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cipheress-to-k-pop · 4 years ago

Text

Tension

Pairing: Danny Rand x Reader

Warnings: Mentions of injuries

Word Count: 4.5K

Summary: What happens when Iron Fist takes an interest in an undercover agent? (I’m so bad at summaries and Titles please forgive me)

A/N: This has been sitting incompleted in my drafts for like months and I finally got the energy and ideas to finish it. I feel accomplished.

It made sense that you and Danny never crossed paths. You were just a S.H.I.E.L.D agent and he was part of the superhero program. Even though you were similar in age, you didn’t attend the same school and you had no skills in common so you never saw each other during training.

You were born into being a S.H.I.E.L.D agent, growing up on the Helicarrier and training your entire life to be an undercover agent. You spent your days with different names and different personas, gathering intel and you were more skilled using weapons and gadgets than actual hand-to-hand combat, while he was parading around the city in a spandex suit.

You, of course, had heard of him but only by the name Iron Fist, and you had never seen him in person.

And it would have remained that way if you hadn’t gotten shot on your last mission. Even though it missed anything vital and the surgery had been a success, you were still told not to do anything that might agitate it for the next 3 months.

So, that was how you got transferred from the undercover agent assignments to team strategist department.

“But I don’t want to be in strategies!” You complained, stubbornly following Fury around the Helicarrier as he desperately tried to get away from you.

“Strategies is for boring people! Like Coulson!” You shouted ignoring Coulson’s offended ‘Hey!’, practically throwing a tantrum in the middle of the training room.

“And more importantly, you gave my assignment to that bitch, Lia?! I’ve been gathering contacts for that mission for around a year and you want me to just hand it over to that lazy piece of shit who would rub it in my face even if she never did anything for the mission?!”

That finally made Fury turn around to face you and you sighed in relief, hoping he would at least listen to you.

“Agent Coulson, make sure that every time (Y/N) swears, 50 bucks is cut down from this month’s pay check.”

You threw him a foul glare.

“You will be transferred to strategies in a week—”

“But I don’t want to—”

“Under the superhero programme—”

“Those pyjama freaks—?!”

“End. Of. Discussion.”

You glared at him so coldly, it could have frozen hell over. Your nails were digging painfully into the palm of your hand but you barely felt it through your anger.

You practically growled, pulling out a 50-dollar bill from your pocket and slamming it onto Coulson’s desk.

“MOTHER F—”

***

The first time you met a member of the team wasn’t one that you had expected. It was a month and a half into your recovery and you had written numerous mission reports on behalf of them and reset the programming of their training bots after each practice session but you still hadn’t met any of them.

The time you were taking to recover was driving you crazy. It made you feel weak. 2 months ago, you were in Barcelona, undercover as an underaged bartender for a mafia gang and now you were going to physiotherapy every week.

Since you were young and Fury didn’t want to take the change of you permanently injuring yourself, he was being very strict about what you could do, he basically confined you to a desk job for the next 2 months.

It was driving you mad.

So, one day when everyone was asleep, you snuck into the training area to practice shooting which you were sure had gone a little rusty since the accident. Nothing a little practice couldn’t help.

You picked up your favourite gun, smiling at the familiarity in your hand, loading it and clicking the safety off before pointing at the target and shooting.

The next thing you felt was excruciating pain. So painful that you were on the floor, pressing your forehead against the cold metal, wondering why this was happening to you.

The rebound of the gun had been too powerful for your arm to take. You felt your injury pull suddenly and you couldn’t think of anything other than the blinding pain as you cried on the floor. Feeling utterly helpless.

“Hello?”

You started, teary eyes getting wide at the sight of a blonde by the door. You had to wipe your eyes for your vision to focus, grunting in pain as you raised your arms again.

You recognized Iron Fist. You had been seeing footage of him and his team members for the last few weeks and writing mission reports about him but seeing him in person was a different feeling.

You hid your face, pulling your knees to your chest, hoping he would leave.

“I heard a gunshot.”

“Yeah,” Your voice cracked embarrassingly, “That was me.”

“Everything alright?” He came closer to you, standing a foot away from you and you shook your head no.

In all honesty, you wanted to get off the floor and go back to bed, but your arm burned so painfully you were scared to move it again.

“Here, let me help.”

You froze, but still let him raise his hand towards you. You saw his palm light up before he pressed it to your shoulder and you whimpered, shuffling away from him but he continued to apply a gentle pressure.

Soon you felt the pain get better, it slowly reduced to a dull buzz.

“H-How did you do that?” You asked, turning to him with wide eyes and he chuckled, seeing the childish wonderment. You clearly had never seen him in person before even if he had seen you.

Danny noticed you the day he had joined S.H.I.E.L.D. You were returning from yet another mission and the soft blue dress you were wearing among armoured soldiers was hard to miss when he passed the debriefing room. Immediately, he stopped to peer inside.

The contrast between the soft summer dress and your cold, professional expressions sent a shiver down his spine. You looked so untouchable. However, he noticed the blush on your face when the agents complimented you and felt his heart flutter.

He had seen your road to recovery, he noticed you falling asleep at your desk every day, constantly doing work because you had nothing else to do and he wondered if it would be weird if he asked you to lunch sometime. For your sake, of course.

Looking at you curled up on the ground, he had wished he had done it sooner.

“You shouldn’t strain yourself before you’re ready.” He muttered, feeling tongue tied next to the girl he had been infatuated with from a distance.

You could only nod. This whole-time people had been telling you the same thing and you always retorted with confidence, saying that you were as good as ready to get back on the field. Never in your wildest dreams would you have thought they were right.

“I’m Iron Fist.”

“(Y/N).”

“I know.” His answer came a little too fast and had you raising a brow. Danny wished he adorned a mask to cover the whole of his face like Spiderman when he felt his cheeks becoming warm, “You write our mission reports. I’m not creepy, I swear.”

You chuckled airily, turning back to the gun that was left on the ground and you pulled it back into your hand before clicking the safety back on before chucking it across the room.

“Thanks for helping me.”

“I’m glad I was there to help.”

***

After your first meeting, you found him approaching you more often after training. At first it was just ‘hello’s and ‘goodbyes. Then he began asking about your day and you gave him mundane responses before you were forced to ask him how his day was.

Then he started coming early before his training with a cup of tea for you, though it was sometimes juice, sometimes hot cocoa.

Then he started staying late after training and you would give him a bottle of water and complain about him being sweaty.

It was an unlikely friendship but nonetheless, you got closer as the days passed by and once you did, it didn’t take long for you to meet the rest of the team. They kept you company and you grew fond of the rest of them; however, it wasn’t the same way that you felt with Iron Fist.

Your crush on Iron Fist snuck up on you when you were least expecting it but once you realized it you couldn’t stop yourself from falling hard and deep. Still, you continued to hang out with him, pushing down the butterflies whenever he smiled and stopping yourself from grinning too wide whenever you were around him.

You tried to keep your relationship platonic, not wanting to get caught up in it because it was unprofessional. You didn’t even know his identity and you didn’t want to find out. You were afraid that once he revealed that part of his life to you there was no going back on your love for him.

So, you stayed friends, good friends.

***

“So, it all blew up in her face? Huh, I should say I’m surprised but I’m really not.” You said, sighing when Fury handed you the mission file that you had been working on for a year before handing it off to another agent.

“You get to relieve her of her duties and start working again. Effective as of next week.”

You were grinning now. The doctor had given you the all clear a month ago and you had been waiting for a mission to be handed off to you but it had been a quiet month, with no need for undercover or even recon missions.

To get back the mission that you lost when you got shot seemed like the best one to start off again, and you thought your day couldn’t get any better but it seemed like you were having an incredibly good day.

As soon as you exited the room, there stood Iron Fist in all his glory and your excitement got better of you. You bolted right into his arms, catching him off guard with a hug.

“Woah, did something happen?” He asked curiously but still wrapped his arms around you to return the hug. You pulled away, flashing him the mission file in your hand and grinned brightly.

“I finally got cleared for a mission!”

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you! I’m so excited! I have to go and prepare right away!”

“Wha—Right now?” He asked and you nodded frantically, “I’m off in about a week, lots to prepare before that.”

“Well, how long is it going to take?”

“Not sure, oooh, maybe I’ll get relocated someplace cool like Dubai or India or something.”

He didn’t seem to share your enthusiasm but just chuckled in a dejected sort of manner before nodding his head, “Maybe.”

***

“Partner? Fury, I don’t do partners. I am a single lady and would like to stay that way.”

He just sighed, used to your temper tantrums. Though he was honestly wishing he had a mute button on you. You were like the daughter he never wanted. Usually, he maintained a professional relationship with all the other agents but you were like the gem of the department.

Being one of the youngest and most capable of the agents was a reason for many of the older ones to fawn over you. I mean let’s be honest, a baby who can kick ass was adorable!

That always made you more outrageous than the other agents, letting yourself have the temper tantrums and choosing not to be a stiff, boring agent. You knew just how to push Fury to get what you wanted.

“The mission is to go to a socialite party and while you have the skills, you don’t have the contact.”

“That hasn’t stopped me before—”

“We need someone that has the last name to get you in. Besides, after last time, another agent looking after you wouldn’t be such a bad idea.”

Your face fell and Fury knew he made a mistake in choosing his words. Your lip quivered slightly and he heard an agent tut disapprovingly at him and mentally sighed.

“That wasn’t my fault...” You said softly, your voice seemed thick and he knew one wrong move could possibly break the floodgate. He sighed, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, “I know that. But we just want you to be safe. Just in case something goes wrong again, so this time somebody can have your back.”

You nodded sadly, lips in a small pout and eyebrows furrowed. Somewhere in the background he heard another agent whispering to another that Fury was trying to make you cry and felt his eye twitch.

“No one blames you for what happened.”

You nodded wordlessly again, still frowning.

“Tell you what, because it’s your first mission back, you get a higher budget for it.” That was it. Your face brightened like the sun and you giggled childishly, sending him a mischievous smirk as you thanked him.

You disappeared before he could even scold you and Fury then heard the rest of the agents burst into laughter about how you managed to play him.

Again.

***

“Daniel Rand.” You mumbled, looking over the case file. Apparently, he would be your partner for today but it was odd that you never heard of him before. It took you a very short time going through the S.H.I.E.L.D. database to find his name.

‘Daniel Rand, a.k.a. Iron Fist.’

‘WHAT?!’

Daniel Rand? The blond aristocrat that looked like he was picked out of your wildest dreams. With a face that could break hearts and make knees weak, was the confidant and friend that you had been crushing on for weeks now?

Wow, he definitely had a face to match.

Without realizing, you had been staring at his picture for about 5 minutes, fawning over his sharp jaw and deep green eyes with a ridiculous love-sick smile on your face, with your heart fluttering in your chest.

‘God, please, like me.’ You said in your head. So far you had sort of a flirtationship going on with Iron Fist but you wondered if it was the same for Danny. He didn’t seem like the kind of guy who would intentionally lead you on, but now that you were seeing his face, you realized just how little you knew about him.

He probably had a life of his own and you took up only a sliver of it. Being an agent, you didn’t leave the Helicarrier very often, and you certainly didn’t have too many very friends. You never really realized how much you were missing until you got shot.

Iron Fist, well Daniel, filled the void you felt during your time off but it was also very possible that he didn’t feel the same way, that you were just someone he spent time with to get over his boredom.

Maybe tonight would be the time to change that.

The mission was supposed to take place today, so you woke up bright and early to finish up some things. Go over case files, do a weapon check and pick out your outfit. You were supposed to wear something that would catch people’s attention. And in the back of your head, you also wanted to blow Daniel’s mind right out of his skull.

Red seemed like it would make a statement. So would a bodycon, or maybe a long dress with a high slit. You wanted to go all out for your first mission in months. Maybe even get a few jaw drops.

Finally deciding on an outfit, you quickly texted Daniel.

‘Wear (F/C).’

***

“This guy is coming right?” You asked, bored. You had been ready for about 15 minutes now, looking like you were dripping diamonds and lounging comfortably in Fury’s seat, with your legs thrown over the armrest.

“He’ll be here any minute now.” Said Coulson, checking his phone.

You rolled your eyes, “Why do I feel like this is one of those movie moments where the girl comes down the stairs and the guy is just staring at her with a jaw drop. Or like when the bride walks down the aisle and the groom bursts into tears.”

You sighed, checking your watch again. 20 minutes.

“For someone making me wait this long, he better be so good looking that it makes me cry.”

“Well, I hope I don’t disappoint.”

The new voice certainly turned a few heads and there stood Daniel Rand. The pictures online really did him no justice. Sure, you didn’t cry, but your eyes definitely didn’t feel worthy to be looking something so pretty in the eye.

Before you could help it, a ‘wow’ slipped past your lips and he blushed, having heard you. Wow, he was cute inside and out. Unfortunately, Coulson had to come in where he wasn’t wanted and suggested a quick briefing which you had to agree to.

In the middle of the briefing, Coulson handed you a ring box and you raised a brow, “I’m a little young for you, don’t you think?”

He let out an irritated sigh but you noticed the tips of his ears turn red from embarrassment, “You’re posing as his fiancé. You need an engagement ring to match.”

“Shouldn’t he be getting on his knee then?” You joked, gaping at the size of the diamond for a second before slipping it on, completely missing the way Danny got redder at your teasing, “Wow, it suits me so well one would think I was made to be a socialite’s fiancé.”

Danny didn’t say anything and you brushed it off, putting him off as the shy but cute bookworm who would come through in a difficult situation. As soon as the thought came to mind, you facepalmed. All it took was one good looking guy to mess up your work habits.

“Well, come on honey, we have a party to get to.” You called out teasingly and handed him the keys to the car before strutting to the garages.

Coulson clapped him on the back with a small smirk on his face, “Good luck, honey.”

***

It didn’t take much effort to meet your contact in the party and you quickly left Danny’s side to discreetly to get any information he could pass to you. You quietly chatted with the contact.

Behind you, you vaguely heard a bunch of girls flock around him, giggling shrilly and trying to flirt with him. You resisted rolling your eyes. You had on an engagement ring but Danny’s finger was still bare and even though he might have announced being taken to them, apparently it was necessary for a ring to show his commitment. Something told you that even if he got it tattooed on his forehead, people would still try to flirt with him.

He just had one of those faces. Those faces that made people lose all reason. I mean, you’re slightly annoyed at the girls that have no moral and are shamelessly throwing themselves at him. But really, can you blame them?

Danny was gorgeous. He looked like a Greek Adonis that was sent down from the heavens to grace your eyes. Honestly, you couldn’t take your eyes off him while the two of you were driving down to the party.

Seeing them get handsy was more irritating than It usually would be. As annoying as it was to see these women through all their morals out the window and try and get a taken man to reciprocate their advances, it was more annoying to see them gawk over the guy you were crushing on.

A part of you wanted to just leave him in the car and not have anybody look at him.

But to keep your crush a secret, you maintained your distance from him, talking to the contact in a mixture of different languages so no one would be able to understand. Once you were done, you opted for getting a drink until you saw the pleading look on his face and almost felt bad.

So, you sauntered over to him, cutting right through the throng of girls, disgusted to see that some of them had wedding rings on, right to Danny’s side, snaking an arm around his waist and placing your hand underneath on his chest, giving him a sweet smile.

The shiny engagement ring on your finger caught their attention and they frowned, reminded that they were allowed to look, but not to touch.

“I hope you didn’t miss me too much.” You said, syrupy sweet and loud enough for the girls to hear before turning to them with a charming smile, “I hope my fiancé wasn’t too short with you girls today, he’s very stressed lately, with the wedding planning and all.”

Their faces fell further when you leaned into him and they could all recognize the possessive glint in your eyes. A look that said, I saw you trying to get your hands on something that was mine, you vultures.

The left you two quickly after that, resorting to go gossip in some corner. You wondered if they were snivelling about you but then realized that you shouldn’t be too cocky.

Instead, you turned your unamused gaze to your ‘fiancé’, pulling away from him with a frown.

“I’m assuming that you haven’t come here to flirt with someone else’s wife.”

“I wasn’t flirting though...” He replied innocently and you pursed your lips, resisting the urge to scowl at him. Instead, you just sighed and turned away from him, keeping an eye on the rest of the guests.

If what you were told is true, then someone is going to attempt an assassination on your contact and it was your job to protect him. However, you were distracted once more when he placed a hand on your waist.

You meant to turn around and ask him what he was doing but his grip was strong and he then pressed his lips to your ear. You froze, neck getting uncomfortably hot.

“At the entrance to the foyer.” He mumbled, looking into the mirror that was facing the entrance. Sure, enough you saw it too, the glint that came from the shadows. Someone was there.

The two of you still managed to stay inconspicuous, pretending like you were a couple in love. You turned to him with a smirk, hand going to your thigh where a gun was holstered.

“What do you say about getting out of here?”

With a hand around your waist, he led you to the other end of the room. Just as you expected, a waiter came up to you, trying to guide you elsewhere and you realized that both exits were covered. Grinning up at him, you asked him where the restroom was, giggling in a way that suggested something and he showed you up to the staircase to a hallway.

Some of the older couples gave you knowing smiles while some of them passed disgusted glances as you made your way to the bathroom that for some reason had a couch in it. Damn, rich people.

You pulled up a schematic of the house, along with security cameras and looked figured out that each one of the exits were covered. Quickly making a plan with Danny, the two of you were about to exit again when you stopped him

You reached up and raked your fingers through his hair, dishevelling it a little before messing up his collar and slightly untucking his shirt. Taking a step back to admire your handiwork, you stopped for a second.

Something was missing.

It quickly occurred to you and you used your thumb to ruin your lipstick a little before smearing it at the base of his neck, “That should be convincing enough. Don’t you think?”

You didn’t give him a moment to answer, not that he even could, with you so close that he could smell your perfume and the scent made him feel dizzy. You pulled away to mess up your own hair and dress.

“How do I look?”

“Dishevelled.”

“Excellent.”

***

“Mission successful, assassination attempt was unsuccessful, contact is safe and being placed into witness protection, assassinators are in custody for questioning. Report 291220. Agent 290803. Phase Beta successful.” You reported into the com set.

Danny was quiet beside you, choosing to pay attention to the road while you deactivated your gadgets for the night. A quick glance from the corner of your eyes made your heart speed up just a little. He was doing that thing where he drove with just one arm.

“You know...” You started, clicking the safety on your gun, avoiding his eyes, “We don’t have to go back to HQ right now? We can get some dinner or something? In the mood for a veggie burger?”

“Is this meant to be platonic?”

“It’s meant to be a date.” You commented. His jaw tightened slightly and you raised a brow at him, did you really make him so uncomfortable?

“I thought you were in a relationship.”

“What?”

“Iron Fist. You like him, don’t you?”

An amused chuckle left you. Of course. He didn’t know you were aware of his secret. Resisting the urge to laugh at him, you shot him a smirk, leaning against your arm.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

Danny’s hands tightened around the steering wheel, knuckles turning white. He didn’t look at you, instead staring at the road with a steely gaze and for a second you wondered if you shouldn’t have pushed him.

“It’s a little hypocritical of you to nag me for not being loyal in a fake engagement and then going behind Iron Fist’s back, don’t you think?”

His voice was tight and he was gritting his teeth as he talked to you. You sighed, not wanting to upset him, “Not when you’re the same person.”

He jerked.

“Woah! Drive straight dude!”

“You knew?”

You snorted, “Pretty much, yeah. And since when are we in a relationship? I don’t remember you ever asking me out?”

His cheeks coloured, embarrassed and he looked away from your gaze, “I was planning to.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute.”

You continued in a comfortable silence while he drove. You weren’t really paying attention to where he was driving, choosing to look at him with a small smile. He really was beautiful. Judging by his red ears, he was well aware of your staring.

Eventually, he pulled into a parking space and you were mildly surprised to see he had driven you to a McDonalds. You grinned at him and he returned the smile, getting out of the car to open your door before taking your hand.

“You owe me a date.”

You sent him a soft smile, curling your finger underneath his chin before pulling him in for a gentle kiss. He returned it immediately, slightly pushing you onto the car door and gripping your hips. You pulled away, giggling when you realized some of your lipstick was now staining his.

Chuckling, you leaned up until your lips were brushing against his ear, “Hey genius, you still haven’t asked me out yet.”

Forever Taglist: @simonsbluee

USM Taglist: @imcarolinashannon

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sunlitangles · 4 years ago

Text

Prose and Cons

I had the pleasure of also writing a fic for the @grishaversebigbang! Please go check out the other wonderful fics written by my fellow Etherealki. 💙

Thank you to my Corporalki @jdobrski and my sensitivity readers @niecity, @nekonamicosplay, and @wybiegowritey

And my talented Materialki (please check their pieces out and show them some love):

@ninaaswaffles x

@artzy-lia-art x

@dingy-doodles x

@protec-kuwei-yul-bo x

Summary: When his father kicks him out of America in disgrace, Wylan leaves for London looking for opportunity. He loves telling stories and sharing knowledge, so when the publishing company Crows Publishing accepts his application as a writer, he is overjoyed. There’s only one problem- Wylan can’t physically write. The solution to this stumbles into his life as Jesper Fahey, the anonymous author of popular war-time novels and coworker. They quickly enter a co-writer relationship, but maybe Wylan wants it to be more. The pair starts to get closer, but it isn’t long before Wylan gets caught up in the secret goings of the Crows Publishing company.

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26316439/chapters/64080943

Keep reading after the cut for chapter one!

“Mister Van Eck, I simply must inform you that you are not qualified for this job,” said the man. Wylan sighed and glared at the stout man sitting before him. “Mr. Rollins, I really need this job. I don’t have anywhere to go, and I-” Wylan started but was quickly cut off. “Van Eck, I couldn’t give a damn. Now, please see yourself out of my office,” Mr. Rollins said, spit flying out of his mouth. He didn’t give Wylan another look, proceeding to make a ‘shooing’ gesture and turned back to his records. Wylan grimaced and wiped his face with his sleeve.

Wylan stood, smoothing out the wrinkles in his tweed blazer. He grabbed the strap of his leather bag as Mr. Rollins lit a cigar. The beady gaze of the older man followed Wylan out of the office, and as Wylan stepped outside into the cool autumn breeze, the noisy bustle of London streets overwhelmed him. Wylan resisted the urge to plug his ears, which were not accustomed to the din. The countryside was never this loud. He missed the scent of the rolling fields, the clean autumn breezes, and the subtle hints of life on the farms nearby. He sighed disdainfully and stepped into the chaotic streets of London.

The intricately built buildings arched high above Wylan, seemingly watching his every move. What am I supposed to do now? His bag thumped against his side as he strolled the uneven cobblestone, dodging other pedestrians in long coats and large skirts. He was alone in this damn city with no steady source of income. If only my dad could see me now, Wylan thought, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth. He walked down Fleet Street, a sour expression stuck on his pale face. He strolled past the brightly lit shops of 36th street, the warm smells of the bakery wafting towards him. He stopped in front of the shop, observing the buttery pastries and golden rolls in the shop window. The soft light emanating from the bakery illuminated workers bustling around inside, putting more dough in the oven and piping thick jam on top of fluffy cakes. His mouth watered at the sight of flakey scones and he longed to taste at least one warm confectionery but tore himself away from the shop, turning back to the crowded streets. He certainly didn’t have the money for those types of luxuries yet.

He continued down the street, avoiding the large skirt of a beautiful fair-skinned brunette who strutted as if she owned the town. Her red dress flaunted her generous, soft body. She was fairly plump, and Wylan could tell her corset was laced far larger than customary. He stared as she bounced down the street, entering the bakery with a wide grin on her face. The other patrons stared after her, their expressions a mix of disgust and confusion. Wylan grinned to himself.

