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drarrily-we-row-along · 3 years ago

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Day 125: Accidental Bonding (Part One)

When Harry woke up, his head was pounding and his heart was racing, he thought he might vomit. He staggered over to the floo to firecall in to work.

Robards answered, "Junior Auror Potter, good morning."

"Hello, sir," he said before his stomach heaved and he had to turn away and take a few deep breaths to steady himself. "I need to call in sick, sir. I think I've got a virus."

"What are your symptoms?" he asked curiously.

"Really bad headache, it feels like my eyes are going to pop out of my head; elevated pulse; and nausea."

His brow furrowed, "Who was your training partner yesterday?"

"Malfoy, sir," he said, his gut twisting uncomfortably.

"Where did you go?"

"Excuse me-" he broke off and held up a hand, turning away from the fireplace to try to get his bearings as his stomach tried to eject itself through his esophagus. After a moment he turned back, "We were sent to that old antique shop, sir," he said as quickly as he could manage.

"You're going to need to go to St. Mungo's."

"I don't-"

"That's not a request, Potter. Go there now and I'll be sending Junior Auror Malfoy right along."

"But-" Harry started.

"No buts, Malfoy called in with the same symptoms and I'm not taking any chances," and without another word he ended their connection.

With a sigh and one more longing look at his bed, Harry headed to St. Mungos.

(Read more below the cut)

They ended up putting Malfoy in the same room as him since they were there at the Ministry's behest and with the same symptoms. Harry tried not to look at him, imagining that getting irritated would only worsen his ever growing headache. Malfoy must have felt the same because he was less annoying that usual.

Healer Kenner, a stern looking woman who reminded Harry very much of Professor McGonagall, ran diagnostic test after diagnostic test and then finally said, "Well, you're bonded."

"What?" Harry yelped.

Malfoy groaned, "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

"Language, Auror Malfoy," she tsked.

"Apologies."

With a short nod, she continued, "The good news is that most of your discomfort can be alleviate by simple physical contact."

"And the bad news?" Harry asked wryly.

"There's nothing we can do to break the bond."

"What?" Malfoy spat.

"Surely, there's something-" Harry started.

She shook her head, "I'm afraid not. But it's not permanent," Healer Kenner added. "It'll only last a month."

"A month?!" Harry asked incredulously.

"Well it's certainly better than forever," Malfoy snarked, rubbing his hands over his face.

Harry wondered if Malfoy's head hurt as much as his did. He certainly hoped so.

But before he could say anything, Healer Kenner raised her wand and cast a spell the dragged their beds across the floor to the other. "Hold hands," she instructed.

He crossed his arms over his chest and Malfoy let out a pitiful groan.

"The sooner you do it, the sooner you'll start to feel better," she chided. "Just be glad that this particular bond only wants prolonged physical contact."

Harry shuddered, he'd heard the stories about some of the more archaic bonds.

"Oh, for Circe's sake," Malfoy grumbled as he reached across the space between them and clasped Harry's forearm in his hand.

A sense of relief hit immediately, Harry groaned as a weight lifted off his chest and the headache started receding.

"It will be faster if you both actively participate."

At this point, as the waves of relief were rolling through him, Harry was willing to do anything. He flipped over his hand, offering it to Malfoy.

The other man slid his hand down Harry's arm, as though he was afraid to break contact with him, and clasped Harry's hand in his.

She was right, his world seemed to right itself as they sat there holding hands and he let his head drop back against the bed as he took full, deep breaths for what felt like the first time in ages.

"How long do we have before it starts to feel like that again?" Malfoy asked, which Harry could admit was a good question.

She hummed, "I'd say two hours maximum before the discomfort starts affecting the way you function." After a short pause, Healer Kenner added, "You're going to probably want to spend nights together."

"Can't we just see each other in the morning?" Malfoy asked.

And Harry couldn't help but agree, "This wasn't that bad," he added. "And now that we know-"

She shook her head, "Now that your bodies are acknowledging the bond, the effects will set in quicker."

"Great," Harry grumbled. "Just bloody fantastic."

This day just kept going from bad to worse. He had no idea how he was going to tell everyone that he had an accidental bonding with Draco sodding Malfoy.

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They argued about whose house to stay in overnight and finally decided to flip a coin for it. Draco won.

And that was how Harry found himself standing with a duffel bag outside of a surprisingly cute little house, knocking and waiting to be let in.

"Potter," Malfoy greeted as he opened the door to let him in.

And Harry wondered if he was feeling the bond tugging at his skin, too, if the bond was making his gut clench and making him feel irritable and like there was something crawling under his skin. "Can I-?" he started through gritted teeth, reaching a hand toward Malfoy but stopping a few inches away.

Malfoy nodded and closed the distance between them.

The moment he touched the other man his body sagged with relief, swaying back against the doorway.

After a moment, Malfoy released his hand and gestured toward the rest of his house, "Come in," he said. "It's nothing fancy," Malfoy said, "But it's home and it's not something that my family owned."

Harry wasn't quite sure what to make of that statement, so he just focused on looking around the house as Malfoy gave him the tour. Malfoy was right, it wasn't anything fancy but it was surprisingly cozy. It was nothing like Harry had expected; he'd imagined black leather and green decor, dark and broody. But the house was the opposite, the closest anything got to Slytherin green was the sea form green accents in the bathroom. "You have a nice house," Harry said.

"You needn't sound surprised," Malfoy said with a sniff, "I have excellent taste," he added as he opened the door to the bedroom.

The bedroom had pale blue walls and cream bedding, the dresser and wardrobe were both a dark wood that Harry couldn't identify. All in all, it was a nice room, very relaxing.

"You can use this drawer," Malfoy said, flicking his wand at the second drawer to open it, "And I cleared a space for you in the closet."

"Err, thanks," Harry said.

He rolled his eyes, "Don't mention it. I know it's hard for you to believe but I can actually be considerate when the mood strikes."

Before Harry could reply, Malfoy left the room, calling over his shoulder, "I'm making salmon and rice for dinner. If you don't like it you can make something for yourself."

This wasn't quite what he'd expected, Malfoy wasn't quite what he expected, he thought as he put his clothes away. Maybe Malfoy wasn't who Harry thought he was.

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Nope. Malfoy was precisely who Harry thought he was. The two of them had spent the entire night arguing about literally everything: about using coasters (when they were wizards and removing water stains was no big deal), about which clothes Harry should have hung or left folded, about the proper way to do the dishes, about their friends and the kind of people they were, and dozens of other things that made Harry want to tear his hair out.

They were still bickering when they went to bed because Malfoy had the nerve to critique the way Harry brushed his teeth and to demand that Harry wash his face before he get into bed.

"I'm not letting the oil in your skin damage my pillowcases!"

"My skin doesn't damage pillowcases," Harry snapped. "I have pillowcases too, you know, and none of them have oil stains."

"Potter wash your fucking face or I am covering your pillow with a paper bag," Malfoy threatened. "It's not a fucking hard request. It will take you literally two minutes."

"Fine!" Harry shouted, throwing his hands in the air and returning to the bathroom.

When he came out, Malfoy was already on the left side of the bed, sitting with his back against the headboard, reading a book. "Was that so hard?" he drawled.

"Oh fuck off," Harry grumbled as took off his glasses and he threw himself down on the right side of the bed, punching a pillow for the sheer pleasure of punching something.

"You're such a bloody neanderthal," Malfoy grumbled without looking up at Harry.

"Shut up!" Harry finally erupted. "For Merlin's sake just shut up and I will, too."

Malfoy glanced over at him, looking unperturbed which honestly made Harry even more frustrated.

"It's going to take me ages to fall asleep because I'm so fucking irritated."

After a moment, Malfoy reached over and put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "It's the bond," he said quietly. "We're not touching often enough and it's making us lash out."

"I don't think we need any help in that department," Harry grumbled but he could admit that he was feeling better already.

Malfoy chuckled, "You're right about that, I suppose."

He shook his head and reached up to cover Malfoy's hand with his own and expedite the process. "This does help though," he said with a yawn.

The other man hummed, "I think we should agree now that whenever either of us wakes up over night that we'll reach out and touch the other so we can get as much sleep as possible."

Through a yawn Harry murmured, "Sounds reasonable." He closed his eyes, surprised at how tired he was feeling all of the sudden. "Merlin, I'm knackered."

"Do you mind if I leave the light on to read for a while?" Malfoy asked.

He opened one eye to look at Malfoy's blurry face, "That's nice of you to ask," he said. "I don't mind."

"Are you certain?"

He nodded. "Night."

"Good night," Malfoy replied, going back to his book but leaving his hand on Harry's shoulder.

Harry drifted off, asleep in minutes.

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When Harry woke up again, the sun was peaking in through the curtains and he felt fantastic. He blinked open his eyes and realized that at some point during the night he and Malfoy had shifted, drifting until Harry's front was pressed tight against Malfoy's back, his body curled around the other man's.

He really ought to move.

But he was just so comfortable and his body was warm and loose and he just couldn't bring himself to move away.

It wasn't long before Malfoy started to shift, waking up slowly and Harry panicked. He did the only thing that he could think of and feigned sleep.

Malfoy arched and stretched, pressing his body back against Harry's for a long, delicious moment before he jumped, seeming to realize what he was doing. Then he held very still like he was waiting for something and Harry wondered if he was waiting for him to say something. When Harry didn't move and continued pretending to sleep Malfoy carefully withdrew himself and climbed out of bed to head to the loo.

Harry laid there for a long moment, missing the warmth of the other man's body, missing the way they'd seemed to fit together already.

Just the bond, he assured himself. This was all just the bond.

Right?

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Ahhh friends, I'm sorry. I hate to leave you like this but this one's going to need a part two. This girl is exhausted and this fic(let) is taking way longer than anticipated to write. I'll get part two written and posted tomorrow. <3 Lots of love, C

Part 2

Day 124: Joke | Day 126: Arranged Marriage

#100 drarry drabbles in 100 days #Accidental Bonding Part 1 #sorry friends #I'll get the second part up tomorrow #drarry #aurors #auror harry #auror draco malfoy #enemies to friends #friends to lovers #check back for part 2 tomorrow

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yostresswritinggirl · 4 years ago

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Albedo. I just rolled him and finished his quest.

I would love to talk about travelling with him, or at least being someone who brings in the ingredients for alchemy. Someone who goes out of their way for him and gets the best. Maybe the only gardener in Mondstadt to grow alchemical roots and grasses.

I'm happy for you, rolling the cute alchemy boyo ywy I only rolled in his banner to get Bennett in five rolls I'm sorry Albedo, my primogems are for Xiao and Hu Tao- *shot*

Back to business! I really, really like this cute idea awww thank you for distracting from the angst fics in my head haha (TUMBLR DIDN’T SAVE IT PROPERLY AND SO THE POST IS HORRIBLY SHORT WAIT- FIXED IT WOOHOO)

Albedo's Personal Botanist

Background

Most ingredients in alchemy usually come from ores and liquid ingredients formed by chemistry methods. Stuff like Tuttia, Bismuth, all that shindigs-

So while plant life can be useful for alchemy, not everyone recognizes its utility straight away, and provide for the common plants for arrangements rather than scientific inventory

I can imagine that you'd be a normal gardener at first but very passionate of their properties.

Might be a Dendro vision wielder too, the Dendro archon loves those who wield the power of knowledge, more so when they use it on nature.

You carry with you a lil book about all the plants and shrubs that you've personally cared for, down to their finest detail and properties. But you're a gardener, not a master of Alchemy, so some parts of the notes you couldn't really figure out yourself.

The first time you met Albedo, he was around a year into staying in Mondstadt. He was forced to go out and take a breather because of his workaholic schedule, and instead of relaxing in a bath, he ended up drifting to the market area to get more ingredients local to Mond.

Unlike the other flower stalls, he was pulled into yours because of the wide variety of your wares. Roots, grasses, shoots, plants you couldn't just find outside of the walls.

You were tending to your mini greenhouse in the back and left your botania book on the shelf outside, and this LIL SHI- Albedo, having no proper training for social interactions, straight up just opened that shit and read it all.

"Oh, hello there, mister- HEY, THAT'S MY STUFF, WHAT THE HECK"

Flustered, confused and alarmed, Albedo tried his best to quickly reason with your garden-spade-wielding self. And with his pretty boy self, you managed to calm down and listen.

You may or may not had smacked him with a bouquet of horsetail for good measure.

"Such vast knowledge and detail orientation, why waste away your talents in selling productive fauna when you can wield them into something more?"

Master Phytologist of the Knights of Favonius acquired!

Working with Albedo!

Your greenhouse in the Knight of Favonius HQ is most definitely connected to Albedo's laboratory! And very spacious too.

More than one occasion, you've seen the Chief Alchemist casually sneaking around the area, plucking a Flaming Flower or scraping dandelion seeds from the pot while you were busy tending to other flowers on the other side of your area.

65% of the time you caught him red-handed and you will be met with the rare sight of a fumbling, queasy Albedo.

30% of the time you just find out something is missing after checking inventory for the day, usually ends up with you hunting and shouting for Albedo. Because the guy seem to have a sixth sense as to when you find out his thieving adventures.

5% of all of that, Kaeya would be the one stealing from your 'safer' floras to woo a random citizen in Mond. And as a master of botany, your precious babies are always in tip top shape. Top quality bouquets all day, all night.

Those moments are the ones Albedo hate more than getting smacked with your spade. Those are your flowers, and by association, his. Grown to their maximum potential by your calloused yet gentle hands FOR HIM-

Kaeya: *reaching out to pluck a perfectly healthy glaze lily*; Albedo: *his short ass of a shadow looming over him*

NOW IT IS HIM WHO WIELDS THE POWER OF THE GARDEN SPADE

The atmosphere of your work area is significantly different from his own messy laboratory. The glass walls and roof that lets in just the right amount of sunlight, with a perfect view of the scenic landscape of Mondstadt and beyond.

When Albedo reaches a wall on his research, he picks up his sketchbook and just- waltz in to your workshop through the door connecting your workspaces.

The fresh air, the soft kiss of the sun, your humming, it was all a symphony of heaven concocted just for him.

He’ll find himself sketching your babies, dozen or more times you are included.

Your notebook’s illustrations are mostly courtesy of him, and he greatly basks in your pure admiration of his drawing.

To help him focus, you once took on the great task of organizing his laboratory, to no avail. Even if you manage to fix and align his inventory, it’s gonna go back to chaos after three days minimum.

It’s okay tho, it’s normal for him, more excuse to visit you-

Guilty, he wants your spacious and refreshing greenhouse and often asks for a redesign of his laboratory to share similar workspace with you.

Acting Grand Master Jean had to decline this idea just because it costs more than a million mora.

He’s definitely gonna sulk in your greenhouse after that, back leaning on the warm glass wall as he does nothing but sketch you and your plants the whole day.

Don’t stop him

Just admire the pout

Actually Working with Albedo! (Finally)

Whenever Albedo discovers/explores a new area, you’re always sure to tag along whether willingly or by force

YOU BET YOUR FROZEN ASS YOU’RE COMING WITH HIM TO DRAGONSPINE

DEFINITELY BY FORCE

I imagine that despite being his assistant/student, Sucrose and Timaeus are more focused on research and the application of Alchemy, so they’re not much of the resource gathering type. That said, Albedo is very thankful of your existence, it’s a breather to his already full schedule.

Albedo is both considerate and inconsiderate unconsciously : While he may run off to experiment on the traveler and leave you scouting the area yourself, he doesn’t willingly set you on fire from the inside.

Every time he comes back to camp after finishing the step by step experiment with/on the Traveler, he makes sure to check up on how you are doing.

TAKE NOTE: Our prince is very occupied and busy with his own work a lot, so he’s never really seen you in action when you go out to get the the materials he needs-

So he is purely horrified when he saw you hanging off the cliff with nothing but a rope around you to keep you safe, carefully investigating a petrified tree branch up close.

Suddenly, elevator.

Again, Imma bet, he’s gonna be accompanying you in all your expeditions after that. He’ll need to know where and how you acquire every ingredient outside of your greenhouse.

Does it require you to climb a mountain? Are there any Hilichurl camps nearby? Maybe mobs that are attracted to that type of flower?

He would be very attentive of your inventory reports and would recognize if a dangerous gathering journey is near. He’ll be right there with you.

Violetgrass x1000

He’s gathering more than a month’s worth just to make sure you don’t go back to make that dangerous trip. It’s very impractical, but let him rest his heart.

You and Albedo: Resource Gathering Expedition; Other Knights: Outdoor Dates Disguised as Work-Related Outings

Flower crowns are good and all but have you heard of flower bracelets?

Omg so cute hhh imagine a Flaming Flower Stamen bracelet for his Dragonspine expedition- it’s not gonna last forever but it’s so precious he’s definitely keeping that shit even when the heat already dissipated from it gah-

“Paimon wonders, what’s that thing around your wrist?”

“A flame bracelet, made to keep the cold away.”

“Woah! Sounds very useful! Sure would be handy for exploring, you think we can borrow it-”

“No.”

Something angst-y: Albedo has yet to make a Dendro affinity potion and he’s really, really devastated about it and himself. You’ll have to forcibly pull him out of his self-deprecation, force him to get a breather.

Overall, Albedo greatly appreciates not only your utility but also your consistent company. He values your tenacity and comfort, sharing unadulterated curiousity as you both venture the great unknown. There’s a lot of stuff he can pray about to thank whichever archon has graced you. And despite his Vision lacking the function to actually help in the advancement of his research, he is now thankful for it, for he has found with it a greater purpose: Ensuring the safety of his precious Gardenia.

I CANT BELIEVE IT, THIS THING WAS 30 TIMES LONGER BUT TUMBLR DIDN’T SAVE THE DRAFT PROPERLY AND HAD TO GET EVERYTHING BACK THROUGH MEMORY, AND MY MEMORY IS B A D. I’M SORRY I KNOW YOU JUST WANTED TO TALK BUT IT ENDED UP BEING SUPER LONG AND LOOKS LIKE A HEADCANON THAN ANYTHING, MY FORMATTING IS REALLY LIKE THIS AAAAAAAA- I hope you enjoy ywy I like your brain, it brings good ideas and gives me good ideas too!

#genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact imagines #genshin impact headcanons #genshin impact albedo #albedo #albedo x reader #exile.goblet #ahahahahhahaha #this is so long and disastrous #im sorry skskksks #my first ask!#there's a double 'the' here somewhere #I just can't find it wth #exile.flower #gender neutral

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dynamoe · 3 years ago

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Boy Genius | Prologue ←You Are Here | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | 🎄

I adapted a storyline from my White & Billy flashback spin-off into fiction. I'd recommend reading on AO3, which doesn't insert weird line breaks and allows text-wrap around images, but you do you, man.

