’t exactly poor. I worked as the Head of Marketing in a successful conglomerate. I had no use for excessive amounts of money. After some debate we agreed on setting up a trust fund for Hoshi with the money. He could use it after he turned twenty five.

And then came the next part.

Compensation for physical / Mental Damage.

I felt like i was spiraling.

“None On my side. None.” Taehyung said quickly and I swallowed.

Ms Lee gave me an encouraging smile.

“You can be honest Mrs Kim. We’re trying to go for a clean break between the two of you without any resentment carrying over. So its best to be honest. If you feel you need recompense for any emotional distress or abuse Mr. Kim may have put you through, you’re free to tell me. I’ll make sure it goes into record.”

And this was why I hated the idea of getting divorce.

That entire dialogue had sounded so...so... terrible. So accusatory and ugly. It wasn’t at all the way I felt about my husband.

It was just hurt. Plain and simple hurt because he didn’t take me seriously. Because he didn’t think my words were worth listening to. It was hurt laced with fear because he was putting himself in danger with his reckless actions and I wanted him to stop. That’s all it was.

It was hurt.

Taehyung had hurt me but it wasn’t emotional distress. It sure as hell hadn’t been abuse.

“None for me either.” I said firmly, honest .

I glanced at my husband, trying to tell him that I wasn’t just saying it. That it was true. I really didn’t want him to pay me money for what had happened.

But, Taehyung wouldn’t meet my eyes.

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

Taehyung signed over full custody of Hoshi with a smile.

“I trust you. “ He said quietly, penning his initials carefully on the document.

I nodded, feeling a little like drowning.

We had a very comfortable way of doing things as far as our son was concerned. Taehyung got Hoshi anytime he had time off and also on weekends.

With a very shifting schedule it was hard for Taehyung to pin down exact dates so we had long decided we would make things easier for each other. He would call me a day or so in advance and i would drop him off at Taehyung’s penthouse or the company. Special days like birthdays were always celebrated in a neutral place with both parties attending.

Hoshi loved it because it was a pleasant surprise for him, when his dad swooped in out of nowhere and took him off to amusement parks or arcades or swimming. He loved Taehyung .

So the visitation rights were easy to sketch out.

It was nothing new but to have it all put down on paper and initialed and notarized....it just felt invasive. Some judge somewhere would read all about how my marriage had crumbled to ashes and would pass judgment on me and that just felt odd.

Like airing your dirty laundry. Like letting strangers into your bedroom.

And the worst part was this : I felt myself getting upset , anytime Ms. Lee gave the slightest negative connotation to Taehyung’s actions or responsibilities. Anytime she tried to imply that he couldn’t be neglectful as a father, I wanted to jump right up and defend him. To tell her that he was a better father than the ones who lived 24/7 with their kids and didn’t know a damn thing about them.

That even as my husband, he had been so good to me. Had treated me like his best friend, his confidante, his lover. Had never shied away from showing me how much he loved me. Had been the best husband in the whole entire world.

And I hated myself for it.

What was wrong with me?

Why was I still so fiercely protective of him, I wondered. I hated the idea of him being criticized by anyone for any of it.

And it made feel like such a hypocrite because if he was so amazing, why on earth were we here??

Why on earth were we getting a divorce if Kim Taehyung was husband and father of the fucking Year?!!

Was I making a mistake? Had I made a mistake?

It confused me. These feelings that just refused to go away. I would never act on them because therein lay the path to misery but why were they still there?

This desperate clawing urge to make sure he came out of this whole debacle as a good guy. To make sure no one would brand him as a cheater . Because they would. When the divorce went public, they would dig things up and they would know.

I didn’t know how I’d gotten to this point where , I could somehow forget everything that was wrong, simply because I wanted to focus on what felt wrong....

Technically I should be happy.

Taehyung did something unpardonable ( for me, at the time. Now I wasn’t so sure. Now I felt like I could forgive him for it but he hadn’t asked for forgiveness. What he’d asked for was a divorce. ) and I left him. We were separated . And now finally we were getting a divorce.

Divorce meant we could finally get out of this no man’s land of uncertainty where we had hung for two whole years and move on, from each other and finally give a label to where we stood. Exes. We were exes. We were done. It was over.

Hadn’t I just yelled about him about how I liked labels?

And yet,

This entire divorce felt so wrong. So unnecessary.

And in a moment of clarity, as I watched Ms Lee read he whole thing over again for our benefit, I realized why it felt wrong.

It felt wrong because Taehyung was the one who wanted it.

Why did Taehyung want it? What had made him want to end it, officially?

Was he seeing someone else? Was he considering seeing someone else? Did he want to start enjoying the single lifestyle again?

Did he finally take a good long look at our marriage and found nothing worth salvaging anymore?

My head ached.

I couldn’t wait for the whole thing to be over. And yet my heart broke at the thought of it.

Ms Lee finally gathered up all the documents and gave us a wide smile.

“I wish every client I had was this reasonable. You two are a delight .” she shook her head. “ Should we get a drink to celebrate a day well spent?”

I opened my mouth to accept when Taehyung said, “ Sure, but it would have to be a juice for me. I don’t drink.”

I felt my heart take a swoop, nosediving to my knees.

I stared at him, stunned speechless.

“Haven’t had a drink in two years Mia. I’m done with that shit.” He said softly.

I swallowed.

“I didn’t know that.” I felt miserable all of a sudden, the weight of what we had just done pressing down on my heart like a 200 pound stone,

His gaze held mine.

“There’s a lot you don’t know.”

We stood staring at each other in silence and Ms. Lee cleared her throat.

“Uh... I just got a text from my next client. Maybe raincheck on the drinks? “

I nodded , watching her leave. Thank you i wanted to say, but for what?

For ending my marriage of eight fucking years?

And how ridiculous that very thought was. ..... She hadn’t ended our marriage, I had.

“I have the next two days off.” He said casually.

“You can pick Hoshi up from my mom’s place. I need to head back to the office.” I muttered, choking a little on tears that had sprung out of nowhere. .

“Hey.” his fingers closed over my wrists tugging me gently and I let myself get pulled into his arms. I hugged him, feeling my tears soak through the fabric of his shirt.

“I’m sorry it has to be this way.” I choked out.

He stroked the back of my head gently.

“Me too. “ He pressed a kiss to my hair and it only made me feel worse.

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

Author’s Note : Tae is 35, OC is 32

#taehyung smut #taehyung fics #taehyung fanfic #taehyung #taehyung fanfics #bts fanfics #bts smut #bts fanfic

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shadowscans · 3 years ago

Text

Translation of natalie.mu's Interview with Soumatou

Source: https://natalie.mu/comic/pp/shadowshouse03

With the TV anime “Shadows House” starting its broadcast on the 10th of April, Comic Natalie is running a special feature on the work. In this third installment of the series, the original author Soumatou makes their long-awaited appearance. Here, we are given the chance to hear them talk about the behind the scene of the production, the sense of speed that comes from the short amount of time between the adaptation decision and the broadcast, the background behind the creation of the original work where the characters have no face and whose expressions cannot be seen, as well as the story behind the creation of the 2-person unit Soumatou, with Nori in charge of design, and Hisshi in charge of drawing. It should be noted that in this interview, they are answering not as Nori and Hisshi but as Soumatou.

