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prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years

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A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 9

<- Chapter 8 | Chapter 10 ->

@sexy-opium-ravioli asked me to write a comfort Frankenstein fic so instead I did this [stares at the camera]

cw: suicidal ideation

Heavy raindrops pound on the wood-shingle roof, each impact combining into a chorus that roars in your ears in the pitch-black darkness. It’s like you’re being swallowed by a great beast. The entire building creaks, straining against the wind, making your heart race with the fear that it might all come crashing down on top of you as you lay clutching the covers in bed.

A deafening crack and blinding surge of light is followed shortly by a second, earthier crack and a dull thud on grass. Lightning hit one of the trees in the pasture.

In the middle of this raging tempest through which no living being could survive, there comes a scratch at your shutter. The curtains flutter as wind suddenly swirls inside, and the roar of rain grows louder. Something is coming into your bedroom.

Another flash of lightning reveals the silhouette of a massive figure, drenched and dripping, standing in front of the window. The blast of thunder that shortly follows makes the enormous figure jump, and rush, trembling like a kitten, to your bedside.

You take his deformed and scarred hand in yours, and squeeze it.

“I do not like thunder,” his grave voice whispers through gasping, timid breaths. Your beautiful, sweet creature. You never want anything to hurt him. An aching sadness washes over you anew, quivering your lower lip.

He notices you are shaking, frantic, frazzled, and puffy-eyed. He doesn’t look much better.

“When you did not come, I feared for you.” He licks his lips nervously. “I ascertained that you were within the house, but were under guard, and I could not reach you. Please tell me you are unharmed—if anything has happened to you, I shall not forgive my cowardice.”

Without warning, a sob chokes you, and hot tears roll down your face. The monster, filling up half your small cottage bedroom, doffs his wet cloak and pulls your crying form against his warm, broad chest like an extension of the furniture and holds you, rubbing your back and cooing soft words of comfort. You hide your face against him, trying to disappear as muffled sobs wrack your shoulders.

“What is wrong?” he asks with a voice so fragile from your silence that the answer might break him.

“Just let me hold you for awhile. Please.”

You feel him shudder against you, and surround you in his warm arms like a cocoon. It’s a long time before you can collect yourself enough to tell him what happened.

*****

“Like hell we are!” you snapped impulsively as soon as Ferdinand announced your “engagement.” Your fists clenched into tight balls of righteous fury. He was delusional. You were leaving.

Then your father stared at you—that dark, severe stare that threatened violence if you did not behave. “Mind your tongue, child!” he snapped, and your tongue stopped moving, and all of the smart words that had been on the tip of it just disappeared. It was so strange. You had been frightened to run, terrified, but you were ready. Just like that, all the oxygen seemed to drain from the room as Ferdinand, your father, and your mother surrounded you, reminding you of your place in the world and how helpless you were in it.

Your fiery ember dropped into a bucket of water.

You sat in the living room, trapped like a rabbit in a snare, crawling inside your own skin as reality washed over you. They laid out the situation. There were rumors around town—serious ones—that you’ve been consorting with the devil. Half the village thought you were a witch. It wouldn’t be long before something terrible came of it, but Ferdinand had graciously offered to make you his wife, and in doing so, put the rumors to bed. So you would marry him. He was well-liked among the superstitious factions, and could get them to leave you alone if he made you an honest woman. (You growled at the implications of that particular phrase.)

Ferdinand sneered with self-satisfaction, his voice dripping with honey as he said how much he worried for you.

They were pressing you into the marriage and would hear no arguments, no back-talk. They suspected you might run, and wouldn’t let you out of their sight—your mother, your father, and Ferdinand.

You were prey. There was nothing you could do to fight.

The sky grew ever darker and more ominous with each passing minute you spent ensnared, until you knew you had missed the rendezvous time. Your heart twisted—if your daemon were wise, he had left already without you. Thinking of the alternative—that he had stayed, and would be discovered—your chest twisted even tighter. Marrying Ferdinand was a get-out-of-jail-free card for you, but the creature’s life was in irrevocable mortal jeopardy.

“You can’t force me to marry him!” you whimpered to your mother, praying for a sympathetic ear when you were left alone with her for a moment. She was horrible, but she was a woman. She must understand, at least a little, what they were doing to you.

She patted you softly on the shoulder, but her eyes stayed hard. “Your grandmother remembered when they burned a witch right in the center of town. Believe me, this gossip is not something to take lightly. Making you a proper wife is the only way to make people see that you are a normal girl. If you do not, then you shall no longer be our daughter, and we cannot protect you from whatever shall happen next.”

You tried to speak, but your tongue was dry. You kept trying to swallow the dryness away, but it stuck in your throat. You wanted to rage, to scream against them, to be on fire, but your blood had all turned to ice.

This was happening, and there was nothing you could do but accept it.

*****

The creature strokes your cheek gently, his sympathetic and sorrowful yellow eyes glistening in the erratic flashes of light from the storm. “I am sorry I could not protect you. I am here now; let us depart under the cloak of night.”

Your head shakes in tense arcs before you decide to make them, your throat closing up. “You don’t understand—I can’t.”

The dark shadow shaped like his body becomes a tense, rigid statue. “What do you mean?” he says, cautiously.

“I can’t!” you repeat, as if he’s the one not making sense and your feelings should need no explanation, but you explain anyway, the words gushing out like a flooded river. “Maybe I wanted to, I thought I could, but it isn’t realistic. Look at the storm outside! I can’t run away in the middle of this—it frightens even you, doesn’t it? You couldn’t protect me should a thunderbolt strike me on the head! What will we do during weather such as this without any shelter? With my family monitoring me like a prisoner, I could not even finish packing—I haven’t the food and water to survive a week away from home! Where could we go, anyway? You cannot guarantee Victor Frankenstein will take us in! He may just as likely kill us! They think me a witch here, where everyone has known me since I was a baby. I will be a witch in the next town. We will be pariahs wherever we go.”

You wished he would yell, that he would argue, or be consumed in a fit of emotion—that would be better somehow—instead, he listens to your fearful list of excuses silently, with no reaction but his shoulders slowly falling and a soft, pained growl deep in his throat.

“D-don’t you see?” you explain frantically as if he had been arguing back. “We don’t need to run. They never spoke of you as more than rumor—those hunters, and Bess, they must not have been believed as any more than superstition. Every town has its ghost stories. There is no bloodthirsty mob, so long as I marry him. We can stay here and keep you hidden. We’ll be safe.”

“Safe?” he growls, but only softly and without malice. He can no longer bear to listen quietly. “You wish to marry him?” You hoped he would be angry, but his voice is a wavering medley of betrayal and confusion, and the pang it leaves in your heart is almost too much to bear.

“Of course not, but I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do. Run away with me tonight.” An angry bolt of lightning splintered another tree out in the pasture, making you both jump, and providing the counterpoint to his argument for you. “Tell me you want to marry him,” he reaches out with a large hand that could cover your entire head, and delicately strokes your cheek. His eyes glisten with longing. “Tell me you want this and I will go. I shall live the rest of my life a miserable wretch, but I shall bear it, knowing you are happy.”

“Y-you once told me you wouldn’t care if I was with other men, so long as I came back to you. Maybe we could…”

That finally gets a rise out of him. “We could what?” he snaps, cutting you off. “You desire to marry another, and keep me hidden away in a barn—a filthy secret for you to visit at your leisure—to make love to when you are not sharing a bed with your husband? Is that… what you want?” The energy and indignation he had begun with fades away to a lame sort of helplessness by the end.

You know how pathetic you sound. How weak. It was the last thing you expected of yourself, too. You had always walked to your own beat, never fit in, and never cared what anyone thought of you—at least not enough to change for their benefit. You always dreamed of running away one day.

But you hadn’t.

No matter how much you had dreamed it—and even one exhilarating day had packed a bag and chased an eight-foot monster into the forest, convinced that you might run away with him—you never actually did. So many years waiting in misery, and all of that time you could have run.

But you wouldn’t. The moment the fantasy began to crystallize into reality, you froze with terror. You never would.

You only wish you had realized this before hurting him. Your precious daemon stares back at you expectantly, fiercely blinking his watery yellow eyes to fight off tears he won’t let fall in front of you. He’s waiting for you to assure him that this is a mistake—that he’s more to you than a sexual pet—and your heart twists with shame.

“Here is bad, but here is safe. It’s that kind of bad that’s all I’ve ever known. That sharp, snow-covered peak you can see from the barn has stood there, unchanging since I was born. It was there watching over our valley before my parents were born. The alpine winds have shaped it for thousands of years, since before the great pyramids of Egypt. Maybe I am like that mountain. Maybe I can never change, no matter how much I want to.”