↓ read the cold open under the fold ↓

All TW and CWs are comparable to the source material -- nihilism, mean jokes at the expense of an innocent, genetic disorder mockery, bad parenting, obscure references

'Professor' Putnam tapped the green-and-white computer print-out with his pipestem, “You’ve got a good all-arounder here, Ms. Whalen.” Ms. Rose Whalen released a breath she hadn’t realized she was even holding. She knew her water-baby was brilliant, of course, but to have it confirmed by a computer, an impartial logical thinking machine ensconced in a temperature controlled room in the basement of a major university! And then to have it read out to her by the undisputed national expert on child overachievers felt like winning the mother-lottery! Her preschooler son in the threadbare harvest gold chair next to her was less enthusiastic, not even bothering to look up from the World Book Encyclopedia (Volume Ca-Ch) he had buried his face in. Before this meeting his mother emphasized he needed to be “good” which meant sitting quietly. Both implied demands of that expectation – sitting upright and not talking-- required all of his focus. Despite the large windows, the office of Prof. “Peebo” Putnam (scout-agent-manager to junior brainiacs, wunderkinder, prodigies, and miscellaneous baby genii)- felt dark and cave-like. Dust coated every surface and the overstuffed office presented an absolute maximum of surfaces to coat—overloaded bookshelves lined the walls, piles of scripts on desks, extra chairs brought in just to hold more paper piles, dozens of discarded coffee cups (both itinerant paper and hefty hand-thrown ceramic) leaving rings on yellowing headshots. “Hmmm,” Another thoughtful drag on the pipe, “Highest percentile on memorization with a 98% recall. Problem-solving— excellent. Temperament— excellent. Vocabulary— excellent.” Putnam’s grunt of approval carried weight. He basically invented whole “boy genius” genre thirty years prior with his little roadshow to cheer up our boys fighting overseas. Now boy geniuses were everywhere—writing columns in newspapers and endorsing products and appearing on prime-time variety shows. You couldn’t launch a new sitcom without a pesky smart-aleck neighbor or irritating know-it-all neighbor kid these days. Anyone in the business could tell you – if you need a pint-sized Einstein, you came to Peebo. “Oh, that’s marvelous,” Ms. Whalen chirped, leaning towards her son in chair beside her, “My Billy’s had such a hard year, he deserves some good news at last!” His mother shook his shoulder congratulatorily, throwing off his balance. Little Billy wobbled and gripped an armrest. The few patches of Putnam’s office wall not obscured by shelves, files or piles displayed posters for off-off-off-off-Broadway one-man shows for-your-consideration bus ads for yesteryear’s boy genius, the faces sun-bleached into indistinct contrast and darkened by a build-up of airborne city soot. Hardly the surroundings deserved of the revered patriarch of a whole archetype but Putnam wasn’t one to rest on laurels. He got his hands dirty. He would never retire; he couldn’t! Boy Genius scouting/managing was his life. (He also owed prodigious alimonies to several ex-wives not to mention court-ordered settlements to former clients who sued him over the years.) Ms. Whalen winced at the grime and dust of the office momentarily but regained her million-watt smile. She swallowed her homemaker’s urge to take a soapy rag to the whole musty, dusty affair. New York was a horrible, dirty, crime-ridden hellhole but to get the wunderkinder power broker’s eyes on her son was worth taking the Metroliner. Putnam leaned back in his swiveling chair and rotated himself the precise amount he was free to before colliding with a waist-high stack of old magazines. The chaos of the room was an extension of self to him and second nature to navigate. He drew on his pipe and flicked through the continuous accordion-folded feed of double-wide perf-edged computer print out. Ms. Whalen steeled herself. She wouldn’t let herself be bullied by the man, legendary authority or not. She stood up to far more intimidating producers back when she herself was in the business of show. (Gosh, it felt like a lifetime ago!) Men like him always

mistook sweetness for weakness. She could use that. She was a hard-nosed advocate for her son’s future. Nobody was going to pull a fast one on her watch. Billy remained fully absorbed in the World Book’s fold-out on the conquests of Charlemagne while taking no note of the battle of wills mounting to determine his future. Did you know Charlemagne was crowned Holy Roman Emperor on Christmas Day, 800 A.D.? That’s a fun fact. “Ms. Whalen,” Putnam said, straightening in his chair and leaning forward with a furtive air, “This is the most promising preliminary evaluation I’ve seen since the original Whiz Kid trials in ‘41.”

Mothers liked to be flattered. The ol’ “One-in-A-Million” narrative. In every other era “genius” was a once-in-a-generation convergence of talent and circumstance. Mozart. Blaise Pascal. Bobby Fischer. But, like Americans had done to every other industry, Putnam had mass-produced child prodigies—scouted, screened and showcased a new model every year. Putnam looked her over. No ring on the finger, he noticed. Divorced, maybe? Never married? Women’s Libbers these days, thought they didn’t need a man. A boy needs a father figure, doesn’t he? The kid was a cypher and he couldn’t get too good a look at him. Putnam flashed what was meant to be a reassuring grin but Rose flashed back to that awful movie about the lovely beachside town and the big rubber shark that ate people. The thoughtful pipe-smoking, silver hair and natty turtleneck sweater shouted ‘professorial respectability’ but there was a something merciless behind his eyes. She felt like George Plimpton was hustling her to buy a used car. Or like George Plimpton was about to breach the water and rip her throat out with his teeth. Time to counter-strike. “I always knew my little water-baby was special, you know,” Rose smiled beatifically, trying to diffuse the tension, “Ever since that day I found him on the floor with the Saturday New York Times. Oh, he must have fished it out of the basket where I kept the previous week’s newspapers. He couldn’t really walk yet, just sort of shimmied over there...” Putnam sighed internally, his face a mask of pleasant attention. The mothers always dragged this out. It wasn’t like this back in the old days-- those original Whiz Kids were orphans or had absentee parents or drunk mothers who weren’t allowed to leave the house. He preferred that “hands-off” style of parenting that having a war to worry about excused. Sure, it probably took an emotional toll but was damned more efficient. “… Well, he had dragged that New York Times over to the middle of the room and completed— IN PEN — completed the Saturday New York Times crossword puzzle—” He trooped those ‘41 Whiz Kids to every USO stage in the South Pacific to perform their one-of-a-kind cabaret of feats of memorization, math puzzles and trivia quiz for homesick GI Joes, reminding them of sons and near-sighted pencil-neck brothers classed 4F back in Omaha. None of his Whiz Kids, still in short pants and bedwetters all, refused to play Guadalcanal because they missed ‘mommy.’ Stateside, he parlayed all that good press into a coast-to-coast weekly radio show. “Prof. Putnam’s Famous Whiz Kids” three times a week offered 15 minutes of answering trivia puzzles sent in by listeners, a news quiz on the week’s current events and frequent interminable monologues about the amazing properties of whatever caustic soda or laxative had been persuaded to underwrite the show that run. By the time television came knocking, the original kids were not as cute as they used to be and had to be replaced. Of course, one Whiz Kid had shot himself in a hotel room while doing a tour show in Lansing, MI anyway, and the other two had gotten wise to his “accounting practices,” That was the beauty part— they all could be replaced and the show went on. As his mother talked, the boy had slowly began tilting to one side, his head pulling him into a slow-motion tumble. Without breaking her narrative flow, she pressed a palm into the side of his head and gently shoved him back upright. A sound like a water-cooler refilling snapped Putnam to attention. “What just happened? Did he faint?” “Oh, it’s just his center of gravity is a bit off so he weebles and wobbles,” his mother said cheerfully in a sing-songy voice, “But he won’t fall down, Right, water-baby?” Billy nodded weakly and smiled, looking like a pug trying to pass a kidney stone. Face only a mother could love. Putnam found an excuse to look away in the print-out

"No spikes in one field-- math or chess is usually where we see those and those spikes always come with downsides,” he said as pointed to a line of inscrutable data, “You end up with a kid than can memorize Pi to 20,000 decimals but can’t figure out the right way to sit on a toilet seat.” “However, a boy genius is harder to sell without a ‘hook,’” he elaborated, “Math Genius. Baby Rocket Scientist. Li’lest Grandmaster.” Putnam sat up and grabbed a pencil, “What musical instruments can he play?” “Oh Mr. Putnam, he’s only a tiny little boy.” “The Koreans have a toddler playing Götterdämmerung on a cello twice the size he is. The boy genius ante is always being upped!” Ms. Whalen looked ashamed, “I— I’m sure he could if he tried.” “We’ve established your son is brilliant but my job is to find the best way to display that. Make it a marketable commodity, appealing to mass audience. Leading to fame, money, et cetera and so on.” “Oh, my little water-baby deserves to be famous. He’s had such a hard life of hospitals and surgeries. Being internationally famous is what I want for him more than anything!” “There’s still time. You’ve started so young. He can’t me more than… 18 months?” “He’s three and a half!” Putnam stared at his potential new client. Mother’s precious baby angel looked less like child and more like a scaled-up model of a fetus in situ: 90% head with formless vestigial limbs yet to evolve into purpose. Things like that should be pickled in a jar in a cabinet of curiosities not sprawled on his office furniture, shabby as it was, reading the World Book encyclopedia. The numbers were good but getting at gander at his potential latest discovery gave him pause. Ms. Whalen read the disbelief on his face, “He’s... small for his age.” “From the neck down he is,” Putnam sniped under his breath before walking towards her. “You’re a woman of the world. Single mother, right?” He perched on the corner of desk with casual authority, no doubt caking the seat of his sensible slacks with desk dust, “I’m not here to soft-soap you.” Ms. Whalen leaned inward. This was the hard sell. He’ll either make an offer or demand a sexual favor. She wrapped the chain handle of her purse around her knuckles in case of the latter. She had to admit, though, under other circumstances, she wouldn’t have kicked him out of bed for eating crackers. She always had a soft spot for a silver fox. “You’ve got, on the outside, a good ten years with a BG – that’s ‘boy genius’ in the industry lingo. Eighteen is the technical cut off, but it’s not safe to handle them after thirteen. They go feral. Vicious. The best case scenario they just burn-out, but more likely they self-radicalize. They’re not evil, per se. Just completely isolated from other people and fed a constant self-aggrandizing message of their own superiority while also constantly comparing them to ideals they always fall short of. Suddenly they start spouting opinions about eugenics and genocide,” Putnam shook his head, “It’s always genocide with boy geniuses.” Rose blanched and looked for the first time with suspicion at her son. Slumped in the chair, he looked like a beanbag with a face drawn on it more than the next Pol Pot. He had finished reading the encyclopedia and was drawing in the margins of the entry for “CAT (Felis catus) — carnivorous mammals, of the family Felidae.” Did you know domestic cats have up to 100 different vocalizations while dogs only have 10? “Or, in rare cases, BGs run away to defect to Moscow. The chess champions usually,” Putnam recalled, “The mental illnesses that start manifesting at that age, too. None of these kids is right in the head of course. Add the stress of teenage hormones to those brains and they absolutely crack up. A damned shame. But there’s no such thing as an adult-boy-genius, is there?” Billy whipped around to face Mr. Putnam, “Why the fuck not?” he squeaked. “Billy!” his mother gasped. Billy stared directly at Mr. Putnam, but slowly his eyes rolled downward, as if looking at the floor. Putnam followed his gaze, searching his

office carpet for what had caught the boy’s attention. Ms. Whalen waved him off. “Oh, no, he’s looking at you but the pressure in his skull pushes the eyeballs downward,” she explained, laughing as if it was an amusing quirk, “The doctors call it ‘sundown eyes.’ Doesn’t that sound pretty? Almost like a song title.” “Is he… very ill?” Putnam asked, mentally preparing his gentle brush-off. He could maybe work around the kid looking like a souvenir bobblehead but dead boy geniuses don’t make money. “Not ill. Not terminally ill,” his mother hedged, still smiling, “My water-baby just has has far too much fluid inside his brain. It deforms the skull, you know.” Putnam noted the boy’s head was shaped roughly like a risen souffle. The scant sprinkling of strawberry blonde tufts did little more than garnish his bulbous brain-case. Rose stated flatly, “It was a difficult birth.” Mr. Putnam winced and changed the subject to avoid imagining watermelons being forced through keyholes, “Aren’t you worried the stress of a career might exacerbate his condition. I wouldn’t want to--” “No. Absolutely not,” Rose was firm, “It’s the best thing for him. My time on stage was the best thing that ever happened to me and I want it for my Billy. And we could use the money of course.” “But if he puts off treatment for the, uh, cranial… thing,” Putnam’s resolve was wilting. Rose remained adamant, but her eyes moistened. “A hole was drilled into his skull when he was just a few days old to relieve some of the pressure. To drain the excess cerebrospinal fluid in the brain that could have killed my poor little water-baby.” Rose pulled Billy close to her chest, a faint sloshing sound reverberated from his head. Billy scowled to be pulled away from his book. “They call it a ‘shunt.’ Initially, when the patient is a tiny baby it's an external tap tethered to a collection vessel.” Putnam visualized a colostomy bag for the brain. Bad look. Murder on a performer’s Q-score. “The trouble is my Billy’s brain just keeps making too much cerebrospinal fluid! More than any doctor has ever seen! His brain just keeps getting spongier!” Rose fought tears thinking of her son's gelatinous semi-solid brain rolling in the aquarium of his cavernous skull. Billy just at spot on the floor (or just seemed to). “For now, I take him back to the hospital every week for a power-shunting. The nurse syphons off the fluid in there,” Rose smiled through the tears forming in her eyes, “It’s like dialysis! But higher up!” Billy pointed at a band-aid on the side of his temple, his arm too short to actually reach it. “Hydrocephalus is so hard on a sensitive boy. The vomiting. Poor coordination. Sluggishness. Double Vision. Crushed pituitary gland. Unstable balance.” “Giant head,” Putnam muttered, looked at the contract in his top drawer, internally debating, “I just don’t think your son might be up to… I mean, physically able to a—” Ms. Rose Whalen rose to her feet, “Professor Putnam. The doctors told me my son would never walk. A body too weak. A brain too heavy. I built him a neck brace and scaffold on wheels with my own hands and we practiced. We walked for miles. Now my precious little water-baby can walk, BY GOD. He can walk and he only falls down… some of or most of the time.” Rose slammed her hands on his desk. A dust cloud rose, “He can do it. I know he can. I can make him do it,” her gritty determination shining through glistening tears was TONY-worthy. Walter Kerr reviewing for the Times would have shat himself with emotion, “We need this. I need this. And the world needs Billy!” Putnam stared. Billy squirmed. The sound of a water cooler refilling. Rose sighed and returned to her seat exhausted, “I’ve heard rumors of an experimental brain surgery that might make a difference in the long term,” Putnam rested a hand on her shoulder, “Medical science knows so little about the brain, but everyday research discovers new methods—” “It’s bound to be very expensive and my water-baby is so very small. I—” Rose adjusted her glasses, dabbing her eyes with a

handkerchief. Putnam’s defenses were down, he reached out and touched her hand. Mr. Putnam met her gaze, “Your Billy is a very special boy and I’m going to do everything I can to make him very, very famous…” Ms. Whalen flashed a shy, grateful smile. Got him. “Up until the age where he inevitably goes insane or his brain explodes.” Putnam added casually as he gallantly helped her up. He walked her to the door, muttering plans for future meetings, auditions, his ‘percentage’ and so on. “A word of advice, though,” Putnam spoke as his usual shrewdness overtook his momentary sentimentality. He gestured to Billy toddling ahead into the hallway. “Bangs. Long ones. Cover up that noggin up.” Rose giggled guiltily. “You’re so bad, Mr. Putnam.” “‘Peebo,’ please,” corrected Mr. Putnam, “If we’re working together.” “That’s an incredibly stupid name.” He shrugged, “Show business.” She lingered in the doorway and whispered conspiratorially, “Sometimes I worry that if my Billy ever got that surgery he might lose his special gift. Not be a boy genius. He’d just be so... ordinary.” In the hallway, the boy toppled over and vomited.

Boy Genius | Prologue ←You Are Here | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4 | Ch 5 | 🎄

Author's Note →

This kind of writing is not something I've ever done before, so I apologize to the reader and to God. I'm diving in with no real plan but a lot of notes. I'm posting drafts as I write them so this may be a rambling shaggy-dog kind of story.

#i can't unring this bell #fanfiction #master billy quizboy #rose whalen #not philip roth #fiction #the venture brothers #venture bros #spec fiction #fanfic #oh god what have i done

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sushireads · 5 years ago

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yoongi fic recs

this is a list of yoongi fics i’ve read and loved very much! enjoy. <3

ps. all fics with 🍙 are the ones i loved a little bit more.

“Where’s my kiss?” by @mintseesaw

fluff | drabble | 1.6K words

A Wish Out of Water by @jimlingss

🍙, fluff, humor, fantasy | two shots

A genie could solve all your problems. Though you wouldn’t even know exactly what to ask for - money, a warmer house, a better job, a better life? But Min Yoongi is no ordinary genie. He’s here to make your life a living hell. Too bad it was hell to begin with.

GENIE au

All I Want for Christmas by @hayjeon

🍙 | one shot | 13K words

CEO, CHRISTMAS, SECRETARY, SINGLE DAD au

an out of bounds umbrella by @yoonsgiggle

fluff | one shot | 10.2K words

you’re apologetic about almost blinding your university’s star point guard with the broken tip of your umbrella until you share a class with him and find out he’s a three star recruit but a four star dick or min yoongi doesn’t find your high school musical puns amusing.

BASKETBALL PLAYER, COLLEGE, ENEMIES TO LOVERS au

aquiver by @floralseokjin

🍙, fluff, angst, smut | series

Yoongi can’t remember the last time he was able to successfully bring himself to the point of orgasm, then Namjoon gives him a business card advertising ‘Healing Hands’, and that’s where he meets you; pretty and innocent looking, who gets paid to provide hand jobs for a living…

IDOL au

bad boys bring it to you by @yuengi

smut | one shot | 7.1K words

TATTOO ARTIST au

Black & White by @akinnie75

🍙, fluff, angst | one shot | 24.7K words

You finally confessed to Yoongi after he asked if you like him. His response is to give you a contract to sign. However, you soon realize that Yoongi manufactured your emotions and manipulated you to like him all for the sake of his senior project.

SLOW BURN au

Blackthorn Manor by @kpopfanfictrash

one shot | 7.5K words

After becoming the assistant of professional recluse Min Yoongi, you begin to notice strange things. Noises which shouldn’t take place, shadows which shouldn’t move like they do. You’re almost convinced that you’re crazy - until something happens, something unbelievable to make you realize you’re not.

GOTH au

Blow by @inkofyoongi

smut, fluff | one shot | 5.5K words

Yoongi loves you, even if he’s never said it… but gestures sometimes speak louder than words.

BOYFRIEND au

budapest by @junghelioseok

smut | one shot | 11.1K words

over many years and across several dozen cities, you fell in love.

SECRET AGENT au

Clair De Lune by @yoonia

smut | one shot | 23K words

You were ready to leave a part of your life to move on to the next, and he is willing to give you a chance to end it glamorously. But at what cost? And will he be a part of the life you are leaving behind or will he be there for the next part of it?

—part of @bangtansmutcentral‘s In The Mood Project

ESCORT, MUSICIAN au

Cut Me Open by @hayjeon

angst, smut, fluff | two shots

—a spin-off from Cardio Palpitations

MARRIED COUPLE, SURGEON au

dancing with the devil by @minnpd

smut | one shot | 6.8K words

Easy Rebound by @ditzymax

smut, angst | one shot | 6.5K words

Yoongi is one of the star players on the college basketball team. You are the head of the cheerleading squad. The pair of you would make the most beautiful (if most cliché) couple on campus, except neither of you have ever wanted anything more than the frequent, casual fuck. Yet somehow Yoongi finds his emotions straying towards dangerous territory.

BASKETBALL PLAYER, CHEERLEADER, COLLEGE au

ego: hoe chronicles by @suga-kookiemonster

smut | one shot | 7.2K words

he was messing with you again. he was messing with you, trying to get a reaction out of you simply for his own amusement. but you refused to give it to him—refused to give him the satisfaction of playing right into his hands.

—an alternate universe of ego

COLLEGE, FRAT BOY, FUCK BOY au

eight by @cupofteaguk

🍙, fluff | one shot | 5K words

or, Eight times Min Yoongi tells you he loves you

IDOL au

First-Date BAIT! by @jimlingss

fluff | two shots

First dates are embarrassing. First dates are awkward. I’ve been through countless ones, sitting across from people who bored the living daylights out of me. It was less exciting than watching paint dry. Some dates were so utterly rude - I think you and I both know what it’s like to be on the receiving end on that. But now we both don’t have to waste our time anymore!

With First Date Bait they went out for me! Afterwards, they informed me if it was recommended to go out on a second date. It’s amazing with a 99.99% accuracy rate! That’s how I ended up meeting my husband!

First Date Bait.

Why waste your time with awkward first dates?

—part of the Service Series

Hades by @littlemisskookie

horror, smut, angst, fantasy | one shot | 9.4K words

You meet a rather dreamy- albeit annoying, new kid who sweeps you off your feet. Too bad it’s in the middle of a series of murders around town.

GREEK GOD au

heavy sugar by @kinktae

smut | one shot | 8K words

The Roaring Twenties were a time of great economic wealth and social change. But beneath the jazz music and colorful speakeasies were mafia led organized crimes and bloodstained cash. You knew this well, but try as you might, you just couldn’t ignore the dark and enigmatic gangster whose eyes lingered on you from across the room.

—part of the rewind series

1920s, GANGSTER, FLAPPER, MAFIA au

i’m not your daddy by @scriptaed

🍙, fluff | one shot | 2.5K words

learning that his daughter no longer wishes to wed him but rather his now-arch-enemy jungkook marks the most soul-crushing day your husband has ever had to endure. no one, and he means no one, is more deserving of his angel than daddy min himself, and he’s willing to do anything to earn his daughter’s heart back.

DAD, PARENT au

Ink Nemesis by @scriptaed

🍙, angst, fluff | series

As an aspiring writer drowning under the public’s radar, a click of the pen is all you need to accept your supervisor’s offer to co-write an article for the SS - Secrets Spilled, a regular section of your company’s weekly tabloid; but fabricated stories and invasive details aren’t all that you write when you discover Min Yoongi’s dirty little secret.

FAKE DATING, IDOL, PAPARAZZI au

La Douleur Exquise by @cinnaminsvga

ON-GOING | fluff, angst, smut, fantasy | series

in which you accidentally summon an incubus in the middle of your shitty apartment and he won’t leave until you agree to have sex with him. until then, min yoongi, incubus extraordinaire, is now your sexually promiscuous and grumpy roommate. aka, the incubus au no one fucking asked for.

INCUBUS au

Melody companion by @prisczero

fluff | one shot | 3.6K words

“A soulmate story where Yoongi can hear everything that you listen to, but only if it is music.’’