“It’s probably a work that’s hard to adapt into anime”

──Soumatou-san, when did you hear of the anime adaptation?

In 2019, about 50 chapters were made free to read online, and amidst the great response, we learned that the anime adaptation was greenlit.

── Making something open to the public has such an effect, huh?

When “Shadows House” started, it was a relatively subdued serialization. With the chapters being made free to read, people started sharing their thoughts through various means like Twitter, and the paper volumes were selling out. In regards to the public release, back when the person in charge proposed the idea, we approved of it since our impression was that “If not many people were reading it anyways, then let’s just give that a try.” Therefore, in the midst of all that, when we heard of the anime adaptation, we were very surprised. “Is there such a thing?” Because production starts immediately after the decision, it was very speedy.

──With how short the time period is between the decision and the start of broadcast, it doesn’t seem like you have much time to rejoice huh (laugh).

We were happy at the time of the decision of course, but apart from that, “It’s probably a work that’s hard to adapt into anime” was what we thought. In the first place, we’re the type that only believe in something we can see, so it didn’t really sink in for us. We were thinking something like “This project might not even fall through” (laugh). That is why ever since the anime adaptation was publicly announced, the feeling of joy finally sinked in.

──Soumatou-san, in what ways were you involved with the anime?

We supervised roughly all the main processes. When the anime adaptation was greenlit, since the person in charge advised me that “If you will be involved, then be involved with everything. If you won’t be involved, then don’t be involved with anything at all,” we thought “If it’s going to be like that, then we will do as much as we can.” However, the supervision of the script was quite hefty, and having to do that concurrently with the serialization was rather physically difficult.

──I had the chance to watch the first episode, and the thing that surprised me was the original development related to Emilyko’s establishment. Was it difficult to supervise these parts?

We had thought to draw that in the original work, though we decided not to since we thought it wasn’t particularly important. That was just a story from the original work which was added on. However, what was difficult were the adjustments made based on the decision at the script meeting to also depict elements or episodes which are not yet revealed in the original work. We have to think two steps ahead of the current plot of the ongoing serialization, then we have to put in stories or elements that would put us closer to that in the anime. It was a maddening task (laugh).

──If that’s the case, then it seems like it would be fun to compare the original work with the anime huh. Even though it’s difficult, was it refreshing to work on the anime?

Yes. Since we didn’t know anything about anime, or rather, we had no production know-how, so at first, we had no idea how everything would progress. To begin with, we gave them the material created for the serialization. Because we have already created a vast amount of material like the building’s 3D layout, it was easy to say “This is what the layout looks like.” In addition, even though the creation of the colored edition was intended for overseas readers, that material seemed to have been of use for the creation of the colors in the anime. In that sense, there might have been little materials that must be created when it comes to adapting it into an anime.

Supervising as far as the way soot is emitted and the movement of the Clingers

──Soumatou-san, what kind of impression did you have when you saw the anime?

We were amazed by how much more profound the atmosphere was than what we expected. We knew the character’s line drawing and the colors that go on them since we supervised it, but we can’t visualize the final image with just that. However, when we saw the processed recording with the background attached, we felt it was close to the impression of the original work.

──How about the directing?

Expressions that aren’t possible in the manga, such as the movement of the soot, Emilyko rolling on the ground or the inclusion of the song that the Living Dolls sang to themselves, left me with a strong impression.

──As for the soot, I was convinced that it would move like that. Was that also supervised by you?

As for the soot and the clingers, we were shown a few patterns, then we fine-tuned it from there.

──By the way, what kinds of patterns were there?

As for the soot, there was a difference in how it was emitted, be it softly or firmly. For the clingers, there was a difference in the movement, like whether it would move slowly like a cockroach or quickly. Such were the patterns that were there. We did quite a bit of trial and error.

Only the voice actors for Kate and Emilyko were entirely decided by others

──Did you go to the dubbing location?

We only visited for the first time to say hello. The voice actors went through the performance about 3 times. As we listened to the anime staff's directions without giving any input ourselves, we felt it fit our image. On the other hand, when the voice actors were asked by the director “Is there any part you want to re-record at the end?,” they responded with things like “I want to re-record this part” or “would this part be better like this instead,” one after another amending it. It was also the first time we observed a dubbing session, so we were very impressed.

──Well then, did Soumatou-san have any particular request?

There were one or two scenes where we thought “This doesn’t seem to come through, so we want it like this,” and asked them to redo the intonation. However, because anime has a fixed length, I felt that it was better to leave it to the director to draw out the best performance within that time limit. The rest of the time, it was alright for us to really just watch.

──That’s roughly how I imagined it to be. Well, then, please tell us about the impression you got from the main characters. First , how were Kate’s by Kitou Akira-san and Emilyko’s Sasahara Yuu-san?

The rough images of Kate and Emilyko’s voices in our own heads were just “calm” and “cheerful.” That’s why we were able to express our wishes after the audition for the other characters. However, just for these two, we only said, “Please use the person that fits the best'' and left it for others to decide (laugh). When we heard the audition, our impression was that Sasahara-san would fit Kate’s voice, and Kitou-san would fit Emilyko’s voice. However, when we looked at the results, it turned out to be the other way around. There are differences between the performance they did at the audition and at the start of the dubbing, though now we felt that this way was definitely more fitting.

──The other shadow and living doll pairs are played by one person each. What was your impression when you heard of that?

We stated in the original work that the shadows and living dolls have different voices. However, for the anime, when the idea to have the same person performing the roles was proposed, we told them that “we are looking forward to the voice actors doing their best.” The voices are altered based on vocal ranges, and I think the end result is that you will be able to enjoy the voice actors’ varied performances.

──Currently, the cast for four sets of characters has been announced. Please tell us your impressions about each of them.

Sakai Koudai-san’s duet between the hearty, easily carried away John and the cool-headed Shaun is very amusing. Both characters sound good, and their voices are cute. As for Sakura Ayane-san, she was able to portray the very different atmospheres between the lively Louise and the calm Lou.

──Those two consist of clearly different characters so it might be easy to work with, but I felt that the remaining two seem difficult.

Indeed. Kawashima Reiji-san has to play Patrick and Ricky - two characters whose voices and personalities are quite similar, so we thought it was quite a hard role. However, he was able to perform the roles with the understanding of the fine differences in the character of the two. For Shimoji Shino-san who plays the role of Shirley and Ram, there is a lot of dialogue with the imaginary friend, and she has to portray a different image than that of others. She said that “It’s a type of character that I have never played before,” but her voice fitted perfectly.

The pair’s 20-year relationship

──Well then, let’s move from “Shadows House” and let's hear about you Soumatou san, and your past works. You two work together as a pair, but when did you get to know each other?

We have known each other since when we were students, so it is already a roughly 20-year relationship.

──Why did you two start making manga together?

When Hisshi stopped submitting to manga awards, they no longer drew their own manga and ended up settling down as an assistant. I thought that this was a waste of potential, so when I quit my own job, I told Hisshi that I would write my own stories and asked Hisshi to draw them.

──Afterwards, you seemed to have created doujinshi for a while huh.

Yes. Because Nori normally doesn’t read manga and had not created a manga before, we thought to make a lot of them and send them to publishers. Since around 2008, we made a few and showed them at exhibitions. Afterwards, we were able to thankfully get in touch with Shueisha.