It’s not the answer he hoped for. His jaw clenches. He had come here thinking you were running away together at last, and finally, finally, the weight of what is happening sinks in. You watch as the hope goes out of his eyes. Lightning flashes behind him, a little more distantly now. His throat bobs as he swallows.

“Please don’t look away,” you sob, begging. Something inside you is breaking with him.

Footsteps creak on the stairs and the faint orange glow of a candle filters under the door. “Are you talking to someone in there?” demands your mother’s shrill voice just as the door to your bedroom swings open. Your mother gasps in horror.

“You’ve left the window open, you fool child!” She clucks disapprovingly and rushes to shut it, closing the drenched curtains over it once it is latched tight. The shadow of the creature is gone. “What were you thinking? Of running away?” she snaps.

Yes, you want to scream. You hate her. Pinpricks of tears sting your eyes, and you wish you had disappeared into the night, too, for a vengeful bolt of lightning to release you from your misery.

Then she does something that surprises you. She sighs, and sits at the edge of your bed, her weight making a sinkhole on the straw-filled mattress. “My baby girl, you’re crying. They say it isn’t right for a bride to cry on her wedding night, but we know better.” She smiles sadly and wipes a tear from your cheek. “I wanted to run away, too,” she says quietly. Her gaze drifts over the window thoughtfully, like she was imagining a different life. In the flickering candlelight, you wonder if she could almost see it, that other life. You wonder what it was. “But if I had, where would you be?!” Her voice is back to an accusing, judgment-laden shrill. “I’ve tried so hard with you, to get you to grow up. You finally came to your senses—you’re not a child anymore, you can’t just do whatever you want. Life isn't a fairy tale. Life isn’t about being happy… it’s about doing what you have to do. Don’t disappoint me.”

When she leaves and returns downstairs, you give a cursory but hopeful search under the bed and in the corners and shadows for the creature, but he is gone. You had seen him disappear into the loft at the slightest sound of footsteps dozens of times, and you know he had fled out the window and is miles away by now. You wonder if he had returned to the barn, but you know in your heart that he’s gone. It’s already too late. You saw the way he had looked at you before your mother interrupted. Betrayed. Wounded. Finished.

He must hate you.

You throw open the shutters again and look out on the dark, windswept landscape. Heavy, cold rain pummels your face, soaking your night dress instantly and making your squint and shiver against it. There is no sign of him, though above the howling of the wind, you imagine that you hear him howling, desperate and anguished. You could jump from here, you think. You could lash together your bed sheets and climb down undetected, and—

A bolt of lightning strikes a tree in front of the house and it explodes to splinters as a cataclysm of thunder bursts open your ears. The blinding-white flash fills your room and your senses, sets all your hairs standing on end, and for several moments after you can’t see or hear a thing. Am I alive? you wonder first. Is he scared? you worry a second later. When your eyes finally adjust to the dark again, you can see the smoldering embers of the destroyed trunk, its crown lying in pieces on the ground. One branch had scarcely missed the roof, and had you jumped from your window a moment before, you certainly would have been hit.

If only you had been, a part of you screams against your skull. It’s the only way out, now. Jump from the window! it insisted, its voice weaving harsh fingers of smoke through your mind. Run, slipping in the wet grass with your ankle broken into the night and find him, or be eaten by a bear. Let a branch fall and crush your pathetic body. Let the lightning take you to Hell.

You close the shutter, and latch it.

Shaking, you return to your bed and lay on top of the covers. The depression in the mattress from your mother is still flattening out. Wet spots on the blanket are the only memento of the creature’s visit. You remember what it felt like to be held, warm and safe in his arms just moments ago, and try to tuck the memory away somewhere it will never be lost. Somewhere you can look back at it in the years to come. You’ll never feel that way again.

It would be a mistake to run.

You're making the right choice.

You don’t want to die. Surviving means doing what you have to do.

You're making the right choice.

You repeat it to yourself over and over, shivering alone on top of your bed until the black sky turns to grey, and the birds start to sing a summer chorus—first one melodic song, then a jarring metallic buzz, a repetitive whistle, and more and more add their voices until it swells into a cacophony in the purple dawn. The storm must have passed some time in the night without your noticing. It doesn’t matter. You made your choice and broke your own wings.

You made the right choice.

#frankenstein #Frankenstein's Monster #monster x reader #the creature x reader #monster x human #my writing #lo siento por esto XD #I hope I don't make you wait another 4 months for an update >_>

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handlebarstiedtothestars · 5 years

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Good Omens - The night after Tadfield (missing scene)

I preface all of this with the fact that I have probably legitimately not written fan fiction in 10 or more years, but I’ve been flexing my writing muscles again lately and Good Omens has captured my damned soul <3 This is just something little, mostly fluffy snuggly cuteness including how they came up with the idea in the last episode *obvious show spoilers*. As much as my heart wants them to pounce on each other here, I started thinking about how much affection I could really imagine the TV show’s Zira and Crowley being able to show one another straight away after 6000 years of slow burn “I don’t even like you” “You doooooo” attitudes and only being a few hours into not having to obey/worry about their sides anymore. Also very much inspired by this (x) fan art because goddamn if people didn’t look at my phone so much this would be my wallpaper.

“Oh,” Aziraphale frowned at the bus coming down the village street, “It says ‘Oxford’ on the front?”

“Yeah. He’ll drive to London anyway,” Crowley replied, taking another swig from the bottle of wine in his right hand, “He just won’t know why.”

What Aziraphale knew he should have felt was pity for the bus driver who Crowley was inconveniencing for their own personal need. What Aziraphale actually felt sitting there with Crowley drinking from a shared bottle made him shuffle awkwardly on the bench and blush. He looked away from Crowley and muttered, “I suppose I should get him to drop me off at the bookshop.” Crowley turned sharply and pressed his lips together, his voice soft as he sadly reminded his friend, “It burned down, remember?” Aziraphale did remember. He had being hoping perhaps Crowley might not mind his company tonight, after everything they had been through, and what with the trouble they were likely to be in tomorrow. Then again, it was probably a stupid idea on his part. He would have to find a hotel to stay in. “You can stay at my place, if you like” Crowley offered, interrupting Aziraphale’s thoughts and causing the angel to stare at him.

Love spiralled through Aziraphale’s body and the hint of a smile began to show on his lips before it faded, the usual worry crossing his face. Actually, thinking it through, it probably was a stupid idea. “I don’t think my side would like that,” he replied, glancing at his friend. The expression on the angel’s face made Crowley’s brow furrow together. Had he not been holding the bottle of wine, Crowley might have taken his friend’s hand. Instead he offered the truth, “You don’t have a side anymore. Neither of us do.” He saw the angel’s alarmed expression and shrugged, smiling a little, “We’re on our own side.” The angel watched him carefully as he spoke, hardly daring to believe the words. It was both a wonderful truth and a horrific truth. They were free together, and free to be together without worry of anyone finding out because, well, they all knew now. But they were quite possibly also in an awful lot of trouble, and that was a concerning thought indeed. The demon continued, hailing the approaching bus, “Like Agnes said, we are going to have to choose our faces wisely.” Crowley seemed resigned and accepting of all of this, but Aziraphale’s eyes betrayed the thousands of anxious thoughts flying through his head.

They alighted the bus and sat down together. All the other passengers found that, if they had not had reason before to get off the bus prior to its arrival in Oxford, they did now. Sure enough, the bus began heading down the M40 towards London before it ever reached Oxford. Aziraphale watched the driver’s reflection in the mirror every now and then, anxious to see that he was alright. Crowley placed a hand on Aziraphale’s knee and squeezed, “Hey. He’ll be home safe far earlier than he should be, and in the morning he’ll wake up feeling like he’s had a full night’s sleep. I promise.” Aziraphale made a small nod and hummed a slight approval, glancing down at the hand on his knee before settling back in his seat. His eyes fell across Crowley’s relaxed form one more time, and for the rest of the journey he gazed forward with a great degree of control. Crowley didn’t move his hand for a long time. It burned slightly through the fabric on Aziraphale’s leg, but there was something nice about the familiar warmth.

Crowley’s flat was as Spartan as it ever had been, so Aziraphale wandered into the room filled with plants as he waited for Crowley to return with the wine. He did promptly, having summoned up a vintage Chateauneuf-du-Pape, handing the angel a large glass. “Thank you,” Aziraphale smiled, “You know you’ve done very well with these plants, Crowley. They are extraordinarily beautiful.”