IDOL, SOULMATE au

Miss Dial by @versigny

ON-GOING | 🍙, smut | series

[11:31] You: okay so i’m texting you now like I promised instead of drunktexting yoongi and telling him how badly i want his cock tonight. Arent you proud?

[11:32] unknown number: this is yoongi, hi

FRAT au

Mixtape by @jungblue

🍙, smut, fluff, humor | one shot | 15.6K words

Two mystery students from your college run the podcast dubbed ‘mixtape.’ It’s become a sort of phenomenon around campus, listened to by almost everyone. In their most recent episode they discussed various study methods… One of them being oh so tempting.

COLLEGE, PODCAST PERSONALITY au

Next Door by @personasintro

smut, fluff | one shot | 10.3K words

Your neighbor doesn’t respect your complaints about him being loud, but you don’t let it slide so easily.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS, NEIGHBOURS au

petals by @yoonia

🍙, fluff | series

IDOL, PARENT au

see you soon by @cupofteaguk

fluff, angst | one shot | 7K words

In which you live in a world where one stroke of a pen against your skin is a signage of forever, and Min Yoongi just has really good timing

SOULMATE au

She’s Testosterone by @jimlingss

🍙, crack, smut | series

Drop dead gorgeous, cute and sassy - you adore your best friend. But is there more beneath the surface? Who exactly is Min Yoonji?

YOONJI au

so i heard you like bad boys by @scriptaed

fluff | one shot | 4.7K words

while others see min yoongi as the resident heartthrob of the school - quiet, resilient, and mysterious - you can’t see him as anything other than your dorky best friend since childhood; but what you don’t know is his long desire to be anything but that, even if it means becoming the bad boy in town… or at least try to.

COLLEGE, FRIENDS TO LOVERS au

stay high by @personasintro

smut, angst | one shot | 16.5K words

You’ve to stay high to keep your ex out off your mind when he comes back into your life.

EXES au

Studio cuddle by @mintseesaw

fluff | drabble | 1.8K words

Tired from work, you went straight to Genius Lab in the hopes of being able to cuddle with Yoongi. You did not hesitate to press the passcode of his studio, knowing he might get pissed off for interrupting him from his work.

IDOL, PRODUCER au

Sweeter than Sweet by @gimmesumsuga

fluff, smut, angst | series

“You never would have expected someone like Park Jimin to notice you. As handsome and beguiling as he is deadly, you’re enthralled from the very moment you meet. Addicted to his kiss and his bite, Jimin opens up your eyes to a whole new world of love, lust and seduction.”

VAMPIRE au

the blue coat and cerruti 1881 (a flash fire) by @yuhdongsaeng

angst, fluff, smut | two shots

that’s the thing about flash fires. they’re intense outbursts of flames that reach their maximum heat quickly and don’t last a long time. hell, they don’t even get to fade before they cease to exist. however, flash fires may be intense and short, but the floor beneath them is ruined forever.

IDOL au

The Truth Between Us by @jimlingss & @gukyi

🍙🍙🍙, fluff, angst, fantasy | series

a book deal should be the most exciting time of your life, but there seems to be a constant and omnipresent damper on your mood in the form of a certain min yoongi, who you would just cut out from your life, if he weren’t your editor. but then, the world shifts beneath your feet, and you begin to wonder if maybe you’ve always been looking at life from the wrong angle.

ENEMIES TO LOVERS and loads more aus— just stop what you’re doing and read this masterpiece!

want a taste by @suga-kookiemonster

smut, humor | one shot | 18.3K words

pretzel pro. most skillful tongue in the food court world. allegedly. that’s what yoongi keeps telling you, anyway. of course, you’re reasonably skeptical of his claims—but if there’s one thing that motivates the notoriously-lethargic man, it’s proving skeptics wrong.

—part of the you never shop alone collaboration

FRIENDS TO LOVERS, SHOPPING MALL au

what you did last summer by @winetae

smut | one shot | 33.8K words

Yoongi was fine with a lot of things—you maxing out his credit cards to buy ridiculously expensive items of clothing that you never wore more than once, you taking out his newest ride for a spin without permission, you spending an extra thirty minutes on your hair and makeup when he was running late for a dinner function.

What he was not okay with, however, was you sharing your pussy with barely-out-of-college boys who were incapable of going five seconds without creaming their pants.

No, that was where he drew the line.

↳ alternatively titled; How to Get Dick - an autobiography written by (you)

TROPHY WIFE au

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#bts fic recs #namjoon fic recs #jin fic recs #yoongi fic recs #hoseok fic recs #jimin fic recs #taehyung fic recs #jungkook fic recs #fic recs #bts fic recs masterlist #bts smut #bts fluff #bts angst #bts x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi fluff #yoongi angst #yoongi x reader #bts masterlist

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emkay512 · 4 years ago

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Once Upon A Time

Chapter 1

Summary: This starts at the beginning of TRR book 2 with the Fydelia ball but with a different series of events. This AU is based off the show Once Upon a Time with Riley and Liam mirroring Snow and Charming. Characters belong to Pixelberry.

A/N: This is my FIRST EVER post and it’s literal trash 😅 I’ve never written before I found you all, and I’ve never had so much fun reading all the stories I found. If you read this please know I’m a complete rookie and I have no idea what I’m doing haha. I welcome and encourage any thoughts and feedback!

A/N 2: my biggest thank you’s to @queenrileyrose and @bbrandy2002 for pre-reading and giving me endless boosts of confidence!!! This first ever, cherry popping post, is in honor of you ❤️

Warnings: This will contain NSFW adult language and content. By reading, you acknowledge you are 18 and over.

I’m tagging those I’ve connected with and thought would be interested. Please let me know if you do or don’t want to be tagged!

@burnsoslow @ao719 @kat-tia801 @callmeellabella @charlotteg234 @neotericthemis

The welcome ball had been exhausting. Riley finally saw them, all of them, the good and the bad. Mostly bad with Liam being the exception.. except the fact that with him came his stupid fiancée. She was forced to deal with the Penelope’s and Kiara’s of the court, and got none of the Olivia’s and Drake’s of the world, with Olivia blackmailed and Drake most likely avoiding the court. Majority of the conversations she had to deal with throughout the night consisted of her rebutting all the allegations against her, most people believing that she had jilted their king. At least she had Maxwell and Bertrand, her home away from home. With the maybe two seconds she had Liam to herself and the amount of work and effort she had to put into her first public appearance, she was completely drained and changed from a gown and into more comfortable leggings and tank after she got back to her room of the Fydelia estate. Just as she was decompressing from the stress of her night, there was a knock on the door. She opened the door to see a particular grin on the face of one Maxwell Beaumont carrying a vase of two dozen roses.

“Greetings, little blossom! One of the staff members stopped me on the way of delivering these, asking what room you were in and I insisted on catching you myself.” Maxwell invited himself into her room after handing her the arrangement. Riley pressed the roses to her nose, inhaling the beautiful scent, and she noticed a note wrapped around one of the stems. She unwrapped the note and turned to Maxwell, who had already cozied himself up on her bed, clearly excited to hear what was on the note. “I noticed the paper in the arrangement too, it’s clearly from Liam isn’t it? You did so great tonight and he had the biggest puppy dog eyes on you, I knew his Prince Charming ass would pull off something like this.. well, go on! Read it!”

Riley quickly unwrapped and read Liam’s note, she had no idea the girlish grin she had plastered on and Maxwell was beaming. He had hated these past few weeks so much, he had been watching one of his closest friends, his makeshift sister, live in desperate torment, questioning her worth after hearing nothing from those she cared most about. She put the roses down and placed the note down next to them and looked up at Maxwell, “He wants me to meet him on his balcony in 20 minutes..”

“That is charmingly romantic, but did he slip in his royal socks and tumble down Madeleine’s overly buffed stairs?? He’s clear across the estate, it’s way too dangerous for you to get out of here alone.”

Riley sighed and collapsed onto the bed with Maxwell, “I don’t know Max, his note is sweet and remorseful, but.. maybe this isn’t about getting back together.. maybe I should just focus on helping house Beaumont and getting home..”

Maxwell stretched across to Riley and smacked her across her head, “Come on, Riles! You have been unable to go a single day without asking about him.. at least twice a day! You NEED to go meet him, otherwise I think both of your little fairy tale hearts will die.”

Riley smirked and rolled her eyes, “You’re so dramatic! And please tell me what fairy tale involved a half nude photo scandal and public humiliation leading to a bullshit engagement between a king and the only ice queen that would rival both Olivia and Elsa while singing let it go? Plus, didn’t you just mention that it’d be too dangerous for me to get to him?”

“Hellooooooo?? Ok first of all, literally all fairy tales are structured that way, couple meets and falls in love, and a public enemy curses them with a dramatic, heartbreaking lie, and then they defile all enemies and live happily ever after.. you’re just living the 21st century version of that! Nudes are basically the most vanilla scandal these days anyway. And secondly, have you JUST met mr covert ops extraordinaire, Maxwell Beaumont!? I said it’d be too dangerous for you to go out alone. Let’s just simply walk out together, and if we get any questions, we can just say we’re meeting my brother for.. you know.. this and that diplomacy reason.. whatever, I’ll wing it. Plus, look at you, you’re already dressed for stealth. I just need to get you outside, and then you can scamper over to Liam’s side of the building. Whaddya say, blossom?”

Riley was exhilarated. Maxwell always knew how to say the right things. She locked eyes with him, pointed straight to his chest and said, “You son of a bitch, I’m in.” They shared a mischievous smile and giggled their way out of her room, totally giddy without even shutting the door all the way. They were completely unaware of the royal guard that had been manning her room and slipped inside.

Thanks to Maxwell, Riley had successfully snuck out of the estate and crept to below the balcony of Liam’s room. She had to think fast as to how the hell she’d get up there, and then she spotted the flower vine growing on a trellis against the building, and she let out a small victorious, “Yes!”

But as soon as she took a step in that direction, a hand grabbed her shoulder and jerked her around so she was facing one of the royal guards. “I don’t think so, lady Riley,” he put a heavy sarcastic emphasis on the term lady, as he was clearly disgusted by her newfound tarnished reputation. “You’re coming with us.”

“Us?” And then from behind her, another guard bagged her head and she felt the grip of two men on each of her arms as they forced her to their destination, practically dragging her as they went. Riley’s heart was thundering in her chest. Where were they taking her? Back to the airport? A jail cell? A dungeon? A firing squad? She wasn’t at all expecting what she got. She was sat on a decently comfortable chair. The guards removed the bag and revealed to see she was in a study. A large one. And there before her on the opposite end of a mighty desk, was the king father, Constantine.

Constantine nodded a dismal to both the guards, and they took their leave. “Well, well. If it isn’t the disgraced American.” Riley was utterly confused and could feel the former kings command in the mood of the room. He did not like her, and she could feel his dislike radiating off of him. “You just couldn’t leave well enough alone, could you, you foolish girl?”

“Wh-what are you talking about?”

“You had your exit, your out. You were scandled. Ostracized! I even had you as far as at the airport gates. But no, you came back. You came back and left me back at square one on how to get rid of you!”

Realization dawned to her, “It was YOU!” Riley leapt to her feet. She felt no fear, only anger coursing through her. “YOU staged those photos, YOU unleashed Tariq on me.. and you timed the release of those photos, at the most prime time allowing maximum humiliation and zero time in between Liam’s announcement. You’re despicable, I bet you’re even disappointed that Tariq’s attack on me didn’t end.. didn’t end up the way he planned.” She had deliberately slowed her speech as each new revelation came to play in her head, she had lowered her voice with disdain and disgust.

Constantine let out a scoff-laugh at what he considered to be a poor attempt of exerting dominance. “You’re right, and quite honestly I don’t care what that pompous buffoon would have done to you, but I must say, those pictures certainly did deliver.” Constantine was teasing and patronizing her, “And now you’re here, still trying to get to my son.”

Riley crossed her arms and rolled her eyes at him, “I don’t know what you’re tal-“

“Enough. I know everything.” He waved in front of her the very note that Liam had written inviting her to his balcony that he got from one of the guards. “You poisoned his heart, and now his marriage. And with that, the entire kingdom is poisoned, all because your feelings.” He spit the last word out as if he found it vile.

“I wish feelings could be helped, but they can’t.”

“Of course they can. Love is a disease, and like all diseases, it can be vanquished in one of two ways. A cure, or death.” Constantine stood and leaned both of his palms flat on the surface of the desk. “Do you know where your beloved is right now? He’s right down that hallway, he should be packing for his new life, prepared to take on his engagement tour to unify two Cordonian houses and assume the responsibilities and sacrifices it takes to be king. But no.. He’s pining for you. Awaiting your arrival.”

“And I suppose you intend to keep him that way? Waiting for me, only to be rejected, never knowing I came for him?” Riley’s voice was desperate, but still cunning in reality. She needed him to know her questionnaire was not doubtful, but challenging. That she hated his deliberate intentions.

“No. In fact, you’re gonna walk down that hallway. You’re gonna sneak in and tell him you got his note,” Constantine slid the note across the table, no longer wanting it in his possession, and Riley picked it up. “You’re gonna tell him why you answered his call.. Because you don’t love him. It’ll break his heart.. And that will cure him.”

Wide eyed, Riley could only assume the consequence if she didn’t do as he said, “Or you’ll kill me.” She stated with no question in her mind.

“Oh no. I’ll kill him. Killing you would only make him love you more. And the marriage and kingdom would ultimately crumble.”

“And what about your precious Madeleine? I know how this works this is all about mergers and business transactions. How else would you get Godfrey and his house to join with yours?”

“Please, if Liam were to die at an assassin’s hand, he would die a martyr. Godfrey would forgive, even laud, the death. And the merger would be complete.”

“You would do that to your own son?”

“I’m doing it FOR my son.” Love was once Constantine's weakness and it led to Eleanor’s death. It scarred him and he became brainwashed. Convinced love was the enemy. And now, the product of his foolish love, was Liam, who he groomed to be the perfect king. Constantine applauded himself all these years. It was clear as day that even Leo knew the job belonged to Liam, so Constantine did everything to assuage any of Liam’s hesitation into taking on his duty. He always planned on Liam being the logical one, ready to take on the duty and a loveless union. Then that damn New York trip happened. And that damn Riley came in the picture. Immediately Constantine couldn’t tell if he actually hated Riley, or if he hated the idea that Riley was basically the new version of Eleanor that he’d never have.

#the royal romance #TRR #choices #liam x riley #choices trr #liam x mc #king liam

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disastermages · 3 years ago

Text

[read it on ao3]

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8

Wen Qing isn’t in the kitchen by the time Meng Yao walks back in, though her voice does call out to him when he passes by a door that’s always been previously closed. He doesn’t expect her white coat, nor does he expect the way it makes him feel smaller than her, though she sits in a chair, one leg crossed over the other. Her jeans and boots ruin the picture of her as a doctor, but she’s pulled her hair back, making her look professional from the knee up.

“Can I help you, Miss Wen?” Meng Yao won’t let the confusion sound in his voice, though he still holds onto the doorway. Wen Qing looks meaningfully at the chair across from her, but Meng Yao won’t take the bait until she asks him to. For a long few seconds, Wen Qing seems content to wait him out too, studying her short, unpainted nails and writing things down on the clipboard she balances on her knees.

“Mrs. Yu asks that every member of the household undergo a monthly check up. I’m not doing this for fun.” Wen Qing says finally, clicking her pen once, twice, three times while she frowns up at Meng Yao, “Please have a seat so we can get the questionnaire done.” Meng Yao sits down across from her without further fight, but he doesn’t stop himself from looking around.

“Why have I never seen this room before?”

“Because you aren’t Wei Wuxian and you don’t insist on climbing every tree you can find.” Wen Qing answers, but doesn’t look up from where she’s printing his name onto the form, her hand heavy and sure as it carves out the letters. “You have your office upstairs, and I have mine down here.”

At second glance, Meng Yao sees the piles of books laying just behind a cluster of mugs and glasses, though no plates lay in the office. There’s no examination table to be found, and Meng Yao is grateful for it. “Your birth date and year, please.”

“February 20th, 1964.” Meng Yao answers easily, his hands sit carefully on his own knees, but his fingers still want to tighten and pull at his pants. His chair was already uncomfortable.

“Can you tell me what today’s date is and where you are?”

“The date is May 16th, 1988, and I am at Jiang Manor.” The questions were simple ones, Wen Qing even nods approvingly to herself, but Meng Yao can guess what’s coming. Doctors always asked for complete patient histories, though nothing Meng Yao told her would leave the office, he’d shut the door behind him after he’d finally come in. She would ask eventually, and Meng Yao would have to answer her. He couldn’t lie completely, just in case she already had his records, but he could tell the same lies that were already in those records.

Still, she asks all the questions she should, moving down a list as if he were sitting down inside of an actual doctor’s office. No, he does not smoke, nor does he drink more than the occasional glass of wine. No, to his knowledge, heart disease does not run in his family.Yes, he is sexually active. Yes, he is using protection.

Meng Yao hadn’t missed the flicker of amusement in Wen Qing’s eye when she’d asked the last two questions, but she’s still playing at being professional, so Meng Yao will play along. “Why does Mrs. Yu ask that we do this?”

“Hypochondria by proxy.” Wen Qing says it with a snort, but then her eyes widen and snap up to Meng Yao’s face, her mouth growing hard for a moment before she sighs and sets the clipboard aside. “Don’t repeat what I said, it’s not even an official diagnosis.” Wen Qing pinches the bridge of her nose between two fingers and when she takes her hand away, the spot between her eyes is pink and irritated. “Yanli’s illness is autoimmune, but that doesn’t stop Mrs. Yu from worrying that we’re all going to bring in something that’s going to kill her. She’s getting better.”

Meng Yao isn’t sure who Wen Qing means. The whole house had been treating Jiang Yanli delicately since her fainting spell, but that doesn’t mean she isn’t feeling better. If Yu Ziyuan were getting better, why would she still mandate his check up? He doesn’t ask, he’d have to wait and see.

They go back to playing professionals after that, with Wen Qing shining a flashlight in his eyes and knocking a plastic hammer against his knee caps. She doesn’t ask him to test his grip strength on her fingers.

“You have a broken wrist and three broken ribs on your file, following a fall down a flight of stairs, could I see the flexibility in that wrist? I’ll want to take a look at your ribs, too.” His wrist only ached when it was cold, Meng Yao tells her as he bends it back and forth and rolls it easily. There’s still a clicking sound, but the pain of it has long since faded.

“I’ll be quick about this.” Wen Qing promises as Meng Yao removes his button down and then his undershirt, pressing her cold fingers into his ribs harder than Meng Yao deems necessary. “How did you fall?” The question is neutral, and Wen Qing’s voice is calm, but the voice of the triage nurse had also been calm while she took down his information. He hadn’t been able to write it down himself, he’d driven himself to the emergency room one handed.

“I was at my father’s house, I tripped.” Meng Yao chooses the words carefully, just like he had the night it happened. The doctors and nurses at the hospital had been willing to take his word for it then, but when he glances down at Wen Qing, he sees something hard and cold in her eyes. It doesn’t fade as she sits back into her chair, giving him room to dress again.

“You’ve healed well.” Wen Qing offers it up without roughness or warmth, as if she already knew the truth and she could accept his lie as some sort of gift. It was a gift Meng Yao is willing to take, though, better the gift of acceptance than the charity of pity.

Her examination is complete, but Wen Qing still doesn’t set Meng Yao free, her small, pale hands coming to rest in her own lap as she sets the clipboard aside for good. “You have to understand, Meng Yao, that Yanli has grown very attached to you, very quickly. She’s friendly with everyone, but even with me, she didn’t share everything right away.” Wen Qing does not touch him, but she looks as though she’s thinking about it, her eyes going dark and still, “She considers you a friend, please don’t make her regret that choice.”

There were a dozen things Meng Yao could say to defend himself, but when he opens his mouth and Wen Qing looks up at him again. He realizes then that she’s asking him for a favor, and he nods along with it, swallowing thickly.

“Something else before I let you go, Meng Yao,” Wen Qing nods and looks away from him, pulling herself back together while she wrestles an envelope from the stack of papers on her desk, “my uncle has found out that you’re here, he’s asked me to pass along his letter of recommendation to you, should you ever need it.” For a long moment, the letter hangs between them, and Meng Yao’s mouth hangs open like a fish.

Wen Ruohan and both of his sons were supposed to be in three separate maximum security prisons, Meng Yao had only worked for them for a year when the offices and three of the houses had been raided. Meng Yao had been spared implication by eight months. Misfortune had reached for him and grabbed Wen Ruohan and his sons by the collars instead.

“I thought…”

“He’s still allowed to write to family, Meng Yao, but I wouldn’t doubt they check his letters.”