──It sure is amazing that you called out and said that you would “make your own story” even though you had no prior experience. Nori-san, what is it about the manga that Hisshi-san made that drew you in?

The composition is very skillful. To phrase it slightly poorly, even if the story is not that interesting, the skillful composition has the power to make you read from beginning to end. That is why Hisshi was able to receive rewards from various magazines.

──I see.

However, since I’m the type to make a manga from whatever episode or idea I want to draw, I have a good grasp on it, but I’m bad at putting things in order over a long span of time. I can draw one-offs, but they did not lead to serialization at all. It seemed like I was slowly running out of things I wanted to draw.

──How do you two divide the work for making the manga? For example, please teach us the making of a single chapter of “Shadows House.”

Firstly, Nori describes the entire course of events, then after bouncing the ideas off of Hisshi, it’s all put together into the plot. With that as the base, Hisshi makes the mini storyboards, which Nori then uses in the briefing session with the editor. Afterwards, Hisshi draws up the real storyboards, and after another meeting with the editor, we head to the rough draft. Hisshi checks that rough draft, then we work on things like new characters, backgrounds, minor characters and the frontispiece’s design. Then, Hisshi inks a pen sketch while Nori does assistant work around the characters. Finally, Hisshi puts the finishing touches and the manuscript is complete. Also, Nori makes the final adjustments to the dialogue right before submission.

──You sure communicate in great detail.

We think we go back and forth more than others whose original works and drawings are separated. Furthermore, we also consult each other when we come to a standstill in our work.

Both “Kuro” and “Girigiri out” have the same ingredients

──Well then let’s return to “Shadows House”, please tell us how and from where you got the idea for the work.

I was staring at a mannequin at a clothing store when the idea suddenly flashed in my mind. The rest is a mishmash of things such as Hisshi’s specialty of clothes and backgrounds, as well as our shared interest in buildings and everyday life in a strange setting.

──Even if you have come up with the idea, it must take courage to make the main characters pitch black, right?

Mangaka are tasked with doing works like drawing facial expressions, though we wondered whether it was possible to present emotions without facial expressions in “Shadows House.” Nori simply thought that “It can be done in novels, so it should be possible in manga too,” and Hisshi hates drawing characters’ faces (laugh). Hisshi even says that “I just want to draw clothes and backgrounds” all the time. Of course Hisshi tries to draw the characters cutely, but that’s without a spontaneous desire to do so.

──That’s surprising to hear, since in your previous work “Girigiri out”, the charm of the beautiful heroine is pushed to the forefront.

Originally Nori was a graphic designer, and Hisshi was a Mangaka’s assistant, so it was deeply ingrained in us to accede to others’ demands. There wasn’t anything that we could say “We want to draw that!” about as Soumatou. Because of that, basically, we are the type to start by fumbling at themes and genres that the editor has an interest in. From there, we come up with various things, and the engine gradually starts. Moreover, at the serialization meeting, among the three works we submitted, “Girigiri Out” was a discarded idea to give the impression that we were trying our best. We thought that if we submitted three works at the serialization meeting then it could look as if we’re trying our best (laugh). Since we didn’t think of anything aside from the 3 chapters submitted at the meeting, when the time came for the serialization, we were worried about what to draw from there.

──”Girigiri Out” is about a situation surrounding a girl who wets herself when she’s nervous, and a boy with the power to suppress someone’s urge to urinate through touch. Even though you have only thought of 3 chapters, during the serialization, you drew quite a few variations on wetting oneself huh.

Generally speaking, we were motivated to make every chapter a different situation (laugh).

──Furthermore, among your previous works, “Kuro” has parts that felt connected to “Shadows House”, but “Girigiri Out”’s style was surprising. I understand now that it’s a story that started from fumbling about with themes and genres of interest to the editor.

However, maybe it’s hard to notice, but the themes drawn in “Kuro” and “Girigiri Out” have quite a bit in common. Everyday life in a strange setting, strange characters that are not people, restlessness, action, surreal jokes, familial love, release from trauma, folk beliefs… the packaging is different, but “Shadows House” also has roughly those same ingredients.

We want to do a gag manga next, but it might be difficult?

──Please let us hear a bit more about “Shadows House.” The story was carefully foreshadowed from the beginning, but just how far ahead did you plan at the start of the serialization?

Since the beginning we have faintly thought about what happens very far ahead into the future, and from there we flesh it out. However, we don’t know how long each part will take if we haven’t drawn it, and parts do change due to the characters’ relationships. For example, at first we had planned for the Debut to end in about 3 chapters.

──In reality it took a volume and a half. That sure is a big change.

We have a bad habit of putting off thinking about the minute details.

──The garden in the Debut also had such a complicated map that I didn’t think it was planned to end in just 3 chapters.

The person in charge is someone who likes exciting and shounen-like things, so we were told that “If I go to the garden then I want a map of the garden.” Though, since we haven’t thought of anything, we spent the next day making a map of the garden as well as all of the gimmicks (laugh). We feel like without that, the story would have been aimless, so we appreciate the advice.

──It certainly has an exciting adventurous feel to it, so the Debut looks like something that would shine in an anime huh. By the way, when I was reading “Shadows House,” the thing that surprised me the most was how screentone was not used at all. I’m sorry that it’s a simple question, but isn’t that quite difficult?

It normally is difficult (laugh). Originally, for a drawing method that suits the work, we wanted something that is reminiscent of old printed works. It started when Nori, who was simply bored, lightheartedly suggested that “This time let’s use hatching (Method of filling in space using uniform parallel lines).” It limits the range of expressions, so now we do regret it a little bit.

──I will continue to enjoy your wonderful drawings from now on. Lastly, you mentioned that “there wasn’t anything that you wanted to draw as Soumatou,” but when you finish drawing “Shadows House,” please tell us what genre you want to tackle next.

Let’s see… how about gag manga? We originally started with drawing gag manga, and the works submitted together with “Shadows House” at the serialization meeting also had comedy in them. However, the gag portion was so hard to do that the editor was put off by it. It might be difficult, but it would be nice if we could publish it some day (laugh).

#shadows house #shadow house

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valenshawke · 2 years ago

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Weekly Writing Report - August 26, 2022

What? An on-time report with actual progress? What is this madness?

Fanfic

Clare Apologizes to Miria. Actually writing the narrative! Word count as of 3 PM Pacific: 900. So far, I’m sticking pretty close to the outline. The major actions haven’t changed. Some of the dialogue got reworded. Depending on the length of this fic, I might break it into chapters. But that will be for the next draft.

(Everything else I’ve looked at the two other fics I’m normally working on. Admittedly, I’m writer's block with both of them right now)

Miria’s Nightmare. Since I’m done with one outline, I might go ahead and just completely outline this one since I’ve written like four seven (what?!) pages (the opening and ending) and those won’t change much, if at all, in this draft.

Clare and Miata Meet. I think I went overboard with the ending and it’s so emotionally overwrought (which probably comes as literally no surprise to anyone that knows me). Actually, let’s compare word count: 36,598. Words written since last update: 1164. Okay, so 250 words a week since my last update. Not good, but something close to progress was made. I need to power through this one. Ugh.