“Don’t flatter them,” Crowley growled, gulping his wine, “They’ll get complacent.” A small plant in the corner shivered. Crowley snarled at it and it stilled. The pair walked together into the central room where there was a pair of chairs and a table.

“Well,” Aziraphale stood a little straighter, mustering a smile, “what shall we drink to? To Adam?”

“Nah,” Crowley drawled.

“Well then, to that young couple who stopped nuclear Armageddon?”

“Noooo. Avoided worldwide disaster, big deal. Turned off a few computers. Barely did a thing.”

“Well neither did we really.”

“Oh, shut up,” the demon hissed.

“To the ineffable plan!” Aziraphale offered with a cheeky smirk.

Crowley nearly spat out his wine, “No! No, no. I have a better idea.”

��Go on.”

Crowley seemed to hesitate for a moment, before he raised his glass and his amber eyes fixed on Aziraphale, his mouth wobbly in its signature smirk. Aziraphale frowned at this emotional look from his friend. “Crowley, dear, is everything alright?” In answer, Crowley reached out and looped his arm through Aziraphale’s so they were locked together at the elbow, their wine glasses in front of them. He twisted his hand back to clink his glass against the angel’s, and his voice cracked a little as he said, “To my best friend.”

The demon drank a large gulp, but the angel was too much in shock to move. “To…b-best… friend?” the angel asked quietly.

“What do you mean best friend like that? Drink your drink before you spill it!”

Aziraphale quickly leaned forward, struggling to angle his arm with his elbow attached to Crowley’s. Managing a small mouthful, he unhooked himself, holding his glass protectively in front of his chest. He looked everywhere but Crowley as he spoke, “But you said you lost your… your best friend yesterday?” Crowley’s mouth wobbled again as Aziraphale burned under the unflinching gaze through his sunglasses. “I did,” the demon said, his voice filled with sadness at the memory. But his face rapidly fell into an open-mouthed scowl when he realised what Aziraphale meant, “Waaaaaait! You didn’t know I meant you?!”

“Well you never said it was me!”

“Never said it was y- YOU WERE DEAD!”

“Discorporated.”

“WHATEVER! How could you not know?!”

“YOU NEVER SAID!” Aziraphale shouted back, almost spilling his wine. He placed it carefully on the table before he ruined his jacket. Crowley was still staring at him in disbelief, his sunglasses now removed, those amber snake eyes a little dilated in the darkness of his flat. He crossed the space between them, stopping inches from Aziraphale, his mouth open trying to form words. Eventually a bunch tumbled out all at once. “How could you not know? Angel, it’s been six thousand years. I’ve been following you around for six thousand years. Why else would I have… found you over and over again and - and rescued you and helped you through all those millenia. Why do you think we made the arrangement?! Why do you think I kept turning up? Why would you be helping me, angel unless we were - ” Crowley’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead and knitted together as a concerning thought crossed his mind. “Am I not your…” he ventured. The angel quickly interrupted him, “Oh, you ridiculous man, of course you’re my best friend. I love you dearly. I wouldn’t have had anyone else by my side throughout this whole…this...” Aziraphale was distracted as he noticed Crowley’s body seemed to have stopped breathing. Aziraphale frowned, examining the demon’s face, “My dear boy, are you alright?”

“You said you love me,” Crowley smirked.

Aziraphale stuttered as he attempted to reply. Crowley’s grin spread wide across his thin face. Aziraphale sighed and rolled his eyes, bracing himself for the inevitable demonic teasing. “You’ve never said you loved me before,” Crowley cooed mockingly, “You’ve said you forgive me. You’ve blessed me. I think you’ve damned me to hell before.”

“Hmm too late for that,” Aziraphale jibed, reclaiming his wine for another much-needed mouthful. Crowley was practically dancing on the spot, almost laughing, crowding Aziraphale. “Yes, alright!” Aziraphale said with exasperation, “So what? Angels are beings of love, I’m an angel, I love everything. You are my best friend, ergo I love you. It’s natural.” He drained his wine, setting the empty glass down and adjusted his bowtie. “What mockery must I endure for the next thousand years?” he sighed, “Go on then, do your worst.”

But Crowley didn’t want to say anything more. Instead he picked up the small man into a warm embrace and squeezed him hard against his chest. Aziraphale squeaked as he was grabbed and never quite figured out where to put his arms. Crowley rocked him gently from side to side before he stilled, keeping the angel’s soft body flush against his lean, angular one. He placed a hand on the angel’s head, letting his fingers twist through the pale curls, pushing Aziraphale’s face into his neck. The angel breathed in that familiar smell of Crowley, leather and embers and soot and burnt sugar, and felt himself relax a little. He slipped his arms halfway around Crowley’s waist. “I love you too, in case you didn’t already know,” the demon grumbled against his hair. Aziraphale stiffened a little. He had always known Crowley had a soft spot for him; he was an angel after all, which meant he could sense love in all its forms. But he had never expected the sentiment to be reciprocated so strongly and especially not confirmed out loud. He nuzzled absentmindedly against Crowley, who hummed a little, cuddling him close as they both let their thoughts drift. Rather more gently than most demons would, Crowley kissed Aziraphale’s head through his curls, causing a warm fuzzy sensation to spread through all the angel’s nerves. Aziraphale wondered how this felt for Crowley right now. Were his nerves on fire too? What did it feel like to be Crowley…

“Heavens!” the angel exclaimed, pushing backwards from their embrace. Crowley kept tight hold of him around the waist, and Aziraphale placed his hands with a light thud on Crowley’s chest, grinning that sweet, twinkly eyed smile of his. Crowley’s heart softened a little every time the angel made that face. “I have the most wonderful idea about Agnes Nutter’s prophecy!” Aziraphale beamed at Crowley. The demon let the angel go as he explained the whole idea, his interpretation of the prophecy, how they might guard themselves from harm, and Crowley’s jaw hung slack in awe of his friend’s plan. He stared at Aziraphale, “I…you…” He cackled, “That just might work! That’s brilliant, that’s… that’s…” He threw his hands into the air, grinning, only to grab the angel’s face and plant a strong kiss on his lips. “You beautiful, smart angel, you’re a GENIUS!” Crowley growled, still holding Aziraphale’s flushed cheeks. “Oh,” the angel squeaked, realising he was holding Crowley’s wrists in his hands, “Um… thank you.” Crowley grinned manically, oblivious, squeezing Aziraphale’s face before flying across the room. He paced up and down talking through the plan, the ins and outs, giving Aziraphale a detailed breakdown of Hell should he get summoned or likely dragged down, and asking questions about Heaven’s hierarchy and layout, ensuring they could pass off as each other. Aziraphale paid attention as best he could, answering questions when asked, but kept running his fingers over his lips, still burning with warmth from Crowley’s kiss, trying to hide the small smile growing on his face.

#ineffable husbands #ineffable boyfriends #aziraphale #crowley #good omens #in which they drink a lot of wine #and aziraphale keeps nearly spilling his #in which crowley loves kissing his clumsy smart angel #damn this show #i have so many feelings #be kind #aziracrow #my writing

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suilinbride · 4 years

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Land, Rest, and Warmth Should I continue after my fall break?

Good afternoon! I hope this reading finds you well and thank you for the oppertunity to read for you like this. Alright, let's get down to business, shall we?

For your reading, I listened for and received the following songs from my Land, Rest, and Warmth playlist:

What You Are by Audioslave.

Sick of it All by Finger Eleven.

One Thing by Finger Eleven.

Gone Away by Cold.

Broken Words by Cold.

Okay, before I actually dive into your reading, I want to take a moment and give attention to the fact that three of the songs I received for you for this reading came from the same band, Finger Eleven, and two of those three songs came from the same album. This kind of situation, which happens occasionally, tells me as a Diviner specializing in Shufflemancy (among other forms of Divination), that I need to pay special attention to what those songs are saying for this reading.

Anyway, with that out of the way, let's dive into your reading. As always, I shall only quote the lyrics from the song that I feel and think is relevant to the reading at hand.

And when you wanted me, I came to you And when you wanted someone else, I withdrew And when you asked for light, I set myself on fire And if I go far away I know, you'll find another slave

I have to ask, was your last stent with schooling, training, or work (or whatever it was you are taking a break from in the fall), the reason why you are asking if you should keep at it or give it up instead? I don't know your situation at all, but the lyrics of this song are very clear about giving some much of your time, energy, effort, and even devotion, only for it to not be worth it in the end.