No matter how badly he wants to, Meng Yao won’t tear the letter open in front of Wen Qing, instead, he nods his head once more and turns to leave, listening to the scratching of Wen Qing’s pen as the door nearly shuts behind him.

“You’ll find a shoe box full of condoms in the third drawer of my filing cabinet, should you need them. Mrs. Yu makes me keep those, too.”

Wen Qing tosses it over her shoulder as if it means nothing, but Meng Yao feels his cheeks color as he hurries away from her office as quickly as he can without running. He’s grateful that she doesn’t like him enough to ask him for details. Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian either didn’t know, or didn’t care, and Jiang Yanli was too kind to ask, she only hinted and grinned when Meng Yao’s cheeks colored, when she wasn’t passing along gifts from Wen Qing’s hands.

Still, part of him wants to tell someone, so it’s more real than the small, cold square of his bedroom or stolen kisses in the woods while Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian ran ahead of them to push each other into the river. Part of him wants to know if Lan Xichen would mind such a thing, or if he intended on keeping what lay between him and Meng Yao more of a secret than it already was.

Bile and worry rise up in his throat, but Meng Yao chokes them down. He wouldn’t go there. Lan Xichen hadn’t given him any kind of indication that he wanted to keep what’s between them the kind of secret one keeps locked in the basement or in a closet with skeletons, he’d only told Meng Yao to be careful of Yu Ziyuan, that she wouldn’t fire either of them, that she would just plant herself between them if she saw them getting too close. Lan Xichen didn’t strike him as cruel, so he couldn’t be. He’d always been kind, even when he stole into Meng Yao’s room, even when he was forced to wrangle Wei Wuxian or Jiang Wanyin.

Lan Xichen is kind. Meng Yao would allow him to be.

The taste of something bitter and cruel is just leaving Meng Yao’s mouth when he sees him, the same boy from the woods, wearing the same clothes and lingering at the edge of the Jiang’s property line, one hand resting on a tree, while the other holds a knife, an amused smile on his face, even as Meng Yao turns and hurries back to the kitchen, uncaring if anyone hears him run now.

Jiang Yanli whirls around with a knife still held in her hands when Meng Yao scrambles into the kitchen, an apron protects the gray-white of her dress from whatever it is she’s cooking. “Do you see him?” Meng Yao asks, turning the lock on the back door and latching it.

For a moment, Jiang Yanli only looks at Meng Yao, before she turns to look out the window, and then she pales further. “Xue Yang.” Her voice doesn’t climb above a whisper as she backs away from the window, the knife still held in one hand while the other grabs onto Meng Yao’s elbow, holding him tight as they both back out into the dining room. “You have to go get A-Xian and A-Cheng.” Jiang Yanli’s voice is tight as she gives her orders, her grip tightening still, “He’s tried to hurt A-Xian before, but A-Cheng’s temper… I don’t want either of them going out there. Where is Wen Qing?” It doesn’t feel as though Jiang Yanli is going to let him go long enough for Meng Yao to collect her brothers, but he still backs her further away, until he’s sure she’s out of sight from any of the kitchen windows.

They both back into the same chair, but Jiang Yanli is the one who threatens it with her knife, her shoulders high and tight.

It takes Meng Yao nearly five minutes to guide Jiang Yanli back to Wen Qing’s office, but the door is locked when they get there. Meng Yao doesn’t stop himself from pounding on it with the flat of his hand. He doesn’t see the boy, Xue Yang when he dares to glance at the window, but that meant nothing at all, not when Wen Qing still hadn’t answered them.

Meng Yao’s hand almost meets her nose when she finally opens the door with a jerk, a question already halfway out of her mouth when she sees the knife in Jiang Yanli’s hand, for the first time, Meng Yao sees that there’s still broccoli stuck to the blade. Wen Qing insists on calling the police after she’s gotten Jiang Yanli to sit down in the same chair that Meng Yao had occupied earlier, but the knife lays on the desk, just within her reach as Meng Yao turns to try and call Wei Wuxian and Jiang Wanyin down, but he gets no response.

Licking his lips, Meng Yao glances back once, his eyes meeting Wen Qing’s while she stays on the line, one of her hands has already found its way onto Jiang Yanli’s cheek, one show of affection already bigger than what Meng Yao had already seen. Without a word, she frowns and nods, wedging the phone between her shoulder and ear to wave him out of the room.

He didn’t have to ask her to lock the door, and she didn’t have to tell him she was going to. Jiang Yanli would be safe with Wen Qing, at least until he could find her younger brothers and herd them into Wen Qing’s office too.

Meng Yao keeps clear of the windows, calling them again, even as he starts down his short flight of stairs. Wei Wuxian’s workshop was mostly soundproofed, they might not have heard him call because they were in there with the door closed, but when Meng Yao opens the door without knocking, everything is still and dark. It makes Meng Yao’s skin prickle, Wei Wuxian’s workshop wasn’t meant to be still, Meng Yao knows that much.

“Jiang Wanyin! Wei Wuxian!” Meng Yao doesn’t shout for them, but he lets his voice become sharp as he climbs the stairs two at a time. He should have grabbed something. There were knives to spare in the kitchen, but Jiang Yanli wouldn’t forgive him if he lost one or damaged it, it was better to leave them where they lay in their drawers. “Your sister and Miss Wen want the both of you downstairs.”

Meng Yao isn’t foolish enough to pretend he has any authority over them, if Lan Xichen had been present, Meng Yao might have invoked his name too, but Lan Xichen would be home with his family by now. What would they do with them when they did get them downstairs and herded into Wen Qing’s office? They couldn’t stay there all day and night, there’d hardly been enough room for Meng Yao, Jiang Yanli, and Wen Qing in the office. Five people would be unforgivably tight and nervous while they were stalked by Xue Yang in the yard.

Meng Yao should have grabbed something, even if it were just the fire poker, like Yu Ziyuan had done. It would have been a constant in his hands. It might have done something.

He opens the doors without care now, stopping for only a handful of seconds to look before he moves on again, anxiety climbing up his throat and bringing that bitter-sick taste back into his mouth.

Calling again, Meng Yao rounds the corner that leads to the west wing of the house without realizing it until the chill surrounds him. He doesn’t stop himself from wrapping his arms around himself, he won’t acknowledge that he can see his own breath, not now, not until he finds Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian.

“I won’t ask again, come out and come downstairs with me!” Finally, Meng Yao allows his voice to become stern, though who knows if they’d think anything of it, if they did hear him. He’s just about to turn around and start searching downstairs when the creaking of a door makes Meng Yao walk too quickly towards it, his hand catching the knob and pushing inside before he can think better of it.

“Your sister wants you downstairs, the police are on their way, please come down with me now, before she starts to worry.” Frustration had kept him blind for a moment, but when Meng Yao looks, the room is empty and colder than the hallway had been. His breath is clinging to his lips in steady, white clouds now, and his hand leaves the doorknob.

The door wastes no time in slamming shut the second his back is turned, the knob refusing to turn no matter how many times Meng Yao rattles it or tries with all his strength. “Let me out.” Meng Yao tries to gather what’s left of the sternness before, but his throat is starting to feel thick. “Jiang Wanyin, Wei Wuxian, now isn’t the time for pranks, let me out and I won’t tell Miss Jiang what you’ve done.” He’s not pleading, Meng Yao tells himself, he’s bargaining. If he bargains, they might let him out with the cruel laughter only teenage boys are capable of.

Meng Yao pounds one fist against the door now, the other still rattling the doorknob, as if someone might hear him and let him out from the outside, shivering all the while. He doesn’t dare glance behind himself, even as he hears another door in the room swing open. He tries to tell himself that he’s imagining the fingers curling around his neck, his voice raising as he finally lets himself plead to be let out, but no answer ever comes. No cruel laughter ever echoes through the halls and no footfalls of Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian ever sound as Meng Yao squeezes his eyes shut.

A voice Meng Yao has never heard before calls out to him, and air, still colder than before, nags at his ear and at his upper arms while the voice pleads for him to turn around, to turn around and look. He won’t pretend he can’t hear the grin in that voice, it makes him too sick to ignore. Laughter rings out around him, changing the voice from high pitched and grating to something lower and closer, but madder all the same, the hands at his throat squeezing tight once more before they’re gone and the door swings open, dropping him onto the hallway floor while Meng Yao coughs and sputters.

His vision is still blurry when two shapes come running to him, both of them dropping down to their knees and calling out to a third, smaller shape behind them. He has to blink and cough a while longer before his eyes focus on the faces of Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian, even as Jiang Yanli comes to kneel between the two of them, her face wild and afraid.

“Where were they?” Meng Yao asks Jiang Yanli instead of either of her brothers, his throat still feeling rough, but he doesn’t dare reach for it, Jiang Yanli’s hands are already on his shoulders, stopping Meng Yao from trying to stand up on his own.

“A-Xian and A-Cheng were in the downstairs west wing,” Jiang Yanli says calmly, trying hard to control her face, even as both of her brothers sit back and look away, or at each other, “they said they heard a door slam and someone start screaming right above their heads.” Meng Yao wouldn’t call what he’d done screaming, but he still swallows and nods, though his throat aches. “What happened?”

Jiang Yanli’s voice isn’t accusatory, but she does look over Meng Yao’s head and into the room, a frown on her face and her hands holding Meng Yao tighter. “The door was open, I thought your brothers might be in there, but when I went in to look, the door slammed shut and wouldn’t open again.” Meng Yao doesn’t tell her about the hands, or the laughter, not yet, not in front of the other two.

“It gets drafty up here.” Jiang Wanyin supplies weakly, and Jiang Yanli shakes her head.

“You know that’s not what it was, A-Cheng.” One hand leaves Meng Yao’s shoulder and presses against Jiang Wanyin’s cheek, tilting his head up from where he’d lowered it. Jiang Yanli does not smile, but she nods her head and strokes her thumb underneath her brother’s eye. “A-Yao, the police are searching the woods right now, and Wen Qing is waiting on the porch for them, I’d like to get you downstairs where we can look at your neck.”

Meng Yao knows the tone that Jiang Yanli is using now, he’d heard her use it dozens of times with both of her brothers, and even more rarely, with her mother or Wen Qing. She’s plying him with a sweet tone of voice, and Meng Yao lets her, though he insists on getting up on his own.

All three Jiang Siblings clump around him on the stairs, keeping him safe in the middle, with Jiang Yanli leading and Jiang Wanyin and Wei Wuxian bringing up the rear.

Meng Yao lets it be.

For now.

#the untamed #mdzs #mdzs fic #xiyao #untamed fic #jin guangyao #wen qing #jiang yanli #jgy #jyl #wq #this chapter is dedicated to my cats who waited until i was working on the spooky parts to start knocking stuff over in the next room

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sabraeal · 4 years ago

Text

We Seek That Which We Shall Not Find, Chapter 7

Written for @k-itsmaywriting as her prize for winning the Trope Madness kitty last March! I’d make the usual groaning noises about how late I am, but honestly...this is about as good as I could do this year XD

“So let me get this straight.” Obi’s long fingers steeple over his character sheet. “Not only is homeslice the lord of this particular castle and its whole dealie--”

“Demense,” Kiki offers.

“--Right, demense. That sounds fancy enough. So he’s not only the big wig of this demense place, but also--” her stomach curls to match the trajectory of his smirk-- “my lady’s boyfriend.”

“Ah! It’s not like that!” Shirayuki waves her hands, attempting to scuttle this whole avenue of inquiry. “He’s not-- we’re not-- together.” She dares a glance at Izana. “I...think?”

His mouth twitches; no comment. This may be presumptuous of me, one of his first texts reads, burning a hole in her pocket, but would you be open to a potential failed betrothal in your backstory?

There was no way for her to know, not when her only image of Zen’s older brother was a blond man behind a backseat window, waiting in the school parking lot, but still, still--

I’m open to whatever you think would go best, should not have been her answer. Every poster on r/tabletop would have called her...well, nothing polite, that’s for one.

“I mean, maybe...technically?” She’s not entirely sure how fourth century betrothals work, especially fantasy ones. “Lynet is under the impression that this was all dissolved for, ah...” Izana offers her a beatific smile, like an angel before it sets fire to a city. “...reasons.”

“But officially,” Obi presses, “he has dibs.”

Her mouth pulls flat. “I guess if you’re the sort of person who thinks you can call dibs on a sentient being with free will, yes.”

“Right,” Obi bulldozes on, oblivious to the pothole he’s hurtling toward, “and now he’s throwing you this banquet--”

“The banquet’s for all of us,” Zen snaps, arms cross and cheeks flushed. “As a reward for saving Laxdo.”

“Oh, is that right? As I remember it--” Obi taps his chin, so thoughtful-- “Lynet was the one who figured out the whole compulsion thing. And who was it that broke the curse? Oh, right: Lynet.”

“No!” Shirayuki claps her hands to her cheeks. It would be nice if she could take even a fictional compliment without blushing. “You all helped!”

“See?” Zen cuts a hand toward her, smug. “It’s for all of us.“

“Oh yes,” Kiki deadpans, teeth peeking out from her smirk. “Moral support is just as important as actually solving the puzzle. I’m sure his lordship agrees.”

Mitsuhide rubs at his chin, stubble scraping over his palm. Four hours ago, he arrived clean shaven; now he’s sporting a five o’clock shadow. Shirayuki can only stare in wonder.

“I think...they might have a point.” He winces under Zen’s scowl. “Not that I think we weren’t important! But Lord Shuuka...”

He shrugs. It’s like watching mountains heave, but in a gentle, lovable way.

Kiki’s mouth twitches. “I have the distinct impression we were afterthoughts on that banquet invitation.”

“I’m the Prince of all the Britons and the Angles!” Zen shrills, slapping his hand on the table. “I’m not an afterthought.”

The room goes suddenly,awkwardly silent; the only noise the rattle of heating through the ducts. The exactly moment his words echo back to him is made painfully clear by the way he blushes, blotchy and red all up and down his neck, like he’s the one with a curse.

Kiki’s eyebrow nearly collides with her hairline. “You mean Arturius?”

“That’s what I said,” Zen grumbles, hunching down in his seat. “Or at least what I meant.”

“In any case,” Obi presses on, “what’s a king to a cute girl you’re gonna marry--?”

“We’re not engaged.” It’s pointless; Obi’s clearly concerned less about Lynet’s marital status and more about riling Zen up about it, but still. “I mean, not now.”

“Betrothed,” Izana interjects casually, tapping the end of his pen on his notebook. “It is different. Legally.”

Shirayuki nibbles on her lip, stomach wriggling in a concerned squirm. Nothing good comes of Izana getting pedantic.

“Sure, maybe you’re not now,” Obi allows with a shrug of his shoulder. “But come on, what better place is there to woo a medieval maiden than a banquet?”

“A ball,” Kiki offers, flat, at the same time Mitsuhide thoughtfully posits, “A stroll through the garden.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Zen snips, lifting his chin. “Shirayuki already said Lynet wasn’t interested.”

“Sure, sure. Hey, boss.” Obi pitches toward Izana with a smile that can only be described as looking for trouble. “How tall is this guy?”

For once, Izana seems flustered, eyelashes fluttering as he blinks down at his notes. “I’m sorry, come again?”

“This Shuuka dude. The lord here? The baron or whatever he is.” He rests his chin on his hand, smile sharpening into a feral grin. “How tall is he?”

“Ah...average, I suppose.” His brows knit, fingers shuffling through his papers. “There aren’t any good estimates of height for this era, but I suppose if you wanted a modern equivalent...five-ten? Five-eleven?”

“Really? You don’t say.” Obi cuts his smile toward Zen. “And just how tall are you, Your Highness?”

Shirayuki winces at the flush climbing Zen’s neck; if they’d been outside, she’d have suggested some aloe vera before the burn blistered. As it is...

Zen’s fingers crumple the edge of his sheet. “Arturius is six-one.”

Obi hums. “How interesting.”

It is a fine day at Laxdo; this autumn may still have a bite, but it’s crisp, refreshing after so many days in the confines of the great hall. A great hall that is now transformed, tables and benches populating it instead of the sick. Most of the afflicted now hobble about the grounds, slow and unsteady, but healing; the few still confined to their sickbeds are only the elderly and previously infirm, and your attentions are a boon to them still.

The manifest is in your hand now, the last few names in your care curling across the page. It is those men on your mind now as you sweep through Laxdo’s bright corridors, striding through the tiger stripes the sun leaves across the rushes. Your burden is light now that the castle’s healer is back on his feet, able to help with potions and poultices and whatever else you are able to fashion to ease the weakness in your patients, but logistics are ever the enemy. Supplies were depleted before you arrived and have only been brought lower. Winter is just around the corner, and--

Steel rings through the stone. Metal on metal-- blades meeting. Out in the courtyard.

Your heart flutters wildly in your chest, and your pace hurries to match it. Surely, surely it cannot be an attack; not now, when Laxdo is but a shade of its former glory.

The certainty of pragmatism grips you, your stomach roiling in its clutches. But of course it must be. What lord could suffer the sweet temptation of a neighbor brought low? It would be nothing to sweep in here and take the manor for a second son, something to placate him, to keep him complacent for another dozen years.

You steel yourself, wishing you had more than the bare pouch of herbs and water skein you carry on you, and step into the blinding light of the arcade--

Only to see a crowd of men gathered in the yard, conspicuously not fighting. Oh no, they are cheering instead.

Your mouth pulls thin, and ah, fortune favors you, for the crowd parts just so, and there are two of your recently healed patients, bare steel in hand, fighting each other in the yard.

Violence is not in your nature, but oh, you are contemplating a change of philosophy.

“Lady Lynet.”

You should startle; time and experience have taught you to shy when approached from behind, but strangely...you do not. Shuuka comes to stand beside you, a respectful distance as is due to your station, but closer than you have been used to these last few months, and it is-- easy. Familiar.

The lord of Laxdo has certainly seen better days; his shoulders stoop as if he expects to be smaller, and the circles beneath his eyes are quite deep still, but-- he smiles, and it is easy to see that time will heal his ills, even these.

“Shuuka,” you murmur in greeting, leaning against one of the arcade’s columns. “It is good to see you on your feet.”

“It is good to be on them,” he assures you with a laugh that brightens the day around you. “I see you are taking in this fine weather.”

“I am. And so are you men, it seems,” you add, wry. “Whether or not I told them to.”

“I know you told them to rest,” he says, lips struggling to rein in his smile, “but it has been a long season for my men. To be outside after such a long sickness, to be moving as one ought--” the longing on his face is plain to see and painful to witness-- “perhaps you might allow them this. Just this once.”

You watch the men dance around each other in the ring, laughing and shouting, breathless from both, and let your jaw ease. “Just this once.”

Shuuka smiles, a bright, earnest thing, and it is so hard to reconcile him to the boy you knew all those years ago. The small lord’s son who viewed the whole world through a veil of tears. He’s grown up better than you could have ever hoped.

He leans on the pillar across from yours, eyeing you with an eager sort of wariness. “I have set the night of the banquet.”

“Oh?”

“Yes.” His skitters away, back toward his men. “Tonight. If-- if you allow it.”

“Oh!” You had not-- this was not-- you are not even prepared--

“Hey, you!”

You both jump, heads swinging to where Arturius storms across the yard, looking as unrelenting as winter itself. “You and I must have words, Lord Shuuka!” He glances at you, mouth pulled thin. “Privately.”

Shirayuki considers herself well read.

An understatement, actually; a well-crafted cover for the amount of hours she’d spent curled up in the B&B’s window, devouring books Jaja bought by the box at a yard sale, or the amount she could carry in her arms from the library.

(The maximum was supposed to be five at any one time, but during on particularly slow summer in middle school, the librarian had made a special “all you can carry” policy, applied solely to Shirayuki. It had turned her daily trips into weekly ones, and saved her from slowing her pace to a crawl Saturday nights, so that she could have something to read on Sunday)

She doesn’t have a favorite book-- just thinking about culling the list to top ten makes her break out into a cold sweat, let alone one-- but she has formative ones. Ones that became annual re-reads or just stuck with her, claiming a stake in the back of her mind, ready to whisper the words she needs when she wants a laugh, or the rest of the world gets too hard to handle.

So it’s no surprise when she looks at Obi, his grin stretching impossibly, gleefully wide, and thinks Cheshire Cat. It only makes sense, since she’s fallen down the rabbit hole.

“Well now,” he drawls, far too pleased. “I think we all saw this coming.”

Kiki arches a brow. “What? Because you goaded him into it?”

“Princess,” he gasps, hand pressed against his chest. “Would I purposefully rile up the Prince of all the Briton and the Angles?”

“Absolutely.”