Loose pebbles skittered down the path as Wylan continued to make his way down to the run-down hotel that he called home for the time being. He’d managed to make enough money doing odd jobs between university classes to keep himself out of the streets, but if Wylan didn’t find steady work soon, he’d surely be down on his luck. He hurried down the cobblestone streets until he reached the hotel. The front needed a new paint job and windows were in a serious need of cleaning, but the rooms were in good enough condition. He stepped inside the lobby, which was empty save for a Suli family who waited on the moth-eaten couch and a tall, well-dressed man speaking quietly with the concierge. Trudging up the stairs, Wylan searched for his room number, turning right and then forward. He slid his key into the lock, taking off his jacket as he stepped into his hotel room.

He examined his belongings, anxiously making sure nothing was missing. Earlier in the week, he had experienced a run-in with a maid who had taken a liking to rifle through his belongings, looking through his music notebooks and pockets for spare change. He sighed in relief as he realized none of his belongings were swiped. Wylan could hear horses trotting along the street below him, barkers shouting at passerby and the mumble of conversations over watered-down tea and lumpy rice pudding. He still couldn’t believe he was in London. It felt a lot bigger, even though it was barely big enough to fit a fraction of America. He sat down at the tiny desk in the corner of the room, lit by the setting sun. Sunlight streamed through the dusty window, illuminating his fiery copper-red hair. Setting his head in his hands, he rubbed his temples, willing the stress of the day to disappear.

He had no idea how he was going to sustain himself for much longer. The funds that his dad had sent him off with were running low, and it would only be a few more weeks until he would be kicked to the streets with only the clothes off his back and a university scholarship, forced to feed himself and fend off the rats and pests that lurked in the dark alleys. According to his calculations, he would be able to afford his room for three weeks if he cut back on his food budget and skipped meals. He groaned as he pushed himself out of the creaky wood chair, the moth-eaten upholstered cushion leaving dust on his nice black pants. Brushing himself off, he collected his school work from his leather bag. Thick leather-bound books and spare pieces of paper stared up at mockingly, the neat font gleaming under the setting sun. Rubbing his eyes, Wylan attempted to make out the words written on the crisp pieces of parchment but gave up after a few tedious moments.

Mind still preoccupied, Wylan grabbed his flute. The cool metal was familiar to his smooth hands, the brass instantly calming his nerves. Grabbing a few sets of sheet music that he had already memorized, he brought his flute to his mouth and began to play.

As the stars twinkled in the midnight blue sky outside his window, Wylan fought to ignore the rumble of his stomach. He had played for hours, taking breaks to try to read the work he was assigned but he quickly gave up; the frustration consumed him as simple words mocked him. He craved a flakey pastry from the bakery he’d passed earlier, but the almost non-existent weight of the money in his pocket reminded him that indulging in such luxuries would not suit him well. He fiddled with the cuff of his shirt, wondering if he could afford to buy potatoes at the grocer. Deciding to go food shopping tomorrow, Wylan got himself ready for bed, humming under his breath as the crows chirped in the distance.

*** The streets of London were never quiet at night, Wylan had soon realized after his first night at the hotel. The drunken steps of men stumbling out of bars and their loud, slurred voices filled the streets night after night near the gambling halls and pubs while the sound of horses trotting through the cobblestone alleys mixed with quiet sighs of private theatricals. Tonight, Wylan caught wind of a few conversations, most of them noisy neighbors complaining about the prices of tea and whatever was in the paper that morning. Curling up on the window sill, he felt the cool London air blow into his room.

“Brekker said he would be here by now,” mumbled a gruff voice. The voice was coming from a stocky man, leaning against a building with a few companions by his side. The man to his right drawled in a kaelish accent, “Damn that kid. I can’t stand him.” “Did you hear what happened to Thomas today?” a blond man asked, rolling his neck. Fiddling with the pistols at his hips, a Zemini man replied, “Did Brekker con him?” The blond man nodded and replied, “Got ‘em good, too. I heard he got all of Thomas’ inheritance. Didn’t even see it coming.” The group of men continued to converse, loudly complaining about “Brekker”.

Wylan tuned out the rest of the conversation, opting to watch the early morning carriages drive across the roads. He watched rats scour the streets below, rotten apple cores littering the darkest corners of the alleyway. A young couple took a stroll along the other side of the street, speaking to each other in earnest. Wylan wondered what that was like. To have someone to tell everything to. Try as he might, Wylan’s father never could seem to get Wylan interested in the town girls. He just didn’t fancy any old girl, right? That had to have been the explanation for his blunt taste in women. They were just so peculiar. He often felt as if he never really liked any of them.

“Damn Brekker, can’t seem to keep his nose outta people’s business,” complained the man with the kaelish accent, snapping Wylan out of his daydreaming, “Do you reckon The Dregs will write something about Thomas?” Wylan knew that The Dregs was a popular newspaper in London, published by Crows Publishing. The Zemini man snorted and replied, “It’s a newspaper and publishing company.” “So? They can’t possibly know everything.” “You would be surprised, and I don’t read their shit. You’re the one reading penny bloods from Crows Publishing.”

Wylan knew about the penny bloods that were taking the country up by a storm. His neighbors often gossiped about them with their friends and family, and his classmates read them at school. They formed clubs where they would read them aloud and catch up on the latest episode. Wylan joined a few of those clubs, enjoying the way the writing sounded and taking note of the masterful ways they were written. The most popular penny bloods were written by a man named Kit Young starring a plot of war- novels and by the sounds of it, they were almost the most popular penny bloods in London, second only to a series of detective penny bloods published by the Dime Lions publishing company. Wylan heard that they told tales of crime and detection in America, but he didn’t find the descriptions as intriguing as the bloods written by Kit Young. Wylan participated in one of the clubs for Mr. Young’s stories and he latched on to every one of his words, but he had to stop going to the clubs as he needed to find work more than participate in leisure. He laughed bitterly as he thought about the war bloods and continued to ponder the on-goings of Crows Publishing.

Wylan had dared to hope that he could potentially be hired at the publishing company. He imagined conversing with his coworkers, and hopefully friends, about the latest stories and articles looking to be published. He imagined laughter spilling out of him and his coworkers and them sharing a mutual love for stories, him hopefully writing successful penny bloods that took the country by a storm. He wondered what he would do if he met Kit Young, and how he would praise the man for writing the stories that kept almost all of London intrigued. He let his imagination roam free until the sun rose over the gray city.

***

Though he was drowsy from his lack of sleep, Wylan tried to pay attention to the lesson his English professor was droning on about. He had yet to read the book assigned and he tried to understand what Professor Williams was saying about the metaphors in the book, but the encounter he witnessed from last night had been playing on repeat. The name “Crows Publishing” stuck out to him and kept nagging in the back of his mind. Wylan got chills down his spine each time he thought about how “Brekker” worked the gang and how disturbingly good he was at getting what he wanted. Doodling on the piece of paper in front of him, Wylan continued to ponder the mystery of Crows Publishing. Professor Williams announced that he would be calling on students, effectively breaking Wylan out of his stupor. Wylan silently prayed that he wouldn’t be called on as his professor scanned the room for participants. Though of course, Professor Williams decided it would be the perfect time to call on him.

Locking eyes with Wylan, his professor said, “Mr. Van Eck, what did you think about the relationship between Victor and his monster?” Wylan gulped nervously, the room feeling awfully hot and stuffy. “I found their relationship, uh, quite intriguing.” Professor Williams raised his eyebrow in expectation, “Anything else, Mr. Van Eck?” “Uh, I thought that Victor treated the monster unfairly and that maybe the author was commenting on the times,” Wylan said, balling his hands into fists. He thanked the lord that Mary Shelley’s work was popular enough for him to have known the plot. His breathing began to get shallow, and he focused on simply breathing in and out to avoid getting too worked up.

Professor Williams sighed, nodded, and called on another student. Wylan felt the eyes of his classmates burning holes into the back of his head. Wylan shifted uncomfortably, digging his fingernails into his sweaty palms. He focused intently on the paper in front of him, fighting the blush creeping up his neck and heating his ears. He silently wished for the floor to open up and devour him; anything would be better than sitting here embarrassed.

As the class ended and students were packing up their belongings, Wylan felt a firm hand on his shoulder, keeping him from exiting the classroom. “Van Eck. Hold on,” said Professor Williams. A few moments after all the students had sifted through the door, he leaned against his oak desk, crossing his ankles and watching Wylan intently. Wylan gulped and settled his hands on the strap of his leather bag. “You wanted to see me, Professor?” Wylan said, trying to keep the tremble out of his voice. “In fact, yes, Mr. Van Eck. Your performance in my class has been… less than satisfactory. I am quite aware of your, ahem,” Professor Williams cleared his throat, “difficulties with reading and writing, and I would like to help you.” Wylan looked towards the ground, “I’m sorry, Professor.” “I have a tutor willing to help you. I hope you accept this offer, as I truly think it would help you.” Wylan nodded, “I accept. Thanks.” Professor Williams smiled slightly. “Let me know when you’re available and I will let your tutor know. Don’t worry about the finances, I have it handled.” Wylan walked out the classroom, cheeks hot. His professor was paying for his tutoring sessions, and Wylan couldn’t help feeling useless. He wanted to think that the tutor could help him, but he was too overwhelmed by the fact that another human being had to know about his inability to read and write. Wylan silently decided to somehow find a way to pay his professor back; his search for a job becoming his top priority.

***

Professor Williams had found Wylan a tutor, all right. He was a 19-year-old boy with hints of patchy peach fuzz along his upper lip. His blonde hair was gelled back and he wrote a purple bowtie, rather than the standard university’s blue. Wylan sat down at the library table his tutor, Joost, had found. Joost pulled out an intimidating stack of books and Wylan eyed the stack nervously. “I think we should start with the book Professor Williams assigned to us. Do you have a copy?” Joost asked with a pretentious air in his voice. Wylan smiled, narrowing his eyes. He already disliked Joost.

“I do. It’s required, you know,” he said, the fake smile slathered on his face. If his jab affected Joost in any way, he didn’t show it. Joost eyed Wylan up and down, waiting for him to pull out his book. Wylan gritted his teeth and grabbed it out of his bag. Joost smiled and opened his heavily- dog eared copy. “Let’s start with chapter one. Do you know what happens?” Wylan bit his tongue to stop himself from lashing out at the blonde boy. “I don’t remember.” Joost cleared his throat arrogantly. “Then open your book to chapter one.” Wylan groaned internally as he began his slow descent into hell. He tried to read the words printed on the smooth sheets of paper, attempting to keep up with Joost’s monotone droning. After ‘reading’ the first chapter, Joost looked at Wylan expectantly. “Now, can you finally tell me what happens in this chapter?” Joost looked at Wylan intently, and Wylan dropped his head into his hands, pulling on the strands of his hair. This was clearly not going to work.

*** No matter how well-intending Joost was, he was not the tutor for Wylan. Wylan endured two grueling weeks of his pretentious personality and he couldn’t stand how Joost treated him like the scum under his shoe. Wylan sagged in his seat, pretending to read Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein as Professor Williams directed them to a certain part of the book. He glanced at the pages, scanning the words printed on the cream pages. As the rest of the class went on, Wylan avoided eye-contact with Professor Williams and Joost. He couldn’t stand the way Joost kept glancing at him. Wylan silently hoped that the class would be dismissed quickly.

Professor Williams held Wylan back at the end of class, grabbing his shoulder as he tried walking out of the door. “I take that tutoring with Mr. Van Poel didn’t go well,” his professor said after the students cleared out of the room. Wylan internally rolled his eyes, heat crawling up the back of his neck, “Joost was… fine.” Professor Williams pursed his lips. “I’ll find you another tutor, Wylan.” Wylan nodded, embarrassed of his additional request, and quickly thanked him and sprinted out of the room. As he rushed down the hallway, he felt his spirits deflate. Wylan couldn’t believe he’d already needed a new tutor. He already felt bad enough that his professor was paying for it, and now he’d complained about his old one? In times like these, he thought that maybe it was a good thing he could no longer disgrace the family name.

***

The library he’d agreed to meet up at was on campus, and it stretched a sizable distance. It had a big, arching front doorway and, once inside, beautiful oak shelves lining up the tall ceilings all the way to the back. Wylan held down a shaky breath thinking about the words lining those pages, words that he couldn’t read. It was almost suffocating. There were about fifteen people spread around the library’s common area, including a plump, whiskery little man sitting at the front desk. Wylan shuffled his way over. “Hi, sorry, I’m looking for a- um,” he glanced at the slip with the address and his tutor’s name, a name that he already memorized but he looked at the slip nonetheless, “Jesper Fahey?” “Always great to meet a fan,” called a rich, deep voice behind Wylan. He spun on his heel, coming face to face with a tall man with a rich-umber complexion. The confident expression on his handsome face made Wylan’s heartbeat quicken. “Hi, I’m uh- Wylan Eck Van. Uh- sorry, Wylan Van Eck. I’m assuming you’re Jesper Fahey?” Wylan said, stumbling over his words. “That’s my name,” the stranger said, raising his eyebrows in amusement, “And nice to meet you, Wylan.” Wylan reached his hand out for a handshake, but Jesper started down the hallway, looking for a table to sit at. The whiskery man stared at Jesper and went back to reading, smoking his cigarette when Wylan turned back to him. “Uh- wait up!” Wylan called, dashing to catch up with Jesper. Finding an unoccupied desk in the middle of the library, Jesper sat down, pulling out various books from his worn messenger bag. Wylan sat down, mimicking Jesper’s actions. “So…” Wylan started, glancing around the musty library, “What subject should we start with today?” Jesper looked up from his bag, pulling a textbook out. “I was thinking we could do English. Professor Williams told me you were struggling with the reading assignment?” Jesper confirmed, and Wylan glanced down at his hands, heat flushing his cheeks. Clearing his throat, Wylan replied, “Yeah. Something like that.” Jesper gave him a wide smile and said, “It’s fine, Mr. Van Eck. So, how far are you into the book?” “I haven’t- um, I haven’t started it,” Wylan clenched his fists tight, “I can’t read… it. I can’t read.” Jesper’s playful smile dropped just enough for Wylan to feel embarrassment flood over him. “Oh,” Jesper simply said, scrunching his eyebrows, “Well, we can either read it together or I could give you a brief summary. Williams said that we should be at chapter four by now so I highly recommend the summary.” Jesper winked. Wylan took a deep breath and felt the tension leave his body. Maybe this won’t be so bad after all.

#gvbbcreation20 #gvbb2020 #gvbbfic20 #gvbb #grishaverse big bang #wesper #Jesper Fahey #Wylan Van Eck #six of crows #the grishaverse #the grisha trilogy #the crows #Kaz Brekker #inej ghafa #ninej #nina zenik #kuwei yul bo #matthias helvar

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we-want-mini-mini · 4 years ago

Text

Because I fell in love with the previous prompt/oneshot I wrote about an OC falling into the DC universe (specifically Gotham) and wants to avoid the Vigilantes/Wayne and Co but fucking fails at it (or succeeds, who knows).

This one shot is about—

The Reluctant Executive Assistant To Lex Luthor, Who Also Is A Supervillian

Masterlist | Pervious Post Regarding This Oneshot

Warnings! Strong language, mentions of disassociation, mentions of body dysphoria, non-graphic description of violence, probably OOC Lex Luthor, shitty spelling and grammar oh my!

LIA WONDERED WHAT SHE DID TO ANGER THE UNIVERSE, what she did so heinous, so deplorable, so bastardly to be punished in this way. She reclined into her plush sofa, her eyed glazed over, as they seemingly stared beyond the cream colored walls of her small Metropolis apartment. On her coffee table, laid a stack of papers. Papers that were at least a couple inches thick, filled with long winded explanations, language that could confuse anyone, and an agreement to become Lex Luthors god damn Executive Assistant.

I’m basically going to be a glorified Secretary, for one of the most powerful men in the world... Whose also a raging fucking Supervillain too. Lia thought with a groan, rubbing her face. Her mind whirled with various thoughts, plans and so, oh so much more. The fact that she’s been offered such a prestigious job, at the tender age of 23 years old. A job as the right hand to a fucking Supervillain, Jesus Christ...

Ever since Lia woke up in her doppelgänger’s body, all those years ago, she made a decision that she would never involve herself with the various vigilantes of this world. But, considering she lived in Gotham before this, she had to cope with the fact that her city had various Vigilantes running around, doing whatever they were doing. But, Lia had the upper hand you see: the world she came from, all the Vigilantes and hero’s were fictional characters! Thus, she knew all their origin stories, secret identities and the like. In her pervious world, every kid knew that Superman was unassuming reporter Clark Kent of the Daily Planet. Who also happened to be Lia’s next door neighbor. You know what, I’m not even going to go down that rabbit hole. Nope. Nah. I’m good.

But, adjusting to life in her new body wasn’t a simple walk in the park. She had to adjust to a whole new city (perviously Lia lived in New York, which was the inspiration for Gotham but still). A whole new environment that became desensitized to the causal, practically fanatasical acts of violence ranging from man made super blizzards, the occasional alien invasion and etc. Not to mention, Lia had to cope with the fact she, in essence, lived in an entirely different body. The first two years of living in this world, Lia struggled with dissociation and body dyshoria at the fact that one: she now lived in a completely different world compared to her pervious world, and two: she inhabited a body that, yes is her, but, at the same time, wasn’t her.

Thank goodness mom realized what was happening and shipped my ass off to the few non-supervillain therapist in Gotham. Lia thought with a huff like laughter.

Her eyes then soon trailed too the stack of papers Lex Luthor gave, ones that detailed her contract of becoming his Executive Assistant. One, that would make her one of the most powerful women in the US by being the right hand of Lex Luthor. Who also is a fucking supervillain, god damn it.

Lia vowed to herself to never involve herself with the various superheroes, vigilantes, or villains of her new world. She wanted to live a normal as possible life, not wanting to have such a heavy responsibility of being a hero on her alreayd aching shoulders. She did not want to get involved in the drama that often plagued those who entered that life. She did not want to endanger her family (or herself) because she has connections with people who are vigilantes. Specifically, when she was a student at Gotham U, she avoided anything surrounding the Wayne’s (considering they are the infamous Bats and Birds that protect Gotham and her people). Likely, the only times she ever saw said infamous Vigilantes were the few unlucky times she was in a hostage situation and when she was about to be mugged those couple of times.

As far as interactions outside of their vigilante identities, she’s bumped into Bruce Wayne shopping with Damian, Stephanie, Cassandra and Tim. And oh boy, oh boy, did Lia pray to any deities out their to make sure this was the first and last time she ever met them. Her only words to Bruce Wayne (also fucking Batman) was a high pitched apology and the wish to be smited by God that very second. She’s also bumped in Dick Grayson the one time she visited some friends in Blüdhaven in a coffee shop. They struck up conversation, and it wasn’t till the end of the conversation did she realize who it was. After that, she always went out with headphones in her ears as they are the universal symbol of Don’t Talk To Me. And as for Jason, she’s seen Red Hood when she was out late at a 24/7 7/11, picking up some food. Frankly, Lia was to strung up on zero sleep and pure caffeine and spite to honestly give a single shit. Lia vaguely remembered wanting a specific thing, and Red Hood also reaching for it. She snatched said snack with a word, ignoring Red Hoods existence completely. The cashier looked like they saw a ghost but, as always, Lia was tired to give a single flying shit.

However, Lia’s paranoia didn’t simmer down. So much so, that she applied for an internship at LexCorp, her excuse being she wanted to have a change of scenery. While working at LexCorp, she gained considerable amount of knowledge and experience, but compromised with her mom that, after her internship finished up in LexCorp, she’s go to WE and work there. Lia had deep seeded concerns about working at WE, but after going back and forth in her head, she decided that, fuck it. It’s a gigantic ass company. There’s such a low percentage of me ever crossing paths with one of the Waynes and Co. Plus, mom drives a hard bargain. And damn, do I honestly miss Gotham. It’s so damn bright here. And it’s called fucking Metroplis of all things.

Before Lia could further brood about what her life had become, the sound of her doorbell flooded Lia’s ears. Lia’s eyebrows scrunched together, did I order something? But, she shrugged to herself, springing to her feet. Better find out then, I guess.

When Lia opened the door, she expected, say, a delivery person, or, a neighbor asking to borrow something. What she did not expect was her 5’3” mother, standing next to a 6-something, rather muscular, but familiar figure of—HOLY SHIT IT’S SUPERMAN, WHAT THE FUCK—

Next to her mothers petite figure, was the gargantuan stature of one Clark Kent, AKA, Superman. Lia could feel her blood pressure rise.

“Mom! Mr. Kent! What a nice surprise.” Lia said, through a tight lipped smile. Her mother simply smiled, laughing lightly.

“Habibi, it’s been such a long time—and, wait did you loose weight?” Her mother’s once smiling face turned sour, her eyebrows pinched together in worry. Her warm brown eyes trailing up and down Lia’s figure. Lia’s face immediately warmed up a few degrees, then her mother took hold of her face, examining it closer. Lia let out a indignant squawk, “Mom! Not infront of the neighbor please!”

Clark simply laughed, “No, it’s alright. I can understand a mother’s worry as my own Ma does the same thing whenever she visits.”

Her mother nodded, “See! He doesn’t mind, habibi. Now, it’s been a while since I’ve seen you. Mr. Kent, if you would be a dead, could help me set the food on the table?”

Clark smiles, his teeth a little too white and dazzling. “Of course! But please, call me Clark.”

Her mother laughed, while nodding. “Of course, Clark. Now, come in, come in.” Her mother said, inviting Lia’s neighbor into her apartment. She let out a sigh, moving out of the way.

Before long, Clark, Lia and her mother were setting up dinner. Somehow, someway, Lia’s mother convinced Clark to stay for dinner, while sending meaningful glances towards Lia. Lia wanted to jump out of her window. Knowing that her mother would always be her wingwomen, was, strangely nice, but this time? Trying to set her up with fucking Superman? Nope. Nah. No happening mom, no matter how hot Clark looks. Not. Happening.

Her mother, soon strikes up conversation with Clark about work. He talks about the Daily Planet, and being a reporter. Soon, the topic veers to Lia, whose honestly forgotten that Clark was Superman for a couple minutes.

“...on the topic of internships, my Lia currently interns at LexCorp, if I’m not wrong.” Her mother says, sending a pointed look to Lia.

“Uh. Yeah. I’m currently working at LexCorp as an intern.” Lia says, watching for Clark’s reaction at the fact that she works for his biggest nemesis. She can see it, the infantasmal flinch, before he relaxes again.

“Oh, is that so? From what your mother said, didn’t you live in Gotham before coming to Metropolis?” He inquires, setting down some plates on Lia’s dining table. Lia freezes up, since, she can’t just say: Well, you see, I know the identities of Gotham’s infamous vigilantes, who happen to also run and own WE.

“Well, I wanted a change of scenery really.” Lia added smoothly, taking out all the food and sorting them. She kept her face and tone neutral, watching Clark’s every move and reaction.

His face had a knowing look, as he gave a small nod. “I can understand that. Gotham and Metropolis are two very different cities and wanting a change of scenery is a fine reason for moving.”

Lia hums noncommittally, while her mother sighs. “I still wished you would’ve stayed in Gotham, you know. It’s closer and I worry for you, Habibi.”

Lia buffs through her nose. “Mom. I’m 24 and very much so capable of protecting myself, considering you were the one who taught me how to knock a man thrice my size out in a single punch since I was 7.”

Clark makes a sort strangled noise and covers it up with a cough. Lia’s mother simple sighs, her face showing her true age. “Of course your capable of defending yourself. Why would I let my daughter out and about in Gotham of all places with being able to defend herself? I just worry, ya habibi. This is a whole new city and you also live by yourself.”

“I’ve been living by myself since I was 18, mom.” Lia interjected but her mother gives her a look.

“Yes, you have been living by yourself since you were 18 but at least you were nearby. I worry, regardless of the fact.”

Lia sighs. They’ve had this talk numerous times, before Lia moved to Metropolis and before she even uttered her concerns about wanting to move. “I know.” She says softly.

The conversation dies out, as everything soon is set. However, before they could start eating, Lia’s mother spots the stack of papers.