Was your time, this time, not worth it? Was it too hard, too troubling, or not what you thought it would be in the beginning. Maybe it wasn't as troubling as it could obviously seem, and if that's the case, the trouble might have been something less clear, more subtle, and something one would need to think hard and reflect much on recent events to get a truely clear understanding of it.

Either way, it seems that whatever you are involved in, whatever you are currently doing, is demanding too much from you, taking too much from you, draining too much from you as a result.

now I'm free from what you want Now I'm free from what you need Now I'm free from what you are

There is a strong possibility that once you get a break, take the time to think and reflect, see things from a fresh perspective, you'll be able to decide if what's going on, what you are doing, is worth sticking with it and seeing it through or not. That decision is completely up to you. But regardless of the choice you end up making, there is a strong chance that you will soon see things for what they are, if you haven't done so already.

Are the sins getting staler Does every moment move past you Or does it feel like forever And shouldn't you be laughing too?

Were there things that took place while you were there doing what you were doing that you regret? Things you wish you could take back? Or maybe things that happened that you saw that you could do nothing about at the time? Do any of these things haunt you?

It feels like every moment has ground to a hault, every second passing like an eternity passing onto itself. This, regardless of anything else, some kind of weariness, even if you aren't fully aware of it, that leaves you down and feeling depleated of life and energy in a way? At some point something has got to give.

Take a look how they found you Take a look what they've done to you now What was it they wanted Sullen and haunted? If only you saw it coming

Were you recruited to whatever you are taking a break from? Or did you go into it with eyes open? It feels like the way you were when you first started out with it was prime material for them to mold, bend, and break with exhaustion, trauma, problems, drama. Were they hoping to bend until you and others would break?

How far down would you fall If you never came up again? 'Cause you're so sick of it all And you want to change everything Just how deep would you go To see through it all?

The real question is, what are you giving up if you left this behind? It sounds like one of those situations where one door is closed forever. Are you willing to close that door behind you?

Regardless, there's a part of you that is fed up with whatever is going on, other wise you wouldn't ask if you should keep with it after your break or not. Once again, that's up to you. But it does seem like there are truely sincere reasons for you to give it up, let it go, walk away for something else.

Restless tonight Cause I wasted the light Between both these times I drew a really thin line It’s nothing I planned And not that I can But you should be mine Across that line

Speaking of decisions, you have a tough one to make. Is it eating at you? You need to figure out which is more important to you, what you can obtain by sticking with the path you are currently on, or what may come from letting the current path go, giving it up, and seeing what comes by taking a different path instead.

If I traded it all If I gave it all away for one thing Just for one thing If I sorted it out If I knew all about this one thing Wouldn’t that be something

The best thing you can do right now is to think about everything, make sure you have all the facts and important details at hand so you can make the best decision for you in the end. What is most important to you, what do you desire the most deep down in your heart of hearts? Once you know without a doubt, go for it, sieze it with every fibre of your being and don't look back.

Do you pray In the night Can you appreciate the wind And I won't care I won't fight

Let go of all the things that distract you at the moment. Let go and ignore the things that press down upon you, demanding your attention, requiring you to give all of your focus in the here and now. Instead, take a breath, relax, and reconnect to the things that mean something to you. Reconnect to the things that matter, that remind you that you are alive. Focus on those things instead, as they will help you think and reflect more clearly and will allow you to make a better decision about things.

And I can't breathe When you cry But I'll be there to hold you tight And I would kill I would fight To keep you close I keep singing the same way I won't live If you died If I can feel you in the wind And this is me It's my life

So many things press down upon you, demanding attention, causing distraction, making things anxious because they don't want you to let go and give them up. But you only have the time and energy for the things that truely matter. And while the choice is an important one, it will also be a painful one because there are large parts of you who cares about the things you will have to give up, let go, pass on with your choice. Some regrets are unavoidable in this situation, but which would you rather regret? The smaller things that take too much time and energy without paving the path to the things and the places you need or want with every fibre of your being to go and be?Or would you rather regret missing out on the things that truely allow you to do what you want the most, allow you to be the things you need?

In the end, your choice is action and a fight. You fight for what is meaningful and what is irrelevant. Either way, some feelings of sorrow and pain will most likely occur along the way. This naturally happens when things comes into focus and you realize what is important from what is not.

Your sweet little hands Brush right past me Sometimes you don't understand Why you can't reach I bite when I don't want to bend How silent I can be So she is silent too

The worst thing you can do in this situation is become your own worst enemy, which will happen if you don't voice everything from the heart and instead lie to yourself. You will be torn in two if this happens, one half harming the other, and both halves will fail in the process.

And lying isn't even the only thing you can do to harm and even destroy yourself in the process of choosing and making decisions. Silence, staying quiet and refusing to communicate, even with yourself, can do the same thing. Now is not the time for silence, as silence, especially inner silence, will only harm yourself in the end.

She's the one who saw my words Broken, Torn at the seams And broken words were all she heard Now she's walking away from me

Keeping silent to yourself or lying to yourself about what you truely want or need and the choice you need to make will cause the oppertunity to pass you by altogether. Will that oppertunity come again? I have no idea, though probably not, and if it does, it won't return for a long time. Are you willing to allow it all to walk out that door, pass you by, and walk away?

Some never meant And some meant well The difference between us is so Hard to tell I was so shaken but now All I see Is everything she meant to me

Once again, you will know in your heart of hearts of what truely means to you and what does not. Listen, listen deeply and clearly, and act upon what your inner self is telling you about the choices available to you and the choice you should make.Because if you allow the thing that means the most to you, the thing you need, slip through your fingers, it will haunt you for a long while afterwards. You are your own best ally, but you can also be your own worst enemy. That choice is your's to make, just like the great choice at your hands is also your's to make.

Wow, this reading took a lot out of me! It took days to complete, as it did not want to flow as easily as most readings do for me. Actually, it felt more like pulling teeth from a Crocodile bare handed at times, which that does happen sometimes (the reading being difficult to process and write up I mean, not the pulling teeth from the Crocodile thing). I'm sorry if this reading doesn't answer your question as easily as you would have liked or didn't give you answers as straight foreward as you were hoping they would. Please let me know if there is anything more I can do for you!

#KonigsburgConcerto #Readings for Others #Free Readings #Shufflemancy Readings #Land and Rest and Warmth Playlist #Audioslave #What You Are #Finger Eleven #Sick of it All #One Thing #Broken Words #Cold #Gone Away

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camillemontespan · 5 years

Text

double date [AU. Drake Walker, MC]

Just an AU I thought of writing, hope you enjoy.

Anecdote: I genuinely once broke up with a guy I was seeing because he was horrified at the thought of pancakes for breakfast. He was watching his sugar intake and protein levels. I realised I didn’t need that kind of negativity in my life.

@jovialyouthmusic @pug-bitch @moonlightgem7 @sirbeepsalot @drakesensworld @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @iplaydrake @katedrakeohd @carabeth @notoriouscs @be-still-my-aching-heart

*****************************************************************************************

‘Hey man, we’re nearly at the restaurant,’ Drake said into the phone.

‘Awesome. See you in a second, I’m just getting to the door now.’

They rounded the corner and saw the gold fronted facade of the Italian restaurant. Leo was standing outside and he raised his hand in greeting.

‘Drake! And girlfriend! How nice to meet you!’

Olivia shook his hand firmly. ‘Hi Leo. Drake’s told me so much about you. Not all of it good.’

Leo burst out laughing. ‘Ah, he warned me you have teeth!’ He shook his head, still chuckling, then looked at Drake. ‘Camille’s on her way, she’s running late from work. She apologises profusely and has told me to order the most expensive bottle of alcohol for the table and she’ll pay for it.’

Drake smirked. ‘Sounds like my kind of woman.’

Olivia elbowed him. ‘No whiskey for you tonight, Drake.’

Drake sighed and guided her into the restaurant. Leo clapped him on the back. ‘How nice is this, huh? A double date! We’ve worked together for ages and still not met each other’s partners. This’ll be fun.’

Drake fought the feeling of dread that was building in his stomach. Fun was not going to be on the menu. Double dates were the worst.

*****************************************************************************************

‘Sorry I’m late! Aaah I had a deadline and traffic was a nightmare, such a disaster.. anyway, I’m here, I’m here! Did you guys get the most expensive bottle like I told you to?’

Drake looked up to see a dark haired woman rushing towards their table at the window. Her hair was windswept and she was panting slightly. She had clearly been running.

Leo stood up and kissed her on both cheeks. ‘Don’t worry babe. This is my work friend, Drake, and his girlfriend Olivia.’