His retort is lost, cut off by the heavy tread of Zen clomping down the stairs. If Shirayuki thought some hallway time might help him cool off, well-- that notion is instantly disabused when he turns the corner on the landing. If anything, he’s more agitated, neck flushed and mouth flat, slouching over to his seat like he’s asking for someone to start a fight.

Izana is not much better, even if his annoyance is more subtle. He settles into his chair with lips pressed thin, the corners of his eyes crinkled in a way that does not suggest good humor.

“Now if no one else has any more business,” he says, voice a trembling thread of his patience, “I think we can skip right to the feast.”

Shirayuki shifts, biting her cheek. It’s not important, it really isn’t but still-- “Um...”

Izana peers up from his notes, brows raised with a shocking lack of sarcasm. “Did you want to do something, Shirayuki?”

“Oh, no, I just, um...” She rolls a corner of Lynet’s sheet, tight and neat under her stubby fingernail. “I just wanted a...clarification?”

He blinks, flipping a hand out in encouragement. “Go on...?”

“It’s only, ah....” It’s silly, she knows that, but she’s already started asking. “Is this an...informal feast?”

Izana’s mouth parts, just slightly. “I’m...sorry?”

“I thought I would ask since Lynet didn’t exactly pack her, um, fanciest gowns.” Her cheeks flare with heat, and ugh, she really just should have let the chips fall as they may on this one. At least if the stares she’s getting from the rest of the table are any indication. “She was traveling light.”

“I...” His mouth opens once, then shuts. Opens again, brows furrowed. “Lord Shuuka has seen fit to outfit you all accordingly if you did not have appropriate clothing for the evening.”

She means to thank him, maybe even ask what might qualify as proper dress for a celebration such as this, but--

“So what you’re saying,” Obi interjects, grin slanted and sly, “is that Beaumain’s got some sick new threads.”

Regret etches itself on every plane of Izana’s face. “...Yes. I suppose.”

“Ha.” Obi leans back, eyes tracing a searing trail up her from heels to hairline. “Then yeah, I got something I want to do before this shindig.”

Had the Lord Himself but asked you if there were women in Laxdo, you would have sworn upon the grave of your mother that you and Morgaine were the only two. Surely you had treated none when the castle was under its curse. But when you attempt to beg off the feast, explaining that you are not properly clad for such a celebration--

Well, Shuuka finds you a gown easily enough. Your fingers linger over the remarkable wool, woven thin and tight, dyed a rich indigo. Woad, you think, though your own forays with it never yielded a color so impressive. The linen kirtle is the same, so light it might as well be air, and oh, you may be born a lady, but never did the Castle Perilous have such luxury.

A knock lands lightly upon your door, a quick little ditty sketched on oak. You’ve heard it before, though you can’t remember the words, or even the tune, just the beat. Ba-ba-bum. Bum-bum. A song from a better time.

You shake yourself. Song it may be, but a summons it is still. And you are the one who must answer it.

The door is heavy beneath your hands, but you coax it open with little effort. Behind it is the evening’s shadows, thick in the growing dim, and the gold that shines from them.

“Ah Beaumains,” you murmur as his outline resolves into a man, one dressed as fine as you. His colors are more subdued, the black of the shadows and the deep blues of his skin, humbler than any words that have passed his lips. “I was not expecting that you would, um...?”

“I am your escort, my lady.” He bows over his arm, a gallant. His pose gives the distinct impression of mocking Bedwyr, though the man himself is not in evidence. “What sort of shield would I be if I let you walk into the fray alone?”

“Ah...” You stare at his sleeve as he holds it out to you, hesitant. “I suppose that would be...unseemly, yes.”

“And I, the height of propriety.” His teeth flash like a knife’s edge as you slip your hand around his elbow. “Lucky, too.”

Your brows raise. “Oh?”

“Of course.” He shrugs; every inch a siege. “I get to see how nice you look before everyone else.”

“Hey!” Zen directs the brunt of his scowl toward Izana, though the angle of his glare is easily wide enough to include Obi. “Why is Beaumains getting this scene?”

“This scene?” Izana drawls, utterly mild. “Do you mean the conversation he just had with Lynet in her chambers?”

“Yes!” Zen’s jaw sets into an ill-tempered jut. “If anyone, Arturius--”

“You mean the scene wherein Beaumains takes the opportunity afforded by his current occupation to further their flirtation,” Izana continues, “the flirtation in which both players have built upon from their character introductions?”

A flush licks flames up her jaw, threatening to blaze across her cheeks. It’s one thing for it to happen, it’s another thing for everyone to just talk about it.

“...Yes.”

Izana raises a brow. “Because he asked.”

And it’s a whole other thing to do it like she wasn’t even here.

“Well, I want one too!” Zen pushes, hands gripping at the table. “Arturius--”

“Is missing the point that the DM is making,” Kiki supplies, deadpan. “Which is that Lynet is also choosing to have this scene too.”

Zen sputters, red-faced. “I know that! Shirayuki wouldn’t have any problem if Arturius wanted to--”

“Arturius is having a very long, very pointed heart-to-heart with the lord of Laxdo,” Izana reminds him. “Or have you forgotten?”

“Well, it’s not like that took all day!” he protests. “I have time to do both.”

Izana pinches the bridge of his nose, letting a long, noise breath out. “The next half hour is not going to be all and sundry complimenting Lynet on her sartorial choices.”

“It’s not everyone, just Artur--”

“Why not?” Kiki tilts back her chair, wedging her knees against the table. “Morgaine wants to tell her she’s beautiful too. How about Bedwyr?”

Mitsuhide stares at her, slack-jawed, before darting a worried look toward Iana. “W-well,” he says finally, with a hard swallow, “he certainly wouldn’t be able to disagree.”

Izana stares at Kiki, nonplussed. “Well then,” he drawls, mouth settling into a disconcerting smile. “What do you think, Shirayuki?”

She’s already pink, but with everyone’s eyes on her, her skin burns to a painful red. “M-me?”

“Shall we allow Arturius--” he darts a quelling glance at Kiki-- “et al to have their moment with Lynet, or shall we press on to the feast?”

Zen smiles at her, so kind and warm, just like he did that first day at school, and she-- she wishes that this wasn’t up to her. It’s not as if she minds the compliments-- fictional as they are-- but Beamains’ had been spontaneous, inspired by the moment, and this--

--Zen settles back, his smile curling smugly at the corners. His gaze is no longer on her, oh no, it’s on Obi, the challenge written clear in his eyes--

--has nothing to do with the game, and everything to do with the people playing it.

“I think,” she begins without a tremor in her voice, “I’m fine with moving on.”

Zen’s jaw drops. “What?”

“You heard the lady.” Izana lips twitch behind his paper screen. “She is content with only Beaumains’ love making.”

Shirayuki jolts. “That’s not what I sa--”

“Anyway,” he continues, ignoring his brother’s glare and Obi’s grins in response, “it’s the feast now.”

This is no longer the great hall you remember.

Or perhaps it is if you search your earliest memories; if you allow yourself to remember being seated upon the dais, a cushion placed beneath you so that you might reach the table and impress the court with your grace. You did not-- you sister would have, were she allowed, but it was you who would be sent to marry at Laxdo, not her, practically an infant still. It was no disaster; it was not your beauty that had brought the lord of Laxdo to break bread with your father.

“Lady Lynet!” Shuuka rises on the dais, holding up a hand. “Please, come here!”

It is perhaps a different tale now.

Still, this no longer resembles the hall in which you have been toiling in these long weeks. That was a dark, stifling place, the miasma of curse and compulsion lingering for days after you had dispelled them. But this--

This is a new country entirely. Candles twinkle in their holder overhead, the ceilings so high they seem as distant as the stars themselves. Bodies no longer line the hall but instead pack benches, the men dressed bright and boisterous, ale already flowing from their cups.

“Surveying your domain?”

You blink, eyes blurring as they settle on the shadow beside you. His teeth flash white against the indigo of his lips, too amused. “N-no! I was only thinking of how changed this place is. Only days ago man laid head to toe, and now...”

He tilts his heads, horns glimmering in the candlelight. “Now they are all hidden away, and we play at heroes.”

It is only the rough wool beneath your fingers, wrapped around the hard curve of his shoulder, that tells you once again you have acted without thinking. You cheeks burn as you pull away-- to think, you raised a hand to him as if he were one of the tenants’ children chasing you around the courtyard, as if you had known him all your life.

“Oh, my lady,” he clucks. “How rough you are with your servant--”

“You were unkind,” you murmur heatedly. “There are few enough that are still ailing, and they would be better served in their rooms. There is no harm in Laxdo’s lord wanting to celebrate their good fortune.”

“Mayhaps.” His nose wrinkles. “A little ridiculous, you must admit.”

You snorts, unladylike. “Says the one who polished his horns.”

Ah, now the shoe is on the other foot. His gaze is quick to drop from yours, expression rumpled with annoyance. Beaumains may be eager to ridicule the pageantry of the nobles, but he enjoys it as well.

“Come on then.” His arm tugs at yours, not gentle. “Let’s see what your skill has won you, my lady.”

You sputter, feet stumbling as you attempt to keep pace. “As I said, I am not--”

“Ah.” Beaumains mouth curves slyly, eyeing the tables he leads you past. “You may not be taking their measure, but it seems tonight they will take yours.”

It is only his words that make you notice; conversations quiet as you pass, the men’s eyes following you not with hunger, but with curiosity. For the first time, you prefer the former more than the latter.

“I cannot see why.” You take pains to place your feet more carefully, to strive for that ladylike bearing your sister achieves so easily. “They know me already.”

“But tonight is different.” He nods to the empty place beside Shuuka. You stomach drops when you see it is to his right. “Tonight they find out if you fit into the lady’s seat.”

You gut clenches. You did not come so far for this to dog your heels once again. “That-- that cannot be. I have been clear--”

“Lady Lynet!” Shuuka waves again, though more subtly. No need for grand gestures when you are already so close. “Come, take your place by me.”

Beaumains’ brows raise. “Are you sure?”

You thought you were, but the smile the lord gives you as you approach gives you doubts. Beaumains pulls out your chair, chin tucked respectfully, but you do not miss his amused smirk or his knowing look. Fine. He may think what he likes but this is not-- not that. Your betrothal is long in the past for both you and Laxdo’s lord.

“My women did well,” Shuuka tells you, friendly and bright, no hint of romance. “You look radiant, my lady.”

Well...not much of one, at least. “They have my thanks,” you reply, “I truly had nothing for a feast such as this.”

His smile widens, and it does him credit that he keeps it as he turns to Beaumains. “Thank you as well, for escorting my lady.”

To his other side, Arturius scowls, glaring as your shadow performs a polite bow, no respect spared. The same he categorically refused to show the prince. “My pleasure, your lordship.”

“You honor us with your actions, Sir Beaumains.” Shuuka gestured past her, hand open in generosity. “Please, take the seat next to the Lady Lynet, I--”

A chair scrapes across the dais, and Arturius stands, as thunderous as any storm. “That man is no sir.”

The room is so quiet it practically has its own crickets. Or at least it would, if the atmosphere hadn’t suffocated them all. Shirayuki has admit, she’s feeling a little stifled herself

Mitsuhide shifts, chair creaking, mouth grim. “Zen...”

“No,” he snaps, still on his feet, red-faced and tense as he squares off with his brother. “It’s ridiculous! He’s a commoner.”

Izana peers up from his notes, raising a mild brow. “Is this really something you think is appropriate to pursue right now?”

Speaking fluent teacher like she does, Shirayuki hears the warning loud and clear: back down. But of course, Zen doesn’t.

“Beaumains doesn’t belong on the dais,” he reasons angrily. “He should be down at the tables with the vassals and retainers.”

Izana’s expression doesn’t betray a single thought, smooth as still water. “I must concede the point, technically, but as he is a member of your party, it would make sense if--”

Zen barks out a laugh. “Oh, you’re such a stickler for accuracy, but now you’re going to break a simple rule of hospitality--”

“It’s for ease of play--”

“It’s meta gaming.”

If she’d thought the room was quiet before, she’s disabused of the notion now. All motion has ceased; even Kiki holds her breath, eyes fixed on Izana who-- who--

Stands. Or rather, unfurls; every inch is a journey as his long limbs draw straight. It’s hard to remember when Mitsuhide can hardly fit both his thighs on a dining chair, but Izana is tall, a good ten inches above her perfectly respectable 5′4. He uses every bit of that to his advantage as he looms over his brother, eyes cool and steady. “I think--”

“It’s fine.”

Obi lounges in his chair, ankle cross over knee without a care in the word. Big Dick Energy, Kihal would tell her, and wow, she really does not need to be thinking about that right now, in the middle of all this.

His lips slowly spread into a grin that does not help her brain stay on the straight and narrow, not one little bit. “Beaumains can sit among the masses.”

“Obi...” His head swivels to her, and oh, she really hadn’t meant to say that out loud, but-- it’s too late to turn back now. “You don’t need to--”

“Nah, nah, it’s no big deal,” he laughs, waving her off. “Let’s be real, given a choice between being in the box seats or getting trashed with the smallfolk, we all know which one he’d pick.”

Izana frowns, brow knitting. “As much as I appreciate your rationality in the face of the irrational, Obi, it isn’t necessary. It makes more narrative sense for Beaumains to be treated the same as the rest of the party--”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it, boss man. I can tank a hit for historical accuracy.” His gaze cuts to Zen. “In our fantasy roleplaying game where I play a demon and half the party does magic.”

Zen has the grace to look abashed, at least.

Izana lowers himself back into his chair, mouth set in faint disapproval. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, no prob.” Obi grins, sending her stomach into a tailspin. “Don’t worry, my lady, Beaumains knows how to keep himself entertained.”

You may sit at the lord of Laxdo’s right hand, but it is Morgaine who sits at yours, as radiant as any song. By all rights, she should be in your place; base-born she may be, but king’s daughter outranks a count’s, even born on the wrong side of the sheets. Still, she makes no protest when she takes her seat, only curling her lips in one of her mysterious smiles.

Shuuka is an attentive host, selecting the choicest cuts from the trays and laying them upon your plate. He chooses well for you, each morsel a delightful burst of flavor upon your tongue, but still--

Beaumains’ teasing spoils your every bite. It does not escape you that your host is not paying Arturius the same diligent attention but-- one does not feed a king. Or, rather, a prince. And you, well-- you would be the first to say that the curse was ended by the efforts of your whole party, but you know the men of Laxdo hold a different opinion.

(And for that matter, so does Beaumains, which he shares loudly and without prompting whenever possible, much to Arturius’ ire. It is flattering, but oh, you would much rather not be a needle used to provoke, no matter who holds it)

It is kind of Shuuka to pay you such an honor, but still, it leaves you feeling awkward, as if you were born with two left hands. You cast helpless looks to your right, but Morgaine only replies with sly smiles, ones that make your skin itch with expectation.

With no safe place to look on the dais, your gaze fans out over the press below. Lady you may be, but it’s the benches you are used to; your father had never stood much on ceremony, preferring to eat and be merry among his men, rather than make himself a proper lord. Even now you long to be among them; the talk may be bawdy and the drink more sour, but you would not suffer so many eyes upon you, measuring the curve of you breast and speculating on the red of your hair.

You do not look long before your eye catches on midnight blue and glistening horns; even dressed as a shadow, Beaumains is hard to miss among the lord’s men. He laughs, tossing his head back, hand pressed to his belly-- a truer one on him than any you have seen. To think, you had pitied him when Shuuka did not tender an invitation to the dais, but now--

Well, he’s certainly enjoying himself more than you are.

A sharp prod to your ribs sets you upright, your mind snapping back to the present, reminding you sharply that you are being watched and weighed by the same men you long to join. Morgaine pulls back her elbow, sending a pointed look over your shoulder. To Shuuka.

Shuuka, who is staring at you expectantly. Shuuka, who has almost certainly asked you a question that you did not hear.

Morgaine reaches for the wine pitcher, bumping your shoulder. “He’s asking if all this is to you liking.”

“Oh!” You stitch a smile to you face. “Yes. The fest is, ah...lovely. You do me a great honor. Ah, us a great honor.”

His own smile widens, sore pleased. “I am glad to hear it, Lady Lynet. It was my greatest hope that you would find Laxdo pleasing.”

You nod, awkward, before turning back to your meal. It is hardly touched, only a single bite from each dish, and you suffer a pang of chagrin to think you have so obviously ignored his generosity-- save that you notice everyone else’s plate remains untouched as well.

Shuuka’s chair scrapes across the dais as he stands, holding his arms wide. “Before we partake of this feast--”

Oh, Lord in Heaven, the blessing. You had forgotten it entirely. Your gaze darts guiltily across the table, trying to see whether the lord’s chaplain has caught your petty sin, but the only man of the cloth at the table is Bedwyr.

“--We must all give thanks to Our Lord in heaven, from whom all our bounty flows.”

A murmur of agreement shuffles out from the men at the tables, heads bowed with lips mouthing an impassioned amen--

Ah, right. Bowed heads. What she should be doing now, in this place of honor.

“I would be remiss if I also did not offer our gratitude to the Lady Lynet.” Your head snaps up, gaze tangling helplessly with his. “If it was not for her cleverness and diligence, not a single man would be standing here today.”

This is-- this is not the toast you thought he would make, not when he spoke of the feast this morning. Not when he had told you it would be in honor of those who saved Laxdo.

“We are blessed that the angels guided her back to us after so many years away,” he continues, every word adding to the pit of dread growing in your belly. “It can only be the provenance of Our Heavenly Father that she has returned, and in returning, removed the blight from our land. I would be turning my back upon God Himself and all His angels if I did not receive what blessing he has given us.”

You heart pounds loudly in your chest, rattling the drums of war. You had been so clear. You had said--

Not enough. Nothing short of an explicit refusal ever stuck in a man’s ear. you know this all too well.

It galls you that Beaumains knew it better.

“My father has passed, but his will has always been my guide.” Shuuka showers praises down on you, oblivious to how you wither beneath it. “It had been his wish to seen our houses joined, along with your father’s, my lady. I am eager to tread the path they left for us.”

You want to protest, you mean to protest. But all of the eyes of Laxdo are upon you, and-- and your hands clench helplessly in your skirt. For a man to be refused after such a speech, after such feeling, in front of all his men--

It would be kinder to leave a blade in him. At least that he might recover from.

Your gaze swivels to your left, to your right, but Arturius sits, stunned, and his sister is much the same. The moment for an objection has passed for them, for all those who sit on this dais, but on the floor--

You cast your gaze out, searching, hoping, but--

Beaumains is not among the tables, not anymore.

The chair squeals across the floorboards as Izana stands, smoothing down his pants.

“Wha-- where are you going?” Zen stares at him, jaw slack. “We’re in the middle of a feast. This jerk just proposed!”

Izana flips his phone, screen out, and there is Obi’s name, right at the top of his messages. hey boss can b get himself some quality hallway time

It buzzes, followed up by a long string of hot lips emojis, double hearts, and what looks like an eggplant..

“Well,” Kiki drawls, “now I know too much.”

Izana glances at his screen before swinging to glare at Obi. “Really?”

He shrugs, gleefully pocketing his cellphone. “Hey, you set it up. I just took the shot.”

“Well, I suppose I can’t argue that.” Izana sighs, gathering up his dice. “Give us a moment.”

“Don’t rush on our account,” Kiki hums, mouth twitching at a corner.

Izana groans, shaking his head. “At least pretend you’re going to behave.”

#obiyuki #akagami no shirayukihime #snow white with the red hair #dungeons & dragons au #my fic #ans #one more chapter to the end of this arc #thought now I'm also considering ending this fic after that #and then having the next arc being its own fic #i don't know #these are the funnicky things I have to consider while i'm writing these fics #because otherwise this will be like a 40 chapter 150k fic or something #WHO KNOWS #i got another chapter to decide

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lhs3020b · 4 years ago

Text

“Nightfall”, by Asimov and Silverberg

I haven’t picked a book apart in a while, so have some mildly-disjointed thoughts on Asimov & Silverberg’s 1989 novel, mostly focused on the somewhat-ropey astronomy, but looking at a few other things as well...

"Nightfall" is a late-1980s novel-length expansion of the 1950s story of the same name. The basic premise is, "what about a world with no night?"

The planet Kalgash (Lagash in the short story - no relation to Ur or Sumer insofar as I know!) orbits the G-type star Onos, which is in turn one part of a complex multiple system containing six stars in total. With that many stars, there is always one in the sky somewhere. The other five suns are Trey and Patru (a co-orbiting pair of A-type stars), Tanu and Sitha (another co-orbiting pair, this time B stars) and lastly Dovim, a red dwarf. You can see several oddities immediately - note that the stars have neatly sorted themselves by spectral type! And there's only the one red dwarf (Dovim, implied to be an early-M-type object), when you'd expect loads as a) star formation is an efficient machine for making red dwarfs and b) ~75-80% of all stars are red dwarfs.