“Lia, what with the stack of papers?” She inquired, her head gesturing to the coffee table.

“The stack of what?” Lia yelled out, as she was in the kitchen getting a jug of water. Her mother, whose curiosity guided her, got up from her seat and took ahold of the papers.

“The papers on your coffee table. What are they for?” She asked again, when she heard Lia set the jug of water down.

Lia, whose brain was preoccupied with a million other thoughts, carelessly said the phrase: “Oh, my contract to become Executive Assistant to Lex Luthor.”

Clark almost dropped what he was holding, before discreetly catching it with his super speed. Lia’s mother stilled, her eyes wide as saucers, her lips slightly parted.

“Your what to whom?” Her mother asked, her tone beyond incredulous.

Lia short circuited. She realized what she just said. In front of fucking Superman. In front of her mother. Fuck. Why does the universe hate me?

Before Clark could say anything else on the matter, his phone buzzed. The mother daughter pair snapped their gaze at Clark, whose face grew even more surprised.

“Oh. I’m sorry, I have to go. Something urgent just came up.” He said, shoving his phone back into his pant pocket. The mother-daughter pair simply nodded, as they watched a slightly frantic Clark Kent shuffle out of Lia’s small apartment.

When they heard Lia’s apartment door shut closed, her mother’s head whipped towards Lia’s. Her face went rigid, the past surprise at the new was scrubbed away, being replaced with a cold, calculative look. She gestured to Lia to sit down, at the dining table.

Lia, who simply stared at her for a while, sighed, before taking the opposite seat across from her mother. She knew this conversation will be a long one, thus, she started to pile on the food her mother brought.

“The contract in your hands, is a contract between me and Lex Luthor. It’s about me becoming his Executive Assistant.”

Her mother hummed, while also taking some food. “So, you’re going to be his right hand, essentially?”

Lia nodded. Well, sure. I’m technically a glorified secretary with a lot of power now. But sure, right hand is a lot more appealing. But she didn’t voice those thoughts, simply taking a bite of her food.

“Well, this took a turn I did not expect it too.” Her mother said with a sigh.

“You and me both, mom.”

Lia never would’ve imagined, not in a million Earths, would she become Lex-fucking-Luthors Executive Assistant. She honestly thought she would finish her internship without much fanfare and move back to Gotham to apply for a position at the WE.

“So,” her mother began, setting her fork down. “How the hell did you catch Luthors eye?”

“Well, it’s a bit of a long story but...”

A COUPLE DAYS AGO, the department in which Lia was interning suddenly lost a handful of employees who quit for whatever reason. Not to mention, an important meeting was scheduled and was now completely fucked due to these employees leaving. Plus, some other important event was also going on with some higher level execs and that was also in jeopardy. Lia, who was witnessing this utter shit storm in real time, realized, oh fuck. This is bad. Really bad. And decided to do something about it. Lia, at the time, was known in her department as someone who can manage a schedule like no ones business, convince people to do things her way like it was as easy as drinking water. She had a reputation and the department head was a chicken whose head was cut off, trying to put out the proverbial fires one by one, rather ineffectively. Lia, who made friends with various other interns in other departments (who worked with other high level employees), and who had various connections in Metropolis, was able to salvage most of the day (and subsequent week). She was able to fill in those positions rather quickly (the department head was more then happy to oblige), re-schedule the various important meetings and events that were scheduled that in under three hours after some (what Lia called) “aggressive persuasion”. Somehow, someway, the story of some intern with godly management abilities, persuasion skills made its way up to the big man himself: Lex Luthor.

When Lex Luthor heard of this, he became intrigued. Thus, he called Lia up, all the way to his office. Lia, who when was told that fucking Lex Luthor himself wanted to see her, was understandably shitting bricks. Her mind immediately went to the fact that somehow, someway, he figured out that Lia knew the identities of various vigilantes. Lia, who was reasonably terrified at the thought, began to draw up counter arguments and contingencies.

The entire way to Lex Luthor’s office Lia went through the seven stages of grief (the extra two are Denial 2 and astral projection). She thanked those she loved, and made her not peace with God. When Lia finally arrived to Luthors office, she immediately compartmentalized all her feelings, slapped on her most convincing cooperate smile, and knocked on his door, saying in the most polite and calm tone she could muster: “Mr. Luthor? You called for me, Lia al-Abadi?”

The moment she heard the muffled “come in.” Lia sent one more prayer to whatever deity out their, and strode into Luthors office.

Now, Lia has seen pictures and clips of Luthors office. But, it was one thing too see it and another to be in it. Lia, when entering the large office, with Luthor facing the window out looking Metropolis, felt her heart drop all the way to the earths core.

Her hands were discreetly balled up in her sides, her nails digging crescent shaped moons into the palm of her hand. The shirt underneath her blazer was definitely soaked through, but, thankfully, Lia wore a black blazer today, so it wasn’t that noticeable. Probably. Hopefully.

Lia took in a deep breath, trying to calm her hammering heart. “Mr. Luthor?” She called out, her voice surprisingly even. Her heart hammered against her chest, so hard, it seemed it would burst through any moment. God, what the fuck is my life anymore.

Luthor, being the dramatic ass Supervillian that he is, spun around, his hands clasped together as he faced Lia, sitting in a typical, large, black, swivel chair. The only thing he was missing was the white cat in his lap.

Lia could feel herself die a little when she made direct eye contact with the man, the legend, the Asshole, himself: Lex god damn Luthor.

“Ah, Ms. al-Abadi, please, do sit down.” He said, his voice uncharacteristically bright and inviting. But, Lia knows better then to trust the fox when it was simling. She could see the calculative glint in his eyes. Carefully, she walked towards Luthor, who kept his picture prefect smile. The only thing that filled Lia in for the eternally long, yet short walk towards Luthor was the clicks of her heel, and her heart hammering against her eardrums.

Her hand, which she forced to keep steady, took ahold of the chair, dragging it away from the desk. The ugly screeches of the chair legs against the marble floor still reasonated through Lia’s ears. But, at least she saw the slightly—almost invisible—eye twitch that gave away his annoyance.

Lia, who kept her face devoid of any emotions, slowly sat down. Her eyes still focused on Luthors stupid smiling face.

When she sat down (finally, Jesus Christ that was a lot more anxiety inducing then I thought) she kept her back straight, shoulder squared and her hands on her lap. She could still feel her heart beating hard against her rib cage, and the million thoughts of Luthor somehow finding out about Lia and her knowledge of the identities of the various vigilantes. Her hands became clammy, her entire being screamed, I AM VERY UNCOMFORTABLE! but, Lia was stuck in between the proverbial rock and a hard place (rock: chair, hard place: Luthor’s office).

Her lips stretched into her patented cooperate smile, “You had called for me, Mr. Luthor, sir?”. Fuck my life. Lia thought, still smiling while she slowly died on the inside.

Luthor bared his teeth, lips stretched into a smile. “Please, call me Lex, Ms. al-Abadi.”

Lia, with ever cell in her very being, absolutely rebelled at the prospect of calling Lex Luthor just Lex. For one, he’s her boss, and Lia was raised to be polite. Second, Lia only ever referred to Lex Luthor either as Luthor or Lex Luthor, never just Lex. Third, Lex Luthor is a goddamn Supervillain, no fucking way am I calling him by his first name.

Lia’s fave stretched out into a tight lipped smile. “I’m afraid cannot do that, Mr. Luthor.” She said through gritted teeth, face still stretched out into a tight lipped smile.

Luthor cocked his eyebrow. “Oh? And why is that?”

For one, your Supervillain. Second, me saying your first name, and just your first name, tiggers my flight or fight response. Lia, of course, did not response to Lex Luthor’s question with that reply. Instead she said, “For one, Mr. Luthor, you are my boss and I am your employee. Employees don’t generally refer to their boss by their first names. Secondly, me referring to you by your first name implies that I am in some way, shape or form, close to you. Considering this is my first time ever meeting you personally, I can’t—” Won’t “—refer to you by your first name.”

A beat of silence. Lia, who continued to smile at Luthor as he stared at her for a good few moments, before lightly chuckling.

“Well, when you put it like that, Ms. al-Abadi, I cannot disagree. However, I do hope in the near future you would be more comfortable calling me Lex rather then Mr. Luthor.” He said, his face all smiles.

For a moment, Lia was confused. She was simply a temporary intern that would leave in about two months, how would she hypothetically warm up to Luthor enough so to call him Lex? Plus, what he said also implied that Lia would stay in LexCorp long enough to warm up to Luthor.

Then a thought crossed Lia’s mind. Wait, does he want to be my sugar daddy?? Which Lia immediately shot down, as, this is Lex Luthor, why the fuck would he be interested in being my sugar daddy? Even though I am fucking beautiful, thats for sure. But still. Lia shuddered at the thought before getting back on the topic at hand.

“Mr. Luthor, I am just a simple intern that will be leaving in about two months. I don’t understand how I would be able to get close to you enough so that I refer to you by your first name,” Lia said.

Then another thought crossed her mind, “Unless, you’re planning on making me a full time employee?” There was a slight tilt in Lia’s voice, her eyebrows slightly pinched together. Lia, however, racks her brain for any reason why Lex Luthor of all people would personally call her to his office just to say he’s going to hire her as a full time employee.

Luthor nodded, “Precisely, Ms. al-Abadi. But, I don’t just want to make you any full time employee, that would simply be a waste of your talent and potential.” He said, reaching for one of his drawers, pulling out a stack of papers.

A wave of confusion wash over Lia. Talent? Potential? The fuck did I do to catch Luthors attention of all people? “I’m not sure what you mean by my ‘talent and potential’, Mr. Luthor.” She said, while shaking her head. She honestly didn’t think of anything note worthy enough to catch a awfully busy man like Luthor.

A flash of confusion flickered through Luthors face before being plastered with another smile. “Ms. al-Abadi, I’m sure you know your reputation among the other interns, right?”

Lia’s eyes narrowed, as she hesitantly nodded. She was infamous for managing a clusterfuck of a schedule into an actual, mangable schedule. Lia was also known for her “aggressive persuasion” tactics and the like.

“Not to mention, the situation in which many employees from the department you interned in, quit. Resulting in many important events and meetings to be up in the air. Not to mention some other notable things that happened that day.” Luthor said, matter of factly.

And, he wasn’t wrong. But the fact that Luthor knew of that utter shitstorm raised more then a few alarms in Lia’s head. The situation that occurred that day was promptly swept under the rug and Lia only complained about the situation to a couple intern friends and her brother. Then, the face of Ana—an intern from the PR Department—flashed through Lia’s eyes. Lia wanted to strangle herself. Of course she told fucking loose lipped Ana about situation that never should’ve reached Luthor’s ears, god fucking damn it. No matter how much Lia wanted to groan and fight God, she kept her composure.

Lia gulped down, rubbing her hands as another smile made its way onto her lips. “Well, I simply did what had to.” I had pull so many fucking favors, and most of my god damn grey hairs are from that day, Jesus Christ. Whenever Lia remembered that day, her face (internally) soured, and the need for her to curse out God, the universe, whoever, was so great she had to bite her tongue (literally) to force herself not to go on a 20 minute rant about the entire situation. Still, even with her bubbling feelings of pure, unbridled rage, Lia kept her composure. This is a professional environment. I’m infront of my boss. Whose one of the most powerful man in the US. Whose also a raging Supervillain. I have to stay professional. Professional...

“Nonsense, Ms. al-Abadi. From what I heard, you had a situation presented to you, a situation that was falling at the seems no less—and somehow salavaged it. In under three hours, you were able to salvage the situation, reorder them schedule and was able to avert a scandal as well.”

Lia, for whatever reason, felt her face grow hot at the praise. She, of course, knew how shitty the situation became—did what she always did—complained a bit, and moved on. Planning, reorganizing, improvising plans on the go, and her “aggressive persuasion” is something Lia always did. She didn’t find such things awfully notable, as she’s been doing this sort of thing since the ninth grade.

��T-That’s—” Lia cleared her throat. “That’s quit a bit of praise, Mr. Luthor, considering I didn’t do much aside from reorganize and persuased a few people. Nothing that I consider rather notable, enough so to earn your attention.” Unnecessary attention, was left unsaid.

Luthor simply smiled, his teeth too white and straight for Lia’s eyes. “You might consider it unnotable, but I beg to differ.”

Then beg—Lia almost retorted, but she caught the phrase before it could ever leave. Fucking siblings.

Luthor pushes the stack on papers closer Lia. “Which is why—I want you, Ms. Lia al-Abadi, to become my Executive Assistant.”

Lia, when she heard the words Executive Assistant concluded that the universe hates her and that she will make preparations to fight God.

Safe to say, Lia was just offered a prestigious position, next to Lex Luthor, to be his Executive Assistant. The same Lex Luthor who is actively fighting against Superman—the Justice League at large—and it an overall Supervillain. One of Superman’s most noteworthy Supervillian. A Supervillian, who can potentially kill Superman because he has access to a grow, green rock. A Supervillian who made a clone of Superman—combing his and Superman’s DNA—to do so. The same Supervillain, who essentially was asking: “Do you want to be my right hand?”

“You want me to be your what?” Lia asked in an incredulous tone. She looked at the stack of papers and Luthor several times, while pointing to herself. “Me? A 23 year old, with barely any experience in the cooperate world, work as your Executive Assistant?”

Luthor, surprisingly, nodded, his face not showing a hint of annoyance. “Yes, I am. Of course, you should take your time to think over my offer. It is Friday, and I’ll be expecting your answer next Monday. Come to my office at 3 PM, next Monday, and we’ll talk some more, Ms. al-Abadi. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have another meeting to get too.”

Next thing Lia knew, she was holding onto a stack of papers, in an elevator, going down back to her original office. When she came back, several people commented on how dazed and pale she looked. One of her supervisors even asked if she wanted the rest of the day off (as there wasn’t much left to do, either way). Lia, who was still reeling from the events that had just transpired, graciously accepted.

Lia’s mother, who kept on listening to the entire ordeal, from start to finish simply commented. “Well, damn.”

Lia groaned, her hands rubbing her face. “‘Well, damn’? That’s all you have to say on the fact that one of the most powerful man in America offering me a position as his god damn Executive Assistant?”

“Hey! It’s a lot for me to take in, and, it must a lot for you to take in.” Her mother said, reaching out, taking a hold of Lia’s hand. She gave a comforting squeeze.

“Yeah, it was...” Lia mumbled. She sighed, her eyes on the stack of papers detailing what Lia’s responsibilities were, and some other key information. The stack of papers that could change her life with a single stroke of a pen.

“So, what are you going to do? Accept Luthors offer, or...?”

“It’d be dumb for me not to accept it.”

“Damn right it would be!”

Lia shoot her mother a look, before continuing, “It’s just... I’m only 23 and me getting this job is just... There’s a lot to consider. Sure, I’m good at managing schedules, persuading people and—” Her mother snorted, waving her hand.

“Hey! I am good at all those things, you know.” Lia exclaimed, crossing her arms.

Her mother raised both her hands, shaking her head. “Never said you were bad at them, Habibi. Your a damn genius when it comes to organizing events and persuading people. Not good, not great, but a god damn genius.” Her mother voice clearly showing how proud she was of Lia.

The tips of Lia’s ears were painted bright red, as her face spilt into a grin. “Yeah, yeah, I guess I am. But, the matter at hand is that, I don’t have much experience in the cooperate world. And, I just graduated a couple months ago. Not to mention, if I accept the position, there’s going to be a lot of talk on how, I, a 23 year old, rather attractive women, who just recently graduated from Gotham U, who was just a regular intern, managed to get the position of Executive Assistant to Lex Luthor.”

Her mother sighed. “True, there definitely will be rumors regarding how earned such a position without much prior experience.”

Lia sagged in her seat, her mind a tornado of thoughts. Should she accept? Should she decline? Should she msyteriously disappear off the face of the Earth, never to be seen again? Decisions, decision, so many decisions with so many consequences and variables at play that made Lia’s head ache. She had time, but not enough. It was late in the evening on Friday, and Luthor wanted an answer by Monday afternoon. Great. Just a couple dozen hours till D-Day. Fan-fucking-tastic.

“What about a trial basis?” Her mother blurted out. Lia cocked her eyebrow, gesturing for her to continue.

“Like, what if, you were his Executive Assistant for a couple of months, on a trial basis. Just to dip your toes in and get a feel for the job. That sort of thing.” She said with a shrug.

Lia’s eyes widen, as if a light bulb went off her head. “Oh my god. Why didn’t I think of that? That’s prefect! Not only would it allow me ample time to see if I’m ready for such a position, but also invaluable experience if I were too not take the position or Luthor deemed me unworthy of it.”

With a sort of plan set in mind, Lia continued to eat, all with a smile on her face. Even if after the trial basis, Luthor deems me unfit, I still get away with a couple months worth of pay that would pay off my student loans, not to mention invaluable experience. I win regardless of the fact if I get the job or I don’t!

With the sun setting, and Lia eating her fill, while catching up with her mother on other past events, Lia can’t seem to stop smiling. Even if she’s going to become the (Reculant) Executive Assistant to Lex Luthor, who also is a Supervillian.

That’s it folks! I had a lot of fun writing this in all honesty, even though it’s not that good. I hope you enjoyed reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it!

Till next time.

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staytheb · 4 years ago

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You Live Here, Too?

Pairing: GOT7′s Mark x OC [Linna] Genre: slice of life, slight fluff, slight angst Word Count: 2,050 Summary: It’s been two years since Linna and Mark last saw one another after their breakup. They meet again when Linna tries to enter her apartment, but it’s really Mark’s in her slightly tipsy state.

Warning: semi-proofread. curse words. lol

hello! this piece is actually a re-work from my other side blog with NPC’s Yanjun titled Nice To Meet You. i re-did it for my own piece of mind and to re-do things from that side blog to fit this current blog. anyways, this is like a sequel to LA Confidential, but you don’t really have to read that one to get this one. also, to each their own on how they do their relationship, this was just fitting for me to end it on a better term than what i had previously... plus my sister has been wanting a part two and this one came through lol but yeah, i’m terrible with titles, too. okay happy reading and kthxbai, Admin Lia~

Linna staggered down the hallway of her apartment floor after stepping out of the elevator. She normally didn't get drunk unless she knew that one of her friends would take care of her, but tonight she needed a drink and had one too many. Her friends made sure she arrived into her complex safely and that she was coherent enough to make it the rest of the way up on her own. Feeling the slight headache coming on, Linna clumsily, but hurried down the long hallway until she reached her apartment's door. She pressed the four digit code, but it didn't work. Believing it to be her drunken state, Linna tried again, but the code failed.

"I know the code can't be wrong unless Serena changed it and forgot to tell me." Linna muttered in frustration.

Linna recently moved into the building with her sister after securing a place together a month ago. She just didn't get why she was having issues now as Linna dialed Serena's number and waited for her sister to pickup. Just as Linna heard Serena's voice, the sound cut off soon afterwards. Linna frowned while gazing at her phone and seeing that the battery ran out. She double checked and sighed in agitation that her phone had to die on her at this crucial time. Inhaling slowly and exhaling a moment later, Linna steadily stared at the nine-numbered key pad. She slowly, but surely pressed the right buttons. The pass-code failed once again.

"Seriously? What the fuck, man?"

Linna groaned angrily as she could feel hot tears build up. She bang against the door in hopes that Serena was home. Feeling a bit woozy, Linna leaned her body against the cool surface and rested her head sleepily onto the door. She hoped that her sister would open the door soon. A moment later the door opened and Linna fell in to the arms that didn't belong to Serena. It was her ex-boyfriend, Mark, she hadn't seen in nearly two years after their breakup due to his infidelity. Mark instinctively caught Linna in his arms as his eyes widened upon their unexpected situation. Linna hadn't taken notice of his presence and just stayed like that unaware of her situation.

"Are you okay?" Mark simply asked a second later wondering what he should do.

Unfortunately for Mark the innocent question opened a dam and Linna burst with all of her pent up tears and emotions exploding.

"No, I'm not okay!" She cried before ranting.

"Nothing's fucking okay. Life sucks. The owner of my job is a fuckin' dick and a cheapskate who gives two shit for his employees and just worries about financial aspects. My general manager is a two-face bitch who won't hesitate to throw someone under the bus to save her own ass, but yet she'll take all the credit for something she did not do. All of my colleagues can't do shit without being told to do something, especially the upper management who are all supposed to work with me and not against me."

Linna let out a heavy sigh before finishing out her rant.

"I hate being an assistant general manager that they still treat like a regular worker, but still expect so much things from me even though they micro-manage me. Like I know so much more than they do and still know how to keep things professional, but they see me as nothing more than some lower employee they can do whatever with. Ugh, all these motherfuckin' idiots think it's easy being in my position and that I don't do shit, but yet always depend on me to handle their fuck ups without actually thinking."

Linna comfortably leaned against Mark, but had still not recognized her current situation. Mark just let his ex-girlfriend rant and do her thing not really sure how to go about their current situation.

"Damn, do I hate stupid people." Linna complained while speaking in a tired tone. "I really wanna quit, but I need the job to make money. I wished they would realize that I'm important individual with feelings and have so much potential to offer. I just wished they realized that without me they wouldn't be where they are right now because they still can't fuckin' operate the system on their own without blowing up my phone left and right to answer obvious questions."

Linna positioned her face against Mark's chest and let the tears continued to run.

"Why can't they use their own brains to actually assess the situation or make sure of it themselves? Or to just look it up on their own without bugging me beforehand?"

Mark wrapped his arms around Linna's body and soothingly rubbed her back in comfort. Although they had broken up and that he was the one at fault, but to this day Mark still cared for Linna. Seeing his ex-girlfriend in her current state reminded him that her work place was still shitty and her co-workers were even more annoying than before their breakup. Mark wanted to comfort her with words, but nothing came to mind. He was even more shocked that she lived in the same apartment complex as him now. He moved in about two years ago after the lease of their shared apartment was up shortly after their breakup. Mark honestly believed that he and Linna would never cross paths again.

"Now I can't even enter my apartment because the code doesn't work, my phone died, and you smell like my ex-boyfriend."

Just as Linna inhaled the familiar scent did her mind snapped her back to reality and to her senses of what she had just said. She instantly backed up and out of Mark's embrace to stare at the person before her. A small gasp escaped her as Linna stared at her ex-boyfriend with widened eyes. Seeing Mark standing there sobered Linna quickly, but the headache remained. She wasn't sure if it was due to the alcohol or the fact that her ex-boyfriend lived in the same complex as her and that she may have mistaken his place for her own.

"You live here, too?" Linna asked rhetorically while checking the number plate to make sure she was at the right place.

She wasn't. The first number she was staring at was for the seventh floor. She lived on the fourth floor, but realized that they both lived in the eighth apartment. Linna didn't understand how that could've happened except that she may have clumsily hit the 'seven' button instead of the 'four' button when she got into the elevator. She softly groaned before slowly fixing her eyes onto Mark while wiping away the stray tears from her face.

"Um, I'm sorry, Mark. I'm just gonna go."

"Linna, wait."

"Hmm?"

"Um..."

So many thoughts crossed Mark's mind as to what he wanted to say to his ex-girlfriend, but none of it sounded right to say at that moment. A 'sorry' seemed too pathetic and just worst to bring up even after two years. A 'how are you' would probably backfire like 'are you okay' from earlier. He wanted to tell her that she looked good despite her tear-stained and red face, but that just may come out wrong and out of context. Mark sighed and resorted to just looking at Linna speechless. Linna could see that her ex-boyfriend wanted to say something to her and so waited. She wasn't sure why she stayed, but she did. Neither said anything as they continued to gaze at each other. It wasn't until a third, much younger voice, interrupted them.

"Uncle Mark."

The duo turned their attention to Mark's niece, Leah, that Linna hadn't seen since their break up. The little girl stood beside Mark and pulled on the hem of his shirt.