Camille shot them both a mega watt smile. Drake blinked in surprise. She was ridiculously pretty; gorgeous actually. Big brown eyes, caramel skin, sharp cheekbones and a smile that lit up her eyes. ‘Really nice to meet you both,’ she said and Drake could tell she was genuine.

Camille shrugged off her trench coat and sat down beside Leo, who threw his arm across the back of her chair. ‘And breathe!’ he joked. Camille giggled and opened her menu. ‘So, what are we ordering drinks wise?’

‘The champagne to share,’ Olivia told her.

‘Ah, I’m not keen on champagne really..’ Camille said. Olivia stared at her. ‘I’m sure Leo said you were from France. How can you not like champagne?’

‘I was born in New York. I’ve got French blood but I’m not from France,’ Camille said, giving her a smile. ‘I don’t know, I just don’t like the taste.’

‘How about wine?’ Leo suggested. They agreed on wine and read over the food options. ‘I’m going to go for the lobster,’ Leo said. ‘Why not? We’ve just been paid!’

Olivia smirked. ‘I might join you on that. I do love pulling it apart.’

Camille looked like she was going to dry heave. ‘Gnocchi for me, I think,’ she decided.

‘Babe, we’re trying to eat more protein!’ Leo said.

‘No Leo, you’re trying to eat more protein,’ Camille replied. ‘You’re the one who climbs up all those mountains, you need protein. Meanwhile, I like carbs.'

'We're not eating carbs right now,' Leo chuckled.

'Yeah, at home. This is a restaurant, the rules don't apply.'

Drake smirked as he took a sip of wine. He liked her logic.

Olivia wrinkled her nose. ‘Ugh carbs, no thank you.’

Drake looked at Camille and saw her looking a little dejected. ‘I’m thinking the spaghetti carbonara,’ he announced.

Olivia rolled her eyes and Camille flashed him a small smile. Drake gave her a wink and put his menu down.

'So what do you do at work Drake?' Camille asked.

'I work in the graphic design team,' he told her.

Camille grinned. 'That's really cool! Do you enjoy it?'

'Yeah, I do. Its not what I'd love to do in life but you know, it pays the bills..'

'Plus you get to hang out with me!' Leo chimed in. Drake smirked. 'That's obviously the best perk of the job.'

'What would you really like to do then?' Camille asked, studying him.

Drake blushed. 'Set up my own whiskey business.. I'd call it Lone Star.'

Camille looked delighted at this pipe dream. Olivia, on the other hand, looked like she wanted to throttle him.

'Lone Star as in Texas?' Camille asked. 'You're from Texas?'

'Born and bred,' Drake replied, giving her a warm grin.

'What do you do Olivia?' Camille asked. Olivia took a sip of wine. 'I work for Trend magazine.'

'What? Oh my god, I'm so jealous! Trend is my bible!' Camille squealed. 'I have all the Collectors Editions!'

'You have taste, girl,' Olivia said, giving her an actual smile. Drake breathed a sigh of relief, glad that Olivia was being nice. He thought Camille was done for after her 'I’m not keen on champagne' comment.

'What's Ana de Luca like? Is she as bad ass as everyone says she is?'

'More so!' Olivia said. 'She's incredible.'

Leo chuckled and looked at Drake. 'Shall we just leave these two to enjoy their date?'

Drake smirked and watched as the two women talked. This was the Olivia he liked. The Olivia everyone should get to see. Unfortunately, ice cold Olivia was becoming more common for him now. This was the first time they had actually been together in a week.

He zoned back into the conversation. 'I really want Camille to join me in my climbing but she won't,' Leo was telling Olivia.

'That's because I'm scared of heights,' Camille replied. 'Terrified of them actually.'

'Sometimes the best way to overcome a fear is just to face it head on,' Leo explained. 'Otherwise you'll never be free.'

'I am free, Leo.'

The table went quiet. Leo, sensing the awkwardness, tucked a lock of Camille's hair behind her ear. 'Come on baby, I was just trying to help.'

Camille downed the last of her wine and reached for the bottle to refill. Drake watched her and noticed that her hand was trembling.

Leo cleared his throat. 'I'm going outside for a smoke.'

'Ooh I'll join you!' Olivia said. Leo grinned and held out his arm for her to take. The two of them went out onto the terrace, leaving Drake and Camille at the table facing each other.

*******************************************************************************************

'You okay?' Drake asked. Camille nodded mutely. Drake bit his lip.

She then spoke. 'I'm thinking about breaking up with him.'

Drake's eyes widened in shock. 'What? Why?'

She sighed. 'It's just.. everything. I think he’s great but I'm just exhausted. He's so full on, you know? When I'm with him, I feel like I constantly have to be on. I've been working late hours recently, like staying in the office until 10pm and when I get home, I'm tired. But he always needs to be doing something. He doesn't understand that sometimes I just want to be by myself, binge watch Queer Eye and eat all of the carbs I want. But no, carbs are banned in our apartment. I miss pizza, Drake. Like I could cry when I think about how much I miss pizza. '

Drake's eyes roamed over her body. 'You're in really good shape,’ he said without thinking.

'Pilates and soul cycle,’ she replied, not caring.

'Ah gotcha,' Drake said. He leaned closer to her, conspiratorially. 'If it helps, Olivia's banned me from eating ice cream. Doesn't stop me though. Last week, half a tub had melted and instead of throwing it away... I drank it.'

Camille threw her head back and burst out laughing, causing some diners to look at her over their soup. Drake laughed too as he watched her. Camille picked up her napkin and dabbed at her watery eyes. 'Shall we order dessert just to spite them?' she joked.

'Let's get one to share!'

Their laughing died down and Drake looked at Camille seriously. 'So you're breaking up with him because you miss pizza?'

She bit her lip. 'That's one reason.. I just feel like a shadow of myself sometimes. I am fun and I am spontaneous, but you wouldn't think that because Leo is always going to go further with it. I look so dull in comparison. I feel boring when I'm with him. I'd love to try climbing mountains but the sheer thought of it makes me clam up but he doesn’t understand that. I wish I would say yes to drinks after working a 14 hour work day but I don't. I just feel like I've lost a little of Camille. You know? Leo burns so bright, anyone beside him just fades into obscurity. He needs someone who can keep up with him, challenge him.. and to be honest, that's not me. '

Drake reached out and touched her hand. She looked up, her eyes wide, and Drake reddened. He hadn't meant to do that.

'I feel like I disappoint Olivia on a daily basis,' he said quietly.

'How come?'

'We've been together for a year and during that time, I guess I struggled with alcohol.'

If Camille was surprised, she didn't let on. She kept her gaze on him.

'Whiskey,' Drake continued.

'But you want to start your own business...'

'I do and I never will,' he replied bluntly. 'I wish I could but after a few too many incidents, I cut down. I still drink whiskey but nowhere near the amount I was tanking everyday.'

'So Olivia is trying to help you stay away from it.'

'Yes, she is. I'm grateful to her for that but now, she just watches over me like a hawk. She monitors my whiskey intake. Sometimes, I feel like a child and the fact is, if I get tempted to have more than one, I feel I'm disappointing her. Like I'm letting her down. I know she can’t breathe easy any time we are in a bar or a restaurant like this and whiskey is on the menu. I joke about having one, because if you can’t laugh at yourself, when can you? But yeah..’

He trailed off.

Camille bit her lip. ‘I’m sorry.’

His eyes met hers. ‘My fault.’

‘No it’s not. Everyone has their demons, Drake.’

They stared at each other for a long moment. They jumped when they heard Leo’s voice. ‘You two look cosy!’

Drake cleared his throat and leaned back in his chair. Olivia sat down beside him, ruffling his hair. ‘Food’s on the way,’ Leo told them. He flashed Camille a warm smile and she smiled faintly back.

*****************************************************************************************

Dinner passed by with no other tense moments or hiccups. Leo was his usual jubilant self, tearing at the lobster and waving its claws in Camille’s face. He was oblivious to the growing sadness that sat beside him. Olivia became more tactile, touching Drake’s hands, running her feet up his legs, calling him ‘baby.’

He knew it was because Camille was there. The two women may be getting on well, but Drake could tell Olivia was alert. She had obviously seen Drake and Camille getting along and felt the rising threat.

Was there a threat? Drake wasn’t sure but he knew that he liked Camille’s smile and the way she laughed without self consciousness. That she didn’t judge him and she just listened. He also liked the way she would tousle her hair and as she moved, her shirt would open slightly and he would catch a glimpse of the lace on her black bra.

Enough. His girlfriend was there and Camille had Leo. He looked at Camille and Leo now; it was strange. Sometimes, Camille would give herself over to him and allow herself to be wrapped up in a cuddle. Or she would hold his hand on the table. Leo was very affectionate.