“Original”

Tranhumanism story: So, after writing out the pitches again thanks to Mitch asking me a question, I decided that both pitches are two sides of the same story and I’m going to alternate chapters until they converge. So I started the outline! Finally! One of the things I’ve always struggled with, and this is true of my academic writing, was a good hook. Opening sentences are important. And, to be a fanboy on main (stop rolling your eyes), it’s one of the reasons Seanan (especially Seanan-as-Mira Grant) became my favorite author is because her opening lines just grabbed me.

I mean, “There is so much blood.” - Middlegame 2019.

“Our story opens where countless stories have ended in the last twenty-six years: with an idiot---in this case, my brother Shaun---deciding it would be a good idea to go out and poke a zombie with a stick to see what happens.” - Feed 2010.

Feed was the first book I read by her and that was the very first line of the narrative. And at that point, I knew she was going to become one of my favorite authors (and basically became my favorite author period).

Now, sometimes they don’t have to be the most amazing thing in the world. Take Dune for example. While the opening chapter is interesting. It isn’t something special. Honestly, the opening epigraph is far more interesting than how the first chapter plays out. But, as I’ve said to anyone that read Dune, the first 80-100 pages (depending on version) are slower than pouring molasses out of a bottle sitting out in the freezing cold in the dead of winter. And it’s still one of my favorite book series and the one that influenced my thinking.

Anyways…

I’ve only outlined the opening and I’ve decided I’m going to tell this story as a flashback. The two main characters are facing each other. One’s got a gun pointed at the other and they’re having a polite debate: End humanity versus reset humanity. So far, it’s pretty hackneyed as the chapter ends with them wondering how they got to this point and that kicks off the story and what has happened and how we got here. It’ll also buy me some time on what I want to do myself. Because each option has its pros and cons and I’m a fucking Libra.

Other issues: I need to come up with names! Not too into using random name generators but I might have to as a start. I do want names with significance though, but not like… obvious. No one is going to be named Cassandra. And as for the Paul Atreides-type character (the second MC), still need to decide the actual physical character.

The last real issue is the world-building: I should open up a document or find a sheet on how to do some world-building. I cannot account for everything so some stuff will have to be solved as I write. But it needs to get done.

The Vampire Story: Yeah, still haven’t looked at it. Did explain the story to a friend of mine who was excited about it. I don’t know. I have to finish this thing but… my god.

Other issues

Multi-tasking: Major fail due to work and other life dealings happening. Still need to work on it and being able to juggle many things at once.

So ends this week’s report.

#Val's Weekly Writing Report #Val's Writing Tag

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royallyprincesslilly · 4 years ago

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Title: Kismet {11}

Henry Cavill x Famous OFC Aliya Taylor

Warning: Plot, Slow Burn, Mild Cursing, Dialogue Heavy

Words: 7k

Summary: Aliya is a singer turned model turned actress. Since she was fifteen, she’s been creating her empire in the entertainment world. As the daughter of a famous fashion model/designer and Hollywood director, you’d think life is easy for her, but her past has been anything but easy. Due to past trauma, she’s forever changed and no longer trusts any man that is not in her family and a select few in her team. She’s sworn off love and serious relationships and has planned never to fall again, but love isn’t something that can be planned. It just happens when it’s meant to. Can Aliya outrun a love that seems hellbent on holding tight to her, a love that is Kismet?

Note: The musical notes emoji 🎶 signifies a song being sung. They are the lyrics.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Interactive***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 |

🎶 “But I don't wanna give up. Baby, I just want you to get up. Lately, I've been a little fed up. Wish you would just focus on—me. Can you focus on me? Baby, can you focus on me?”

The sounds of H.E.R filled the semi-rustic kitchen as you moved around it, checking on the multiple things you were making. Her album was one of your go-to things for mellowing out. You sang along and got lost vocalizing along with her. It didn’t take long for you to forget what time it was and that you weren’t exactly alone in the house. As the song ended and the next came on, you held your hands in the air, already feeling the opening of Girls Need Love Too.

🎶 “Honestly, I'm tryna stay focused. You must think I've got to be joking when I say. I don't think I can wait. I just need it now. Better swing my way.”

The lyrics were hitting you as right as gospel right about now. Pulling open the oven, you checked on the treats inside, making sure they were rising just the way they needed to. After you were pleased with their progress, you checked your pots on the stove one more time, then went back to the pitcher you were mixing your famous mimosas. That was when DSVN came on, and the hypnotizing sound of the lyrics with the beat made your mind drift back to Henry, especially when the hook came on. It sounded like it was made just for you in this situation.

For the next few minutes, you focused on trying not to burn breakfast rather than dancing or singing. That was until Santana came on, and you couldn’t help but bust out your best salsa moves to Carlos’ electric guitar and Latin flare. The song was so catchy that you quickly got carried away winding your hips and doing your best Shakira impersonation. If she were standing in front of you, you thought she’d be proud because you gave it everything you had. Before you knew it, the song was almost over, and you’d forgotten about being quiet, and were now singing along to the song as you danced around the kitchen.

“Someone woke up on the right side of the bed.”

Your scream was loud, so loud it bounced off the walls of the room. Your head nearly snapped off your neck from the force of which you spun around.

“Oh my god!”

Henry stood there pinching his lips, trying to stop himself from laughing at you.

“You scared me half to death.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. I um—I smelled food and heard music, and here you are,” Henry explained.

“Oh no, no. How long were you standing there?”

Another smile spread across his face, and it was all you needed to know he’d probably seen the whole thing. Embarrassment filled you.

“Oh god, no.”

“Don’t be embarrassed. You can dance and sing. I enjoyed the show.”

You snorted while shaking your head, trying to overcome your embarrassment. When you met his eyes again, you still saw the amusement there.

“Good morning,” you began.

“Good morning. What’s—what’s going on?”

He motioned to the organized chaos around you.

“Oh, breakfast.”

“Did you order?”

“Nope. One hundred percent handmade but these hands,” you replied, holding up your hands and flexing your fingers for emphasis.

Henry’s eyebrows shot up as he approached the kitchen island.

“You cook.”

Approaching the same island on the opposite side, you nodded. “I cook and bake and mix and clean, iron, and do laundry.”

Henry snorted and nodded, clearly amused by the sarcasm in your voice.

“Cute.”

You smiled and leaned against it, resting your elbows on the wooden island keeping your eyes on him.

“I know I don’t look it, but they do say never judge a book by its cover,” you replied.

Henry nodded before he spoke. “For the record, I’ve never judged you.”

You studied him for several moments before your eyes drifted over him, taking in his tan linen pants and cream shirt. He looked good, and you almost got lost in that before you snapped out of it. Clearing your throat, you pushed off the island and looked around.

“I’m almost done.”

“What’s for breakfast, chef Taylor?”

You smiled, “I’m glad you asked Mr. Cavill. We have lavender vanilla bean beignets, scrambled eggs, sausages, and of course mimosas.”

Henry’s eyebrows again shot up. “Wow. How long have you been up?”

Turning from him, you dropped a few mint leaves into the pitcher you’d just mixed. “Well, I actually haven’t slept yet.”

“So you’ve been up all night?”

“Yep.”

Sliding to the right, you turned off the oven and took out the beignets to place them on the stove to cool.