As for the system architecture, I've struggled to come up with anything sensible. The below scribbling would make (some) sense, but fails the "always a sun in the sky from anywhere on Kalgash" test, as Dovim will often "fall behind" Onos on its orbit around the barycentre:

Presumably Onos has to pass quite regularly between the Patru/Trey and Sitha/Tano pairs - what this implies for Kalgash's climate and thermal balance I'll leave as an exercise for the reader! Also, the formation history of this system must be weird. Kalgash's complex biosphere implies an age of several billion years, but A and B stars have far shorter life expectancies. Is Onos actually a star that formed elsewhere, which was captured into the system later on?

Anyway. Kalgash orbits Onos, supposedly alone, and there is no night - even if it's only reddish inadequate Dovim, there's always a sun in the sky. Always. Forever. And this sentence is 100% certified to contain no lies, evasions or elided truths of any kind. *Ahem.*

The native Kalganians - supposedly some sort of non-terrestrial non-humanoid life, though the book flip-flops this many times - apparently cope very poorly with darkness. Even as little as 15 minutes in complete dark is apparently enough to induce permanent psychosis. This makes it just as well that Kalgash is a loner object, with no moons or nearby planets or other local bodies that could cause eclipses ... ooops.

Basically, the plot of the novel concerns some scientists who discover evidence of Mass Effect-style periodicities in the collapses of historical civilisations on Kalgash. About every 2000 years, *something* happens that seems to cause people to go collectively go mad and burn down any settlement they might be living in at the time. It seems to be sudden - it stops as soon as it starts - but the destruction is near-complete. And guess what? It's almost 2000 years since the last time civilisation toasted itself.

Meanwhile, Kalganian astronomers have recently developed a theory of universal gravitation, based on studying the motions of the suns (plausible; you'd have a lot of data to work with there). Only there's a problem. Kalgash itself is stubbornly not-quite-conforming to the predictions of the models, and in fact the deviations seem to be getting larger. The theory seems to be wrong - what horror! what sadness! gravity fails!

Or does it? In fact some Kalganian theorists notice something odd - you can explain the planet's motion perfectly if you assume the presence of a second planetary-mass object. Once you plug this in, you can figure out where this body would have to be. The results are ... worrying. You see, this hypothetical Kalgash Two is apparently closing in on Kalgash-Prime. It won’t collide with Kalgash Prime, but it will get close enough to block out sunlight.

Now, the book isn't 100% clear whether Kalgash-Two is a moon or another planet. I think it has to be a planet - its orbit apparently takes 2000 years, which would certainly take a moon entirely outside Kalgash's Hill sphere; Onos would have "snatched it away" onto a stellar orbit. Another oddity is that no-one can see Kalgash-Two - even here on Earth you can see the Moon clearly by day, and given what we know of the dynamics of this system, Two would present a large disk when it enters opposition with Kalgash-Proper. In the book it's speculated that Two's surface rock might be bluish in colour, which might "camouflage" it against the sky. I'm dubious about this - yes, Turquoise-The-Mineral Is A Thing, but an entire planet made of it? To me, this feels a bit "off", geologically.

Anyway, the astronomers realise that if it exists, Kalgash-Two is only a matter of weeks away from by-passing Kalgash itself. And when it does, it will arrive when half the planet has a rare "one-sun" day. That sun is, of course, the red runt Dovim itself, and Two will pass between Kalgash and Dovim. Depending on how big Two is, it could entirely block the sun out. Things are about to get dark! The other five suns will all be on the other side of the planet, but Kalgash rotates, so the other hemisphere will apparently get a taste of darkness too.

Now, note how odd the dynamics of this eclipse are. Apparently the umbra - the region of full shadow - is bigger than Kalgash itself, and the eclipse takes an entire Kalganian rotational period to pass. The book never - IIRC - tells us how fast Kalgash spins. It's certainly possible that a Kalganian "day" is far shorter than a terrestrial one, but it's implied to be at least a dozen or so hours. (The suns don't "move" fast enough against the sky for anything less.) So just how big is Kalgash-Two? To create an eclipse lasting multiple hours, it must be large. Honestly I think it would be hard to do this at a size smaller than that of a gas giant. Is something bigger than Jupiter swinging by, just outside the Roche limit? (No-one on Kalgash notes any seismic events - there's no upsurge in tremors, no disruption to tides or odd behaviour from gravimeters, like you would expect if a super-Jovian body was closing in on you, which is an inconsistency.) Anyway, sure enough, Kalgash Two shows up on queue. Suddenly the reddish gloom of a one-sun day starts to darken, and the horrified masses look up to see a massive bite eating into the side of Dovim! Rapidly and with maximum fuss, the sun goes out! Basically what happens next is like "Pitch Black", except with mad people instead of cannibalistic alien monsters. You'll note I haven't said a lot about the characters yet. There's not a lot to say - they're all very much "straight from central casting". They aren't objectionable, but they're not particularly memorable either. The plot itself has two threads - the astronomers' growing concerns about the impending disaster, which in turn puts them into conflict with a politically-influential cult, who claim to be preparing for the imminent return of "the stars". While the book is formulaic and the characters are fairly-average, it is a fun read; the pages turn without too much difficulty!

In case anyone's wondering about where exactly the authorities are in all of this, well, on eclipse night they prove completely useless. If I remember correctly, the government fails to take any warnings seriously and officials dismiss the astronomers as cranks. Basically they’re running on “January to March 2020″ rules - sadly I can no longer dismiss this pattern of behaviour as unrealistic, depressing as that is! When the night itself arrives, IIRC, the staff at the local power company manage to go mad ahead of almost everyone else (apparently there were no bulbs inside the turbine hall, or something) and their rampage plunges Saro City into the worst-timed power outage ever. Also, making matters worse, Saro probably didn't have any municipal lighting (because why would it?) and apparently most people don't have much in the way of torches or candles at home. So the darkness-maddened people react by torching everything that will burn (fire = light = MASS PYROMANIA!). How they're all able to find matches while a) utterly-demented and b) fumbling around in the dark ... yeah, that never gets explained.

Now we arrive at another oddity: on the night itself, people actually are able to see. They can see the stars without any trouble - which makes no sense. Why would their eyes be evolved to function in low-light conditions? But see the stars they do. There are several pages of the astronomers (those who survive the first few hours of the eclipse-chaos) boggling at the sheer scale of the universe they find themselves in. (In fairness, this is quite a cinematic moment ... basically the ~400 years of the Copernican revolution, which wasn't really "complete" here until Hubble demonstrated that the Great Nebula of Andromeda was a physically-separate galaxy in the 1920s? Kalgash's scientists get the entire thing, mainlined into their stunned brains in about 1 hour.

Their disorientation is certainly understandable.

Incidentally, there's another astronomical oddity here. Kalgash Two should be visible - a dark disc blocking out the sky in the direction where Dovim "should" be - but no-one remarks on it. Also, Two seems to have no atmosphere at all, because Kalgash-Proper doesn't experience any total-lunar-eclipse style blood-Moon. (What exactly is Two? It has to be at least as large as a gas giant, but it's also airless? What is this thing? Is it a planet at all?) Anyway, the eclipse does eventually end, after a few hours. While there are survivors, society has essentially collapsed. The damage is roughly the same as a median-scenario Great Powers nuclear exchange would be here on Earth (except minus the craters and radioactivity).

Just think - if the utilities provider for Saro City hadn't pulled an ERCOT, it's quite possible they could have got through the night without a mass casualty event. While people would have been frightened, if they'd had working lights to huddle around while Two passes by overhead, they might have been able to ride it out. But that didn't happen, of course. (If I was a cynic, I might say the real story of "Nightfall" is the cost of inept/crony-coddling infrastructure policies when the once-in-a-century event pays you its rare-but-inevitable visit.) Anyway, the ending of the book, unfortunately, is pure Silverberg. That is to say, it's rushed, lazy and addresses none of the themes, character-development or even some of the earlier plot-events of the book. On the last two pages of the book, the surviving scientists decide to join forces with the menacing theocratic star-cult, because apparently religious totalitarianism is somehow the only way to save the world, post-nightfall. Yeaaaaaaaaaaaah. Incidentally, here we see some of the typical narrative ticks of a certain sort of mid-century SF writer. Note how any sort of change (nightfall! social chaos!) just *has* to be BAD and SCARY, and they instantly seek refuge in anti-democratic authoritarianism. You see this tick a lot in so-called "Golden Age" writers - it's almost a trope of their behaviour. (It's also interesting given the cross-links between people like Heinlein and the military/industrial complex, or Pournelle and the GOP.) So the TL;DR summary ... "Nightfall" is a novel that follows the spirit of hard SF (if not the letter, as seen above) and has some iffy ideological/mimetic moments ... but, it works as a potboiler and (disappointing ending aside) is definitely a fun read. Just don't expect the celestial mechanics to be in any way workable.

Oh, and here comes Kalgash Two...

#LHS reads #books 2021 #Nightfall #Isaac Asmiov #Robert Silverberg #another post where I nitpick all the astronomy

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cyn-00 · 4 years ago

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Moreid one shot, 19 - "healing me"

Season 10, episode 16 "Lockdown" (it's the one where the team is called in a maximum protection prison in Texas to investigate the murders of two guards; they were murdered by some inmates because they used to beat up/bully some of them and even killed one. While Morgan and Callahan are interviewing one of the guards who is about spit it all out, another guard opens up like a dozen of cells; the convicts escape and tie up/kick/punch repeatedly both Derek and Kate. They only stop because one of the convicts - Julio Watson - tells the others they are feds)

@svn-f1ower-cm - unawarely - inspired me to write this because I'm a sucker for Hurt Derek + Caring Spencer and there's a disappointing amount of these types of fic - we almost always see it the other way around :(

(also I know I basically almost just posted a fic but like... I can't stop you know)

Inaccuracy: I believe in the episode Kate and Derek are tied up with handcuffs. In here I mention plastic cable ties...oopsie doopsie

Read it on AO3

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Rossi was driving. Morgan and Reid were in the backseats of the SUV; in the other one were riding Hotch, Kate and JJ. They were heading to a hotel to get a - hopefully - good night's sleep before flying back to Quantico in the morning.

Kate, in particular, had protested because she wanted to get out of there as soon as she could - she already knew both her and Derek were gonna spend the night haunted by nightmares about what had happened to them; let alone if they weren't home, far from the place they were attacked. Hotch, though, had insisted that they stay there.

The "good night's sleep to start fresh in the morning" was nothing short of an excuse: he didn't wanna mention that he felt more comfortable knowing his two injured agents could get a hand with their wounds if needed at least for one night, since, having booked the rooms with little to no advance - it's not like they walked in that prison expecting to be beaten up - they'd had to double up: Rossi and him, Callahan with JJ, Morgan with his boyfriend. Hotch knew if he had mentioned it, he'd have gained at leastest Derek's complaints if not Kate's, too.

Morgan had been staring blankly at the moving landscape out of the window since the moment they'd got in the car, trying to wash that nauseous feeling off of his stomach - the way his seatbelt was pressing onto his sore abdomen was surely not making it any better.

He swallowed a puddle of bitter saliva pooled up in his mouth and rubbed his eyes vigorously with his fingers.

"Looking firmly ahead should make the nausea better. Incessant eye movement is only gonna increase the sickness."

Derek turned his head toward Spencer's voice, sitting by the other window instead of on the central backseat right beside him - he had correctly figured he would want some space.

"I know."

"At least move to the front sea-" Reid's phrase got interrupted halfway by his phone buzzing in his jacket pocket.

"Garcia?" he answered.

Morgan sighed and shook his head. He should've known better than to not return her calls: she counted on the well-acknowledged fact that Spencer's heart was too pure to avoid her, contrary to what Derek had done.

"Your boyfriend is blatantly ignoring me." she pouted.

Spencer scoffed. "Not surprised."

"But is he okay?? Kate didn't sound OK when I called her. At least, 'shell-shocked trembly voice' doesn't equal 'OK' in my book."

"Well then I guess he is ok in your book?" he quickly glanced over to Derek, who was staring down at his hands in his lap but clearly attempting to eavesdrop the conversation.

"Then can you convince him to talk to me? DEREK MORGAN I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME!" she yelled, causing Spencer to snatch the phone away from his ear to avoid going deaf at her squeaky voice, with a grimace that showed a hint of amusement.

"Tell her that I'm fine." Derek said, unable to keep a slight grin from playing at the corners of his lips. He guessed it was Penelope's goal all along. It always was.

"I did!" Spencer said. "Garcia, he's fine." he got back to speaking to her.

"I can confirm, he's still your healthy piece of chocolate- or whatever you call him." Rossi added jokingly from the front.

"You heard that?"

"Ok! Fine! I heard you! Will you take care of him, though?"

Spencer giggled shyly at that. "Yeah. I will take care of him." he replied lowering his voice significantly - he wanted Derek alone to hear. He received a glance and a snort from him at that.

They stared into each other's eyes for a while, before Penelope spoke up again.

"And...will you do me another favor, Boy Wonder?"

"Anything."

"Will you hold his hand for me?"

Spencer chuckled again. "Give me a second." he unbuckled his seatbelt and scooted to the seat right beside Derek, buckling up again with one hand.

Derek's pupils followed his movements with a confused smirk on his face. "Wha-"

"Shut up, just following orders." Spencer cut him off, sliding his hand on Derek's lap to lace their fingers tightly together.

"Done." he assured Garcia.

"You're a guarantee, Spencer Reid."

"I sure am." his gaze on Derek didn't waver.

"Mwah. I'll see you tomorrow, my heroes."

"Bye Penelope." he hung up.

Spencer brought his boyfriend's hand to his mouth, to place gentle kisses on his bruised knuckles.

"That an order, too?" Derek asked, looking at him with heart eyes.

"Nope. This is a bonus." Spencer replied, smiling.

"I see..." Morgan nodded with a grin just as wide printed on his face, shifting his look ahead of them.

For a second, he caught Rossi's smiling eyes from the rear view mirror.

- half an hour later

Morgan opened the door to their room and was invested all over again by a sickening feeling. The window was small, every piece of furniture was a dull shade of grey/beige-ish color, and it smelled like...sadness. Hotch would sure as hell regret deciding to stay the night after seeing those rooms.

Reid dropped both their go-bags on one of the single beds and stared at Morgan as he kicked his shoes off and sat on the mattress, elbows digging holes in his knees. He sighed and got closer, standing on his feet.

He reached a hand down to caress Derek's nape affectionately, satisfied with how his shoulders immediately relaxed at the touch. Derek tilted his chin up to meet his gaze, and Spencer could swear his heart swelled when seeing on his face what he guessed was the famous "puppy-eye look" he always accused him of pulling off.

He slightly smiled down at him. "You wanna shower first?"

"Yeah." he nodded.

Derek finally stood up and looked at him with something akin to a guilty expression. "...thanks"

"For what?" Spencer leaned in to gently kiss his temple. "do you need help?"

"To shower?" Derek snorted, while browsing in his bag for his sweats and a t-shirt.

"...doesn't hurt to ask, right?" Spencer nipped shyly at his bottom lip.

"Baby, I'm fine. I'll let you know if I need anything."

Spencer nodded, trying to contain his smile at the pet name as Derek turned on his heels and disappeared in the bathroom.

Morgan found himself regretting refusing the offer when even bending down to pull his pants off turned out to be a painful motion.

He sucked it up and proceeded to remove the bandages the medics had wrapped around his torso, and the band-aid Spencer had insisted that they put on the cut on his brow bone. The bruises on his belly were still burning red and purple, and the scratch layered over them was fresh like it was made a minute before - he hissed in pain when the bandage sticked slightly to it while trying to peel it off.

Much to his relief, the warm water of the shower seemed to soothe down the soreness - at least temporarily. The other, nasty side of the coin, though, was that it made the cuts itch even more.

He tried to clean himself and his wounds as best as he could, considering the limited range of motions the pain allowed him to engage in and how little longer his legs could keep him standing from the exhaustion.

Unfortunately enough, when he got out of the shower he felt 20 lbs heavier, and the swelling of his left shoulder had worsened - if it was even possible. He bet Spencer had trusted him to know he should've showered cold. Maybe he shouldn't have been so trustful, despite how Derek would've sure as hell rolled his eyes if he'd tried to remind him.

He managed to put his sweats on through clenched teeth, and sat on the crappy stool in the corner of that crappy bathroom of their crappy hotel room, to re-do the medication, hoping it would come out at least half as effective as how the medics on the ambulance had done it.

And just like that, as expected, when he tried to reach his hand down for the antiseptic he had - stupidly - placed on the tiled floor; a stabbing twinge of pain pierced through his left shoulder and spread like an electric shock down his spine.

It was probably time to swallow his pride.

Spencer took advantage of the time Derek was spending in the bathroom to finally put his pajamas on - he was too tired to think of showering. He'd do that in the morning before leaving.

He was sitting on the bed, reading a book, or at least trying to: every single noise that came from the bathroom's direction made him wince in alertness.

"Fuck-"

When he heard the bit-back cursing, he jumped on his feet and headed to the other room in a matter of seconds.

"Derek? E- Everything ok?" he asked through the closed door. He didn't wanna seem too worried or too pushy, he new Derek couldn't stand it - but he was worried.

"Yeah..." Morgan made a pause not long enough for Reid to answer. "actually... Can- can you come in here for a sec?"

Spencer opened the door and was immediately absorbed in a cloud of hot steam, condensing on the mirror and the sliding glass door of the shower.

He turned to his right to find Derek shut-eyed sitting in the corner of the small bathroom, his head leaning back on the wall and a hand pressed on his shoulder.

"You showered with hot water??" Spencer was well aware of sounding like a teacher scolding his student. He couldn't have cared less.

"Jeez Spencer, I forgot, alright? Didn't even cross my mind to shower ice-cold."

The younger man sighed and shook his head. He looked around for the t-shirt Derek was wearing before showering.

"Let's see if this works..." he mumbled to himself while filling up the sink with cold water - the coldest it could get. He dipped the cotton piece of clothing in it, making sure it was thoroughly soaked; shivering as goosebumps grew on his forearms.

He wrung out the shirt of the excess water and folded it, before kneeling in between Derek's legs to place it on his puffy shoulder.

"Shit. 'ts cold." Derek sucked his teeth while visibly shuddering.

"That's kind of the point." Spencer mockingly smirked at him. "Sit straight now." he commanded.

He picked up the bottle of antiseptic from the floor and poured some of it on a gauze.

"It's gonna sting a little..." he warned him, an apologetic look on his sweet face. Derek just nodded.

Spencer hesitated a bit. He hadn't yet managed to take a real look at his boyfriend's injuries. He gulped uncomfortably, images of what those convicts had done to him flashing before his eyes - Derek hadn't told him what they'd done; he could only imagine.

Derek watched him slowly trace the bruises on his abdomen with his hands. His breath hitched for a second in his throat and his abs instinctively contracted as the pads of Spencer's fingers magically left goosebumps behind, as if his skin was a plain canvas and he was drawing onto it.

"Hey," he murmured softly, tilting Spencer's chin up with his index. Puppy eyes. "I'm fine. You told Garcia yourself."

"I know." Spencer nodded unconvinced, ultimately proceeding to gently press the gauze on his scratch to clean it.

Derek's abdomen tensed up once again. "Stings like a bitch, not 'a little'." he muttered screwing his eyes close.

Spencer slightly chuckled. "Come on, big guy." he mocked.

"Got jokes now?" Derek smiled through the pain. His grin did nothing but widen uncontrollably when, a second after, Spencer's eyes leveled up with his, to repeat the disinfecting-process on the cut on his brow bone as well.

He stared at his concentrated expression, the one where his pink lips parted a little to let the tip of his tongue stick out at the corner of his mouth. His pretty face so close it made Derek wish he could eat it.

When said expression changed into a deep frown, and Spencer's hand detached from his face, he guessed something in his own expression must have involuntarily hinted at him to do so.

"Does it hurt so bad? Am I- am I hurting you?" Spencer worriedly broke the silence, catching in Derek's eyes a concerning glimmering that had replaced the warm, knee-melting smile he was wearing before.

"No- nonono it's not- it's not you, kid." he shook his head vigorously in response.

"Then what?" Spencer asked, tossing the gauze in the small trash can before cupping the other's face in his hands.

Derek looked down at the small portion of ceramic-tiled floor that was separating them. "I don't know. I guess I just can't stop thinking about it."

"...about what specifically?"

Spencer was a bit afraid of asking him to be specific. Again, he didn't know what they had done to him and Kate - luckily, she only seemed to have a split lip. Guess being a big, black, male federal agent hadn't helped him at all. It never did. Spencer's heart ached at that every time.

Morgan sighed. "The only reason why we're here, is because Julio saved our asses." he met his gaze again only after saying it.