‘Dessert?’ Camille asked, winking at Drake when the waiter took away their dinner plates. Drake chuckled and Olivia frowned at him, trying to work out the joke. Leo simply said, ‘Bill please, good sir!’ He was quite tipsy now.

*******************************************************************************************

Leo was very tipsy actually. He had drank more of the wine than anyone and had insisted on having a shot of whiskey before they left; Drake had declined a shot, much to Olivia’s relief.

Camille was trying her best to hold Leo up but he kept slumping on her. Drake stepped in to help. ‘I love you man!’ Leo shouted. Drake sighed. ‘Love you too, Leo.’

Olivia flagged down two taxis for each couple. She gave Camille a brief hug goodbye and climbed in.

‘Are you going to be okay with him?’ Drake asked her. Camille nodded. ‘Yeah. Nothing I can’t handle.’

Leo proceeded to vomit into the gutter.

Camille closed her eyes. Drake turned to Olivia who was waiting in the taxi. ‘Liv, I’ll be home later. I’m going to help Camille with Leo.’

‘Really, there’s no need!’ Camille protested. Drake held his hand up, silencing her. He waited for Olivia to respond.

‘Be quiet when you get in,’ was all she said.

Her taxi pulled away and Drake put Leo into the other waiting taxi. Camille smiled gratefully and climbed in beside him, with Drake following. ‘54 Spring Street, SoHo please,’ Camille said.

Leo’s head flopped down on Camille’s shoulder and she squeezed his hand.

*****************************************************************************************

They had managed to get Leo up the stairs and into the apartment. Drake couldn’t believe that Camille had been willing to do it herself; she would have struggled. As Camille turned off the bedroom light, she padded through to the hallway where Drake waited.

‘Thank you for that,’ she said quietly. ‘Really kind of you to help.’

Drake shrugged. ‘Think nothing of it. Really.’

She tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear and watched as he shuffled awkwardly. ‘It would be nice to see you again,’ she told him. ‘You’re a good guy.’

‘Here, put your number in my phone,’ he suggested, handing his phone to her. She took it and typed in her name and number.

‘Camille Montespan?’

‘Yup. So fucking French,’ she smirked. Drake smiled. ‘I like it. Montespan.’

‘What’s your last name?’

‘Walker.’

She tested saying it. ‘Drake Walker.’

He blushed now. ‘Montespan.’

There was a silence. Drake cleared his throat and reached out to open the front door. He turned to her. ‘Goodnight, I guess.’

‘Goodnight.’ She reached out to give him a hug. She was a tall woman but she felt tiny when he wrapped his arms around her. She smelled of coconut.

This hug was lasting longer than necessary. Drake liked it.

‘Nice to meet you,’ Camille murmured. They began to part slowly, her hands still on his shoulders. He looked down at her. She had pretty eyes.

Their mouths crashed together suddenly. Drake’s hands were in her hair, tangling it around his fingers, and their tongues twirled against each other. He pushed her against the wall and Camille groaned, enjoying this. His hands roamed her body. She had delicate curves; he could feel her heart hammering.

‘Oh god..’ he murmured as he kissed her neck.

They heard snoring.

Camille pulled away from him, her eyes wild. Leo was in the other room. They had been kissing like teenagers while her boyfriend had been sleeping in the other room. Drake let out a haggered breath. ‘Sorry,’ he said.

‘No, I am.’

‘I’m just gonna go,’ he told her, cursing himself. Camille nodded briskly.

He stole one last glance at her as he left her apartment. She looked like she had seen a ghost.

******************************************************************************************

Drake watched the city go by as the taxi made its way back to his apartment that he shared with Olivia. He hoped she wouldn’t smell Camille’s perfume or the coconut scent of her hair on his clothes.

His phone pinged with a text. He opened it up, wincing at the screensaver he had of him and Olivia on top of the Empire State Building, smiling at the camera, and read the message.

Camille. ‘Just found ice cream in the fridge. Sneaking some now. I’ll think of you while I eat it.’

Drake let out a laugh. Good, she wasn’t awkward for long. He texted back.

‘Maybe we get dessert to share next time?’

His phone pinged back instantly. ‘Definitley. OMFG this ice cream is so good!’

He replied: ‘Not as good when it’s melted.’

A minute later. ‘Brb, just going to microwave it.’

Drake was about to respond but stopped himself. He put the phone in his pocket.

I’m in trouble here.

#drake walker #olivia nevrakis #drake x mc #trr fanfic #AU

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bigfan-fanfic · 5 years

Text

Banter with Tash - Sera and Dorian

Hey all! For those Dragon Age fans out there, I had some brainwaves about my OC, Tash Adaar, the Child of Andraste. In addition to my requested fics, I’ll also be posting some little mini fics I wrote of Tash, kind of like little codex entries. Feel free to request more of Tash if you’re of a DA mindset, as well as any other characters. By the way, everything relating to Tash can now be found under the “tash adaar” tag, included down at the bottom. Anyway, for the first brainwave, more banter between Tash and some of the companions!

Very long post!

Sera

TASH: Hey, Sera?

SERA (irritably): What?

TASH: I get the feeling you don't like me very much. And I don't know why.

SERA: It's because... you're weird. And weird things usually get arrows.

TASH: Huh. I'll keep that in mind. Does it have something to do with me having horns? Because that's disappointing.

SERA: Wha? No! It's because you've got stupid magic!

TASH (offended; starting to cry): What? That's awful!

SERA: (confused noises)

TASH: I can't help that any more than I can having horns. You're AWFUL!

---------------------

TASH: Hey, Sera?

SERA: What?

TASH: I think I figured out why you don't like mages.

SERA: You know what people who try to figure me out get?

TASH: Let me guess. Ar-

SERA: Arrows!

TASH: (heavy sigh) I'm glad you mentioned the arrows. It's part of my point. I think you don't like mages because you're afraid that they'll turn into demons or something. Well, what if I told you I was scared of archers?

SERA: You what?

TASH: When my brother and I were with the Valo-Kas, a lot of archers would see us and assume we were Qunari. Well, the Qun-following kind. And they wouldn't talk to us - they'd just shoot. I used to get so scared every time I saw a stranger with a bow.

SERA: That's... that's shite.

TASH: Uh-huh. But my brother told me that while it was okay for me to be scared, I shouldn't give up hope that the next archer was a good person who wouldn't do that. And you know what? I met you!

SERA: Huh.

TASH: And even though you're an archer, and you play mean jokes, and you don't like me much, I think of you as a friend. So maybe you might make some new friends too!

SERA: You're mad. You know that, right?

TASH: (sighs) Sure. Probably.

---------------------------

SERA: Tashy.

TASH: Huh? Me? What?

SERA: You've got that thinkin' face on.

TASH: I have a "thinkin'" face?

SERA: Uh-huh. And you know what people who make that face at me get?

TASH (bored): Arrows.

SERA: So out with it.

TASH: Can I be a Red Jenny?

SERA: (bursts into maniacal laughter)

TASH (offended): Fine. Don't listen to my amazing idea.

SERA: (laughs even harder)

TASH: Fine. You don't get to hear it! Congratulations on ruining the lives of all the people everywhere.

SERA: (stops laughing abruptly, then loses it again)

----------------------------

SERA: Tashy?

TASH: You think I'm talking to you after what you did?

SERA: (giggles, murmurs "lizards") Come on! I want to hear your idea.

TASH: No.

SERA: Fine. You can be a Jenny.

TASH (suddenly bright): Yay! Okay. So, imagine this... we teach all the Jennies to read.

SERA: What? That's it?

TASH: Uh-huh.

SERA: Alright. Not a Jenny.

TASH: Wait-wait-wait-wait-wait! Wait. If the Jennies can read, not only can they steal the dirty secrets all the nobles write down, they can train the commoners. Mother Giselle told me that the Chantry sisters only teach the kids who are going to be clergy or Templars. But now, Jennies can teach everyone!

SERA: And how does that help?

TASH: Becau-u-u-se... if the commoners can read, they can learn and share ideas. Maybe a blacksmith like Harritt comes up with a new way of making a sword. He can write down his method, and soon a bunch of commoners can learn how to do it. They can make a guild, and then the nobles will have to pay them instead of forcing them to work! And then, with reading, there's no more commoners getting duped into serving nobles for their whole lives! We can make the commoners so powerful that the nobles will be real scared.

SERA: Hmmm.

TASH: So can I be a Jenny? Can I?

SERA: You're still mad. But I'll think about it.

TASH: Yay!