“Why? Is everything all right?”

“Yeah. I’ll be fine. I’m a night—insomniac.”

He was going to find out one way or another throughout this vacation anyway, you reasoned with yourself.

“Really?”

He sounded hesitant but also surprised.

“Yeah, most of the time.”

You used the time he stood there in a state of shock to finish up what you were doing before turning back to him.

“Are you going to pass out later or soon?”

“Nope. Come on. All done. Can you grab those two?”

You nodded your head to the two platters on the stove as you took the others walking out of the kitchen to the outdoor dining table he’d shown you yesterday. Once he saw the table that had two other platters and set place settings, he exclaimed.

“Wow.”

“I know, but I like to cook.”

“Everything smells incredible,” Henry complimented as he stood at one of the Rattan chairs waiting for you to sit first.

Once you sat down, you motioned for him to begin. “Dig in.”

A few minutes passed with the two of you loading your plates with various items. Once you were finished, you took up the pitcher and poured drinks for you both. When he brought one of your beignets to his mouth, you paused and watched him sink his teeth into it. As soon as he did, he moaned so loud it filled the space and drifted off.

“Holy--,” he began but never finished because he took several more bites finishing his first one. Once he’d swallowed and reached for another, he continued. “How did you learn to make beignets?”

“Well, it began with my Gramaw, but eventually, it was experimenting.”

He bit into another and rolled his eyes into the back of his head, and groaned. “These are heaven.”

“I’m glad you like them.”

Covering his food-filled mouth, he spoke, “Love them, get it correct.”

You snorted and nodded as you began to eat. The view before you caught your eye once again, and getting lost was easy. The morning was beautiful, warm, and calm, with a gentle breeze that carried the salt in the air from the nearby sea. You didn’t know who wouldn’t love waking up to this every day. It was then you realized how badly you’d needed a vacation after all.

“You stare out a lot.”

Henry’s voice brought your eyes back to him to find his already on you.

“I’m sorry,” you began with a soft smile. “Another thing about me, I do that—a lot.”

“What’re you thinking about?”

You looked out again and nudged your head to the view. “How incredible this view is and that I can’t believe it’s been so long since I’ve taken a vacation,” you confessed.

“Tell me about it. I was literally running on fumes. I have no idea how I made it this far,” Henry said.

You continued to eat and fell into a comfortable silence for a few minutes before he spoke again.

“Was there anything particular you wanted to do today?”

“Like what?”

“There’s so much to do. I know a good spa. There’s diving, boat tours of this incredible lagoon, wine tasting, touring, driving along cote d'Azur. You name it, and it can be done,” he listed off.

“A lot of choices.”

You brought your legs up and hugged them to your body as you continued to eat while thinking about your options.

“What do you feel like doing?”

“I don’t mind either way,” Henry quickly responded.

That didn’t help you one bit, but you made the decision all the same. “Nothing screams vacation like a bikini, and a beach, so let’s live it up.”

He smiled as he nodded. “All right. We have a plan then,” he said, clapping his hands.

The rest of breakfast was comfortable and peaceful. Neither of you seemed to mind that conversation fell to the wayside because you were both lost in the food and scenery before you. After breakfast, you and Henry managed to do the dishes and clean up the kitchen together as you endured his teasing on the multitude of things you’d used to cook. As you cleaned, you caught his eyes on your body a few times, but he kept his physical distance for the most part. After you separated to get yourselves ready for your day in the sun.

You spent longer than necessary trying to decide on the right bikini. You didn’t know if you should go demure princess or buxom goddess. You were moving and making decisions by reading him. You told yourself the night before that you’d go at his pace and take your cues from him. If he initiated touching, you’d reciprocate. If he kissed you, you’d kiss him back. If he stayed away, you would too. You didn’t want to do the wrong thing or anything, especially since you didn’t know where you stood with him. Letting your self-doubt win, you chose the middle ground on the bikini.

Thirty minutes later, you stepped outside the villa to find Henry waiting patiently at a white Fiat convertible.

“Wow. Is this yours?”

“Yep.”

“I don’t know why I’m surprised. We have established that you’re a car man.”

He smiled as his eyes trailed over you. “Wow. The short shorts come out, huh.”

You looked over yourself, then back to him. “This is short? Ha, just you wait. I have even shorter.”

“I bet you do,” Henry chided as he held open the passenger door for you.

“It’s about a ten-minute drive to the beach, maybe eight if the cliffside isn’t flooded.”

“Wow, you’re right there, huh.”

He smiled and nodded as you slipped into the car.

“All right, let’s go. I have a goal to be kissed plentifully by this French sun, so in two weeks' time, I’m showing every bit of the melanin my ancestors blessed me with,” you joked.

Henry shut your door and walked around to the driver’s side. Once in, he pressed the start button.

“Bring it on. I happened to really like yours…it’s sexy,” he slipped in, meeting your eyes for a few moments.

“Did you just call me sexy, Mr. Cavill?”

His smile was wide before he slipped on his sunglasses. “Did I? Maybe, maybe not,” he said before he pulled off, beginning the journey.

As he drove, you relished the breeze and sun on your skin and waved your hands in the air, fully enjoying the carefree vibes you felt. Before long, you’d pulled out your phone and began snapping a multitude of pictures of the scenery, the people, and occasionally even Henry, though he probably had no idea. You didn’t want to miss the chance to see how perfect he looked behind the wheel.

When you got close to the beach, Henry parked along the cliff as plenty other cars had done. According to him, no one made a fuss about small things like that; as long as people could still pass it was all right. The laidback style was already agreeing with you. With him carrying all the bags like the gentleman he was, you allowed him to lead you across the road toward the sands of the beach and then down the shore to find the perfect spot. It took a few minutes, but when you found it, you staked your claim, stomping in the sand, marking it as yours. Henry took the initiative, spreading the oversized beach blanket using the items you’d brought with you as anchors for the corners.

Once he’d gotten it perfect, you wasted no time pulling off your tank then peeling off the shorts your wore. You tried to keep your eyes away from him, though you really wanted to know if you had his undivided attention. The middle ground bikini you’d chosen was still a look. The cut complimented your curves, while the color complimented your complexion. You wanted to take it at his pace, but you also had to show him you were still hot.

When you lied back on the blanket, you gawked at the ocean before you and marveled at its sparkle while the sun reflected off of it. Looking beside you to him, you found his eyes on you and his jaw slightly ajar.

“This is so beautiful.”

Henry snapped his head away from you and looked at the view you were just staring at. “Very,” he replied, his voice constrained as if his throat were closing. He held your bag out to you, but he didn’t look at you again.

“Thank you.”

You dug through it looking for your sunscreen spray. Once you’d found it, you began spraying along your arms and shoulders, rubbing the mist in working your way to your chest.

“Why France?”

“Huh? Excuse me?”

“France. Why France for buying a house?”

“Well, I have some French blood-ties; the Channel Islands has its history of it, and France is smack in the middle of there and London. I fell in love with it,” he explained.

“Why Bandol?”

“Oh, that’s easy. It’s still luxurious enough like St. Tropez but not as high profile. I can be Henry here and not worry someone is taking my picture.”

You nodded and understood perfectly. It was hard being on all the time. You’d gotten so used to it that you often forgot how to be off.