What could Reid reply to that? It was nothing but the truth. The team would've never made it in time if the convicts had continued beating them up - and God knows what would've happened then. He couldn't let his mind go to that place.

"What...what did they do to you?" he found the nerve to ask instead.

Derek shook his head a little, as if silently asking: 'what will it change once you'll know it?'

"Derek," Spencer gently stroked his boyfriend's chin with his thumb. "What did they do ?"

Morgan hesitated for another second or two.

"Alright. First," he raised both his hands in front of the other's face, to remind him of the bruises on his knuckles. "fist fight, of course. I couldn't see but- I think they literally threw Kate over the table and she fell on the other side..." he frowned deeply, realizing only then how shaky his voice had become. "They also stabbed the guard we were interviewing in his hip. You remember that one?"

Spencer nodded briefly.

Derek was getting a bit self-aware of how vulnerable he must've looked from his boyfriend's perspective. He continued regardless.

"Then they, uh...threatened us both with knives at our jaws." he dropped his eyes once again, letting a tear fall down and hit the floor.

Reid said nothing. He had to swallow the lump in his throat several times, but he said nothing.

Only then he noticed the wet traces some drops of water had drawn on Derek's pecs and biceps coming from the folded, damp t-shirt resting on his shoulder. He finally removed the piece of clothing and distractedly tossed it in the sink behind him; a crumb of relief was enough to lessen the creasing of his eyebrows when he saw his shoulder's puffiness had gone down pretty visibly.

"And this?" he asked, taking a towel to wipe dry Derek's skin.

Derek turned his head to look at his shoulder - like he'd forgotten about it for a second - feeling like a 5 lbs weight had been lifted from it.

"That's...when they tied us up and pushed me to the ground. I fell on this shoulder on the concrete." he sniffled. "and then just...kicks. Everywhere." Morgan waved a hand, gesturing around the area of his flushed abdomen.

'Tied us up'. Spencer suddenly remembered finding him like that, and being the one to cut the plastic cable ties on his wrists and ankles. He dropped the towel and took Derek's hands. The red marks of the ties had significantly faded away but were still there; his complexion not dark enough to conceal them. He could only imagine how evident they must've still looked on Kate's fair skin.

"And still..." Derek continued after a while, wiping the few tears he'd shed with the heel of his hand. "I- I just can't bring myself to blame them for feeling enraged like that. You know?" he asked, as if wanting Spencer to validate his thought.

He tilted his chin up again, and Spencer's shoulders helplessly dropped with the weight of sheer sadness when he saw the look on his boyfriend's face, and the flush around his eyes.

"Yeah. I get that." he paused. "But- but Derek, it wasn't our fault that those guards abused of their power- and killed that kid. We could only intervene once they called us. You know this."

The words didn't seem to solace Derek at all. But Spencer didn't know what to say - for once. He tried not to indulge in self-denigrating thoughts - because Derek always begged him not to - but sometimes he realized he really was of no help in comforting him, or at least not nearly as much as Morgan was for him; always having the right words and, if not that, surely a pair of strong arms to protect him. Reid didn't even have that.

He tried anyway - maybe he couldn't fiercely shelter him, but he could gently soothe him.

After a long silence, Derek felt soft hands once again cupping his face.

Out of the blue, Spencer started sprinkling kisses all over him - near the cut on his brow, on his bruised cheekbone. And then slowly flowed downwards, paying extra attention to press his lips gently on his swollen shoulder. And his hands left his jaw just to grab onto his waist, and scatter velvet kisses on the whole bruised area of his abs. And Morgan let him do it, closing his eyes because for once he wanted to try and give in to the fantasy that Reid could really kiss his pain away; and at each new peck, each new time his lips warmed up the skin lying underneath them while the tip of his tiny nose and the ends of his hair tickled him like the wings of a butterfly - each time he was convinced more and more that Spencer really had the power to take away his pain, and kiss Derek's way out of his relentless thoughts that only added to the physical ache of it all.

And he didn't deserve it, he thought as a new wave of tears heaped up beneath his eyelids. He didn't deserve any of it - any of Spencer.

"Spencer..." he whispered his name, and the other's face rose up again to level with his.

He snaked a hand behind Spencer's neck, entangling in his silky hair, and slipped an arm around his torso, and he kissed him. He took his lips in his as if trying to do the same for him, to return the favor. And when his tongue languidly made its way inside Spencer's mouth, brushing past his plump bottom lip and curling up with his as if it could get any deeper than it already was; and a breathy moan escaped those lips that he was trying to cradle into the same comfort they'd cradled his body before - he took that moan as a sign that maybe it was working, that maybe he was managing to strip out a small amount of the ache at least a quarter as successfully as he'd done with him; a different kind of ache but in no way less wrecking.

Spencer's lips broke out of that kiss that left them breathless but asking for more at the same time.

"I- I don't wanna hurt you and I- I still have to bandage you up." the words were nothing but a shuddering whisper against Derek's mouth, at that point.

"You're not hurting me. You're healing me, Spencer."

Spencer's heartbeat increased to a point where it was deafening his ears. He parted their foreheads and stared deep into Derek's black eyes, like he could find the answer to why he would say such a thing if he stared long enough.

"Everything you do. You heal me." the man added.

He dropped his gaze down to the floor to hide from Derek's sight the tears that were on the verge of spilling out of his eyes, drawing his eyebrows together intensely in the attempt of pursuing that task.

"...it's the bare minimum I can do." he murmured, his voice was shaking way too much now for him to keep pretending Derek couldn't hear it.

He swallowed and shook his head to pull himself together.

"Now, at least let me do that properly." he smiled with glossy eyes, achieving the goal of receiving Derek's smile back. Only his smile made him feel 100 miles above earth level.

He un-wrapped his limbs from around the other's neck and reached down to take the roll of gauze. He untucked the end of it to press it on Derek's front, asking him to keep it in place while he encircled his torso with his arms to make several laps around it, trying to cover the whole scratch as well as the most part of his bruising - he hoped the bandage could work as another layer to lessen the soreness whenever Derek accidentally bumped into something or pressed against it.

While doing that operation - slowly, still afraid to hurt him - he was inevitably close to the point of feeling Derek's breath on his skin, especially when he had to lean forward to pass the gauze roll from one hand to the other behind his back.

Derek's face inched closer and nuzzled his nose and lips lightly against the soft spot on Spencer's neck below his ear, making him impossibly ticklish.

"You're de-concentrating me." he reprimanded him jokingly.

" 'm sorry. Can't really help it. Though you should work on your attention span." Derek felt the other's smile against his skin.

"Luckily enough, I'm finished." Spencer finally stood up, grunting at how numb his legs were. He couldn't help but notice yet once again how, for one reason or another, his knees always hurt after he'd spent time with Derek. Even if he tried as hard as he could, though, he couldn't recall one single time where it was due to an unpleasant reason...

"Hope it lasts..." he added, forcing his mind to shift away from that topic.

Morgan mirrored his motion and then reached a hand out toward the hook on the door with the intention to grab his clean t-shirt; which he would've managed to do if it hadn't been for Reid beating him to the punch.

He threw him a glare with his head slightly tilted, followed by an overly dramatic eye-roll. He gave up at last, putting his hands up to help Spencer slip the t-shirt over his head, trying not to burst out chuckling at the adorable smirk playing on his face.

They walked out of the bathroom and into the other room. Derek sat on the bed and slowly laid down on his back.

He let out a heavy sigh, shutting his eyes with his palm. "Why do I have this feeling that NO sleeping position possible won't hurt?"

Spencer stood still beside the mattress. "Well- I can- uh, I can sleep in the other bed it's no big deal, I don't want you to lose any more sleep..." he suggested half-heartedly as he started to take a step back from the bed, biting the inside of his cheek and scratching the back of his neck.

"What? Nuh-uh, no way pretty boy, I need you here and now." Derek replied, gaining a wide, timid smile from his boyfriend. He carefully propped himself on one elbow and grabbed Spencer's wrist to pull him closer toward him.

Spencer crawled beside him and laid onto his side, spooning him. He figured it was the less painful position: it didn't put pressure on his left shoulder, because he was lying onto his right side; nor on his abdomen; and last but not least, Derek was never the type to sleep on his back. That was gonna be his excuse if asked - he sure as hell wasn't gonna ruin his "know-it-literally-all" reputation by revealing that he simply loved being the big spoon.

He pulled the comforter over them, before wrapping both his skinny arms around Derek's broad body; one enveloping his middle, the other his shoulders, sneaking from beneath the crook of the man's neck. A warm sensation spread over his chest, only increasing when he heard a faint sigh of contentment slipping out of the other's nose.

Derek switched off the lamp on the nightstand, finding himself a little surprised when the beginnings of drifting off to sleep came so easy, embraced by the man he loved more than anything on this planet.

He felt Spencer's soft, slow, damp kisses tracing from the crown of his head to the nub of his spine; and then the tip of his nose brushing up and down that same trail.

"I don't know what good I did to deserve you, kid." he whispered after a while. He could easily bet that got Spencer all blushy and cute - not that he could see him, but he'd come to learn by heart how to make him flush a long, long time ago.

"If you don't stop saying these kind of things I'm gonna kiss you senseless." Spencer replied, playing tough - which came off cuter than he'd probably wished.

Derek chuckled. "That a threat?"

Maybe Hotch's idea wasn't so bad after all.

#moreid #criminal minds #derek morgan #spencer reid #shematthew #sperek #spencer reid x derek morgan #derek morgan x spencer reid #criminal minds 10x16 #criminal minds season 10 #penelope garcia #moreid one shot #moreid one shot 19 #moreid fanfic #bau #behavioral analysis unit #cm tag #moreid fluff #derek whump

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ghostsofmemories · 4 years ago

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Ocean in the Woods - Update #2

So, if you missed the first update or want a quick refresher (because it’s been over 3 months... wow), here’s the first update, which has a link to the WIP intro if you want to check that out.

Progress has been very slow, but hopefully now that I’m not in such a rut with a million things to do, it’ll move a little bit faster (no promises, though).

So basically, chapters 2, 3, and 4 are complete and I’ve worked my way up to 10k. It’s a little disappointing considering my original goal was 20k by the end of June and we’re already a few days into July and I only got halfway there, but I already knew that goal wasn’t realistic.

Chapter 2 is called Side Affects of Burnout and is sort of a bonding chapter between Arthur and his younger brother, Aiden. I like this chapter well enough, but I think I put this too early in the story and didn’t do enough to drive home the fact that Aiden and Arthur have a strained relationship before having them bond. However, I’m not all that worried about fixing that because no one is ever going to read this book. I was considering putting it on Wattpad in the beginning, but I’m actually perfectly content with, uh, not doing that.

With that said, here are some fun little excerpts from Side Affects of Burnout, featuring Lance’s intro to the plot (not very many of the excerpts are well-written, I kind of gave up on editing as I went a couple weeks ago and have some passes to do before I keep going):

I had Lance in my first period, and I knew he wouldn’t notice that something was off with me. Usually, he was pretty oblivious to the rest of the world (in a very well-intentioned way) unless someone told him something was going on. He was the odd one out in our group of friends: the only one who checked the typical boxes. Cis, straight, and white. The rest of us were oddballs in school, but Lance was the oddball in our hearts.

He was folding paper airplanes out of post-it notes when I walked into the classroom. His hair was sandy blonde, uncombed, and he was wearing cargo shorts with a Darth Vader t-shirt. I was almost positive he had seen a maximum of two Star Wars movies.

“Hey,” he said, “what’s up?”

“The usual,” I said. “Sky. Clouds. Trees.” I sat in my chair next to him. Mr. Nelson didn’t assign seats, but everyone always sat in the same place. We were drawn to routine.

“That’s good,” he said, nodding, “if the sky is still up, then the world’s doing alright.”

I started out the story with Lance being somewhat of a comic relief, but I think I’m already beginning to feel some tension building up in regards to everyone labeling him as oblivious and stupid. He’s really sweet and I think he notices a lot, but just doesn’t say much about it. Here’s another section where everyone quips at Lance for being a himbo:

“Afternoon, lady and gent,” he said, sitting across from Maya and nodding at each of us respectively.

“It’s actually 11:30am,” Maya said, stealing another fry from my plate. “Labels and time in general are useless if you refuse to use them correctly.”

“Smartass,” Lance said through a bite of his sandwich. “I was just trying to be nice.”

“And I was just trying to spare you the humiliation of realizing you were wrong on your own,” she said. She started bouncing her leg after she was done stealing my fries, not knowing how to do nothing.

“He wouldn’t’ve realized on his own, Maya,” Ollie said, setting their tray down across the table from mine. “He doesn’t wear a watch or check the time.”

Vanessa, as usual, wasn’t far behind. “Lance, can you even read the time?” She was joking, of course. We always joked with Lance that way.

“Of course I can,” he said, sitting up straighter, “I just choose not to.”

And now, some of the Big Sad with Aiden and Arthur:

But the silence wasn’t horrible. I didn’t ask him to give back the water bottle I’d handed him, and I didn’t ask him why he’d been crying, and I didn’t ask him how he was tired enough to fall asleep sitting up (I also didn’t ask him to move when his head ended up on my shoulder). I wanted to be a good brother. I didn’t always need to know the details.

I love them so much and I’m kind of desperate to explore their relationship more, but so far all this book is teaching me is that I do not know how to manage all these subplots alongside the major plot of killing a monster. I’m pretty sure this’ll be the last fantasy book I ever write. Here’s a snippet of a one-sided conversation while the boys are waiting for water to boil so they can make mac n cheese.

“Hey, you can talk to me,” I said, trying to be gentle and quiet without letting my voice get pitchy. He didn’t look up, but he nodded again, his face lost in his sweater sleeves.

It was different, seeing him like this. I was so used to the Aiden that was always either smiling or sarcastic. I probably hadn’t seen him sad since he was a little kid, scraping his knees on the driveway and losing the watch he got for Christmas. He would breathe fast and panicky back then, when something went wrong. Now his breathing was slow and controlled, albeit shaky.

So yeah. At the end of this chapter, Aiden sees a girl out the window (who is Ocean, but he doesn’t know it yet) and he goes to talk to her and bring her water, and we move on to Chapter 3: River Runner. In which Ocean basically guilt trips Arthur into helping her fight the monster she brought there.

“I wasn’t mad about you not understanding my problems,” she said, standing up to follow me. I ignored her and kept walking. “I was mad at you for just sitting there and not knowing what to do besides ask stupid questions. I’m mad because you know there’s something wrong and you don’t care.”

“Why should I care?” I asked, walking faster. She would follow me all the way back to my house if she wanted to. “I don’t even know what’s going on. I don’t know you and I don’t care, so handle this on your own.”

“I don’t know how to do it on my own!” she shouted, cutting around a tree and walking beside me. “I don’t exactly dedicate my life to putting myself in danger and fighting evil creatures and saving the world.”

“So why do you expect me to do it at a ten minute’s notice?”

“You’re impossible.”

“All of this,” I said between my teeth, stopping in my tracks and closing my eyes, “is impossible. You—I was never supposed to meet you. This wasn’t supposed to happen to me.”

“Well it did. And there’s no taking it back now,” she said, stepping toward me. I opened my eyes, then. She was right about my height, maybe a little bit taller than me. “There is no supposed to. There’s only did and didn’t, do and don’t. And you have to decide which one you’re going with, because there is a right answer. And if you choose the wrong one, I’ll find someone else. You’ll be the boy who did nothing.”

I didn’t like how she could twist words and use them to make me do things. I didn’t want to help, but I didn’t want to do nothing.

“Fine, then.”

Pretty much all of River Runner is these two idiots yelling at each other, minus the part where Ocean is trying to open a portal. I won’t be putting an excerpt of that because it’s still extremely messy and that scene needs to be rewritten.

I only just started Chapter 5: Her and the Sun, but I’m liking it so far. There’s a lot of Maya in this chapter, including another mini description of her. Maya might be my favorite character in the book, honestly. I’ll leave it to Arthur to explain why.

She was crazy in the best way a person can be, I think. Where my mom would call me a little over the place, Maya would be in a thousand places at once. She was everything and everywhere and she could be everyone, too, if she could be.

For almost as long as I could remember, Maya and I were partners in crime. She led us into dozens of disasters and got us out of each one, too. Like when she helped me shave my head after I told her I was trans (but before I told anyone else) and told my parents there was a huge wad of gum in my hair.

“Trust me,” she told my dad, fourteen with huge eyes and hair that could compete in size with anyone else’s in the neighborhood, “my sister tried to fix it and this is a huge improvement.”

Maya’s sister is a hairdresser, at the time, but she had no idea what we were up to. Maya was just so convincing that no one bothered to check in with anyone else.

So, that’s pretty much it. Not my greatest writing, but at this point any words are good words, you know?

Click here to buy cool stuff my friend and I designed, where 100% of the profits go to the Black Lives Matter organization!

Click here to read my most recent poem

Taglist (send an ask/message if you’d like to be added): @brooklyn-etc @coffeeandcalligraphy @my-lifes-one-big-critical-fail @kozyisa-tries-to-write

#ocean in the woods #writing update #my writing #oitw #ocean #arthur benz #aiden benz #august is writing #excerpt #writing excerpt #my novel #writeblr

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ryqoshay · 5 years ago

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What are your favorite NicoMaki doujins? (Totally not asking for recommendations)

Oh dear, where to start? ... Uhm... all of them? Well, I suppose there are a few with plots I’m not particularly crazy about and some with art styles that do little for me, but I suppose I can make a quick list here.

I’ll divide up the list based on (N)SFW status for those wishing to avoid such stuff.

And it apparently got really long. I was originally just going to put the NSFW stuff under the cut, but there’s just so much awesome NicoMaki stuff out there, and I’ve even been skipping stuff, and only sticking to what can be found on Dynasty Reader... so I guess the whole thing needs to go under the cut now.

Safe (and probably quite fluffy)

- Happy Family - Easily earns its “Moe up the butt” tag. Set in the manga’s universe where Nico only has sisters, no brother. - You Can’t Escape the Yazawas!! - Another by the same author. Flustered Maki is always adorable. - Never Let Me Go - A short, cute taste of angst. - NICONICO MAXIMUM double happiness - Created before the anime and deals with the couple’s use of honorifics back then. - NicoMaki Dating Life: 1 Week, 2 Weeks, 3 Months - Tiny glimpses into the early dating life of NicoMaki. (4 months is NSFW and will be linked below) - Colorful Shuffle - An interesting take on events from S2 E06. I will never have enough NicoMaki as portrayed by RinPana - Scandal - tmfly draws adorable NicoMaki (same author as above) - Let Us Stay For Longer - So of course I need to include more tmfly - Don't Accept Unpardonable Acts at a Public Place! - and still more tmfly - Blanket - More moe up the butt - 365 - A nice collection of adorableness - NicoMaki Manga - Feels like a chapter left out of the collection above - Home Sweet Home - More adorableness with the twins - Oblivious Nishikino Maki - Three chapters of Kou’s utter adorableness - Kou - Honestly all of Kou’s work is awesome, so I’ll just link it all - Your Ring Finger - Maki got a ring from...? - Drill - Another artist who’s NicoMaki work is amazing. I think their portrayal of Nico is a bit more dense than I personally headcanon - I see Maki as being slower on the emotional uptake - but all of the NicoMaki tags on this page are worth checking out, as well as this image in particular, as it was what inspired part of my scene Reconstructed Reunion. - NicoMaki Relaxed Manga - I doubt I will ever tire of casual, slice of life, domestic NicoMaki - NicoMaki An Easygoing Birthday - More of the same. Murata has three other on Dynasty Reader, but I’m not quite as crazy about them as I am about these two, so I’ll leave them off this list. Fair warning that two are NSFW - Maki-chan Kawaii Ka Ki Ku Ke Ko - Flustered Maki is Adorable Maki - Nico Maki Maki - Probably the best gift one could give to Maki - NicoMaki Interdict - By the gods do I love this one. The fact that Umi, of all people, is picking up on the NicoMaki vibes, is enough to make me laugh. A lot. And I believe I’ve mentioned that at least once in HtHaN. - Magnetic Box - An adorable collection from the same author as the last two - No, 1 - Three long chapters filled with amazing art, a pinch of angst, a sprinkle of spiritual power and many wonderful NicoMaki moments. - Karuha - I cannot tell you how many times I’ve reread this author’s works. Even the NSFW entries are “porn with plot” and are the kind of thing I would want to emulate should I include such a scene in HtHaN. Honestly, just having linked these here makes me want to reread them all again. - NicoMaki!! - Tsundere’ish Maki is adorable - Not a Lover NicoMaki - Never enough cute domestic NicoMaki. I have a handful of notes for future scenes in HtHaN because of this doujin. And someday I may even write them. - NicoMaki Kiss - A cute depiction of the couple’s first kiss - NicoMaki Kiss (part 2) - One is never enough - Springtime Chocolate Day - Honesty may be the best policy, but that doesn’t make it any easier - NicoMaki Days - A wonderful collection of 4-koma that takes us from Friends, to Dating to Living Together and finally to Married. Always worth a reread. - Adult NicoMaki - An interesting take on the couple grown up - My Idol, My Star - I’m not crying, it’s just raining - Happy Wedding Vacation - Probably the safest Ooshima Tomo work there is. And among my favorite, though Honeymoon Baby down in the Mostly Safe’ish section holds strong in first place for me. - Nico Senpai Was Hypnotized - Another amazingly safe Tomo work.