----------------------------------

TASH (singing softly): “Sera was never an agreeable girl...”

SERA: Hey! I told you, no more of that or it’s the lizards in your bedroll again!

TASH: But... it’s just so catchy!

SERA: Creepy song is creepy. Get it!

TASH (to the tune of “Sera Was Never”): I understand what you are saying to me/ but I can’t seem to help but sing this song/ Trust me-e-e I am trying to stop/ but the song just keeps going on and on.

====================

(When dying) TASH: Oh no, they got Sera! or TASH (insincerely): Oh, no... what a tragedy.

SERA: Other Weirdy's down! or SERA (irritated): Come on, Tashy!

===================

(At the Winter Palace) TASH: Hey, Sera?

SERA: What?

TASH: Why weren't you dancing with anyone? It's fun!

SERA: (scoffs) You like dancing with those gobshites? All Madam Fancyfoots and Lord Lacey-pants?

TASH: Why do I even ask?

-----------------------

TASH: I wish we could get back to the ball. I want to dance some more!

SERA: (giggles)

TASH: Okay... that was either a "no breeches" giggle or a "jar of bees" giggle. Either way, what did you do?!

Dorian DORIAN: Ataashi, may I ask you a question?

TASH (high-pitched): Ahhh!

DORIAN: ...Have I done something to offend?

TASH: ...Um. No? I'm so sorry! It's just... I don't meet many people from Tevinter. And I know you shouldn't believe everything you hear, but I've heard some very bad things.

DORIAN: I apologize, then. I shall refrain from disturbing you in the future.

TASH: No, Ser Pavus, I'm sorry. Please don't stop talking with me.

DORIAN: Perhaps later.

TASH: Aww....

-------------------------------------

DORIAN: You are Vashoth, yes, Ataashi?

TASH: Yes, I am. I'm surprised. Everybody always thinks I'm a Qunari.

VARRIC (if present): You... kind of are a Qunari, Dimples.

TASH: I'm not Qunari. Thank you.

DORIAN: Not a problem.

TASH: Was there anything else?

DORIAN: I was wondering that if you disapprove so much of Tevinter, what must you think of Par Vollen?

TASH: I don't exactly disapprove... I mean, I kind of do... But... Look, I'm not okay with slavery. And Tevinter has slaves. But so does Par Vollen. The whole Qun is a slavery thing.

DORIAN: Interesting. I know less than when I asked.

TASH: (sighs)

-------------------------------------

(After Last Resort of Good Men) TASH: Ser Pavus?

DORIAN: Yes?

TASH: May I ask you a very personal question?

DORIAN: ...You may ask, but I wouldn't get my hopes up for an answer.

TASH: Umm, why is it that in Tevinter, you aren't allowed to be with who you love?

DORIAN (surprised): Where did you hear a thing like that?

TASH: I... uh, I had heard some story about you... and your father..."

DORIAN (gruffly): Ah, I see. Well, I suppose that among the commoners, it matters less. But Tevinter nobles are expected to pass down their magic to children. I myself am the product of decades of careful breeding.

TASH: (to himself): Like Qunari...

TASH: Well, I hope you find it better here in the south. I think that my fathers would have liked you very much.

DORIAN: Your... fathers?

TASH: Mmm-hmmm.

-------------------------------------------------

(After the above) DORIAN: Ataashi, when you said 'fathers...'

TASH: What about it?

DORIAN: Er. You had...

TASH: Oh! Yes, I was raised by my father, a Tal-Vashoth, and his husband, a baker from Markham. My birth mother... she's dead, and I don't like to think about her. Sorry.

DORIAN: Oh. I apologize. You must miss her terribly.

TASH: Not particularly. She tried to take me back to the Qun when she saw I had magic.

DORIAN (shocked): Even knowing what they'd do to you?!

TASH (quietly): You see why I don't like to think about her? My papa, the baker, he told me that I shouldn't blame her too much. She was afraid, and I don't know how her life was. And he was a good man. Both my fathers were. They made me feel special, like I could be more than the monster my mother thought I was.

DORIAN: You aren't a monster, Tash. Your parents sound like very wise men.

TASH (chuckling): You never saw them trying to repair the roof.

DORIAN: Well, if it's any consolation, my mother is very much alive, and I don't like to think about her much, either.

TASH: It isn't, much. But thank you.

----------------------------------------

TASH: Dorian?

DORIAN: Hmmm?

TASH: You aren't mad at me for not learning necromancy, are you?

DORIAN: Perish the thought? Why should I be?

TASH: I don't know, maybe because Varric told me you were drinking last night? And I saw the look on your face when you saw me training with Commander Helaine?

VARRIC (if present): Thanks for ratting me out, Dimples.

DORIAN: I'm sure I don't know what you mean.

TASH (bursting): I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you sad! Please don't stop teaching me!

DORIAN: Tash, please! Stop crying. You are perfectly at liberty to pursue whatever course of study you wish. And besides, there is nothing stopping us from having reasonable discussions about magic despite our differing specializations.

VIVIENNE (if present): My dear Lord Pavus, too many alchemists spoil the potion.

DORIAN: Regardless of your own preferences, I am always available should you wish to ask me a question.

TASH: Thank you, Dorian. That means a lot to me.

======================

(In battle:)

TASH: Dorian! He's been hurt! or TASH: Dorian, hold on!

DORIAN: Tash, no! or DORIAN: Ataashi needs some help over there!

==================== (At the Winter Palace)

DORIAN: Were you just dancing with one of the Council of Heralds?

TASH: Is that who that was? He was very nice.

DORIAN (incredulous): I meant the lady.

TASH: She was nice, too. Everybody's been so wonderful tonight!

DORIAN: Orlais. Cutthroat nobles vying for the throne. Any of this sound familiar?

------------------

TASH: Dorian, if there's time... will you dance with me?

DORIAN: (splutters) Excuse me?

TASH: I've been trying to dance with all my friends! But Cullen was too busy with his own friends, and Josie and her sister were too busy arguing. Leliana danced with me, but then she let Lady de Launcet cut in.

VARRIC (If present): Uh... those weren't friends Cullen was with, kid.

DORIAN: Well... I'd hate for you to waste a spot on your dance card with me.

TASH (disappointed): It's fine if you don't want to dance. I just thought... maybe you'd enjoy it...

DORIAN: (sighs) Very well. One dance, and you don't pester me about seeking out the nearest glass of wine.

TASH: Hmmm.... okay! Yay! (singsongy whisper) I get to dance with Dorian, I get to dance with Dorian...

DORIAN: (sighs heavily)

#my inquisitors #OCs #dragon age #tash adaar #sera #dorian pavus

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a-damson-in-distress · 6 years

Text

From Dusk Till Dawn - Chapter 5

Pairing: MadaSaku

Plot: Sakura was searching for a purpose. Madara was thirsting for revenge. Little do they know their fates intertwined centuries ago. Once he broke free from his banishment, he would usher in a new dusk. Until he realised that she was his dawn. Historical/mythological AU.

Note: Salutations, my lovelies. I’m back from the dead. So I know most of you will have probably forgotten this fic even exists (hell, even I forgot lol), but guess what - IT’S BACK BITCHES! I honestly have no idea what came over me today, but somehow I got reminded of this blog and the fics I started here, so I decided to dig it up out of the depths of my browser history, and you know what? I totally forgot how much fun I had writing these and that daaaaaaamn I had some good stories going on, which were in desperate need of updating, if only to ease my guilty conscience.

Speaking of which, I honestly have no excuses for going AWOL for so long. I know some of you may have been bummed, because I think this fic did have a teeny tiny bit of a following, but honestly guys, this writing blog was only one of my many hobbies and it was never meant to take up too much of my time. It was one of these things I occasionaly devote my time to, but that was always doomed to be second place to my life/relationship/university responsibilites. But on the bright side, I did finally get my Bachelor’s degree, whoooo! Buuuuuuuut I am still at uni doing my Master’s, sooooo ya know - still not going to be a regular thing here.

Anyways, TL;DR: I wanted to update this little nugget here out of pure nostalgia and curiosity to see how many of you will still remember the story, to see how many will appreciate and like this update and depending on your reaction, I might actually take up writing again. Goodie, I’m excited to be back. Have fun! :)

Oh also, please check out the first 4 chapters before reading this one, since - you know - I let so much dust settle on this story none of y’all will probably know what’s going on.

EDIT: I had to delete the links to the first 4 chapters, because this chapter wasn’t showing up under the madasaku tag or any of the other tags, but as soon as I deleted the links it did? Soooo yeah whatever, fuck you Tumblr links. You’re gonna have to scroll through my blog to get to the other chapters, I’m sorry. I’ll figure out a way to post all of it in one piece, promise. Have fun and let me know what you think! :)

500 years ago…

The heavens stood still.