“I get it. It’s the same reason why I’ll always choose Australia and Ireland overall,” you explained.

“I’ve only seen Ireland a few times. I think I need to go back,” Henry added.

You smiled as fond memories washed over you of your time in Ireland. “You definitely should.”

You sprayed your shoulder closest to him and began rubbing in the liquid.

“Ehm, need some help?”

Your eyes met, and you fought back your smirk. “Are you sure it’s okay?”

“Yeah, I can help. It’s no problem,” Henry assured.

You handed him the bottle, then turned your back to him and waited. He didn’t touch you for several moments.

“How many tattoos do you have?”

“Um—not sure, seven, eight maybe,” you said while anxiously waiting for him to begin.

“That’s quite a bit.”

“Not too much. They’re all strategically placed,” you explained.

When you felt the sprays on your back, you held your breath and waited for him to touch you. As Soon As he did, you bit your bottom lip, trying to ignore the feeling of completeness that washed over you. You liked the feel of his hands on your skin.

“Have you—ehm, have you ever thought about tattoos?”

“I have,” Henry began, his voice deeper than it had been moments before. his hands trailed lower to the small of your back, and you hunched over even more, giving him more access. “I’ve just never gotten around to it,” he finished.

Turning your head to rest your cheek on the tops of your knees, you smiled. “Too much work?”

A soft chuckle escaped him, and you felt his thump trail up your spine until he reached the back of your neck. Two sprays hit your skin, and he began rubbing into your shoulders. A weak moan slipped out, but he didn’t pull away. The kneading of his hands became more forceful then. You were quickly losing your nerve and grip on reality. Another moan slipped from your throat, and that was when Henry’s hands stilled and rested at your shoulder blades. You felt his fingertips trace the softest pattern onto your skin before they were gone.

“All done.”

By then, your heart was racing, and the butterflies in your gut were fluttering below your waist. Clearing your throat, you turned back to the ocean.

“Thanks.”

“No problem,” Henry said before he stood and discarded his shirt.

The action didn’t help you at all. Your jaw hit the floor as you took in every inch of him you’d spent all night since seeing the sprigs of hair peeking out his shirt. Plenty of dark hair decorated his chest and trailed down his abs until it disappeared behind his pants. A soft gasp drifted out of you, but your eyes refused to stop ogling. So you sat there looking at him and counting each of his eight ab muscles. The man had an eight pack; you thought to yourself as your throat painfully tightened.

“What’s wrong?”

Jerking your head up to his face, you shook your head, trying to find words.

“Wrong? Huh, nothing—um—you uh—you’re—you’re--.”

Henry smiled as he cocked his brow, waiting for you to say something intelligible. You had nothing, though.

“Cat got your tongue?” The humor in his voice was so obvious, and you felt like an idiot.

“And my brain cells, it would seem.”

His smile made you smile while trying to avert your eyes from the rock hard statue that he was.

“Sorry.”

Henry scoffed. “It’s okay,” he said.

“No, it’s not. You’re a person, not a piece of meat,” you clarified, feeling awful. You were doing the same thing to him that you hated men doing to you.

“Wait, you think I’m a piece of meat?”

Looking back at him, you spoke, “No, but I’m sure women look at you like you’re a piece of meat and in turn treat you like it.”

He nodded, “They have in the past.”

Your eyes again drifted downward, but you caught yourself before they got to his massive pecs. Clearing your throat, you stood.

“Do you burn easily?”

“I’m a white British man, of course, I do,” Henry joked, making you snort loudly.

“Wow, do you want some?”

He held his hands up as if to shield himself from you. “Are you looking for an excuse to feel me up?”

“What!?”

Henry snorted and laughed loudly.

“You’re kidding,” you surmised.

“Yes. You should have seen your face.”

You shook your head while burying your face in your hands. “Wow. That’s not cool.”

“You were an easy target,” Henry said, turning his back to you. “Oil me up, baby.”

You had every intention to, but the side of him from the back stopped you in your tracks for a few moments. As you slowly approached him, you accessed the entire meal that was him before you, unsure where to start. You sprayed over his back then slowly began rubbing across his skin. You couldn’t believe that even his back was as toned as an Olympian. Your brain was slowly short-circuiting with every inch of skin you touched. When you brought your hands down his spine to his tailbone, Henry groaned, and you fought the urge to go lower.

“All—done,” you said slightly above a whisper.

“Not quite,” Henry said, turning to face you. “My chest burns easily too.”

Face to face with temptation; you knew you were destined to give in. it was only a matter of time.

“I thought you could--.”

“—Nope. You started the job, so you should finish it.”

Smiling, you bit your bottom lip. “Does that go for my chest too?”

Henry’s eyes dropped to your breasts and rested there for a few seconds before he looked back into your eyes with a completely cheeky expression on his face. “Well—that is entirely up to you, Ms. Taylor.”

Like a child, you giggled most uncharacteristically. Slapping your hand across your mouth, Henry laughed at you. “Oh god.”

You sprayed across his chest and abs but hesitated touching him. Instead, you stood there gawking at the way his chest glistened. It’s not that you didn’t want to feel. You really, really wanted to feel. You just didn’t think you would be able to not come across as a thirsty fiend. Henry waited patiently waited no doubt taking notice of how you were beginning to hyperventilate. After a minute, he took a step back.

“Here, I’ll finish the job—this time.”

You dropped to the blanket and laid back, trying to recover. You couldn’t believe this was life right now. You’d never been attracted to anyone like this. You never struggled like this with anyone, and that reality was a little alarming. Peeking up, you watched as Henry finished rubbing the sunscreen into his chest, spreading it along his swollen shoulders and bulging arms. Your mouth ran dry while another part of you was anything but.

While proving to be a heightened temptation, a day at the beach was just what the vacation doctors ordered. The roaring sun, the breeze with the salt in the air, and the screams and laughs of people enjoying themselves were wonderful. You didn’t think about work not once, or anything beyond the man beside you reading a book and the book you were reading while the soft sounds of jazz drifted between you. It was perfect.

Every so often, your eyes drifted to Henry and took in different parts of him. Everything you saw you liked, and the fact that you liked it, only helped your brain daydream even more. There were a few times he caught you staring at him just as you caught him staring at you or parts of your body. When you did catch him, it only emboldened you to play up different parts of your body. You were relieved to know he at least still found you attractive.

When he goaded you into the water, the two of you played in the waves. The first time Henry splashed you and got water in your hair, you made gasped and pretended to make a big deal about it, which prompted him to apologize profusely. You considered it payback until you tackled him in the water, holding him underneath until he lifted you in his arms like he was Goliath. Your eyes locked, and there was a moment you thought he would kiss you, but instead, he tossed you into the water. That one action began a water war that he easily won thanks to his colossal size and overpowering strength. You didn’t mind.