"I had a nightmare. I woke up and you weren't there." Leah said while sleepily rubbing at her eyes.

Leah turned her attention onto Linna to see who her uncle was talking to. Her face lit up upon seeing Linna and recognizing her.

"Auntie Linna. Hi."

Leah moved closer to hug Linna's lower body. Linna hugged the child back while casting Mark an unsure look. Mark softly cast her a small smile with a shrug.

"I missed you. Where did you? Did Uncle Mark make you cry again? Is that why you haven't visited me?"

Leah's questions brought tears to Linna's face, but for a different reason. Mark frowned upon hearing his niece's questions.

"I didn't make Auntie Linna cry, Leah."

Leah turned to face her uncle with a pointed look.

"But why didn't she come see me like before?"

Mark couldn't answer his niece honestly and so didn't reply. Linna took this opportunity to do it for him.

"Leah, sweetie," Linna called for the little girl's attention while crouching down to eye level with the child, "Your uncle and I just had to take some time apart. That's why I couldn't come see you."

Leah's facial expression turned to one of hopefulness.

"But you can come see me now, right?"

Linna briefly glanced at Mark who's facial expression didn't reveal much, but she could see in his eyes that he wanted to rekindle what they had two years ago. If she had to be honest with herself, then Linna wasn't sure if she had moved on from Mark. Sure he did her wrong, but they didn't really have any sort of closure. They just broke up without talking about anything and now here they were where she ranted to him about her work life. He comforted her in his own way even though he didn't have to. Linna inwardly sighed that being an adult was too complicated and that being child-like was much simpler back then. Her attention was brought back onto Leah.

"Auntie Linna."

"Hmm?"

"You didn't answer me."

"I dunno, Leah. It's late. Auntie has to go home."

Linna avoided answering the question fully and shot the little girl a soft look.

"It's very late, Leah. We all need to be in bed."

"C'mon, Leah. Let's let Auntie Linna go home now." Mark softly urged his niece while walking over to place his hands on his niece's shoulders to lead her back inside the apartment.

Leah wasn't giving up so easily as she took a hold of Linna's hand.

"Can you come over for breakfast?" She asked hopefully.

"Uncle Mark and me are going to make pancakes, but I know auntie like waffles so I want to make waffles with auntie. Please?"

Linna glanced at Leah's hopeful expression before looking over at Mark unsure, but his only response was to shrug his shoulders with an aloof expression and leaving it up to her if she wanted to accept or not.

"Please?" Leah repeated as she tightly held onto Linna's hand.

Linna wasn't sure if it was just Leah's way of uniting them again or if it was just fate bringing her and Mark's paths to cross one another again, but she would let it be to see where it would go. A lot could happen in two years and although it doesn't change the past it could set something else towards the future by living in the present.

"Okay, Leah. I'll join you for breakfast." Linna agreed with a small smile.

"Yay!" Leah cheered as she happily jumped up and down.

Leah let go of Linna's hand as she went to hold her uncle's instead and tried pulling him further inside the apartment.

"C'mon, Uncle Mark. We have to sleep so that Auntie Linna can come over faster."

"Okay, okay." Mark responded with a chuckle before casting Linna a smile with a small wave.

"See you later, Linna."

"See you later, Mark."

Linna returned the same gestured as Leah happily waved at her while bidding her a good night and Mark closing the door shortly afterwards. Linna inhaled deeply before exhaling a moment later. As she made her way back to the elevator a small smile graced her face as she felt relieved of stress and worries for the first time in a long while. When she get back home Linna knew that she was gonna definitely have to vent to Serena about earlier, but that she ran into her ex-boyfriend again and that their current status may change.

#staytheb #got7 scenarios #mark tuan #duan yien

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concealeddarkness13 · 4 years ago

Note

Happy STS from your moral support dragon. Give me the ramble about your story. Make it as memorable as possible. I have a really hard time remembering things so I’m trying to get wips straight. Have a wonderful day.

Thank you so much! This is a wonderful question! I love it! And I might do this for more than one story. :)

Concealed Darkness: Okay. So, this is my baby. This was the first story that I actually completed, and I have stuck with this story for about seven years. It’s on its third draft, where I changed the story and characters to actually be better and not so cliched. It’s still a pretty cliched story, but I love it. It centers around these three friends: Cassian, Tamra, and Luneth. This mysterious empire attacks their city, and in the chaos, they learn that Luneth is a Tenebrus, which is a species that has darkness magic that humans fear and hate. But Cassian and Tamra care about their friend so much, that they don’t really care. After the attack is over, Cassian, Tamra, and Luneth are sent to investigate the empire, but, of course, things don’t go according to plan. The empire decides to label all three of them as special, and Cassian proves it by having light magic, Tamra proves it by having a Hikari (a glorified elf pretty much) as a mother, and Luneth proves it by having light magic and darkness magic. And Luneth has to deal with a ghost from his past who has returned: Cress, a very sarcastic, calculating, lying dude who is also a Tenebrus. He’s part of Imperium, which is fighting against the empire, but their leader is sketchy, and that also extends to other members Cassian, Tamra, and Luneth meet. They seem to have their own motives that extend beyond defeating the empire. In the end, is the empire really the biggest threat?

Now for the two stories I’m writing for Nanowrimo:

Isolation Story: Starts innocent enough, with a group of isolationist humans who have no contact with the outside universe. The planet they live on is actively trying to kill anyone who wanders too far away from the settlement, but that doesn’t stop Nyr. She dreams of exploring the whole planet, and that makes her the odd one in her class. Yeah, she’s learning to fight so she can be chosen to pilot one of the huge humanoid mechs right from an anime. Because being an isolationist group doesn’t stop other groups from trying to conquer you. These mechs are special because two people are required to pilot them, those people have to share a mental link, and only people from the original isolationist humans can use them. Nyr gets chosen, but she’s paired with the most popular guy in the class: Liam. He’s all smiles and cheerfulness, and she believes it’s all an act. But that’s not the case. He actually used to have a dream. He wanted to explore space! Another big no-no for isolationist humans. He was discouraged from following his dream, so he doesn’t actually have any dreams. Because of that, he makes sure to actively encourage everyone else in their dreams, and that will extend to Nyr once she opens up to him. And...they might even fall in love?! After they finally get over their differences, another group attacks the isolationist humans, and when they fight them into a stalemate, the isolationist humans notice who they are fighting against. Other humans! These people call themselves the Gallants, and they want to conquer the universe as vengeance against their own planet getting destroyed with millions of humans still on it. They offer the isolationist humans a choice: join them peacefully, or they will force them to join the Gallants. Such a great choice! In order to stall for time, the isolationist humans send Nyr and Liam up as ambassadors and spies. Nyr and LIam will learn secrets about the Gallants, and figure out that the Gallants aren’t really the ones they should be fearing.

Metalblood: Kai is an ordinary thief who wants to see the world. Because she wants to find her family. She lost her memory from before she was sixteen, and she doesn’t remember her family at all. Which sucks in a world where humans value their families above everything else. Oh, and she also has a machine in her brain that points out machines to her and helps her figure out what they do and what she can use to make any machine she wants to make. Which is weird because no human has ever figured out how to make a machine work with the human body. And she has no idea how she got her machine. All she really cares about is finding her family. She doesn’t want to learn the answers about her past and the machine, but she’s going to get them anyway. For some reason, she thinks finding her family is somehow linked to learning more about the supposed apocalypse that happened hundreds of years ago. But of course, no one knows what happened, and anything that has information about it is in a language no one understands. With the help of her friend, Taeo; Lia, a noble who hires Kai to steal something for her; Xanth, a mysterious noble that Kai feels a connection to; and some others who I don’t know yet, Kai will unwillingly learn more about her past, and she will get a found family who will help her find her real family. Oh, and there’s a group of weird jellyfish aliens who are after Kai, and a group of four soldiers (Zathias, Rea, Charli, and Crius) and their shadowy alien friend (Cirrus) are investigating the jellyfish aliens and the humans on this planet. They’ll cross paths with Kai pretty often. And these soldiers help connect Metalblood to the Isolation Story.

Thank you so much again! Tagging: @ratracechronicler, @nightskywriter, and @merigreenleaf!

What about your stories?

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monochromeweek · 5 years ago

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Symphony of Dreams (Day 2)

A cloaked white-haired beauty sneaked through the forest with only a lantern and her trusty rapier at her side. She had been lucky to escape from the village that she had known for sixteen years after hearing that her father was going to find a suitor for her, something that she didn’t want in the slightest…especially when she had heard her father comment that he hoped the person he found would ‘beat the freakiness out of her’.

That was something she definitely didn’t want…

‘Good idea Weiss…let’s go into the forest at night. What could possibly go wrong?’ she thought to herself as she shook her head as to why she had left in the first place started coming back to her. Holding the cloak close to her body, she waved the lantern in front of her while making sure that she didn’t trip on any roots during her perilous path…to where she had heard rumors about a village by the sea.

Not only did she know that her father wouldn’t be able to reach her there but also that she could vanish into the crowd and maybe live out the life of one of her multiple stories. “Come on Weiss…just a little further…” she muttered to herself before a tree branch smacked her in the face. Since she wasn’t expecting it, she cried out in pain and alarm as she fell off the beaten path, her lantern falling from her grasp as she did so and winced in pain as she finally stopped…somewhere deep within the snowy forest. Trying to stand, she cried out in pain as she just realized that there was no possible way that she could put any weight on it.

‘No…’ she thought as worry and fear started setting in, her fear only amplifying as the sounds of the forest started creeping into her ears.

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“No!” a giant creature shouted as she arose from her bed, events from the past causing her to jump out of bed and towards the ceiling as her claws sunk into the drywall once more. The curse of the werecat…and its current victim was the Princess of the castle, one Blake Belladonna. Looking around her crumbling castle, the female slowly made herself back to the stone floor, shivering lightly as the cold stones cut through the fur that were on the paws of her feet. With her cat tails swaying lightly behind her, she stretched her back lightly and made her way towards the balcony doors. Opening them with nary a thought, she felt the wind grab onto the bow that covered her sensitive ears.

“Joy…another day of loneliness and solitude,” Blake commented with a light sigh as she remembered what exactly brought her to the state that she was in: her own pride and stubbornness. “If only I had listened…Yang…ilia…I’m sorry,” she said softly, knowing that her servants were just as cursed as she was. And it would only break by something that would never happen… “Wait…what was that?” she asked as the wind brought to her sensitive ears a voice. A voice that didn’t truly belong here within the confines of her forest. ‘Who is that…?’ she thought as she focused on the voice. It sounded…scared. And alone.

With her mind made up, Blake grabbed a random cloak so as to conceal her features and headed out, racing on all fours as she concentrated on where the sound was coming from, as well as the growls from the wolves. Coming to the scene in front of her, she scowled as she saw a female not only shivering from the cold but also the five wolves surrounding her and being menacing. With her mind made up, she leapt over the wolves and in front of the girl, hissing and snarling at the canines before standing up and making herself taller than usual in order to intimidate them…which worked.

Turning around and seeing as to whom she had saved, she couldn’t help the warmth that came to her cheeks and the rosy hue that added to it. ‘She’s beautiful…no. Blake, if she knew she would hate you, just like the others! Get your hopes and emotions under control!’ she berated herself as she slowly and carefully scooped the adorable girl up and noticed the wince of pain that marred her beautiful face. Looking over her body…and doing her best to keep her emotions under control, she noticed the knot on her ankle and the purple color that it became. Blake also took notice of the rapier that was strapped to the young girl’s waist but paid no heed to it now before heading back to the castle. Using her tails to open the door, a soft and tranquil voice greeted her after closing the door.

“Mistress Blake, are you okay? You exited the door so…who is this?” the voice asked as a girl appeared within the crystal, her brown skin and blue eyes showing that this was Blake’s first servant, ilia Amitola.

“I’m not sure ilia…I heard her through the wind thanks to part of my Curse and well…here she is now. Can you help me bring her to the spare bedroom? I’ll also need to get ice for her as well…” she mused as ilia floated from crystal to crystal, each one illuminating as Blake followed her servant into one of the spare bedrooms. “Thank you ilia,” Blake stated as she placed the girl down on the bed, idly noting how her tails were swishing lightly behind her as she did so.

“You seem happy…” ilia stated with a smile, idly noticing her mistress’s blushing cheeks. “Was it perhaps love at first sight?” she teased, causing the werecat to blush heavily at that.

“ilia…it’s not like that. And besides…there’s no way she would return my love even if I acted on it. Even if the curse could be broken…I don’t think she is the one to break it.”

“Mistress…I think you’re wrong. You’re obviously attracted to her…maybe she is the one. And…the Rose…its on its last petals. If you don’t break it soon…” “I know!” She shouted, causing the girl within the crystal to change it to a light blue, indicating her sorrow and fear at the anger. “Oh Lia…I’m sorry…you know I didn’t mean it…” Blake replied before the light grew dim, causing the werecat to sigh lightly at that. It was another part of her werecat curse…she could get so easily angry at times, especially whenever the curse was brought up.

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

Weeks had passed since Blake had rescued Weiss and both girls had started getting closer to each other over said weeks; Blake had eventually shown her werecat form to the fair maiden and expected her to run away due to fear and/or hatred. It was actually the opposite as Weiss had hugged her close and asked if it was okay to touch her ears and tails, which she agreed to.

“You know Weiss…I think Lady Blake really likes you,” Yang stated as she saw the white-haired girl getting undressed for the evening. At first, seeing the lavender eyes in the mirror had caused her to shout in surprise, but she had quickly gotten used to it.

“You really think so Yang? I mean…I can’t help but wonder if there’s something I can do for her and you all…I know you’ve mentioned this curse and all but…” she was going to say something more before the world in front of her started blurring and she tried to focus more but as she did so, it only got blurrier and blurrier until her world turned white.

“Yang? Ilia? …Blake?” she asked as she looked around and hearing nothing. She couldn’t even see anything and could feel tears coming to her eyes. “No…” she said softly as she tried drying her eyes, but the tears wouldn’t stop…

~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~-~

“Miss Schnee, it is time to get up,” a firm, yet gentle, hand was on her shoulder. If it was up to him, Klein would have hat let the young lady sleep for a little longer especially since he knew how the young lady needed her rest. However, her father and his boss had dictated that Weiss would not be late for school no matter the reason and as such, had to wake her up.

“Five more minutes…” Weiss muttered as she turned onto her side and away from Klein, causing the elderly male to sigh lightly since this scene was quite rare and he was reluctant to break it.

“I would love to give you those five minutes Miss Schnee…but I do believe you told me about a meeting with your friend that you told me about?” he asked, knowing that would cause her to fully wake up and rush out of bed. Chuckling lightly when he saw her do exactly that, he felt one of his other personas taking over. “And if you don’t get to the car soon young lass, I shall resort to drastic measures…” he exclaimed as he saw that Weiss was currently in her school’s uniform and had quickly eaten her breakfast.

Chuckling lightly at the action, he watched the limousine take off and towards the young missus’s school, not realizing that the girl wanted the dream to continue so that it could conclude…

#rwby #rwby monochrome #monochrome #weiss schnee #blake belladonna #monosweek2020 #monochromeweek2020 #monochrome week #submission

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santalsaburablog · 4 years ago

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Adventures of Santal. Chapter 8: Aunt's Visit.

Your children are not your children. They appear through you, but not from you. You can give them your love, but not your thoughts, because they have their thoughts. You can give home to their bodies, but not to their souls. You are only bows, from which living arrows are sent forward, which you call your children.

Santal starts training! Together with the rest of the children, under the guidance of experienced instructors, she enters the Jedi path of life. And this is not so easy. And it all begins in the Jedi Temple, where groups of younglings comprehend the Force, learn to wield a lightsaber and experience the world in all directions and aspects.

The next day was almost the same. The only difference was that instead of history, there was politics, which many of her clan did not like. Santal herself was neutral about the subject.

But in the evening something interesting happened.

- Santal! - Landa ran up to the girl. - They are waiting for you at the gate. About two statues. Do you know those at the entrance where the stairs are?

Sabura immediately jumped off, although she was tired after a long school day and wondered what awaited her. What a surprise? She even had time to think that it could be a trap. Suddenly someone again wants to give it somewhere, that is, sell it. Or take it somewhere. Or maybe even kill?

While the girl was thinking, she did not notice how she got there. She had already prepared herself for the worst, even for a new encounter with the Evil Hat. But…

- Santal! “It was my aunt and uncle.

Not remembering herself, Santal threw herself into an embrace.

- Santal, our girl! Well, finally we found you!

Suddenly, the aunt pulled back, looked the girl up and down.

- What are you wearing? The woman frowned.

Santal was frightened. What did she do wrong?

“Nothing,” she said timidly.

- Nothing ?! Santal cringed. She did not like her aunt's tone at all. - Have you been enrolled?

- Yes.

- What?! - Elina screamed. - Just took it and enrolled? And the permission? Didn't they ask permission from us or you? So, what?

- No, they asked me. More than once. I agreed.

- Do not lie! Don't you dare cover them! I do not believe! You couldn't agree to that! They've already brainwashed you. Were in time, you bastards, but you did not notice anything. But we don't blame it at all.

- Aunt, calm down. Nobody washed me anything. They only bathed in the bath.

- Here you go. Something must have been mixed in. Well, they definitely did something.

- Elina. - Nobi could hardly restrain himself from twisting his finger at his temple. - Can you hear yourself? I think you started delirious.

Santal decided to change the subject, although she knew she would return to the old one.

- And how did you find me?

Nobi was quick to reply:

- Taking all the money, a little from the savings that were, and also ...

Then Elina interrupted her husband:

- Quiet, quiet dear. I'll tell you everything myself. - And switched to her niece. - Taking all the money, a little from the savings. It's good that it was enough, otherwise I would have to borrow from the neighbors. We barely bought a ticket for the near future. I had to wait six hours for the flight. Then, when we arrived, they caught a taxi for a long time to take them to the Temple. And now we were simply not allowed there! - Elina again could not restrain herself and switched to screaming.

"Of course we are not Jedi," Nobi replied.

- What's the difference? Our niece is there, they don't understand, or what? Fiends! Don't they value family ties at all? They had to let me pass!

“You wanted to say" us. "

- Well yes. Okay, Santal, now to the cosmodrome and home. Just collect your things.

With these words, the Letanka brought her niece into a stupor. She didn't want to leave. If my aunt had made an offer the day before yesterday, Santal might have agreed. But not now. When she began to explore the world.

“Auntie… I… I… don't want to go home.

- Sorry, dear, I misheard. It seemed to me, literally for a moment, that you said that ... Baby, you're wrong. You are still quite small and you do not know anything about life.

- That's it! Therefore…

- But still. Why tempt fate? Do you know why we protect you? Only here, with us, will you be whole. You, of course, do not yet understand this, but you will. So please listen to your aunt. The galaxy is very scary. Well, I'm not going to lie. And how much evil is around. There are so many doubts and temptations around. All sorts of hunters, bandits and other criminals! Giant slugs. Blue vampire. Crime is the entire underworld. O Strength, I will feel bad now! All in all, I want to say that the world outside Ryloth is very dangerous, cruel and scary. And on the planet itself, in our city there is a family that loves you. There aunt and uncle will be there. You will feel good with us. So to hell with the drama, listen to your aunt!

- No, aunt. I cant. I feel like I must stay. - Santal spoke in short pauses, wanting to correctly express the idea. “And I see nothing wrong with traveling the galaxy. Here, listen.

Elina frowned even more, turned purple.

- Well, go travel. Get in trouble. Or let the villain tear or dishonor. I'm just an aunt, what do I know? Just how to feed, love, cherish. So leave me, I deserve it. Throw it all alone at the end of the day. But know, it will become clear later. I know better that you are better. And I'm smarter, I'm your girlfriend. Just me and Uncle Noby. Nobody else. All our lives we have fed and watered you like our own niece. Accepted as it is. You are always welcome in our house. The door is always open. And here is the unfamiliar Jedi Temple. What if someone deceives you there? One you will definitely be lost. I speak about this only out of love ... We will always understand and console! Safe only with us!

Santal listened out of habit to the end and continued:

“Aunt, you don’t understand, and by the way, you promised me a secret.

- Exactly! Listen ...

Elina just wanted to start when she changed her mind and took the girl around the corner. Making sure no one would hear, she said:

- You see. I thought not to tell anything at all. But it seems that this cannot be done without. We gave you Sabur's last name for security reasons. So that no one knows. Otherwise they would have found out, and we would have been quickly identified and killed. In fact, you are Santal Shang. You are Bastian and Adira's daughter. According to Twilek's' Santals'Abura Bastian Lia. You always knew that the hunters killed your parents. In principle, it was so. More precisely, this is our version. Because we don't know what to think. A month before what happened, Adira came to me and shared the news. She said that there would definitely be a girl and that she wanted to name her Santal. And you know, your mom was my best friend who saved me from slavery. And I made a vow to Adira that if something happens, I will take care of her. Adira, of course, denied it, they say, why, it is not necessary to take it to the extreme. But I insisted and took an oath.

And what do you want to repay? Black ingratitude. You have a home and a loving family. You will not be denied anything. No restrictions, just obey. And in the Temple, early wakes, constant study and no childhood await you. Then you grow up, you will have a teacher. And then the fun begins. You will go on missions with him. You will be told that you will help. In fact, you will take risks. The meaning of life as a Jedi is you never know when you're going to die. And you can die already on the first mission. Anyway, any of your missions can be your last. Unfortunately, it is impossible to see the future. You can live to be eighty or ninety. Or you can play the box at twenty.

And deaths are also different. You can die with honor or shame. So, I think your parents have a shameful death. To die even from a tough hunter is a shame. Or you can die in the alleyway, and no one will know what happened to you. Do you want it?

Santal never thought about it, and therefore did not find an answer. Elina brought her niece to her original place. And what was her surprise that several Jedi were standing nearby. Among them were Yoda, Adi Gallia, a black Jedi from the council and an even larger-headed one with a white beard.

- Well! Here you are, monsters! Know! First, your guards would not let me see my only niece. Second, you won't get it! Leave us alone!

- Woman, calm down. - said Adi Gallia. “We're not taking anyone by force. And Santal herself expressed a desire to study here.

- Not true! Not true! Most likely, you forced her! My baby has become a victim of your manipulations. You were brainwashed with these things.

The woman's eyes widened at such words.

- What's wrong? We don't do that. Santal made her own decision. She wants to comprehend the Power and help others.

“It's true,” the girl said. - It is very important for me. Perhaps I will find out more. Yes, I want to know a lot and perhaps I can solve the mystery of Bastian and Adira.

- How do you know? - the black man was surprised.

- I told! - Elina snapped. - Everyone knows this legend! The hunters killed and further, further. And I think they died because of you! You are to blame for everything!

At this point, everyone was dumbfounded. And Santal couldn't understand why. From the words of Aunt Elina, or from the fact that it was not a Jedi who spoke to the Jedi in such a tone.

“Woman, I don’t know why you think so of us, but your niece will be completely safe here. A happy future awaits her here.

- Until he goes on some mission and dies! - shouted, straining, the Letanka.

“If she tries, she will become a very strong Jedi and live a long time,” Gallia answered absolutely calmly.

- Aunt, don't worry. I have already lived here one day. And I'm comfortable here. I'm new, but I'll probably get used to it. I met other children. And they treat me normally. They like me.

- Do you like it, Santal? - Elina grinned. - What nonsense? That's what I've always been afraid of. Honey, you don't know people at all. Oh my poor naive child! Well, what could you like? Naivety and sweetness? In just a couple of days?

- And you did not let me go anywhere further backyard. In recent days, I have seen so many things, with whom I have met. And I still want! I want to know the world. To help. It is very important for me. And I am very glad that I am Force sensitive. - For the first time Santal was angry with her aunt. For the first time I wanted to express my opinion.

“You see,” Yoda smiled. - She herself wants. She has a dream. She believes in her. Even at the meeting, she demonstrated loyalty to her principles and herself. She is polite, benevolent. I think the Jedi will come out of her.