Canon Works

- Love Live! School Idol Diary ch06: The Seven Mysteries of Otonokizaka Academy - Maki is afraid of ghosts. And someone else might be as well... - Love Live! School Idol Diary ch02: Work, Summer Girl - Nico sells softserve and Maki visits. Adorableness ensues. - Love Live! School Idol Diary ch04: On The Night Of The Fireworks - NicoMaki wearing yukatas, watching fireworks and being cute together.

Mostly Safe’ish:

- Sotto Okoshite Yume Misete - Cute short little dream thing. In this set due to a couple camera angles. - Itsumo Doori ni Dekinai - Is technically SFW, but I put it here because it’s a direct sequel to the one above. - NicoMaki Had a Baby With iPS Cell Technology - Maternal NicoMaki is always welcome, imho - NicoMaki Had a Baby With iPS Cell Technology 2 - Thankfully, Tomo feels the same way I do about more maternal NicoMaki - Honeymoon Baby - One of my all time favorite NicoMaki doujins, so much so that it’s directly influenced many of my headcanons as well as plot points in HtHaN. Also, this is about as SFW as Ooshima Tomo gets. - Back-and-Forth Initiative - Perhaps could be placed on the Safe list, but just in case I’ll put it here. I’ll probably be borrowing some of the ideas here for HtHaN. - NicoMaki Medical Check - I love the premise and the plot, but one line from Maki makes my eye twitch a bit and thus it ends up in this section of the list. - Pickle Love - Safer than the inuendo implies. Only dirty minds make it necessary to put in this part of the list - Nico-chan Wants to Push You Down Too!! - Pretty safe Tomo work.

NSFW

- NicoMaki Dating Life: 4 Months - The conclusion of the clips from above. - Rabbit-like Girlfriend - Nico knows how to get what she wants from Maki - Want Me! - Awkward first time. I’ll likely draw a bit from this should I ever write such a scene for HtHaN. - Udon - Udon’s work is a mixed bag of Safe and NSFW, but pretty much all cute. I linked my favorite Safe work up above. My favorite NSFW is Good Morning, Good Night. - Of Course I know How to Use the Public Bath! - Ecchi rather than hentai, but still probably belongs in this section. - Ooshima Tomo - Most of her doujins are NSFW, but I like the characterizations presented in them. I’m not particularly fond of Offering a Poem of Love to the Upside Down Sun as the tone feels off to me and Limited Edition Yuri Book is futanari, which has never really been a kink of mine. Also, many of her works seem to share a timeline, but she did a team project with EERR which is the next entry - Crystal Sugar and Machine Gun - A multi-chapter introspective angst fest with a NSFW ending. I hesitate to call this work one of my favorites, but I’ve reread it multiple times nonetheless. Each time it makes me think about the directions I’m taking HtHaN and makes me wonder if I shouldn’t include more angst from time to time. And even if I don’t include it directly, I might reference it via Nico or Maki being introspective and considering less-than-desirable alternatives to how their lives are.

So, yeah... there you have it; what was intended to be a quick and dirty little list of my favorite NicoMaki doujin. And I didn’t even get around to linking to stuff I’ve found on other sites, though some I’m not sure I’d want to link directly to anyway; I’m hoping that stuff will end up on better sites eventually. And for every translated NicoMaki, there are at least half a dozen that remain untranslated; enough that I’m seriously considering learning Japanese just to read them.

There is just so much out there; 9 pages on Dynasty Reader. Compare that to the 5 for NozoEli, 2 for KotoUmi and RinPana. We’re pretty lucky as NicoMaki fans when it comes to quantity of awesome fanworks. I’d highly encourage exploring the rest of the works on Dynasty Reader to see if there is a diamond in the rough that I missed or appeals more to your tastes or whatever.

#Ryqo's Q&A #NicoMaki

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itsclydebitches · 5 years ago

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Fun Tidbits about The Witcher 3

1994 - “[Marcin Iwinski] and Kicinski teamed up to start a company called DC Projekt, named after the industry-changing CD-ROMs that had just popped up in Warsaw.” CD Projekt Red is a developmental branch of CD Projekt (224)

“Turned out [Andrzej] Sapkowski had no interest in video games, and he was happy to sell the rights to CD Projekt Red for a reasonable price” (225)

“With The Witcher 2, Iwinski and his studio had built a sizable audience outside of Europe and even a cultural icon in Poland, to the point where in 2011, when US president Barack Obama visited the country, prime minister Donald Tusk gifted him a copy of The Witcher 2. (Obama later admitted that he had not played it.)” (226)

“When he was told he’d be in charge of their next big game, an anxious Konrad Tomaszkiewicz started talking to CD Projekt Red’s other executives about how they’d make the game appealing to as many people as possible. One of their immediate solutions was simple: make it huge.” (227)

“‘We were terrified of the scope,’ said Konrad Tomaszkiewicz” (228)

“To solve this problem [of exploration freedom but no level scaling], CD Projekt Red went with a more linear structure. After the prologue, you’d go to Velen (low level), then Novigrad (midlevel), then Skellige (high level). You’d still have the freedom to move between regions, but progression would be a little more restricted.” (229)

“The bigger one, the RPGs and open-world games, usually set out for a range of forty to sixty [hours]. With The Witcher 3, CD Projekt Red wanted a game that would take at least one hundred hours to finish” (229)

“By some accounts, The Witcher 3′s world would be thirty times the size of The Witcher 2′s” (230)

“As development proceeded, The Witcher 3′s designers again began to panic that they didn’t have enough content. They’d promised that the world in his game would take at least one hundred hours to play. It might have been a ridiculous number, but it was the one they’d promised, and they felt compelled to hit it” (235)

“Perhaps to overcompensate for that persistent fear that they wouldn’t have enough content, they’d wound up making too much. Their goal had been a maximum gameplay time of one hundred hours, but between quests, points of interest, and areas to explore, The Witcher 3′s final count was closer to two hundred hours. It could stretch out even longer, if you played slowly.” (244)

“They knew that the primary villain would be a group called the Wild Hunt, a phalanx of spectral horsemen based on the European folk myth of the same name.” (227)

“Mateusz Tomaszkiewicz and other designers enacted a simple rule: don’t make boring quests. ‘I called them ‘Fedex quests’---the quests that are just fetch quests,’ said Tomaszkiewicz. ‘Someone says bring me the cup, or ten bear skins or whatever. You bring the stuff to them and that’s it. There’s no twist, no nothing... Every quest, no matter how small it should be, should have something memorable in it’” (230)

“At one point in preproduction, worried that they weren’t hitting this quality bar, Tomaszkiewicz cut around 50 percent of the quests they’d sketched out” (231)

“People often wondered how CD Projekt Red sharpened the writing in Witcher games so well, especially when there was so much of it. The answer was simple. ‘I don’t think there is a single quest in The Witcher 3 which was written once, accepted, and then recorded,’ Szamalek said. ‘Everything was rewritten dozens of times.’” (233)

“...but in The Witcher, there are very few happy endings, which CD Projekt Red saw as a reflection of Polish culture” (231)

“If they had to restrict The Witcher 3′s memory for last-gen consoles, they wouldn’t be able to achieve the level of photorealism that they thought they could hit with this game. CD Projekt Red wanted to build a world with a functioning ecosystem and day-night cycle with elaborate cities and grass that swayed in the wind.” (234)

“As The Witcher 3′s staff grew larger, this insistence on realism led to some complications. At one point, Tost’s team noticed a serious problem in Velen: there was too much to eat. ‘Velen was always supposed to be this famine-ridden land,’ said Tost, ‘where people don’t really have a lot of food.’ For some reason, though, an environment artist had stocked up many of Velen’s homes, filling cabinets with sausages and vegetables. It bothered the level designers so much to leave as it was, so they spent hours digging through every village in Velen, taking food away from people like twisted reverse Robin Hoods” (238)

“Teixeira, a Portugal native who was primarily responsible for visual effects like weather and blood splatter (‘I had a very questionable browser history’)” (235)

“CD Projekt Red were the underdogs, the outsiders, the guys from Poland who had made only two other games, yet fans thought The Witcher 3 was one of the most impressive things at [E3]” (240)

“The engineers rebuilt the streaming system, spending months trying to make objects load seamlessly in the background, so the player would see no loading screens while riding his or her horse from area to area” (240)

“‘We used to read the forums and check what people are asking for, and we’d actually add elements in the game based on people’s feedback,’ said the lead quest designer, Mateusz Tomaszkiewicz. “For example, there was this footage of Novigrad at some point. You could see the city in the distance. And there were some hard-core fans in the forums that were discussing the city. In the books it was said that the city was very solid, big walls. And in the trailer it didn’t. So we said, ‘Yeah, we probably should do that,’ and we did build it.’” (241)

“‘You start realizing not just the sheer size of the game, but the sheer amount of possibilities on how you can do things,’ said Jose Teixeira. ‘The game crashes, not if you go into a house, but if you talk to this person and if you get on a horse and then you go into a house...[the testers] started coming up with these sort of ‘what the fuck’ situations.’” (242-3)

“Then the praise started coming in. On May 12, 2015, when The Witcher 3′s reviews started going live on the Internet, the hype reached a fever pitch...’It was such a weird feeling because looking back, you’d think people would be high-fiving each other like, ‘Wow, we made it,’ said Jose Teixeira. ‘But we started reading these reviews and we’re just looking at each other going, ‘Holy shit, what do we do with this information?’ Nobody worked that day, needless to say. Everybody was just on Google going ‘Witcher 3 reviews’ and refreshing.” (243-4)

“So many [of the staff] had grown up pirating games at the computer markets, where they’d score bootleg copies of games like Stonekeep and fantasize about one making their own RPGs. ‘I think that in communism, many people’s creativity was limited,’ said Konrad Tomaszkiewicz. ‘But after we were democrats, when everyone could do what they wanted to do, they started to fulfill the dreams they got in their heads.’” (247)

- Blood, Sweat, and Pixels: The Triumphant, Turbulent Stories Behind How Video Games Are Made by Jason Schreier, Chapter Nine: “The Witcher 3,” Harper, 223-249, 2017

#witcher #the witcher #witcher 3 #wild hunt #gaming #just an average afternoon #of re-reading an article now that I'm actually familiar with the game #and taking notes for the class

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i-guess-im-a-fanfic-writer-now · 5 years ago

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A better life (Chapter 13, Avengers x reader)

ayyyyy!!! here’s this chapter, i’m gonna post chapter 14 on the 15th of december, will try my best to get back on track and post every other week though

i hope you enjoy this one! likes, comments, reblogs are greatly appreciated! also, as usual, if you want me to write anything into the tw that isn’t already there, feel free to ask me to do it!

tw: does self doubt count? as in like, doubting that what’s happening is actually Bad? because there’s that closer to the end,,, also, there’s a food thing but it’s only like a “i’m afraid of taking fridge food since it might be someone else’s” kinda thing, and also the word “dumbass” (said by the reader but affectionately? does that make sense?)

Your alarm went off. You slowly opened your eyes, peeking out cautiously from under your covers. You weren’t entirely sure where you were at first, thinking that maybe what happened yesterday was all just a dream, and you were once again in the same apartment as your mother, but you quickly gained awareness of your surroundings. You were still in the Stark Tower.

“Shit”, you whispered, practically jumping out of bed. In just a few seconds, you managed to forget that you had to go to your job. You got ready and headed out, not seeing any of the Avengers on your way out. It was pretty early, and most of them would probably be trying to sleep in, so you figured everything should be fine.

A few hours later, during your lunch break, you decided to quickly go get some of your things from your apartment. You had your set of keys, and since it was still a weekday, you knew that your mother would be at her job, and no one else would be at the apartment. You had to run for a few minutes to make sure you’d have enough time for everything and for getting back to your job.

You unlocked the door, and slid through the hallway. You immediately dashed to your room, your heart beating so hard you could hear it. You found a small luggage in your closet, and decided to use it. You put as many things as you could fit in there: clothes, books, etc., took a few necessities, like your toothbrush and any hygiene products that you needed, zipped the case up, and left the apartment in a hurry, locking the door on your way out. *I’ll come back tomorrow just in case I forgot anything*, you thought.

Luckily, your boss let you place your small luggage into an employees only room, and you finished up the work day in a few more hours. You clocked out, took your luggage, and immediately left for Stark Tower. It looked just as majestic as it did the first time you saw it, but now it was less imposing. It felt a bit more like home. It felt safe.

As soon as you got back to your room, you began unpacking and placing objects into their new space. It looked pretty clean to you, but it was probably cluttered enough for some people to just have no idea how you know where your things are. You didn’t really care if others didn’t understand your organization method. It made sense to you, you vaguely knew where things were supposed to be, and that was enough.

After having changed into comfier clothes to wear in a “home” environment, you checked the clock in the room. It was 4 o’clock in the afternoon. You took a deep breath, and suddenly yawned. You grunted, and headed over to the kitchen, sliding quietly in your socks.

The room was completely empty. You relaxed a bit, put the water on to boil, and quickly went to your room and back, now holding a bowl of dollar store noodle soup.

Suddenly, you heard the noise the lift made when opening. You quickly turned around to face the noise. Tony was standing there, and for a few seconds he just stared at you in confusion. You started kind of panicking internally as he stared at you, even though it lasted mere seconds.

He walked up to you and nodded at the dollar store bowl in your hands.

“Hey, why you eating that? Kid, you know there’s food, right? You can have the food. There’s plenty here”, he nodded towards the fridge and freezers standing close to another counter. For a moment, it looked like he froze, and he then looked at you. “Are you, like, allowed to come and go to the kitchen when your mother’s around?”

You shrugged awkwardly. “She’s kind of scary, I uh, I tend to avoid her. I kind of usually go to the kitchen at night. And she could randomly decide that she wanted something despite telling me she didn’t want it, so I’ve just been trying not to inconvenience her, you know.” You looked down to the floor. “Ramen’s better than nothing, so..”

“You can take any food you want at any time, Y/N, alright? Like, unless someone’s name is actually on it, it’s free to eat. You can have anything you like.”

“Thank you, Mister Stark”, you smiled awkwardly, flicking your gaze to him for half a second. You noticed you were fidgeting, so you shoved your hands into your pockets.

“Want a hug?”

You looked at him, and he opened his arms. You nodded and he gently enveloped you in his arms.

“Thank you”, you said. You tried to hug him back, feeling a bit unsure: you didn’t really know how hugs worked, and accidentally being awkward would be, well, awkward. Tony was going to be your legal guardian, or at least one of them, pretty soon, and you were scared of doing something that would make him not want to have you around anymore, even though you technically knew this wouldn’t happen.

You stayed like that for maybe half a dozen seconds when you both let go, and he went over to the coffee maker, immediately getting everything he needed for it. The dollar store ramen was already open, so you just made it and decided to get some actual food later on, after you finished what you already had.

Tony sat down into a couch, his coffee mug in front of him on a small table, and he then just half lied down, letting out a small groan. He grabbed a remote from the table and turned on the tv, putting it on a low volume. He looked pretty tired.

When you finished eating the ramen, you were still hungry, so you went over and got something from the fridge, making sure a dozen times that it didn’t belong to anyone. You heated it up and ate it slower than usual, trying to enjoy the taste of it.

Closer to when you were done, you started hearing some sort of noise. Desperately trying to find the source of the repetitive noise, you looked around and quickly found it: Tony was just chilling in front of the tv, snoring. He must’ve been really tired. You cleaned up your plate, grabbed a blanket, and placed it onto him so he wouldn’t freeze, and then you moved the coffee mug further away from the edge of the table: it wouldn’t be pleasant for him if he suddenly woke up and accidentally pushed the mug off the table, or if he broke something and got hurt because of it.

You left the common room and decided to stay in your room for a while. You took your laptop and headphones out of your bag, putting your music on shuffle and sitting down at the work table in the room and simultaneously adjusting the height of the chair. After skipping 9 songs until you found the one you wanted, you closed your eyes and inhaled deeply, lying back into the chair.

A bit later, you checked the time. You blinked repeatedly, unsure that what you were seeing was real; it was 7pm. You’d been listening to music for over two hours, but it felt like maybe half an hour had passed.

You got up and dragged yourself over to the bed, lying face down and wrapping yourself into blankets for maximum comfort and warmth, and you curled up into a ball, all while still wearing your headphones. You didn’t even remember closing your eyes, but you just passed out.

A bit over two hours later, there was a gentle knock on the door, but it still managed to wake you up in a brief panic.

Natasha’s voice started quietly, but then grew just a bit louder.

“Hey, Y/N, just wanted to say that it’s like, dinner time, so feel free to come out and hang around with us all in the common room. Yeah.”

You kept quiet, weighing out the pros and cons of joining a large gathering and decided against it.

*I Do Not have energy for this right now*, you thought, despite still feeling thankful that Natasha thought of you.

You buried yourself deeper into the blankets and stayed there, almost unmoving, and just breathing slowly for what felt like forever, until it became too hot and you took the blankets off yourself. You were still in your day clothes since you didn’t plan on actually falling asleep. You stretched, groaning quietly, still lying down, and caught yourself just as you were about to roll of the bed and fall onto the floor.

*Fuck, I want tea. But there’s a gathering going on. Dammit. Eh, I’ll just, maybe, wait like, an hour? Yeah, yeah, that’s fine. An hour. I’ll get tea at like, 10. Should be less people there then. This is fine. Might as well do something while waiting.*

You sat in front of your laptop, opened it, and started scrolling through Youtube, looking for fun things to watch while doing nothing. Staring periodically at the clock, you got increasingly annoyed: time seemed to move really slowly for some reason, and though you could swear you just watched two 15 minute long videos, the clock showed that not even 10 minutes passed since 9pm. You were starting to get hungry despite having eaten a few hours ago, and you felt your stomach growl already.

Grabbing a book, you sat down onto the carpeted floor in front of the couch, your back propped against it. You just needed to distract yourself until you could stand leaving the room and hopefully not have to talk to a bunch of people.

Reading was practically impossible: you couldn’t actually concentrate at the moment, and it really didn’t help that you either over concentrated on things or your attention span was so short that you couldn’t keep yourself occupied for longer than a minute, and even then, you had no idea what happened within that minute.

You just decided to put an alarm for 10pm in case you got distracted.

Suddenly, a notification popped up on your phone, and then another. The first one was Peter, and you immediately clicked it to read his message.

- Ayy, what’s up? (P.P.)

- hey, not much, chilling at the Stark Tower

they’re having some sort of evening gathering and i’m just honestly too dead and overwhelmed to join them

you? (Y/N)

- that’s nice! i’m glad you’re staying there lately!!

oOf, big mood, gatherings are like, Exhausting and just Too Much sometimes

just got back from swinging around the city, i am tired as h * c k (P.P.)

- dude why did you censor heck (Y/N)

- how dare, this is a swear free minecraft server, you can’t say Bad Words here that’s Illegal (P.P.)

- asfjfjak go to sleep (Y/N)

- *uno reverse card picture* (P.P.)

- noo i’m waiting so people leave so i can get food

seriously tho go to sleep if you’re exhausted, i just had an accidental two hours long nap so i’ll be alright for a bit (Y/N)

- ight fine i’ll go to sleep, good night Y/N (P.P.)

You smiled and sent him a good night message back.

“Dumbass spider”, you said quietly.

Another notification appeared. This was a text from your mother, which freaked you out a bit, but it said “call me”, so you couldn’t really do anything about being scared at the moment. You dialled her number and waited, full of dread, for her to answer. When she finally answered, you said a quiet “hi” to her. She asked you how things were going, and you played along, saying everything was good while really trying not to sound like you were panicking.

Less than a few minutes later, she said her goodbyes. Doubts started creeping into your mind. *What if I’m wrong and she’s actually really nice? What if she’s only like that to me sometimes because I’m just,, Bad? Maybe I made a mistake by telling mister Stark.. she’s nice to me sometimes, what if it’s like, okay?” You started feeling a bit uneasy, afraid that you were making a huge mistake by asking him to help you with getting out of the situation with your mother.

You hugged your knees and stared at the floor, overthinking this one interaction with her. *What if she’s actually really mad at me and when she sees me back there again she’ll show her anger? What if she somehow found out that I told mister Stark?*

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