By the time you’d sat to enjoy the picnic lunch Henry had packed, only a handful of people had recognized the two of you and asked for autographs and pictures. It really was the perfect first day of vacation, and you already didn’t want it to end. After lunch, you and Henry were walking along the shore, enjoying the lull of water crashing onto your ankles like you had no cares in the world.

~~~~~~~~

-Henry-

You were gorgeous, more gorgeous than you’d ever been. You were drop dead with make-up on, but without you were a knockout. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of you, and he knew you had to know. There was no way that you didn’t. He didn’t start the day with any expectations because he really didn’t know what to expect, but it had turned out to be a great day. He looked across to you and took in your curled and coiled hair that framed your face and gave you an even more youthful glow.

“So your hair is naturally curly?”

You smiled and nodded as you turned to look at him.

“Curly, coiled, kinky, it’s a bunch of stuff.”

“So you straighten it.”

“Yeah,” you confirmed.

He was confused. “Why?”

With your brows knitted together, you took him in. “What do you mean why?”

“Why? I can imagine it takes a lot of time. So, why do you do it?”

You scoffed but didn’t speak right away. He allowed you the time to think.

“Well—in the business, it’s easier. As horrible as it is, there are not many people who will cast the black actress with unruly hair or will have the right people who can do it properly. It’s a huge thing for black actresses, and unfortunately, can be the reason why many don’t get a role. So for me—I guess I got used to directors or photographers preferring the sleek look, so I just—maintain it. No one really cares for this,” you said, motioning to your hair.

He understood what you were saying. Hollywood was fickle; he was living through it right now but couldn’t believe people's ignorance.

“I like your hair right now. I like how free and beautiful it is. You don’t look—bound. You look free.”

Your eyes met his, but he couldn’t read the look in them.

“Oh uh—thank—you.”

“You’re welcome,” he replied with a smile. “You should just leave it alone from now on.”

You snorted. “Oh, is this how you want to see me?”

He could hear the tease in your tone, “Free and beautiful? Absolutely.”

Again the look in your eyes stumped him. Before he could ask you what you were thinking, you looked away and back out to the water.

“What if I want to see you like this from now on?”

He chuckled, “What, shirtless with bad hair?”

You laughed with him for a few seconds. “Well, nothing wrong with this view at all,” you said, making him blush.

“Oh, and for the record, your hair is anything but bad. When it’s all slicked to perfection, you look put together, but—I like the more…distressed you. You look free and boundless.”

The smile on his lips hadn’t slipped since you’d begun your walk, and staring at you, he didn’t think it would slip. You looked away and cleared your throat, something you’d been doing a lot the entire day.

“I’ll make a deal with you. You keep this look going, and I’ll keep this look going,” you proposed piquing his interest.

“Do we have a deal?”

“All right, we have a deal,” he sealed, holding out his hand for you to shake. When you did, you smiled mischievously.

“Good,” you said before you pushed him into the water and the incoming wave.

Shock flooded him though he should have known from the glint in your eye he’d picked up.

“Did you really?”

With pride and joy, you nodded, “I sure did.”

As he stood, he wiped his face of the water and chuckled to himself.

“As a gentleman, I will give you a four-second head start,” he announced.

“Four seconds?”

“Three now.”

You squealed and ran down the beach, trying to put as much distance between you as possible. It was futile. He was fast. Once he’d counted down, he took off after you. When you looked back to see him coming, you screamed louder and tried to pick up the speed, but as he said, he was fast. In a few short seconds, he caught you and immediately began tickling you, making you scream even louder.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” you shouted through bouts of laughter and screams.

“No, no, too late for that.”

With you in his arms, he brought you to the water facing you out so you could see the massive wave coming in. You screamed again while kicking your legs, trying to get him to drop you, but it was no use. Seeing there was no way out, you stopped screaming, but when he tossed you into the wave, you screamed until the water engulfed you. He stepped back and waited for you to wash up on the shore. When you did, he proceeded to tickle you some more until you tripped him and rolled onto him to retaliate.

Though he hadn’t let on that he was ticklish, you figured it out and exploited it mercilessly. The tickling led to both of you playfully throwing wet sand at each other while waves knocked you down. When he grabbed you, he smeared the wet sand across your chest below your collar, making you scream. That was when you coated his chest down to his waist. He pulled you to him rubbing his chest over yours to make sure you were as lathered as he was.

“Oh my god!”

A wave crashed over the two of you, nearly drowning you—nearly. When the water receded, you were still there in his arms, practically underneath him. he took in your beauty, and all he wanted to do was kiss you. he almost did before he stopped remembering what had led you to this point. He was tired of proving and showing you he wanted you—wanted to be with you. It was your turn to prove to him that you wanted him just as much as he wanted you. That was when another wave washed over you, dampening the mood. He was thankful for it.

Once he was standing, he pulled you upright.

“Ready to go?”

You nodded. “Yeah, let’s go.”

~~~~~~~~~

-Y/N-

After leaving the beach, the two of you walked along the shops that decorated the surrounding area. He pointed out all the places he’d visited over the last few days. He knew some of the shop owners by their names, and it was something you liked for some reason. After the first few shops, you decided to pick up something for dinner and spent the next few minutes trying to decide just what to get.

“Any special requests?”

Henry’s surprise only lasted a few minutes before the smile you were getting so used to appeared.

“You’re cooking?”

“Yep.”

His surprise turned to awe as he circled you once. “You can pick whatever you want,” he whispered in your ear before he walked to a stack of cans.

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, assuring you that you were good to make the decision.

“Do you eat a lot?”

“Do you?”

“Hell yeah, I do,” you said in an exaggerated tone that had Henry laughing.

As you walked around the store, you placed various items in the basket that Henry carried. Some peppers, scallions, garlic, onions, mushrooms, and plenty of herbs followed before you walked across the way to a seafood shop. You thought about something simple like salmon but changed your mind when you saw lobsters and said what the hell. You were only going to get two, but Henry piped up and tricked you into four, citing your insatiable appetite. Deep down, you wondered what appetite exactly he was referring to, for food or him. A trip to the local spirits shop had you stocked for more than just one night.

When you made it back to the villa, Henry was the one to carry the bags to the kitchen, not letting you lift anything but the beach bag you’d left with at the start of your day. You met him in the kitchen in time to see him hoist everything onto the island.

“All right, you’re all set there.”

“Thank you, Superman.”

He smiled and helped you unpack the items in the bags, laying them out on the counters and the island. Once that was finished, you made a move to the door.

“I’m going to take a shower. I can feel sand everywhere.”

What was to be a relatively quick shower quickly turned long because you needed to wash your hair and treat it, so you didn’t have any residual salt damage. No one liked breaking hair. That alone usually took almost an hour. Instead of going for the full experience, you cut a few corners in the routine but still managed to complete it. After throwing on a pair of shorts and a tank, you made your way back to the kitchen, ready to cook one of the best meals he’d ever have.

With soft music playing and a towel wrapped around your hair while your leave-in heat treatment did what it was made to, you began prepping the ingredients. The soft music and time alone gave you more time to process the perfect day you’d just had. There was nothing about it that you’d change, even down to the intense tension that was constantly between you. If another day played out the same way, you still would think it was perfect.

“All right, I’m clean now. Would you like some help?”

Henry stood behind you in a tank and sweats with his hair full of curls.

“Sure, you can actually prove to me that you know what you’re doing in here,” you teased as he approached your side.

“I’m about to knock your knickers off.”

You snorted and peeped at him. “Promise.”

The flustered look on his face said he just realized the land mind he’s just stepped into. Pushing it to the side, you focused on the chives you were chopping.

“What would you like me to do?”

Looking around the kitchen, you assessed everything that needed to be done then delegated.