- Understand. - Elina is already desperate. - I just want to save the girl. I want her well. I want her to live a happy, cloudless life, knowing nothing of denial. So that she does not know any troubles.

“Woman, we now perfectly understand what you want,” the black man answered harshly.

And Elina didn't even turn her ear. I switched to Santal.

- Okay, niece. Don't be stubborn, come with us. Aunt…

- No! Shouted Santal.

- What? - Elina asked half-suspiciously, half-disbelievingly.

- No! Aunt, you don't understand what's best for me. You know what's best for you. I'm not you!

- Santal, you are a traitor! - said the aunt loudly. Everything inside the girl clenched.

- Why?

- Santal is smarter than everyone, intends to stay. Knows how to choose the environment. If you decide so, then so be it. Roll towards them! If you're sure, but first I'll give you something back! The woman waved her hand towards the Jedi, then tossed Santal to her mother's Padawan scythe. - Since you value communication with strangers who killed your parents, and not with those who raised you, who put their souls into you. If you want to repeat the fate of mom and dad. If you don't want an easy and carefree life. I want to save you! But you are smarter, and if so, then please, but keep in mind that I am issuing a waiver! Everything! You're not my niece anymore! But if you come to your senses, I will not accept you! I'll slam the door in my face! Survive on the street yourself! You will be sorry! You're an idiot! Come on, Noby.

The man looked at the girl with regret and went with his wife away from the Temple. A dumbfounded Santal was left to stand with her new family.

The girl seemed to have turned to stone. She watched, without taking her eyes, as two silhouettes left her. Red and green. They got smaller and smaller until they disappeared altogether. The stretched string in the chest area snapped. Santal imagined that she was running, running, as a bridge appeared in front of her. She wants to step, but the bridge collapses from the opposite end. And it doesn't just collapse. There is a fire. Conflagration! Everything, the bridge is burned. This path is closed. And never get through. Unless just jump over or fly over. Both the first and the second are impossible.

“Let's go,” Gallia called.

And Santal went, at first backing away, gradually shifting to constantly looking back at the place where her uncle and aunt had been just recently. Now they are gone. The girl even began to think, maybe she was in a hurry with the decision? Maybe we should try to find them? Catch up, talk again. But she was afraid, what if she would be lost again?

When Santal was about to change her mind, look away from the Order and confidently follow the Jedi, as Yoda said:

- Go.

For Santal, it was a signal, and she jumped off the spot and ran up the stairs. As I ran to the end, caught my breath, looked around. There was no one around who closely resembled her spiritual relatives.

- Aunt-ah! Aunt-ah! It's me, Santal. Your niece, who didn't want to quarrel. Sorry. Let's talk.

This time Santal acted smarter, remembered the road. And I walked so long that I did not notice how far I wandered. The girl called again, but received nothing in return. No response. Not a sound. Frustrated that everything had turned out this way, Santal was trudging back. As I heard:

- For help! Help! - The sound was so loud that it literally crashed into the brain.

Everything inside Santal shrank. The eyes fled. Where are they shouting? What happened? Where to run?

A few minutes later, relying only on her Jedi instinct, the girl was still able to find the source of the scream with half a sin. Some human woman was holding something to her chest while the being above her tried to take it away. It didn't look like those lizards from Devaron.

- Hey, you! Leave me alone! Can't you see that she doesn't want to give? Not ashamed, huh? Santal's voice was much bolder than herself.

The creature with many braids turned around and laughed.

- And what is this squeaker?

But Santal did not appreciate the joke. I tried to smile predatory to match the Evil Hat. This time, she completely concentrated, imagining a future picture, in order to repeat the same technique again on Devaron. And it worked! The man crashed into the boxes behind his back. But I didn't pass out. And he chased. Santal, of course, did not expect this. And, quickly turning around, she started. First to the right, and then, seeing the boxes and hiding behind them, back to the Temple. After making sure that the creature does not return to her or to the woman.

Fortunately or not, on the way back, she ran into that woman again.

- Thanks. Thank you so much. I don’t know how to thank you. - Words of gratitude and flew from the lips. Hands folded into the castle were shaking. And the brown eyes were shining.

"And her eyes shine," - thought the girl and added aloud:

- That's enough for me, thank you.

Just about to leave, they called her:

- Wait. What's your name?

Santal thought and answered:

- I am Youngling Santal Sabura.

- Are you a Jedi?

- Yes. I recently became one. Santal rubbed the back of her head, feeling uncomfortable.

“Strange, usually Jedi, especially young ones, don't go that far.

- Do you know about us?

“I've heard a lot about you. That you are helping people unselfishly. That you are the keepers of the world. And it seems to be true.

Santal was bursting with pride that, as a Jedi for only two days, she had managed to make a positive impression, and besides, she had confirmed the reputation of the Order.

“You know my name, but I don’t know yours.

- I'm Rana Martez.

- Glad to meet you. Well, I'll go if you don't need me anymore. Bye.

Saying goodbye, Santal ran home in a great mood. Oddly enough, she did not get lost, although she went far enough. Maybe the Force helped?

Santal appeared in the Temple, barely standing on her feet. Well, she was avoided today! The girl intermittently crossed the hall, simultaneously looking to the right and left with a wide smile on her face. Now this is her new home. There is no turning back. And the aunt made it clear. Therefore, she will not return and will try to forget, or from time to time will remember with light sadness those times when she was still small and carefree, wearing rose-colored glasses. Best time! The best time of life!

Suddenly, for some reason, Santal thought again about her uncle. How is he? What is he doing now? What is he thinking about? About her, how is she about him? Or completely forgot how a dream? And why does she herself think of him? Who is he to her? None. Just the man that brought her to the Jedi. So, maybe he is not so much to blame? And does not deserve punishment? No. Even if the little one deserves it, it should be discouraging to steal and offend small children. Santal even imagined how she would grow up, become a real Jedi, and then she would show him! The girl promised herself that she would do so.

But, despite the bloodthirsty attitude, Santal caught herself thinking that she did not consider the man a complete monster. If he was, he would have killed her on the spot. No questions or analysis. I wouldn't take it to other planets, try to sell it. The argument in favor of this opinion was the fact that he slapped her on the cheek, snapped her nose. So not very angry. Just harmful. Or maybe he was unhappy, although it doesn't look like. It is so? Or not? Okay, now it's not up to him. We need to focus on learning.

And Santal Sabura, completely determined to the brim, went to the library to enjoy reading and preparing her homework.

But this was not the only thought that occupied the girl's mind. He also analyzed all day from the beginning. And in the end it was concluded that she made the right choice. For the first time in her life, she had to choose, and she did it! And if she had left, she would not have been able to save the woman, she would have perished. She's great.

Then it dawned on Santal: what happened today was a lucky coincidence. And how many more successful coincidences are ahead? Well, that's what she has to find out.

#Cad Bane #cad bane x oc

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neuxue · 6 years ago

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Wheel of Time liveblogging: The Gathering Storm ch 47

The Rand al’Thor deescalation strategy: contemplate genocide, attempt patricide, then run away.

Chapter 47: The One He Lost

The left, wasn’t it?

Sorry, one day I’ll stop with those…

Rand’s feeling a bit off after almost annihilating several armies and a city. Can’t imagine why…

No, it was something else that had unsettled him, something he couldn’t quite define.

How close you came to mass murder and also possibly the unravelling of existence itself? No?

Stop distracting me with the geology of the Stone of Tear. I’m trying to pay attention to the pain, here, and instead you throw literal rocks at me? Rude.

Oh, I see: the rocks are symbolism.

He had the form of a human. Indeed, he had the mannerisms and history of one.

We’re just not wasting any time here, are we? That’s…quite a thought. It’s one thing when I’m the one thinking it, but it’s another thing entirely when Rand himself is.

But he was a thing that no human—not even he himself—could understand. A figure of legend, a creation of the One Power, as unnatural as a ter’angreal or a fragment of cuendillar.

Not even he himself. Oh, Rand. He’s just so lost, but lost isn’t something he’s afforded the option to be, so he has to push even that aside somehow and keep going.

But also. On the one hand (ha), we have the concept of the Dragon is one with the land, and the land is one with the Dragon. The Dragon as a part of—an embodiment of, even—the world, and the land, and inextricably linked with it and with history and with the balance of Light and Shadow and existence itself. Something utterly natural, something so bound up in nature and the natural as to be one with it. And so Rand’s thoughts here, that he is a ‘creation’, that he is ‘unnatural’ become dissonant against that note we’ve hit again and again throughout the series. And it shows, then, how far he has strayed from that role, even while staying on his path, that he sees himself as, in effect, the opposite of what he truly is.

He has detached himself from humanity and from the world and from himself, in order to become what he thinks he must be—but the irony is that in doing so he is distancing himself ever further from that very thing.

(Did that make sense to anyone but me? Also wow Lia how many commas does a sentence need? Answer: AT LEAST FIVE MORE).

Never mind his heart of a man long dead, his shoulders created to bear the weight of prophecy, his soul crushed by the needs, wants, and hopes of a million people.

I’m not even ONE PAGE into this chapter and already it is coming for me with knives. Never mind his heart of a man long dead just…what am I supposed to do with that? The layered meaning there—the metaphorical killing of his compassion and acceptance of his death atop the more literal invocation of Lews Therin.

And the next part reminds me rather strongly of one of my favourite lines of poetry: which brings us back to the hero’s sholders, and the gentleness that comes not from the absence of violence but despite the abundance of it (Richard Siken, Snow and Dirty Rain). So that’s…fine.

Oh, Rand.

Because to him it is nothing but a weight, a pressure, a suffocating inevitability that is beyond endurance. That is all that is left to him, all he sees ahead, and no space for choice or life or self.

Two hands. One to destroy, the other to save. Which had he lost?

Oh.

I made the joke but I didn’t expect him to do…that. Wow. Okay. Ouch.

Salvation and destruction, one hand shelters, one hand slays, and he stands between, on the balance, but the balance itself is lost and he is falling and he doesn’t even know where and I know this is probably due in part to Sanderson’s tendency to have his characters philosophise and self-examine on-page but finally Rand himself is thinking all the things I’ve thought about him and it hurts in all the best ways.

He had accepted what he needed to be. Why was he so bothered by it, then?

This is more of a crack in his armour than we’ve seen in a while. Maybe it’s because he’s alone, with no immediate task or goal; when he has something to do, he can focus on it and be utterly cold and ruthless and directed, but when he has a moment to pause, all those things he’s suppressing start creeping up on him again.

I’ll spare you five minutes of pacing, Rand: it’s because you haven’t accepted it. You’ve tried to resign yourself to it, and that’s…not at all the same thing, for all that it seems to be. You’ve resigned yourself to what you’ve convinced yourself you need to be, rather than accepting and choosing what to be.

A voice deep down—one not in his head, but in his heart—had begun to disagree with what he did. It was not loud or violent like Lews Therin’s; it just whispered, like a forgotten itch. Something is wrong. Something is wrong…

This strikes the precise, perfect balance between eerie and just straight-up heartbreaking. He has detached himself so far, and pushed away so much of himself, that all that is left of him, of the shepherd Rand al’Thor, is watching at a distance, quiet and yet still determined, wounded and bleeding and yet somehow still hoping, whispering that this is wrong and yet unable to break through those walls.

He is still at war with himself, only now he’s losing. And looking at it from that angle, this whole series is a fascinating…duel, of sorts, with the balance shifting slowly, almost imperceptibly, from Rand as he was to Rand as he has become. From optimism to despair, from choice to resignation, from determination and will to live to fatigue and a wish to die. A shift in which is the winning side, in this war of one man against himself. And it happens so gradually that it’s hard to put a finger on where it shifts—obviously there are several major points where it becomes clear, but this has been in progress from the very beginning.

Put the nuke down, Rand. You’ve destroyed the Stone enough already. Also you’re still inside it.

He’s decided that it’s seeing Hurin that’s thrown him off, not almost repeating Natrin’s Barrow except against allies and friends. I guess…that’s…progress?

Hurin was a relic from an earlier life. Days when Mat had still mocked Rand’s coats, days when Rand had hoped that he’d marry Egwene and somehow return to the Two Rivers.

Days when he truly was a shepherd named Rand al’Thor.

It’s as though he has sacrificed his recent past for his more distant one. The more of Lews Therin he remembers (or remembered; it’s fairly complete now it seems), the further away that shepherd seems, the longer ago those recent memories feel, the more distant they are from who he is now.

It’s as though in his fear of becoming Lews Therin Telamon and facing that fate, he has sacrificed the very things that would allow him to avoid it. And now, even, the desire to do so.

He’d have wondered if anything could grow more complicated than thinking his friends hated him.

Now it hardly matters, because no one can hate him more than he hates himself.

The colours shifted in his vision. Perrin walking through a dark camp, that stone sword looming in the air above him.

The way this is phrased makes it feel very Sword of Damocles, which maybe is not deliberate as that would apply far more to Rand, if anyone, than to Perrin, I would think. Though I guess you could spin it to fit Perrin as well. Anyway, deliberate allusion or not, it’s a great image.

Mat is in Caemlyn, so it would seem we’ve moved ahead of several characters’ timelines at this point. I always find that to be weird, when used to foreshadow something that is in this timeline’s present but another character’s future, but okay, sure.

Do we run from the past, then? Lews Therin asked softly. Yes. That is well. Better to run than to face it.

It’s so bitterly ironic that we’re hearing this in Lews Therin’s voice, because that is precisely the past Rand has been running from this entire time. And that is what has brought him to this point, where he is closer than ever to repeating it.

It’s beautiful in how cruelly perfect it is.

Rand’s time with Hurin had ended at Falme. Those days were indistinct in his mind. The changes that had come upon him then—realising that he had to kill, that he could never return to the life he had loved—were things he could not dwell on. He’d headed out toward Tear, almost delirious, separated from his friends, seeing Ishamael in his dreams.

That last one was happening again.

They’re all happening again. That entire list, in variation: a visit to Falme, with his state of mind in turmoil, a change upon him as he pushes away all feeling and seeks to become the void. Realising that he can and must kill women, that he must cross that line and leave behind who he was. Believing that he can never return to life at all, and that he must die. Refusing to dwell on it, and pushing all feeling away instead. Coming to Tear, where he stands now, almost delirious and chasing his own thoughts, separated from his friends, seeing Moridin in his dreams.

He strode down the hallway and into a massive chamber with rows of pillars, stout and broad, wider than a man could wrap his arms around.

I hope he knows this from trying, mostly because I need that mental image of Rand al’Thor the Dragon Reborn trying on a whim to hug a pillar and failing. (If any artists out there are looking for inspiration for something random to draw: this).

Rand’s thinking about Callandor now and I’m with him on that; I can’t bring myself to believe we’re done with that sword-that-is-not-a-sword. There’s something more there, something I haven’t worked out yet but probably should have. It seems likely to play a role in the end, as it did in the beginning, but beyond the fact that it requires a circle in order to be wielded safely—which means it requires cooperation and balance—I don’t know what that might be.

Taking the Sword That Cannot Be Touched was one of the first major prophecies that he had fulfilled. But was his taking of Callandor a meaningless sign, or was it a step? Everyone knew the prophecy, but few asked the question that should have been inevitable. Why? Why did Rand have to take up the sword? Was it to be used in the Last Battle?

I’d put money on it.

But this is precisely what I wonder, and have wondered. What is it about Callandor? Because Rand’s right: the Prophecy feels rather arbitrary if it’s just a ‘pull this sword out of the stone and then move on to the next thing’. Sure, Prophecy is Prophecy and can do whatever the fuck it wants, I suppose, but that would be so unsatisfying. And so Callandor is in somewhat the same category as, say, Mat’s ashandarei: things that have shown up to fill one purpose but definitely feel like they have more of a role to play. They’re loose ends at the moment, and not the sort that seem set up to remain so.

Is it just that Callandor requires men and women working together—that which was absent the last time an attempt was made on the Dark One’s prison? Or is there something else?

Why did the prophecies not speak of the Choedan Kal?

Another good question, and I lean towards it being because the Choedan Kal, like nuclear weapons, feel like they’re in that other category of Things That Never Should Have Been Made. If anything in this chapter is unnatural, that’s it.

Yet he used the Choedan Kal to perform arguably his greatest work thus far. So maybe I’m wrong.

The access key gave Rand power well beyond what Callandor could provide, and that power came with no strings.

And maybe that’s the problem. It’s too much power for any one person to wield. He cleansed the taint with Nynaeve, by using the male and female Choedan Kal together. Now, not even that is an option. And so, in contrast to Callandor, the sa’angreal that requires cooperation and balance, the Choedan Kal is unbalanced, unfettered power. It’s very like to what Rand is himself at this point, and what his mindset is. And it’s terrifying.

It’s the illusion of utter freedom, of ‘no strings’, against the reality of it. Rand sees all constraints now as being a kind of box, but in reality this illusory freedom he has found by freeing himself from all emotion or remnant of humanity is not true freedom at all, because he has also removed any sense of his own agency. He is acting out of necessity, not choice. And by putting himself into a state of mind where he can permit himself to do anything, he effectively…limits himself to atrocity. He has removed the choice of mercy, of restraint, of another way, and chained himself to the most direct route, even if it leads to catastrophe.

The prophecies were—in a way—the grandest and most stifling box of them all. He was trapped inside of them. Eventually, they would suffocate him.

So we come once again to this issue of perception. Who can possibly blame him for feeling that way? And yet, especially with how he and Egwene are juxtaposed, it feels more and more like the issue is in that very perception, in the view of himself as having no choice and no agency, of being trapped by prophecy rather than choosing it. He almost realised that, back in…oh…TFoH or so. But then things got worse.

And Moiraine, she who balanced that strange mix of surrendering to and yet choosing fate, of claiming agency even when she believed everything was as the Wheel wove, vanished. I don’t think those two things are unrelated. Rand lost that perspective when he lost Moiraine and, shortly after, Egwene. And so he and Eegwene have almost ended up on opposite sides of the prophecy/agency/acceptance/resignation coin, where Moiraine managed to combine both.

They called my plan brash, but these weapons they created, they were too dangerous. Too frightening. No man should hold such Power…

I absolutely one hundred percent agree with you there, Lews Therin. (Do I still want to see a character holding such power? Hell yes).

He worked so hard to keep from being tied with strings, but at the end of the day, the prophecies would see that he did what he was supposed to.

This. This right here. He cedes to prophecy the necessities, while Egwene went through the rituals by choice, accepting the trappings of fate and tradition in order to claim it as her own. He sees the crowns and coats and titles as little more than decoration that make it easier for people to accept him. Egwene sees the stole and staff in a similar light, but she does not dismiss them as useless ornamentation, or a masking of the truth. She doesn’t see it as a way to make the unnatural seem human, but rather as a part of the role she has claimed. A symbol, yes. Unnecessary to the execution of her duty, yes. But not a disguise, nor a softening of edges and oddities. And so she chooses to claim that for herself, to wear those symbols so that she can even better fulfill the role they represent, while Rand no longer really…cares.

Because this is not his choice. He’s still trying to avoid those strings, rather than claiming them as his own. He’s letting himself be dragged by prophecy, rather than acknowledging it and taking those steps when needed but in service of his own choice to see this through.

It’s a subtle difference, but it’s all the difference in the world, and I’m still not over how well it’s played.

Is Cadsuane really your biggest problem right now, Rand?

The Last Battle loomed, and he spent what little time he had riding to meetings with people who insulted him.

Again, I can’t help but compare this to Egwene, who also is facing the imminent fact of the Last Battle and yet still makes time for the ceremony of being raised (again) to the Amyrlin Seat, and recognises its importance and the importance of both berating and pardoning the Tower Aes Sedai and rebels alike, setting in place those formalities so that healing can begin, and dealing with people who have insulted and beaten her. She doesn’t see those things as a waste of time, because they’re essential. It’s not just about this one end goal, but about the steps along the way, because without those the end becomes meaningless.

(In real life I probably tend more towards Rand’s view of this sort of thing, but this is Epic Fantasy and there is a Point being made here and patience, as we are frequently reminded, is often a worthwhile virtue).

Something about this particular hallway seemed familiar.

Probably from the battle in the Stone, but I can’t help but think of the Prologue. A hallway of twisted stone and despair…

Was there, perhaps, a way to stop the Seanchan for good? He looked down at the access key.

Um.

(This is the thing with great, unfettered power: once you use it once, what’s to stop you using it as the solution to every problem? Why even bother with diplomacy, or lesser military solutions, when you can escalate straight to the most effective one? When there is nothing left to hold you back, why waste time? When you don’t care anymore about your own life and existence, or even of what may become of the world once this is over, why not use your nuclear arsenal to end every war? Why even bother fighting the wars in the first place?)

That [battle against the Seanchan] had been his first major failure as a commander.

Except you’ve learned the wrong lesson from it, Rand. The failure wasn’t in not annihilating the Seanchan. It was in not knowing when to stop. It was in not pulling back once you had succeeded in your original goal. It was in continuing even when saidin was strange and you were tired and angry and holding too much power, and killing your own people as a result, turning a victory into an ugly stalemate that felt like defeat.

Burning Graendal and Natrin’s Barrow away had required only a fraction of what Rand could summon.

If he turned that against the Seanchan, then he could go to the last battle with confidence

Yes, because what your conscience—not to mention your status as hero—really needs right now is genocide.

It would not take long.

That’s…chilling.

And it’s Lews Therin’s voice that is the voice of reason now, calling him back from that to the memory of trying to bring a dead child back to life in this corridor. A smaller failure. A failure to bring life, rather than to bring death. Painful and disturbing but with the intent to do something good. To save, or create, rather than destroy (when all this thoughts at the moment run in the opposite direction). The one he lost.

Moiraine had stopped him. Bringing life to the dead was beyond him, she’d said.

How I wish she was still here, Rand thought. He had often been frustrated with her, but she—more than anyone else—had seemed to grasp just what it was he was expected to do. She’d made him more willing to do it, even when he’d been angry with her.

YES. She understood what his fate meant, understood what it meant that he belongs to the Pattern now, and to history. And she was never quite sympathetic about it, but in a way her almost ruthless acceptance was what he needed. She recognised what he was and what it truly meant, yet she also understood the importance of surrendering to that fate in order to control it. She walked that strange balance more perfectly than most, and so served as something of a guide to Rand. To be more than a pawn in the hands of prophecy, but not to rebel against it. To accept, and suppress useless wishing, but not to lose all sense of agency. To be ruthless without losing compassion.

I also love that it’s only now that he understands her, now that she is—to his knowledge—dead. She was the one no one understood, when she was around. They hated or feared or distrusted her at the best of times…and now Rand himself is in that role, hated and feared and misunderstood, and from there he is able to see and understand and appreciate all that she was, and all she did. And to appreciate that she understood him.

But she’s not there now, and he is alone.

And apparently wants to go fight—or rather, annihilate—the Seanchan right now, because…no time like the present? I guess? Again, when there are no limits, the question becomes a simple why not?

“The darkness won’t matter; I shall create light enough.”

Um.

Yeah that’s uh…terrifying. No symbolism to see there, none at all... The Shadow doesn’t matter if he can just throw power into a harsh and burning Light. Except that’s far from balance, and it’s entirely wrong.

An unfamiliar figure stood with his back to Rand, looking out the open balcony doors.

Moridin?

OH.

NO. NO THAT’S NOT MORIDIN.

It was Tam. His father.

IT’S TAM.

HOLY.

SHIT.

IT’S TAM.

TAM IS IN HIS ROOM.

TAM AL’THOR.

IS HERE.

For the first time in TWELVE BOOKS. I have WAITED for this moment for YEARS and now it’s come at the worst possible time except that also means it’s the best possible time because this is going to hurt and I am here for it.

If anyone could crack that armour of ice and cuendillar Rand has tried to surround himself with…

Seeing Hurin unsettled him because it was an abrupt confrontation with a past that has come to seem like another lifetime. But that was Hurin, someone he liked and befriended and travelled with for a time. This is Tam, and so it’s the same thing but more, by orders of magnitude. It’s his past catching up to him and staring him in the face and daring him to try to turn away, holding that harsh icy emotionlessness of his against the living memory of someone who loves him him like a hand held to a flame.

But comfort clashed with who Rand had become. His worlds met—the person he had been, the person he had become—like a jet of water on a white-hot stone. One shattering, the other turning to steam.

That’s exactly it; that’s so exactly it that it’s eerily close to my own thoughts.

But this is what Rand needs right now, this shocking confrontation against which his past and present cannot both stand. It may not be enough to truly bring him back, but it might just crack those barriers enough to buy him a moment to confront himself, to force him to face the world and what he has become with his skin and soul and self bared, unshielded by that ice. It will hurt; it’s why he has pushed all these things aside and turned away from his past and his friends and family and feelings of any kind, but it is, I think, an necessary pain. He needs to feel again, and perhaps this will be enough to force him to, if only for those few moments where his selves are in conflict and his shields thus stressed between them until he is exposed.

Everything just feels better with Tam here. He is, as Rand himself has thought of him, an anchor, a touchstone, a solid connection to simple reality. And that’s something Rand has…struggled with, lately.

Which actually you can extend to an interesting line of symbolism and connection (bear with me here; this might get weird): he feels unnatural, detached, and thus continues to detach himself from the world, and has he does so he comes closer and closer to destroying it (through the True Power, or through balefire, or through simply throwing himself into the Last Battle uncaring of the meaning or form of his victory). The Dragon is one with the Land, and so as the Dragon becomes less and less anchored to reality, and less caring about what becomes of it, the more reality itself teeters on the brink of existence or annihilation.

The bubbles of evil may well be the Dark One’s influence and essence, but I think Rand has something to do with this as well—the more detached he becomes, the less he cares about the very world he is fighting to save, the more easily it frays at the edges. The Dragon is one with the Land and so as the Dragon becomes less real, less alive, the land—the Pattern, the world—loses that solidity and reality and substance as well.

As the Aiel might say, it’s as if the very world is his dream, and as he removes himself from it the dream warps and begins to fade…

But Tam is here and he is solid and real and steadfast and so we can draw back from that particular spiral into the void. For now.

Tam stood, hesitant, in the balcony doorway, lit by two flickering lamps on stands in the room. Rand understood Tam’s hesitation. They were not blood father and son.

Somehow I really don’t think that’s why Tam is hesitant. But of course Rand seizes on the reason that has nothing to do with simple emotional reaction to seeing the son you raised and loved and still love in pain and hardened by fate and lost and deadly and broken. Nothing to do with being a parent unable or unsure of how to protect your child who now belongs to the Pattern and to history and not to you, never really to you.

“Rand.” Tam’s voice was awkward.

“Please,” Rand said through his shock. “Please sit.”

They love each other and yet here they stand, uncertain and conversing like strangers and it hurts and I don’t even like hugs but all I want for both of them right now is for Tam to give Rand a hug and lie to him that it will all be okay. Just for a moment.

Light, Rand thought, feeling a sudden urge to enfold Tam in a hug.

The fact that Rand is once again echoing my own thoughts on this point makes it hurt even more. Give him that hug, Rand. It’s not weakness to need that reassurance and stability and reminder that you are human and people care about you. It’s not weakness to reach out. But he is the Dragon Reborn and he cannot acknowledge his own humanity, much less a need for a hug from a parent.

Familiarity and memories flooded back into his mind.

I’m also not much of one for nostalgia, but again, this is what Rand so desperately needs right now. He has been so long inundated by Lews Therin’s memories (sorrows and his own suicide) and has so long pushed away his own that he needs this simple reminder of who he is.

“How…” Rand said. “Tam, how did you get here? How did you find me?”

Ah, such a beautifully loaded question. How did you find me, he asks, like a child lost and afraid in the dark, to whom a mother or a father has reached out a hand and said ‘here, I’m here, let’s go home’.

How did you find me, he asks, like someone who has grown so far from himself that he wonders how his own father could find who he once was in who he is now.

Because Rand al’Thor, the Dragon Reborn, is not hard to find. He sends ripples through the world wherever he is, and no longer tries to disguise his movements. All Tam would have to do is ask. But that’s…not the question here, really.

How did you find me, he asks, leaving unspoken the question that small voice left in him might add: when I cannot even find myself.

I’m fine.

Rand can’t even believe this is happening because he has so strongly denied any thought of home or comfort and this whole scene is already exactly what I wanted. Beautiful soft pain.

So many people had changed around Rand—Mat, Perrin, Egwene, Nynaeve—it was a wonder to meet someone from his old life who was the same.

There’s a small irony here in that Tam’s full name is Tamlin (thanks to whoever it was who told me this; it’s still one of my favourite naming things in this series because ARE YOU SERIOUS), and yet he is the one person who doesn’t change. I hope this is deliberate because it’s exellent.

But this is why Tam might just be able to reach Rand, and sort of…jolt him just enough to crack that armour for a few valuable seconds: because he is one person unchanged from Rand’s past. Not just someone Rand loves, but someone who has not changed, and who by his presence alone almost forces Rand back into who he was. It’s as if Tam is an anchor to a reality that has all but dissolved, but now Rand is being tugged back into that reality.

Which brings us back to the Tam Lin story, in a rather wonderfully inverted way.

It’s also a great example of how you can make genuinely effective use of a static character.

Tam, the man who had taught Rand to seek the void.

Oh, that hurts.

Wait, Tam knows who Morgase is? That really happened offscreen? And now Rand is learning that Morgase is alive, and it’s certainly not as huge a shift as learning Moiraine is alive would be, but still, that must be a shock.

“No. Wait. I can get a report from Perrin when I wish it. I will not have our time together spent with you acting the messenger.”

It’s sweet, and it’s almost touching genuine emotion, but instead it goes through this filter of formality, because still Rand cannot allow himself to feel.

With the reference to Tam teaching him the void, I’m also reminded here of Rand running out of the palace in Caemlyn toward Mat and Aviendha, who he had thought dead, tears running down his face and choosing to let the void go because ‘he wanted to feel this’. Now, that is no longer an option.

“Ah, son,” [Tam] said, shaking his head, broad hardworking hands clasped before him, “they’ve really done it. They’ve gone and made a king out of you.”

It’s said with a slight smile, and seems to be said fondly, but there is such an aching feeling of sadness and loss here, and in this entire scene. It’s lovely and it hurts and I want all of it.

“What happened to the gangly boy, so wide-eyed at Bel Tine? Where’s the uncertain lad I raised all those years?”

“He’s dead,” Rand said immediately.

Tam nodded slowly. “I can see that.”

Oh.

I don’t know which part of this hurts more: the immediacy of Rand’s answer, or the way Tam just…tries so hard to take it in stride, and nods and accepts it as true because he can’t deny it. And how, even then, he doesn’t protest or let it visibly rattle him; he tries to show that acceptance, tries to be almost gentle with it, to agree with Rand and not fight him even on this.

There is so much pain here.

Well, at least now the genealogy is out in the open. Clears the air a bit, I suppose.

“Yes,” Tam said. “I can see how. I…” He gripped his hands together tightly. “I never meant to lie to you, son. Or, well, I guess I shouldn’t call you that, should I?”

You can call me son, Rand thought. You are my father. No matter what some may say. But he couldn’t force the words out.

The Dragon Reborn couldn’t have a father.

HELP ME.

THIS HURTS.

I love the way this scene is written, with the unspoken almost louder and more apparent than the actual dialogue on the page. As if the words that are spoken are just a framework, around which everything else hangs, and you get this exquisite feeling of tension and pain and of both of them desperately reaching for each other but not able to speak the words aloud or make the motions. The blocking and the dialogue feel stilted, and instead you fill in the spaces with the absences and the silences and the thoughts. The motions that are considered but never actually executed, the words that go unsaid, the pauses that speak volumes, the warmth and pain and love that cannot be expressed.

It’s a scene told in absences, where what is not there is more important and more apparent than what is.

And just. The tension here in Tam’s body language, as he keeps his words gentle and mild but also deliberately distant. The way he grips his hands together as if to physically stop himself from reaching out to his son. The way he does not challenge Rand, does not push him, and accepts the silences and absences and formality he receives, because it is all he can offer.

And Rand. Who cannot get those words out past the walls of ice he has encased himself in, who cannot let himself feel, who longs to reach out to his father and yet holds himself back because he can’t let himself be human.

They’re in pain and I’m in pain and we’re all in pain and EVERYTHING IS FINE.

The Dragon Reborn had to be a figure of myth, a creature nearly as large as the Pattern itself.

HE’S THINKING THE EXACT WORDS OF MY OWN THOUGHTS AND I’M NOT OKAY.

What would it do if it were known that he kept his father nearby? If it were known that the Dragon Reborn relied upon the strength of a shepherd.

The quiet voice in his heart was screaming.

*falls to the floor clutching this book and wailing*

THIS IS TOO MUCH.

HELP.

If it were know that the Dragon Reborn relied upon the strength of a shepherd that is beautiful and heartbreaking and all the more so because it is exactly what he must do but he has gone too far and sees that as a weakness, sees his own former self as a weakness. He, who once took a moment, bleeding and afraid, to just…sit, and remember a shepherd named Rand al’Thor. That is his strength, but he has pushed it away and now cannot let himself reach out to his father or his own memory or anything that feels like love, because it’s dangerous to be vulnerable and dangerous to hope and dangerous to let himself need.

That’s just such a gorgeous line and it’s already haunting me.

And then the quite voice in his heart was screaming, to underline this sense not just of wrongness but of pain, of the way he is tearing himself apart…but on the surface there still is nothing but formality and the image of a king.

This is. It’s just. It’s so good.

It’s so good and it hurts and he’s screaming but can’t let himself listen and he’s at war with himself and Tam is having to sit there and watch and I am sure Tam sees this, sees at least some of what is happening but can’t let himself say anything, can’t reach out because this isn’t something he can fix except by being there for when it all falls apart and letting Rand know that he is loved, in whatever way Rand will accept.

“You did well, Tam,” Rand found himself saying.

HOW DARE YOU.

Rand picked up the access key—it too brought him comfort—then stood. Tam hastily joined him, acting more and more like just another retainer or servant.

“You have done a great service, Tam al’Thor” […]

“I appreciate that, my Lord,” Tam said.

It (like every single word of this entire scene) hurts, but it’s also, I think, deliberate on Tam’s part. Because it’s the only way he can interact with Rand. Rand sees it as acting like ‘just another servant’ but in the position he now holds he doesn’t really…permit anything else. Maybe, occasionally, from Nynaeve or Min. But even then just barely.

And I think Tam sees that. Tam is a parent. He sees that Rand is hurting but he also sees that Rand isn’t going to ask for help or comfort, and probably won’t accept it if Tam offers. And so instead he lets Rand set the frame of the entire interaction, and takes Rand’s lead, and works within that, and doesn’t ever push. The important thing is that he doesn’t turn away.

“I’m afraid I lost your sword,” Rand found himself saying. It felt foolish.

And so Rand finds himself opening up, if only a little. Tam is important through his presence alone, and I think he knows that. He really is just trying to be there for Rand. Trying to offer his support and his love however he can. And Rand does respond to that, even if it’s only apparent in contrast to how he has been lately. It’s a small change, but it’s a start.

Also you might tell Tam that you lost his sword in Ishamael; that would provide some helpful context, but okay. Sure. Fine.

Even that, Tam accepts. And answers Rand’s questions about the sword’s origins. He’s still letting Rand take the lead and guide the conversation, rather than trying to push Rand too quickly to topics that might cause him to retreat behind his walls and shut down completely.

And so eventually we get to something almost like Rand opening up.

“My life isn’t my own. I’m a puppet for the Pattern and the prophecies, made to dance for the world before having my strings cut.”

Tam frowned. “That’s not true, son. Er, my Lord.”

Now he pushes back a little, because Rand has come very very close—probably as close as he can allow himself—to asking for help here. To telling his father he’s hurting.

And oh, it hurts.

“And you can’t run?” Tam asked.

“I don’t think the Pattern would let me,” Rand said. “What I do is too important. It would just force me back in line. It has done so a dozen times already.”

“And would you really want to run?” Tam asked.

Rand didn’t reply.

YES.

THIS IS PERFECT.

It’s been one of the central problems for Rand for so long—that he cannot see any space for agency, any choice or any reason to make one. That all he has is despair and desperation and the eventual promise of death. That he feels trapped in this box and cannot see a way to free himself of it.

But Tam asks the perfect question. It’s the framing of it. The issue of perception. The question of, in essence, what are you fighting for?

“Does it matter if you can run, when you know that you’re not going to?”

“I’m going to die at the end of this,” Rand said. “And I have no choice.”

And that’s no small thing to have to deal with. It’s hard to truly fault Rand for the mindset he’s ended up in, because how could he not? He’s barely older than twenty and doesn’t expect to see another year, he’s tired and he’s wounded in every sense of the word, he’s been violated body and mind and made a captive again and again, he can barely trust his own mind and he doesn’t know a moment’s peace, and the entire world looks to him in hatred and fear and desperate need, and he cannot see a way out. Of course he struggles to see any kind of choice, much less let himself believe he chooses this.

Because in a way, choosing it feels like it would make it even worse. How could he choose to go through all of that? And so relinquishing agency is itself almost a form of relief—consigning all that pain to inevitability and letting himself focus only on its end.

“I won’t have talk like that,” Tam said. “Even if you’re the Dragon Reborn, I won’t listen to it. You always have a choice. Maybe you can’t pick where you are forced to go, but you still have a choice.”

“But how?”

Tam laid a hand on Rand’s shoulder. “The choice isn’t always about what you do, son, but why you do it.”

THIS IS EVERYTHING. THIS IS IT. I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR BOOKS FOR SOMEONE TO SAY THIS TO RAND AND FOR RAND TO BELIEVE IT.

THANK YOU TAM AL’THOR.

THIS IS…

This is just. It’s everything. What are you fighting for.

It’s the hardest part of the role he must play: to actively choose it, to embrace it and all the pain it brings…but it’s also the only thing that might make that pain bearable. Because if he chooses it, he has a reason for it. If he chooses it, then he is fighting for something. If he chooses it, he can look to why, and look to the balance, and all that he is saving even as he destroys himself.

It’s the importance of caring, which is something Rand has not lost sight of so much as relinquished entirely. Because to him, it doesn’t matter if he cares or not; what is foretold must happen. But that’s not how it work, and it’s what makes him so frightening right now, and what makes the prospect of his victory ‘as dark as his defeat’. He, the Champion of the Light and the world’s best hope of salvation, has lost sight of the world he’s saving, and why he should save it at all. He’s fighting for victory alone, rather than for life and light and a future and the chance to make something more.

“I don’t know if it’s true that you’ll need to die for this all to play out. But we both know you aren’t going to run from it. Changed though you are, I can see that some things are the same. So I won’t stand any whining on the subject.”

O course it’s Tam who finally says it to Rand and pushes Rand to confront that truth. Tam, Rand’s father, the one person who he might listen to. The one who can talk to him and care about him rather than about the Dragon Reborn and the role he must play, or even about the world and its salvation. There’s no ulterior motive, even if it seems almost certain that bringing Tam here was Cadsuane’s plan. She may be thinking about the salvation of the world—a worthy cause, it must be said—but Tam is talking to Rand here, for no other reason than that he loves him.

“Rand, I think you can survive this.”

I CAN’T HANDLE MUCH MORE OF THIS. IT HURTS A LOT AND I LOVE IT AND IT’S TOO MUCH.

It’s such a simple statement but it’s a comfort and a belief that so few people have offered to Rand lately. Because most of them see him as the Dragon Reborn, and need him to save the world, and there are so, so few who can see past that to the boy who is hurt and afraid and facing his own death and doesn’t know what else to do.

But then there’s Tam, who just…talks to Rand as his son, because that’s who he is. Talks to him like a person, like the boy he was, and chides him for ‘whining’ and then offers him hope and does so with an open hand and a father’s love and nothing else.

“I can’t imagine that the Pattern won’t give you some peace, considering the service you’re doing for us all.”

Tam knows the prophecies and knows the role Rand has to play, but again he doesn’t look at Rand and see the figure out of legend who will save them all because that is his duty and his fate; there are so many who see that and do not see the person, and so would never think of a debt owed or of what Rand is sacrificing. But Tam sees that, because this is his son and he wants him to have that peace, and it’s so important for Rand to have someone see that and acknowledge it without being asked. Someone who can see what this is costing him, and can wish for something for him in return, rather than offering him pity or apathy or yet more demands.

“You may not be able to choose the duties you’re given. But you can choose why you fulfil them. Why do you go to battle, Rand?”

I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS CONVERSATION AND IT HAS NOT DISAPPOINTED ME.

These are the true questions, the points around which the future of the world turns. What are you fighting for.

And how perfect it is that it’s his father asking him.

It’s two things I’ve been waiting for—a reunion between Tam and Rand, and someone to push Rand to that question—combined into one and it’s so, so excellent and I’M COMPLETELY FINE.

This book is hurting me.

“Because I must.”

“That’s not good enough.”

This is the other reason it works so well to have Tam be the one to push him on this: because Tam can. He didn’t push Rand before, because he was letting Rand set the parameters of their conversation, and because he didn’t want to steer the conversation too quickly to something that might make Rand close up completely, but he knows where he can push, and he does so here, and it works because he’s Rand’s father. Parents can, often, do that where almost no one else can. Rand may have become all but unrecognisable as the boy he was when Tam last saw him, but some part of that person is still there, and some part of that relationship is still there, and Tam can still make him feel like a child being scolded. And for all that he is a king and a legend, that’s…kind of what Rand needs. Not to be scolded, per se, but to just be…faced with this almost simple reality, wherein he is just Rand al’Thor, and Tam is just his father, and none of the rest matters.

“To the crows with that woman! I wish she’d come to me sooner.”

Uh oh.

I think Tam’s messed up there. I…don’t think bringing up Cadsaune is going to…help, here.

And Rand picks up on it immediately and oh no this could undo everything, and he was so close; Tam was getting through to him and he had brought it to that absolutely essential question and now with one word it could all unravel…

“I’d stayed away, previously, because I thought the last thing you needed was your father stomping across your field!”

Oh, Tam. The magnitude of sacrifice implied there is huge, but he doesn’t even talk about it, or let it show. How he must have wanted to go to Rand, to see him, to do everything he could to help and protect him. How it must have hurt to hold himself back, because he thought it would be better for Rand that way. To protect and help him by staying away.

Tam continued, but Rand had stopped listening.

NO. YOU WERE SO CLOSE.

Cadsuane. Tam had come because of Cadsaune.

No, Rand. He came because of you, for you. Listen to him. Cadsuane was just the impetus; he wanted to come to you before but couldn’t, but he’s not here to manipulate you. He’s here to help you. He’s here because he loves you.

But it’s too late. He was so close. Just one small mistake…

His emotions seeing Tam were so strong that they had worn away the ice. Too much affection was like too much hatred. Either one made him feel, which was something he could not risk.

But he had. And suddenly, feeling nearly overcame him.

He had started to let himself feel; Tam could chip away at that ice and that is what Rand has so desperately needed, but this is what Tam was so carefully avoiding in the early part of the conversation: pushing Rand too far or saying the wrong thing and causing him to withdraw again behind those walls. And now he’s done exactly that, and the chance of reaching him, the chance of buying a few seconds for something to get through to Rand across those walls, is gone.

Tam’s trying to walk it back but it’s too late now. The moment’s lost and how much else is lost along with it?

It was, possibly, one of the best ideas Cadsuane has had. It came so close to working, and beyond the pragmatic…Rand needed to see Tam. He needed that conversation, that reassurance and the simple and unconditional love and support Tam offers. But the very fact that it was Cadsuane’s idea ruins it, because of everything that has come before. It’s yet another cruel irony.

“She manipulates me!” Rand said softly, meeting Tam’s eyes. “And she manipulates you. Everyone ties their strings to me!”

The rage boiled inside. He tried to shove it back, but it was so difficult. Where was the ice, the quiet? Desperately, Rand sought the void. He tried pouring all of his emotions into the flame of a candle, as Tam had taught him so long ago.

Difficult, because he has been brought closer to actually feeling something than he has been in a long time. Because his father is here, and they’ve just been talking about things that matter, and he’s been almost confronting himself and his very mindset, and it’s so, so hard now to shove all of that back down. Into the box he’s made for it all.

This is the moment. This is the chance, if it is not already lost—the point where that armour is cracked, and where he does just barely begin to feel.

It’s a necessary loss of control, in a way. So long he has fought himself, and put up barriers in his own mind, and denied aspects of who he is and who he was, and pushed those and others away, and closed himself off more and more, and convinced himself nothing matters anymore and he has no choice and he is damned and all that remains is for him to win and then die. So long he has just barely managed to hold all of those walls, and the only way I can see—the only way I’ve been able to see—for that to come to any kind of resolution is through a kind of collapse. Some kind of internal catastrophe that forces him to face who and what he is, and was, and remembers, and must be, rather than holding it all at a distance.

And this feels like that point of catastrophe, where he can no longer exert that desperate control he’s kept a fingernail grip on for so long, where the pressure finally cracks his shields.

I’ve wondered for a long time what could possibly bring him to this point, if none of those around him could succeed, if almost killing Min and then touching the True Power could only drive him deeper into that icy void, if burning a city out of existence couldn’t shake him. But this—being confronted with his father and these questions he has held at bay and his own self, and then having that overlaid by the rage of thinking it’s a trick…it might be enough to push him to that breaking point of sorts.

The question, then, is whether it will be enough. He’s balanced on the edge now, trying to push everything back in this desperate fight against himself as it all threatens to crash in on him…so it’s a question of which way he falls. Towards his walls and the cold frightening clarify of order and apathy, or towards the chaos of emotion and memory and pain that may well be his best chance.

Saidin was waiting there. Without thought, Rand seized it, and in doing so was overwhelmed with those emotions he thought he’d abandoned. The void shattered, but somehow saidin remained, struggling against him. He screamed as the nausea hit him, and he threw his anger against it in defiance.

Oh.

Chaos it is, then.

And I still think this is what has to happen—it feels almost like the mirror of that moment in The Last That Could Be Done, shattering the ice that moment built. But still it’s frightening and violent and uncontrolled and.

“Rand,” Tam said, frowning.

Trying to hold on to Rand as Rand changes before his eyes. The inverted echoes of the Tam Lin story are astonishingly perfect here.

“BE SILENT!” Rand bellowed, throwing Tam to the floor with a flow of Air.

No.

No no no.

He needed something to bring him to this moment; he needs those walls to shatter and that shattering was always going to be violent but.

If the cost is Tam…

No Rand no not the access key no no no

He had lost control. But he didn’t care. They wanted him to feel. He would feel, then! They wanted him to laugh? He would laugh as they burned.

Oh, Rand.

Oh, Lews Therin.

Because that’s what this is, isn’t it? This is where Rand seals his own doom, seals himself to Lews Therin’s fate. Looking at his family, someone who loves him, and feeling nothing but uncontrollable rage, and losing control, and reaching that point of madness where he could laugh as they burned.

When he nearly strangled Min, it felt like a clear parallel to Lews Therin killing Ilyena, and Rand felt it as well…but that was not his own doing. That was Semirhage torturing him with his worst memory.

This, though…

This is Rand. It is Rand out of control and consumed by something that could well be called madness, as everything he has held at bay crashes in on him and he reaches for power and all he can think of is the distrust that has eaten away at everything else…but still, it is just Rand. Not controlled by anyone else, not leashed or collared or caged.

Screaming at them all, he wove threads of Air and Fire. Lews Therin howled in his head, saidin tried to destroy both of them, and the quiet voice inside Rand’s heart vanished.

Oh.

That last bit. That’s almost as devastating and horrifying as ‘death and betrayal. It is HIM.’