“Those veggies need to be rough diced and washed.”

“Consider it done,” Henry replied, stepping away to begin prep. Before he began, though, he walked to one of the bottles of wine you’d just gotten, popped it, and poured two glasses.

“A little vino for you.”

Smiling, you took the glass. “Thank you.”

The two of you worked together chopping, dicing, and slicing the vegetables and herbs and the seafood for dinner. Every few minutes, your eyes met, and you giggled. Once the cooking began, Henry teased you about your towel wrapped hair, saying that was how magazine covers should show you. You watched his form and how he handled his knives and liked how he moved. He handled knives like he’d been doing it his whole life.

When you saw him perfectly Julianne cut the cucumbers you practically drooled and were ready to push him against that island. You loved a man who could handle himself in the kitchen. Pumping iron and weights and a nice body was great, but cooking dinner for someone because you care, was a supreme turn on.

When the lobster was steaming and the potatoes boiling, you leaned beside him and watched him kneed the dough he was prepping for what he called his famous sugar rolls.

“So mentioned you have nieces or nephews? I don’t remember which,” you began.

“Yes. Three nephews, no nieces.”

“Cool. What’re their names?”

Henry smiled as he spoke, “James and Peter and Lucas.”

“Strong names.”

“Yeah, Nik and Charlie picked them,” he said.

“Nik—he’s the older brother, right?”

“Oldest. I’m surprised you remember.”

“No girl?”

“Ha, Charlie really wants a girl. He has a son Lucas but dreams about having a daughter.”

“Nice. I have two nephews, Niko and Milo, and a niece Aloa, my oldest sister Miesha,” you added.

The way Henry smiled, you could tell he liked kids. “That’s nice. Do you see them a lot?”

“I try. It’s hard, though, with my schedule.”

He nodded, then shifted to the sink to rinse off the cucumbers before beginning with the carrots.

“I understand.”

With your curiosity piqued, you decided to dive right in. “So you like kids.”

“Love kids,” he replied. “You?”

“Uh—yeah. They’re precious.”

“I’m guessing you’re close to your brothers.”

“Oh god, yes, really, really close. We talk several times a day. They’re my first call when something good or bad happens, and it’s the same for them.”

“That’s good. I’m close to mine too. We don’t talk every day, but I try. I do have a twin, so we don’t need to talk. We just know what’s going on with each other,” you explained.

“How is that having a twin?”

You shrugged and put a piece of cucumber into your mouth. “It’s everyday like for me. I don’t know what to say,” you said with a small chuckle.

“Are all the clichés true?”

You scoffed and went back to keeping yourself busy. “What clichés exactly?”

“Oh, you know that you feel each other’s pain and feel what the other feels, oh that you know what they’re thinking.”

You couldn’t help but laugh a little. “It’s not like I fall down the stairs, and he feels me fall. That’s just impossible.”

Henry nodded and moved to rinse the carrots.

“Yeah, it’s more like a constant presence I feel. You—you never really feel alone, sort of like this constant connection or feeling like someone always has your back. We can feel what the other feels a lot of the time, but it’s sort of like a gut feeling more than an actual physical feeling. There are times he’ll feel when I’m sad and crying, and it’s incredibly annoying.”

“I can imagine,” Henry started.

Feeling his eyes on you, you turned to face him and waited for him to speak.

“Does he feel everything—your moments of happiness or—pleasure?”

Snorting, you laughed loudly, unable to keep it in.

“Happiness, I think there could be valid proof to that. As for pleasure, no idea. It’s never been brought up but kinda creepy to think about that.”

You both busted out laughing, realizing just how creepy it would be if there were any validity to that. Cooking together turned out to be really fun. Usually, you hated people in your space, but with Henry, you didn’t mind it at all. You didn’t mind the subtle way his body brushed yours whenever he passed you. You didn’t mind the sly looks across the kitchen when he took a sip of his wine. You didn’t mind the flirtation in the air, and when he watched you make your lemon cake for dessert, you didn’t mind that he was learning one of your secret recipes. It was something you felt you could get used to.

Two hours later, you were bringing out one of the platters to the dining table in the yard just in time to catch Henry putting a clay vase filled with beautiful lavender and rapeseed flowers. The purple and yellow combo was so bright it looked like it belonged with the décor around you.

“Wow, would you look at that,” you began eyeing the perfectly set table. “You can set a table too.”

His smile was wide. “I sure can.”

“With the proper place settings. I’m impressed.”

He ran his fingers through his hair and slowly licked his lips as he shrugged. “I didn’t go to finishing school or anything but--,” Henry trailed off, making you laugh at the sly reference to you.

“Oh, okay, Mr. Cavill.”

You backed away with your hands raised, making your way back to the kitchen with him following close behind. You pointed to him the items to go, and he walked with you back outside.

“I know you think I eat a lot, but--.”

“Oh, stop it. I am sure you have to have a high-calorie intake to maintain your Superman shape, so—ta-da,” you said, giving him jazz hands in front of the food-filled table.

“Oh, so you’re looking out for me, huh.”

“Of course. What else is your girlfriend supposed to do?”

Henry’s smile slowly slipped before it reappeared but only for a second. “Girlfriend, huh?”

Just like that, your stomach fell through the floor, fully realizing what you’d said. Now you felt like an idiot especially seeing his reaction.

“Um—well--.”

Not waiting for you to respond, Henry walked to your chair and pulled it out for you.

“Uh—give me a second,” you said, bending forward to pull the towel off of your head.

It had been well past the forty-five minutes you usually kept it on for, and you didn’t want to eat with this heavy thing on your head. Using your fingers, you combed through your curls then stood up to face him. This was practically the first time you stood before a man that wasn’t part of your family with your hair natural. You hated that you felt self-conscience about it. The look on his face was a lot different this time. His eyes were wide, and his mouth ajar.

“Sorry. Thanks,” you said, slipping into the chair.

Once he’d pushed you in, he sat across from you.

“So I know you love your beer and steak,” you began with a smile. “So the steak is cooked in Guinness—a lot of Guinness.”

Henry chuckled and assessed the steak on his plate while nodding.

“Bon appetite.”

Once henry put a slice of the steak in his mouth, he moaned and gave you the chef’s kiss. You knew exactly what it meant, the good ol seal of approval.

“This is really good.”

“I’m glad you like it.”

After putting another slice of steak into his mouth, he nodded. “I love it. you’re a great cook.”

“Thank you. I tried to tell you.”

Henry chuckled, giving you a slight roll of his eyes before he continued eating. He was right dinner was good. While you ate, you enjoyed the setting sun and conversation about music, good food, and good wine. One bottle of wine quickly finished, then you were cracking open another and another. When dinner was finished, you sat there listening to the stories of his childhood where his mother played referee between five boys. The way he talked about her made her sound like a saint. It was clear to see how much he admired and loved her. That made you like him even more.

By the time you climbed into bed for the night, your mind was racing a mile a minute, and all your thoughts were of Henry and the probability that he just might be the perfect man. That thought scared you even more than there being something wrong with him. If he were perfect, then it meant he was perfect for you, and perfect for you meant commitment, complications, and vulnerability while opening the stage for possible heartbreak. Even through the fear, one constant remained—you wanted him.

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

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