That moment where the last part of him that is just Rand is silenced. Where all that is left is the rage and the power and the chaos, saidin and Lews Therin’s memory, brought into this present moment as Rand’s own reality. And so history stands poised to repeat itself; Rand’s worst fears and the reason he built those walls in the first place about to be realised.

Because if he kills Tam, that will be his Ilyena.

A prick of light grew in front of Rand, sprouting from the centre of the access key. The weaves for balefire spun before him, and the access key grew brighter as he drew in more power.

No.

This is it this is the moment. It all comes down to this: does he repeat Lews Therin’s past or does he choose something different, choose his own path, make a different choice this time and thus a different future. Does he condemn himself to Lews Therin’s fate or does he take this life as another chance. What are you fighting for, Rand? Why?

Also.

In the story of Tam Lin, he is changed into shape after shape and Janet must hold on to him throughout it in order to save him, and the last form he takes in most versions of the story is a burning coal.

By that light, Rand saw his father’s face, looking up at him.

Terrified.

What am I doing?

Here, Tam, Tamlin, is trying to hold on to Rand as Rand changes into a king, into the Dragon Reborn, into a figure of legend and prophecy. He tries to hold on to his son and does not let go—doesn’t turn away—even as Rand begins to weave balefire and glows with it.

And that is what may save both of them. That is what may call Rand back to himself—let him return to his true shape.

Even if it’s not intentional (but I do wonder if it is), this might be one of my favourite inverted references in the series thus far. It’s beautiful and heartbreaking and perfect.

He was brought to that state of cold apathy by Semirhage causing him to nearly kill Min, and to reach for the True Power. And now, as he himself almost weaves balefire again, this time to kill his own father, he finally stops to question.

It’s finally too far.

I wondered what might be.

This is absolutely stunning.

This is just. What a scene.

What a way to bring him to that breaking point.

Because what else could have? What could have forced him to this? When nothing can hold him back, when Nynaeve could not and Min could not and he saw no reason to...

But Tam looking at him in terror, and the echo of Lews Therin in his mind as he almost repeats history and realises his own greatest fear…

Rand began to shake, the balefire unravelling before he had time to loose it. He stumbled backward in horror.

Finally, finally, there is a line he truly cannot cross. Something he truly cannot do, something so horrifying to him that it reaches him through that swirling chaos and the remnants of the armour he has built around himself.

Tamlin al’Thor holds him through all the forms he takes and faces down the fire and it gives Rand that shaking, shattering moment that may let him come back to himself.

What am I DOING? Rand thought again.

No more than I’ve done before, Lews Therin whispered.

OH.

WOW.

THAT’S.

THAT’S A LINE.

That might be exactly as devastating as Lews Therin’s words when Rand reached for the True Power.

And it’s such a beautiful parallel to that scene. The beginning of the true lowest point of his arc, the last that could be done, and now…not quite the beginning of a rise, but perhaps an end to that place he was in. The last that could be done in a very different sense—the last thing that might bring him back. A last chance.

It’s a moment of crisis, a moment where everything comes crashing down and no more than I’ve done before. He has stood here before, about to do the unforgivable. In The Last That Could Be Done, he crossed what he thought was the last line.

Now, having travelled through that space beyond all restraint, he comes at last to a line he didn’t know existed, a point that would condemn him to that past fate, a thing he almost does and yet, in the end, cannot let himself do.

No more than I’ve done before.

A line he crossed once already…but the difference here is the choice. This time, he can choose not to. And so this is the turning point: accept Lews Therin’s fate or choose a different path.

Tam continued to stare at him, face shadowed by the night.

That one line is so heartbreaking. Tam refusing to look away. Face in shadow, even as Rand burns with light. But still not abandoning him, not turning aside. Still holding on.

Oh, Light, Rand thought with terror, shock and rage. I am doing it again. I am a monster.

Still holding tenuously to saidin, Rand wove a gateway to Ebou Dar, then ducked through, fleeing from the horror in Tam’s eyes.

I just let go of a breath I didn’t even realise I was holding for that entire final page.

This chapter is. Um.

Wow.

Let me just…sit here for a minute.

This is an absolute perfect bookend to Chapter 22. It’s not the same scene, and yet it hits so many of the same beats, but from…the other side, in a way. That was Rand’s fall, and this, even as it feels like an absolute low point, almost is the beginning of a rise. It’s Rand turning away from that line, holding himself back rather than stepping across and accepting unfettered, cold, terrifying power. It’s Rand being called back to himself after he came so close to losing himself for good.

Last time, he was forced to almost kill Min, right after he had accepted at her urging that maybe he had become too hard, too untrusting. Now, he comes to almost a similar point in conversation with Tam, but from the opposite direction.

And then that moment of crisis—the first which drives him across one line in fear of repeating Lews Therin’s past…and then this, which drives him away from a true final line out of the same fear.

No more than I’ve done before.

But here, in this lifetime, he can choose not to do it again.

That’s the realisation. That’s what he has needed to understand for so long, because for so long he has been caged by that fear even as he thought he had found freedom. He can choose.

Ebou Dar, though? I almost, for a moment, thought it might be Dragonmount. Because this is where he comes full circle, in a way. Where he faces that last choice: to repeat his greatest atrocity and succumb to his greatest fear, or to do something differently this time. He is brought to the point that ended his last life, and instead turns away and refuses to repeat that mistake. And so it is coming full circle, in truly facing Lews Therin’s fate, and yet it’s a divergence. Just as in making that choice last time, Lews Therin then killed himself and in doing so made Dragonmount, where in this lifetime Rand was born. Life and death; one choice and another. And the prophecy says he must stand on his grave and weep—I wondered, when Tuon thought that, what could possibly bring him to that point. But it seems like that, too, would have to be a point of coming full circle and facing his past—as he has, really, just done here.

But perhaps that is still to come. Or perhaps there’s yet another Moment to come first.

Either way, what a chapter.

Anyway, like after The Last That Could Be Done, I think I need to go stare at a wall for a while and just…process…this chapter.

Next (TGS ch 48) Previous (TGS ch 46)

#I kept thinking 'surely /that/ was the most painful part of this chapter'#I kept being wrong #Wheel of Time #neuxue liveblogs WoT #The Gathering Storm

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notsofly · 6 years ago

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Ties in Blood Chapter 1

Reposting of Ties in Blood I’ll be tagging people; sorry if you’ve been tagged before.

@mrswhozeewhatsis @winchestergirl-13 @impala-dreamer @idreamofplaid @squirrelnotsam @percussiongirl2017

Chapter 1

Aaliyah stood still as the young man adjusted her two layers of clothes. Behind him she watched the older man Aaliyah pegged to be the father finish the last of the traps. She hadn’t expected the elder to allow her on this part of the hunt. Yet after the werewolf caught her scent three days ago, there was little choice. Once the young man seemed satisfied with how Aaliyah’s jackets fit, he reached over to the trunk of the car, a black Impala, and brought out a knife.

“Silver blade,” he told her. “Short of lobbing off the head, best way of dealing with werewolves.” With a slight flick of the wrist, he caught the blade and handed the knife handle first to Aaliyah.

She accepted the blade, adjusting her hold, and nodded. “Any advice?”

“Yeah, don’t get killed.”

“Dean. We need to move,” his father instructed.

Aaliyah watched Dean’s father climb into the driver’s seat of the car before the engine rumbled to life. She watched the car move away as memories flashed of the past few days hearing the engine around the college campus. Turning back to Dean, Aaliyah blinked a couple times in a slight surprise to find he wasn’t there.

With a couple stabilizing breaths, she stepped out into the open. The late summer breeze tugged at the top jacket and she swore she heard cheers from the football stadium. The thought that the werewolf would be drawn there passed through her mind. Then again, even a wild animal would avoid people. A howl carried on the wind. Aaliyah spun her head and shifted her grip on the knife. Leaves on nearby trees rustled, but there was no breeze.

She turned to see just out of the corner of her eye a lumbering werewolf in md arm sweep at her. Full force sent Aaliyah into a sapling, snapping it and sending the wind from her lungs. Gasping for breath, she searched for the knife that laid a few feet away out of the creature’s path. Crawling for the weapon, Aaliyah’s neck hairs stood on end as the hot stank breath of the werewolf touched her. Her fingers just barely grabbed the knife as her back erupted in pain as if it was on fire. Screaming in pain, Aaliyah curled into a ball, her hand around the knife handle. Fighting through the pain, she rolled onto her back as the werewolf swiped at her again, cutting into her side.

The muzzle of the werewolf was inches above her face, a large glop of saliva hanging down. Biting through that pain, she thrusted the knife up into the creature’s stomach, pulling the knife up to the rib cage. She didn’t fight the shutter that worked through her body as hot blood bathed her. Pushing the dead body up and off of her, Aaliyah laid there, regaining her breath, her mind blank. She fought the urge to close her eyes as her body reverted into survival mode.

“That took guts,” she heard a voice tell her. A slow turn of her head showed Dean coming up to her. “Think you can move?”

Testing her side with a deep breath, Aaliyah nodded. Holding up a hand and worked with Dean to get to her feet. Wrapping her free arm across her stomach, she didn’t fight when Dean put the arm he held around his shoulders and wrapped his arm around her, mindful of her back. Eased over to the car, Dean helped her onto the hood before going to the trunk. She flinched when John came up to her.

“What were you thinking?” he demanded. “Letting the werewolf…”

“It’s dead,” Aaliyah cut in, eyes closed against the throbbing pain. “Bet you couldn’t do better.”

A heavy thud on the hood reverberated through her body. With an eye cracked open, Aaliyah watched Dean start fishing through a duffel bag. From it appeared make shift medical supplies plus typical first aid items. Last item was a bottle of cheap looking alcohol any of the local party stores had in stock. She reached for the bottle as Dean found a needle and dental floss.

“Think you can shed the jackets and shirt?” Dean asked.

Aaliyah freed one jacket and struggled with the second. She ignored the feeling of serious judgement from Dean’s father. Unfit to be a hunter, the older Winchester said when she wanted to help three days ago. She wanted to show him he was fit when she heard that.

Finally freeing the second jacket, Aaliyah dared to shed the shirt. A hiss from Dean was a clue on how bad it looked. A small shiver when a breeze passed by, Aaliyah hissed when a cold liquid washed over her open wounds. Adjusting herself on the hood, she folded her legs in front of her. Meeting Dean’s gaze, Aaliyah nodded. Holding herself still, she felt Dean’s hands working on stitching up her side and back. As he worked, Aaliyah started to drift off to sleep. A shake brought her back around.

“Come on, I’ll take you back to your dorm,” Dean told her.

***

Unsure of what she was conscious of first, Aaliyah laid in bed and attempted to pick each noise out. Her roommate moving around doing something. Coffee dripping into the pot. Music playing just a little too loud Aaliyah swore would have affected her if she had been drinking. Shifting under her blanket, pain snagged on her dental floss stitched wounds.

“You look like you had a rough night,” her roommate told her, passing through to the bathroom.

“Yeah, I had one.” Aaliyah eased herself into a sitting position on her bed, the covers pooled in her lap. “Where you at the game, Amanda?”

“No, had a test to study for.” Amanda came out from the bathroom and gasped. “What happened to you? Have you been to the ER?”

Aaliyah looked down to her bandages had red spots on them and shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me.” She didn’t fight when Amanda eased her forward.

“Try me.”

Closing her eyes as Amanda started peeling off the bandages, Aaliyah watched flashes of the previous night. The fresh wounds pulled at her muscles. “You remember the reports of a large wild dog and all that howling the past few weeks?”

“What about it?” Amanda continued unwrapping the bandages.

Aaliyah heard her roommate half listening to what she was saying. “It was a full blown werewolf.”

“Werewolf, huh? Twilight or Harry Potter?”

“More like Underworld.” Aaliyah glanced to the bundled bandages speckled with red as Amanda stepped away and tossed it into the trash. “I’m … still trying to figure out how I really survived the fight.”

“You sound …”

“Insane? Like I need to be put up in a psych ward indefinitely?” Aaliyah took a deep breath and held it as she moved her body to the edge of the bed. Feet on the scrap of carpet that served as a rug and her hands white knuckled the mattress, she released the air from her lungs. The pain was still there, blood vessels, muscles, skin working still to knit themselves back together. Breathing through the pain flair until it died down to a mild throbbing. “Go ahead and say it, I won’t fight it.”

“That’s the thing, though, Lia.” Amanda sat down in the oversized chair that Aaliyah had. “I do believe you. I had gone out to the library yesterday …”

“Studying for the test,” Aaliyah remembered, gaining a nod from Amanda.

“Coming back here when the library closed, I swear I saw some sort of fight in the Diag,” Amanda told her, voice. “One of the … fighters loomed over the other, howling and grunting like those wolves we had gone to see over the winter. It clawed at the smaller fighter, who cried out. The smaller reached for something before turning around and just as the larger was just over them.” She mimed being stabbed. “The one on the ground stabbed up at her attacker. After that, two men came out from wherever they were and took care of the scene. One took care of the dead attacker while the other helped …” Amanda gestured toward Aaliyah. “You, apparently.”

Aaliyah worked what her friend told her, wondering why she so readily believed her tale of being attacked by a werewolf. “That whole time, you never thought to go get help or come help?”

“Oh, hell no. Too much trouble on my end.” Amanda pushed herself out of the chair. “Come on, I’ll help you wash up and get fresh bandages on those stitches of yours.”

Aaliyah couldn’t help smile a little as her roommate and good friend since freshmen year of college offered a hand up. In the couple years she had known Amanda, Aaliyah wondered how much remained hidden between them. Any time she brought up family or friends before college, Amanda deflected the conversation to another topic.

“Whoever did those stitches knew what they were doing,” Amanda called from the bathroom. “Major props to ‘em.”

“Yeah, he knew what he was doing,” Aaliyah replied, trying to remember how it felt having her wounds being stitched with a deft and gentle hand. She half shuffled to the bathroom, using the furniture to help, where Amanda had water running. “A shame I didn’t get his number.”

“There’s a piece of paper on your desk.”

Grateful she was holding onto it, Aaliyah reached for the paper.

“You did great, Aaliyah. Your roommate helped getting you back in. Here’s my number if anything happens while you’re still here.”

--Dean

Spotting the number under Dean’s name, Aaliyah made a mental note to call it later. Maybe after the shower and more rest.

***

Panting, Aaliyah came up to The Rock near the ZTA chapter house and braced herself against the rock. Early morning before the University of Michigan and the surrounding city buzzed with its daily workings was a good time to run. A month after killing the werewolf, Aaliyah was able to breath and not have the feeling her side and back were on fire. The talk of the day had gone from the random animal attacks to the varsity football team being able to reach the championship game.

Aaliyah had no issue with the gossip changing from the werewolf to the team. It kept the attention off of her and her wounds. Her professors and classmates had been worried when she showed to class after the fight. Her wounds bleed a little through her bandages the first day or so when she returned to class. Amanda had offered to go around and collect assignments from all her professors in that first week, but Aaliyah refused. She didn’t want to put more stress on her roommate and friend than what she already had with her load.

Once her breathing slowed, Aaliyah dared to head off toward the Quad where the fight with the werewolf had taken place. Speeding up to a light jog, she passed a few students on their way to a morning class. A few minutes and a quicken heart rate later, she came to a stop at the grass line. The late summer yellow grass still held onto the large brown spot where the werewolf had fallen a month ago. Word had spread about a large animal being killed when the landscapers showed the morning following Aaliyah’s kill. Rumors and guesses of what it was had circulated the University and surrounding parts of the city for the past month, and Aaliyah kept to herself during those conversations.

She stood there in the early morning silence as a strange sense of peace fell over her. Like something finally clicked in her mind that she, with some help, had not only learned of the supernatural but taken down one of the most popular creatures. If she could do that, what else couldn’t she do? Reaching for her phone, Aaliyah thumbed through the contacts until she reached Dean’s and paused. He never said anything about keeping in touch, but he might know a thing or two about maybe finding a missing person. Hitting the dial button, Aaliyah listened to the tone before the voicemail picked up.

“This is Dean’s other, other cell, so you must know what to do,” the greeted stated before the beep.

“Hey, um, Dean, it’s Aaliyah,” she started, her tongue tripping on her speed. “I was wondering if you knew anything about finding a missing person or two. Call me on this number.” Short and to the point. The thought of if he was going to return the call passed through her mind as she pocketed her cell and started a jog down the sidewalk back to her dorm building.

#supernatural spn fanfic werewolf dean ofc

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idreamofhazeleyes · 6 years ago

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Ties in Blood

Well .... here it goes; chapter 1. Ties in Blood

Chapter 1

“Any advice?”

“Yeah, don’t get killed.”

“Dean. We need to move,” his father instructed.

She turned to see just out of the corner of her eye a lumbering werewolf in mid arm sweep at her. Full force sent Aaliyah into a sapling, snapping it and sending the wind from her lungs. Gasping for breath, she searched for the knife that laid a few feet away out of the creature’s path. Crawling for the weapon, Aaliyah’s neck hairs stood on end as the hot stank breath of the werewolf touched her. Her fingers just barely grabbed the knife as her back erupted in pain as if it was on fire. Screaming in pain, Aaliyah curled into a ball, her hand around the knife handle. Fighting through the pain, she rolled onto her back as the werewolf swiped at her again, cutting into her side.

“That took guts,” she heard a voice tell her. A slow turn of her head showed Dean coming up to her. “Think you can move?”

“What were you thinking?” he demanded. “Letting the werewolf…”

“It’s dead,” Aaliyah cut in, eyes closed against the throbbing pain. “Bet you couldn’t do better.”

“Think you can shed the jackets and shirt?” Dean asked.

***

“You look like you had a rough night,” her roommate told her, passing through to the bathroom.

“Yeah, I had one.” Aaliyah eased herself into a sitting position on her bed, the covers pooled in her lap. “Where you at the game, Amanda?”

“No, had a test to study for.” Amanda came out from the bathroom and gasped. “What happened to you? Have you been to the ER?”

Aaliyah looked down to her bandages had red spots on them and shook her head. “You wouldn’t believe me.” She didn’t fight when Amanda eased her forward.

“Try me.”

“What about it?” Amanda continued unwrapping the bandages.Aaliyah heard her roommate half listening to what she was saying.

“It was a full blown werewolf.”

“Werewolf, huh? Twilight or Harry Potter?”

“You sound …”

“That’s the thing, though, Lia.” Amanda sat down in the oversized chair that Aaliyah had. “I do believe you. I had gone out to the library yesterday …”

“Studying for the test,” Aaliyah remembered, gaining a nod from Amanda.

“Coming back here when the library closed, I swear I saw some sort of fight in the Diag,” Amanda told her. “One of the … fighters loomed over the other, howling and grunting like those wolves we had gone to see over the winter. It clawed at the smaller fighter, who cried out. The smaller reached for something before turning around and just as the larger was just over them.” She mimed being stabbed. “The one on the ground stabbed up at her attacker. After that, two men came out from wherever they were and took care of the scene. One took care of the dead attacker while the other helped …” Amanda gestured toward Aaliyah. “You, apparently.”

Aaliyah worked what her friend told her, wondering why she so readily believed her tale of being attacked by a werewolf. “That whole time, you never thought to go get help or come help?”

“Oh, hell no. Too much trouble on my end.” Amanda pushed herself out of the chair. “Come on, I’ll help you wash up and get fresh bandages on those stitches of yours.”

“Whoever did those stitches knew what they were doing,” Amanda called from the bathroom. “Major props to ‘em.”

“There’s a piece of paper on your desk.”Grateful she was holding onto it, Aaliyah reached for the paper.

“You did great, Aaliyah. Your roommate helped getting you back in. Here’s my number if anything happens while you’re still here.”--Dean

Spotting the number under Dean’s name, Aaliyah made a mental note to call it later. Maybe after the shower and more rest.

***

“This is Dean’s other, other cell, so you must know what to do,” the greeted stated before the beep.

#spn fic

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dontshootmespence · 7 years ago

Text

Round and Round We Go

A/N: An anon request for a fic where the reader (I decided on an OC) is a troubled teen that brings a gun to school. A constant victim of bullying, she decides to get revenge. When the team is called to help, Spencer puts himself between the possible victims and the gun and attempts to talk her down because of his own past with bullying.

Warnings: Bullying, Gun violence, Suicidal ideations.

“Not bad today.”

Zoey Gould muttered to herself as she tucked a strand of her unruly brown hair behind her ear. The mirror in her locker had been covered up with tape for days. She was unable to look at herself without hating her reflection. After all, she was “ugly,” “unlovable,” “unfuckable,” basically just completely worthless. The bruises on her arms had all but disappeared, and the general torture had subsided. Maybe they’d all finally gotten bored of it.

Since she was feeling a bit better, she decided to try looking at herself in the mirror, and while she wasn’t a model, she felt she looked okay. She liked her eyes, the shape of her lips. She did have a few pimples that wouldn’t go away and her hair was unruly as all hell, but maybe she wasn’t ugly. Maybe there was someone out there that would love her for all her flaws.

In an instant, she felt her forehead clash against the metal of the locker and fell to the floor, clutching her head and patting around to search for blood. The familiar warm trickle down the side of her face left a crimson stream, followed by the salty one just moments after. “You can stand to look in the mirror?” Bethany asked, smirking in Zoey’s direction as the blood trickled down her face. “Even on a good day, you’re still disgusting to look at.”

While Bethany was her main attacker, she was never without her boyfriend, Tate, Tate’s best friend, Joey, and Bethany’s own best friends, Chelsea and Lia. The entire group of them snickered as Zoey picked herself up off the floor. “Why won’t you just leave me alone? What do you get out of this? Of hurting me?” She said, her voice strong to start but losing power with each word.

Of course, they didn’t have an answer. And just as all the previous times, she started to cry despite her desperation to stay strong. “People wonder why you don’t have any friends,” Lia said.

“I don’t,” Bethany interjected. “An ugly, pathetic, cry baby? Who would want to be seen with her?”

As they walked away, Zoey slipped to the floor with her back against the locker. Who would want to be seen with her? Talking like she wasn’t even there - she wasn’t really. Not anymore.

When she started high school, she walked in confidently, feet planted firmly on the floor. Now though, she floated in and out, barely grazing the shoulders of her classmates as the spoke about her with derision - like she wasn’t even there.

The girl’s face was marked with stab wounds - all over the place. Thankfully for her, they’d been done postmortem. Based on what their evidence so far, the team came to the conclusion that they were looking for a teenager. The two murders were messy. If it wasn’t a teenager, it was a first-time killer.

“I think I found our unsub,” Garcia said as she walked in. “Her name is Zoey Gould. She’s 16 years old, a junior at the high school, and she hasn’t been seen by family or anyone at the school for two days. Her father however, says that a semi-automatic weapon is missing from the house.”

“It wasn’t locked up?” Rossi asked unbelievingly.

Garcia shook her head.

Spencer shuffled through her papers. “She’s intelligent. Straight A’s. It stands to reason that she figured out the combination and took it to get revenge on the people that have wronged her. Have you seen all of the documented incidents?” He’d read the papers in under a minute, each word dug into his skin like a dagger, reminding him of his own past, so far behind and yet still so fresh.

Every member of the team glanced toward the board where the pictures of a dead and mutilated Bethany, and her boyfriend Tate. “These two, in addition to quite a few others, have been on record as torturing her,” Spencer said, his eyes wide with frustration. “How was nothing done? She was pushed into lockers. She was bruised. She’s gotten cuts on her head and arms. There have been numerous incidents where she was humiliated in front of large groups of classmates, in class, the gym, assemblies. She’s been made fun of relentlessly. And this is only what’s been documented. I-”

Of course, he didn’t agree with the things she’d done, after all, he’d been in the same position and chosen the opposing path, but he understood her pain. Being so isolated like that, it had to wear on you. That on top of Bethany’s torture and it was a wonder she hadn’t snapped earlier. Her victims didn’t deserve to die, but she didn’t deserve what she’d gone through either. This was a no-win situation.

His stomach was tied up in knots as Hotch received a phone call. It wasn’t good. “A girl with a semi-automatic as stormed her way into the school. She has hostages.”

Deducing a person’s motives was what he was good at. Day in and day out, he and his team saved people and avenged others. Spencer did love his job - most days. This was not one of them.

As the BAU entered the school along with SWAT, Spencer felt the bile rise in his throat. With his past experiences, he was the one most likely to get through to her. “Reid?” Hotch said. “You can do this.”

He didn’t have a doubt that he could at least get her to listen to him, but getting her to surrender, that was something else entirely. So much pain had been thrust upon her, and although wrong, this was her way of getting it out.

Slipping around the corner, he approached, his gun holstered, and Morgan and Emily right behind him, guns drawn. “Turn around and go back,” Zoey said, aiming her gun at Spencer. Her hands were shaking. Although she was teetering on the edge, she wasn’t over it yet. Zoey’s classmates and schoolmates cowered underneath tables and chairs. Spencer suspected some of them were direct targets of her wrath, while others would just be collateral damage; he couldn’t let that happen.

“I can’t do that,” Spencer said softly. He held up his hands, hoping to convey to her that she wasn’t under threat, despite the fact that his friends were at his back with their guns ready to fire. “I’m not going to hurt you. I-I just want to talk.” He felt for the children cowering in fear, but knowing what he knew, he felt for her too.

“Why?” She cried, her voice breaking as she spoke. “So you can tell me you know what I’ve been through, that I don’t have to do this? It’s about time someone paid for everything I’ve been through. I get beaten and called names and spat on and these useless teachers don’t do anything!” She turned her gun on a particular teacher. When Spencer looked at him, he got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. “This is all I have.”

God, he knew that feeling. His eyes started to water as he spoke, and at first, he staggered over his words. “It’s not. I promise. And I do know how you feel - more than you will ever know.”

“How?” She screamed, startling her classmates still shaking with overwhelming fear. “Have you been called names on a daily basis? Have you been brutalized by people men and women, old and new for no reason? Have you-”

Spencer didn’t want to cut her off, but he didn’t want her to spiral further out of control either. “Yes, Zoey,” he said softly. “I started high school at a very young age. Every single day I was pushed, shoved, kicked, punched. I’ve had my head dunked in toilets. I’ve had every slur imaginable thrown at me. I was even stripped naked and tied to a flagpole. I was left there for hours.”

While Morgan knew that story (he’d spilled his guts after a very similar case), Emily did not. He couldn’t see her, but he could feel the change in the air. Emily wanted to kill whoever had tortured him. The feeling made him focus even more on Zoey. In these types of cases, there was such a thin line between make the right and wrong choices. “That’s horrific,” Zoey said, a tear rolling down her cheek and onto her jacket. “That can’t be real.”

“It is,” he said. It sounded like a fake story, but he needed her to know it was real - to know that despite what he’d been through, he’d come so far. “There was a girl I thought was cute, and one day, her friend told me that this girl wanted to kiss me, but she’d only do it if I was blindfolded.” He felt the vomit rise in his throat at the memory. “I met where she wanted to meet, blindfolded and nervous. She kissed me and started taking off my shirt. And then I heard laughing. She pulled the blindfold off, and my entire class was there, laughing and pointing while the girl’s friends pulled off everything but my underwear and tied me to the flagpole. I wasn’t able to get free for hours. And that was only one instance.”

Zoey’s face softened at Spencer’s story. “Didn’t you want to hurt them?”

“Yes,” he said honestly, “But I knew it was wrong...and I think you do too.”

She lowered the gun slightly. Spencer felt the air return to his lungs and then get punched out as she tried to point the gun at herself. “You don’t have to do this!” Spencer said hurriedly. He kept his hands where she could see them and stepped closer. “You’re still young. The circumstances might have you tried as a juvenile rather than an adult. You have so much life left to live.”

“I’m a bad person,” she sobbed. “Other people go through this to and they don’t do what I did. I am weak. I am pathetic. I don’t deserve to live!”

Spencer could feel his ability to get her to surrender fading quickly. “Everyone has a breaking point. You were pushed to yours, but you can still do so much. Please...let me help you. Let me and my team get you the help that you need so you can start to heal.”

Zoey’s eyes glanced from Morgan to Emily and back to Spencer; she was unable to focus much on any of them, her mind too abuzz with possibilities good and bad. “I’m sorry,” she whispered. For a second, Spencer thought he’d missed his chance, but she began to lower her gun. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I’m so sorry! I’m-” Her face turned bright red as the air left her lungs and she collapsed to the floor where Spencer met her. He wrapped his arms around the fragile young girl while Morgan and Emily got the hostages out of the area and the gun far from Zoey’s grasp.

“I know how it feels to be alone, to be afraid of your own mind, but you can heal in time - if you allow yourself to.” Her grabbed her hands and stood up, bringing her with him as he tried to reassure her that she could heal and be redeemed for the damage she’d caused. “I need to put the handcuffs on you now, okay?”

Meekly, she nodded her head. The click of the metal brought on a fresh wave of tears and nearby officers stared in confusion at the kindness he was showing her. Pulling a tissue out of his pocket, he wiped the tears away and walked her to the police car. “What happens if I can’t get tried as an adult? I-I’m so scared.”

“I’m going to speak on your behalf,” Spencer said, without realizing he’d committed to the thought. “There’s a lot of evidence on your side. Be truthful about what happened and be truthful about your remorse.”

“Okay,” she whispered, her voice shaky as she sat down in the squad car. “I’m sorry for everything, and...thank you Agent.”

He nodded softly and turned around, leaving the teenager alone and his mind racing with the thoughts of how unfair the whole situation was. Zoey had been tortured, and in turn, she’d tortured others. Would the cycle begin anew?

@unstoppableangel8 @coveofmemories @jamiemelyn @sexualemobitch @iammostdefinitelyonfire26 @rmmalta @lukeassmanalvez @reddie-for-mileven @hogwarts-konoha

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fic #spencer reid x oc #dontshootmespence #round and round we go

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staytheb · 4 years ago

Text

Audition Day

Genre: college!au, slice of life, slight fluff, slight angst Word Count: 3,554 Summary: Serena, Jasmine, Katherine, and Melanie find themselves auditioning for the Sing In May a week after the White Day Festival and even happen to run into several NCT members as well.

Day Festival masterlist.

Warning: semi-proofread.

whoo! hi. i’m on a roll at the moment and i hope it won’t fade away so fast. my mental health has seemed to improve lately and work isn’t as stressful as it used to be. also i can work on my stories without being so drained and uninterested. anyways, since i’m in the mood here is another snippet for that NCT story series of sorts. have no idea what to actually call it, but they’re pretty much standalones lol. but yeah, happy reading and kthxbai, Admin Lia~

A week later the quartet found themselves in the school's auditorium at eight in the morning. They were informed by Gina to arrive early for the auditions and if they did then they wouldn't have to go to any of their classes, but could still receive the attendance and work for missing them. So here they were all comfy in sweats and hoodies awaiting for further details along with all the others auditioning for the showcase. Anyways, for the past few days the quartet have been practicing a few songs just in case another participate was doing the same song and didn't want to clash. So they prepared backup songs although they wondered if they should've even bothered as they didn't voluntarily sign up in the first place.

"This is still so early, bro." Serena said in-between a yawn while slouching in her seat. "Why do we need to be here so early though?"

"Gina said the auditions will be all day as oppose it to being a three day auditioning due to last minute changes." Jasmine stated as she also let out a yawn and was slouching in her seat.

"What's up with the last minute changes this year?" Melanie asked to no one in particular.

"I know, right." Katherine agreed. "I just hope they have snacks."

"If not, then I'm leaving to get bubble tea." Serena remarked.

"You and your unhealthy obsession with bubble tea."

Jasmine eyed her friend as Serena shrugged.

"It's addicting."

"By the way, what's the name that Gina gave us for this?" Katherine asked remembering something.

"I think it's Lady Rose or something." Jasmine replied as Melanie went through her friend to double check.

"Ah, it's Roseate Bloom now. It was Lady Rose."

"What about our stage names?" Serena inquired interested in the topic all of a sudden. "Is it similar to what we used in the past?"

"Um," Melanie continued to scroll through her phone before answering, "Yeah something like that."

Melanie showed the trio their new stage names as the twins sighed while Serena chuckled.

"I guess Gina had as much fun as I did."

"True."

Soon the group of four looked about them as they noticed that the auditorium was quite filled up save a few seats here and there. They continued talking as they wondered how many acts were actually going to perform and if the ones in charge of the event was going to be picky or not.

"Hello everyone and thank you all for joining us this morning for auditions."

Haji, the overall person in charged of Sing In May, stood on stage to welcome the participants getting the attention of everyone present. She then motioned for several more people to join her.

"This year joining me in the selection for those to participate in Sing In May are Daeyoung, Lina, Jenny, Sulhee, Aaron, Dohyun, and Ray. So please be mindful of us and we'll be mindful of you."

The other seven introduced themselves before walking off the stage and down the area where several tables were set up like booths as Haji continued speaking.

"Anyways, I'm going to divide you guys into certain sections before you audition. When I call out your name and or the group you're with, please make your way to one of the seven booths quietly and without disturbances led by one of them."

Haji explained while holding several pieces of paper and motioning to the tables.

"Please pay attention as once you move over to your assigned area where Ray, Sulhee, and the others will hand you your name-tags and other information. When everyone is settled the auditions will start at nine."

"I still can't believe we have to wear these until auditions are over." Serena complained as she adjusted the straps of her large name-tag.

"It makes us seem like real trainees having one of those monthly evaluations." Katherine mused. "I kinda like it."

"Of course you would." Melanie remarked with a laugh as she got done adjusting her name-tag.

"Anyways, I'm just glad that we don't have to wear any costumes for this."

"I know." Jasmine agreed.

"But if we make it in for the showcase I'm sure Gina got something in mind for us to wear."

Serena sighed upon imaging that.

"So true. Anyways, I'm just mad that we're in the late afternoon. I would rather get it done and over with."

"Maybe Gina will do something later on about it." Katherine reasoned with a laugh. "I wondered how many they're gonna accept this year."

"Depending on how the acts goes today we could have at least like twenty." Jasmine answered.

"That's roughly like an hour." Melanie calculated. "Wasn't it like two hours or three hours last year?"

"I think so." Jasmine recalled. "But last year was a competition and not a showcase so there were quite a few rounds or something like that for last year's Sing In May."

"Oh yeah, I remember that now. Gina told me that the whole competition was a mess to deal with due to everyone not being on the same page. Both the staffs and the contestants" Katherine recalled remembering what happened last year. "Anyways, so they're doing a showcase and I think it's gonna be at least thirty to get in as many people as possible."

"What are they trying to get with the funds from this showcase for?" Serena asked once she was satisfied with her name-tag placement.

"It's going for the All-Star Sports competition." Jasmine answered. "Gina mentioned they wanna add an actual obstacle course which fell through last year."

"Oh really? That'll be cool." Melanie said with a nod.

"Anyways," Katherine directed the conversation elsewhere. "Just like what Serena said earlier, let's get some bubble tea."

"Aight then. Let's go."

Serena cheered happily at the prospect of a boba run.

"What flavor did you get again?" Katherine asked Serena upon seeing her drink.

"Rose."

She offered the drink towards her friend.

"Do you wanna try?"

"No thanks. I'm good. Wintermelon is all I need."

"Let me try that mochi waffle you got." Melanie asked her sister as Serena handed one of them over to her. "Is it any good?"

"I dunno. I saw a post about it online and wanted to try it." Serena answered with a chuckle. "It looked good and smells lovely."

The group of four were casually heading back to the university after buying their snacks and drinks. They were enjoying themselves and taking in the sunshine until they ran into an ex-friend of Serena's just outside the entrance of the university. He was with two other males.

"Oh ho. Look who we have here." The ex-friend exclaimed as he and his two buddies blocked the quartet's path.

"Must be fate bringing us together, Serena."

"You wished that was true, Sammy." Jasmine stated as she instinctively moved to put a barrier between the male and her friend.

"Why don't you buzz off?"

Sammy cast her an annoyed look.

"This doesn't concern you, Jasmine."

"It does when you keep on bothering her when she ended the friendship two years ago."

Sammy scoffed.

"That's what you think."

"It's not what we think. It's what we know." Katherine clarified as she, too, joined her twin in blocking the male from Serena.

"Besides, what are you even doing over here?"

"I can do whatever I want, Katherine." He answered with a snicker.

"Seriously, dude, why can't you just leave her and us alone." Melanie told him off. "There's no reason for us to associate with one another."

Sammy cast his eyes onto Melanie with a hard stare.

"Hey, if we happen to cross paths, then who am I to deny that."

"Right." She motioned to the school. "Just outside the university like that?"

"Well, it is what it is. So what are you gonna do about it, Melanie?"

The girls didn't like the way he had said Melanie's name. They also didn't like the way he stood with his friends behind him. The quartet became cautious and wary when they noticed that his friends almost surrounded them a second later.

"Look, Sammy. We're no longer friends so just leave me and them alone." Serena reasoned with the male as she stood before him now.

"You really think you're all that, don't you, Serena?"

Sammy scoffed as Serena remained firm.

"I do if I have to. Please just stop doing whatever it is you're doing."

Before Sammy could say or do anything else, two other voices intervened from behind him.

"Is there a problem here?"

"Ling Shuang?"

The whole group turned their attention to the newcomers and the quartet recognized the two as Kun and WinWin with WinWin calling Serena by another name.

"No, there's no problem and no you don't need to bother. I'm just having a chat with my girlfriend and her friends." Sammy answered trying to coolly play it off.

"I'm not your girlfriend." Serena clarified with a firm tone. "And we were not having a chat."

Somehow the two males made their way over to the group and eased themselves in-between Sammy and his friends and the quartet.

"I'm sure these ladies have ended their interaction with you fellas." Kun said in a calm tone while shooting Sammy a smile, but his eyes said otherwise.

Sammy looked between the two males and the females before glancing at his own friends.

"Psh, whatever. She's not even worth it." Sammy said while backing off.

He motioned for his friend to get out of there.

"Let's go."

Sammy and his buddies took off with Sammy not even glancing back. The quartet let out a breath of relieved as they hoped this was the final time they would see him.

"You good?" Melanie asked her sister with a worried look. "I think we should put a restraining order on him."

"I'm fine and I think so, too." Serena answered before turning to the two males. "Thank you and sorry that you guys had to get involved."

"No worries. Gotta help people when things like that occur." Kun brushed it off in good-nature.

Meanwhile, WinWin cast Serena a stern look.

"Ling Shuang."

"Sorry, WinWin. I thought he wouldn't appear after you told him off last time."

WinWin sighed, but nodded.

"It's fine. Just, be safe and don't go anywhere alone. Okay?"

"I will. Thanks."

"You're welcome."

"Are you sure that she and WinWin have nothing going on between them?" Jasmine muttered to the other two, but Serena overheard her.

"We don't." Serena clarified.

"By the way, Serena, why does he call you by another name?" Katherine inquired a moment later.

"I came up with a Chinese name for myself when I first met him and it stuck since." Serena explained as Melanie laughed.

"Yeah, that sounds about right."

Kun happened to noticed their name-tags.

"Ah, are you guys participating in the Sing In May, too?"

"Auditioning." Jasmine corrected. "We don't know if we'll actually be in the showcase."

"Well, good luck. Our other friends are also participating, but with different teams. Why don't we head back together?"

While heading back to the auditorium, Serena had to keep her friends and sister in check as they kept pushing her to walk alongside either boys to tease her. Both males noticed, but didn't comment as Serena just shook her head to indicate that it was nothing while later glaring at the trio to stop their little antics. They didn't.

"There's actually a lot of good acts auditioning here to be honest." Katherine commented after watching a soloist belt out notes like no other.

"Do they really need us then?" Serena asked skeptically. "I mean, honestly there were some real good ones that could definitely bring in some interests."

"Even if we wanna leave, Gina would not let us live it down." Melanie reasoned with a yawn. "Has Gina responded back yet?"

"Not yet. We still have less than half an hour left." Jasmine informed her. "Besides, Gina was gonna message us when to be back there."

Upon returning to the auditorium, the quartet were informed by Gina that their time slot had actually been moved up earlier than previous as well as the list of songs the others auditioning were performing to. It made it easier for the quartet which song to audition with and to get it done and over with as well.

"This is so annoying." Serena commented as she slumped into her seat. "At least it'll be over soon."

The trio turned to look over at Jasmine who let out a suppressed squeal. They follow her line of sight and noticed that she had spotted Johnny in the distance. He was speaking with the rest of his Nu Chi Theta members. They wondered if all or some of them were going to participate in the Sing In May.

"Hey, you should've confessed when he met up with us earlier when we arrived with WinWin and Kun." Serena teased as she nudged Jasmine who nudged her back.

"No way I could do that on my own. I would need someone with me."

"Hmm, maybe Serena can help out by asking Taeyong on a date." Katherine mused as Serena frown with a shake of her head.

"Then how about Melanie asking Jaehyun out then?"

Katherine looked over at Melanie who shot her a knowing look.

"Or you can be a good sister and ask Taeil out and then the both of you could go on a double date instead of Serena and I."

"Anyways, let's go." Katherine responded instead dodging the topic. "Gina just messaged us to head backstage to prep."

"One, two," Jasmine started the greeting like always whenever they were a performing group before finishing as a team in a cheerful tone, "We are Roseate Bloom! Hello!"

The quartet quickly introduced themselves with the stage names that Gina had designated for them with the meaning of flowers in the order of Melanie, Katherine, Serena, and Jasmine.

"I'm Jin Dalrae"

"I'm Jang Mihwa."

"I'm Han Songyi."

"And I'm Min Deulle."

Roseate Bloom bowed as their were some applause. Jasmine spoke again.

"We'lll be performing We Are A Bit Different so please watch over us kindly."

"Thank you." Haji thanked them as she motioned for them to start. "Whenever you're ready to go."

The group went into formation as they waited for the music to start. Despite their earlier complaint they found themselves once again enjoying it. When the song came to an end did they remain in their ending poses and waited a few seconds before dropping it and awaited what Haji and the others had to say.

"Alright, thank you so much for your audition, Roseate Bloom." Haji thanked them with a smile while writing on the clipboard before her.

She then glanced at the others.

"Would you guys like to say anything?"

Lina nodded before looking over at Serena with a smile.

"Han Songyi." She announced as it was quiet for a moment.

Jasmine nudged Serena that it was her that Lina had called upon.

"Uh, yes?" Serena answered as she looked at her curiously.

"Where did you buy that strawberry cat hoodie?"

Serena relaxed upon hearing Lina's question and answered with a small smile.

"Ah, it was a gift from a friend back home. I don't know where he bought it though."

"Ah, if you find out, then will you let me know?"

"Of course."

The others laughed as Haji went back on topic.

"Anyone else have something to say?"

Daeyoung raised his hand as he looked at them all.

"Jang Mihwa, could I request you sing a little something right now?"

"Uh," Katherine stalled as she slightly panicked while glancing at the other three.

"Oh, that song you sang this morning when showering." Melanie suggested in a whisper as Katherine nodded feeling less nervous.

"Yeah. I can do that."

Daeyoung smiled as everyone else anticipated what Katherine would sing.

~Let me sing a song for love, I wanna sing a song for love, let it be a song for love, and you can hum along, and someday you'll find it, the way to sing your song for love, song for love, song for love, maybe someday you'll find it, the way to sing your song for love~

Katherine sang the chorus for Song For Love and sheepishly cast a smile afterwards.

"Thank you so much, Jang Mihwa." Daeyoung thanked her with a clap. "I'm good now."

Haji chuckled before looking at the rest of the judges.

"Anything else?"

Ray raised his hand this time while looking at the quartet.

"Min Deulle, I'm assuming you're like the leader of Roseate Bloom?"

"Uh, yes." Jasmine answered with a sheepish laugh. "De facto leader."

"Nice. You give off that vibe to me. How do you feel about having that role?”

Jasmine shrugged as she answered nonchalantly.

“I don’t mind, really. I’m just glad to know that I have a wonderful team to stand by me and help me lead.”

“Ooh, good answer.”

Ray chuckled before asking another question.

“Anyways, are the names listed on your name-tag your stage names, perhaps?"

"Mmhmm. For Sing In May purposes."

"I see. Is it related to your group name that's why?"

"Yes, it is."

"Very nice."

Ray looked at Haji with a satisfied smile.

"I'm good here as well."

Haji chuckled once again and asked once more if anyone else had anything for Roseate Bloom with Sulhee raising her hand and directing her attention onto Melanie.

"Yeah, Since Jin Dalrae hasn't spoke yet, could you sing a little something for us right now?"

Melanie's eyes went wide at being caught off guard just like Katherine until Katherine suggested a song for her to do, too, just like what Melanie had done for her.

"Sure." Melanie answered before singing a snippet of All To U.

~Imma give it all to you, and baby it’s so true, I’m gon be insane that when I’m lying next to you, I’ll give it all to you and baby it’s so true, I’m gon be insane that when I’m lying next to you~

"Ohh, lovely." Sulhee praised with glee. "Thank you so much, Min Dalrae."

Sulhee nodded at Haji who once again asked if the others wanted to commented before facing the quartet again after receiving head shakes.

"I think that's it for now, ladies. We'll notify if you're in the final line-up within a week. Have a good rest of your day, Roseate Bloom."

"Thank you."

The quartet thanked them as they bowed once more before walking off and handling all of the items back to one of the student council members as another group walked past to perform.

"Oh!"

"Serena! Melanie!"

"Watch our stage!"

"Yeah. Watch us!"

"And let us know how we did afterwards."

The male quintet spoke as they walked by the quartet as they addressed Melanie and Serena while waving politely at Katherine and Jasmine.

"Oh yeah, sure. Serena and I will totally be cheering for y'all!" Melanie informed them as she nudged Serena playfully.

"Cool! Thanks!"

The quintet ran off to prepare while Jasmine stared at them with a shocked face.

"You guys also know Chenle, Jisung, Jaemin, Jeno, and Renjun, too?"

Jasmine playfully smacked.

"Girl, y'all had the connection this whole time and could've helped me out with Johnny."

"We're just mutual friends through Ten, Jasmine." Melanie clarified. "It's not like we actually hang out with them. Besides, just confess already."

"Yeah, for real. Confess." Serena chimed in with a sour face not directed at her friend. "If we did announce our friendship, then we would be stalked by their dumb fangirls. They're so obsessive, so possessive, and even beyond rational. It's kinda mind-bogging."

Jasmine nodded upon hearing those words.

"Oh, true. Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. My bad for sounding like one."

"It's okay, sis, and you’re not that bad as them, but just go through the natural way and not be a stalker that would make them hate you even more." Katherine advised before looking over at the other pair of sisters with a cheeky expression.

"By the way, I think it was bound to happen one way or another."

"Why do you say that?" Melanie asked with a puzzled gaze.

"Well, the way I see it we're all gonna be crossing paths more since we all have a crush on a Nu Chi Theta member. Another thing to note is that you and Serena are actually on friendly terms with several of them already."

"This isn't a drama, Katherine."

Serena pointed out with a suspicious look.

"So don't go jinxing it or whatever."

"It's bound to happen, Serena, whether you like it or not."

"Shut up."

The other three laughed as their attention soon went to the quintet as they performed their rendition of No.1. Serena ran off once the song ended leaving the other three to make excuses on her behalf. Anyways, barely a week later the quartet received news from Gina personally that Roseate Bloom had been chosen to participate in the Sing In May without her actual doing as the judges really enjoyed their stage and personality. The twins were excited while the other sisters were just going with the flow. More Melanie Serena, as Serena wondered if life really wanted her to go through some drama-like life.

#staytheb #nct scenarios #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream #nct 2018 #wayv #nct 2020 #superm

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