Silence.

Death.

Victory.

Tsunade watched a tired Jiraiya fall to his knees and let out a pained groan. Allowing a nervous sigh to escape her lips, she closed her eyes.

They did it. They finally did it. After decades of warfare, bloodshed, and carnage, they finally managed to seal away the bane of their existence.

The last of the dusk gods had fallen.

Opening her eyes again, she let her tired gaze wander across the scene of their final battle. Slain gods lay scattered across the barren field, the ashen ground beneath them stained in the colour of their blood. Giant craters burning with the dreaded flames of the underworld tore through the otherwise idyllic scenery of the heavens like wounds from blade. The black flames of the dusk god’s feared Amaterasu eating up what little was left of the trees that once made this surrounding a forest.

It matters not, she kept telling herself. He is gone. And the dawn gods shall rebuild.

Just as Tsunade was about to join Jiraiya to take a look at his wounds, an ear-piercing screeching tore through her head, forcing her to her knees. Barely managing to open her eyes against the penetrating pain in her mind, she watched the other surviving gods around her writhe and hold their heads in agony.

All of a sudden, the screeching ebbed, giving way to a low hissing sound before a mysterious voice whispered into all of their ears:

At the fall of dusk, at the fall of old, spring shall bring forth his keeper,

who will call to him until his return at the night the darkness swallows the heavens.

Young and weak, the Eastern light shall seek out the old power in the West,

who will envelop her in darkness to unleash their true might.

Dawn will be his light, and dusk shall return.

It was only when the throbbing pain in her head finally dissipated that Tsunade dared to look up. The remaining gods looked at each other questioningly.

They were familiar with this pain, with this feeling. The hissing voice in their head. The dawn gods all knew what this was.

A prophecy. Foreshadowing the return of Madara.

The survivors did what they could to tend to the wounded on the battlefield. When no one else could be saved, the gods set them aflame and watched their bodies dissipate into golden dust, releasing their divine essence into the vast expanse of the universe, praying for them to be reborn again. Then, they retreated to their respective homes – or what was left of them – to lick their wounds, celebrate their survival, and grieve the death of the fallen.

Tsunade felt a heavy sadness weighing down her heart that night. Despite their unimaginable victory over the mightiest god to ever grace the face of the heavens, they had lost so many. She knew more peaceful times lay ahead of them now, and yet she felt restless. It had been ages since the universe had whispered a prophecy into their ears. And this one was particularly unsettling.

Dusk shall return.

But they sealed him, Tsunade reminded herself. And with one of Hashirama’s seals, no less. She was the one who studied the dusk god’s inscriptions, who knew his incantations like the back of her hand. She was certain Hashirama’s seal would be enough to imprison Madara for the rest of his miserable days.

And yet, mere minutes after the dawn gods managed the unthinkable and sealed away the last dusk god, the universe decided to warn them of his return. And prophecies always came true, the dawn goddess knew that much.

Not only that, but the prophecy also spoke of some Eastern light, who would supposedly help him unleash his true might. A cold shiver ran down Tsunade’s spine at the thought of Madara teaming up with such a force of nature that will grant him even more fearsome powers than he already had.

Yet the goddess of healing had no time to dwell on her worrisome thoughts, as her mind picked up the desperate prayer of a mortal couple. Never one to abandon the ones in need, the blonde goddess raced down into the mortal realm and materialised unseen in the living room of a small hut. She watched the couple on their knees, huddled together in front of the fire. They were rocking back and forth, with the woman holding a small bundle in her arms and the man raising one arm pleadingly into the air, calling out to the goddess of healing to save this poor baby.

This baby? Is that not their own child, Tsunade thought suspiciously. Babies do not just fall from the heavens.

Taking one step closer to the fire, the goddess suddenly felt a divine glow emanating from the bundle in the woman’s arms. Tsunade would recognise that anywhere – the essence of the gods. This was indeed not the mortal couple’s child, but a newborn of the dawn gods.

Still hidden from the mortal’s view, she leaned down and caught a glimpse of pink hair and emerald green eyes, staring knowingly, yet tiredly at her. As Tsunade stretched out a hand towards the babe to check its body temperature, a tiny chubby fist suddenly enclosed her index finger. This little touch was enough to flood the goddess with a feeling of warm motherly love.

Tsunade knew in that instant that this deity shall be hers to raise, care for, and love.

With her divine power, she mentally reached out to the mortals and willed them to lay the small bundle on the floor by the fire. She watched them carefully lower the baby and step back from the fire, worriedly glancing around the living room and waiting for something to happen.

In the blink of an eye, the small bundle was gone. The couple sighed in relief and fell into each other’s arms, knowing their beloved goddess of healing would take care of that weak little girl.

“Do you really think that was a wise choice?”

Tsunade ignored Jiraiya’s incessant nagging and kept bouncing the little babe on her arm. Immediately after taking the young goddess from the mortal’s hut, she returned home to her half-standing palace in the East, where some of the surviving gods have retreated to recuperate. One of them being Kakashi, the feared god of lightning, who was pinning her with a scrutinising gaze.

“Jiraiya’s right, you know. Tonight, of all nights, with this new prophecy looming above our heads… Have you even thought for a second that she could be this Eastern light, his keeper that was prophesised?”

Tsunade scoffed and shot him a challenging glare. “Please, Kakashi, don’t be paranoid. It was just one of the millions of prayers I receive every day. Only this time, it happened to involve a newly born dawn goddess, instead of a weak mortal. Just because she is one of us, does not mean she is tied to the prophecy. In fact, we should be thankful our pantheon is growing again after we lost so many.”

“The prophecy clearly said that at the fall of dusk some kind of keeper will emerge who is destined to help Madara unleash his full power upon the heavens. The fall of dusk was tonight, and after decades of no new deities, tonight is the night the universe decides to give us a new goddess, during spring no less? Coincidences like these might happen to the mortals but not in the heavens,” Shikamaru grumbled before taking a well-deserved puff from his ivory kiseru.

Rolling her eyes at the god of wisdom and strategy, Tsunade switched the little bundle to her other arm and kept bouncing her up and down, before she said, “What you all fail to see is that she cannot be the Easter light from the prophecy, since I found her in a mortal village in the middle of nowhere, not even remotely close to anywhere East. And don’t you think that if such a powerful force destined to be tied to Madara emerged that we would not have felt its birth? Elemental abnormalities, time standing still, earthquakes – anything that might indicate a new divine force has emerged. But there was absolutely nothing when this little goddess here was born. In fact, she is so tiny and weak, I honestly doubt that she will have a purpose grander than making flowers grow, that’s how harmless she is.”

Tsunade saw the uncertain faces around her, their doubtful gazes boring into her determination to keep the babe. She had to convince them, somehow. She could not just leave a part of her divine family, especially now that her kin was nearly wiped out. As soon as the young goddess had touched her, Tsunade felt responsible for her. She had to ignore the nagging feeling at the back of her head screaming at her to listen to the prophecy.

Yes, there were too many coincidences, Tsunade had to admit that herself. The prophecy clearly talks of a female, emerging during this particular night, during spring. All of which applied to the little dawn goddess in her arms.

But there was no way she could be the Eastern light; the goddess was not tied to any particular region. And Tsunade could not – for the life of her – imagine this tiny, frail little thing would be capable of stoking the fire of Madara’s wrath to the point that she would be the one to unleash his true might.

Shaking away her doubts, Tsunade gazed into the tired emeralds of the little girl in her arms. A smile spread across her lips when the tiny goddess snuggled closer to her chest.

There was absolutely no way she would abandon this little thing, not now after she lost so many of her family.

Raising her head, she shot a determined glance at all of the surviving deities in her presence and exclaimed, “I will not resign this precious goddess to a prophecy we have not even fully deciphered yet. None of us know what half of that steaming pile of donkey dung even means, so nobody is going to determine her fate based on any of that. Besides, even if she really is this keeper of his, this way we can at least raise her on our side. Teach her our story, our ways, our kindness. She will never be corrupted by him if we have the power to tell her the things we want her know. If he really does come back and they really do cross paths, there is no way she will choose him. I will tie her to me as tightly as she tied me to her.”

Lowering her caramel eyes, she cast a loving glance at the newest addition to her family and whispered softly, “I will protect my daughter from him. No matter what.”

Went to him… willingly … kidnapped … she chose him … sacrifice …

Sakura’s muddled mind started picking up fragments of speech as she slowly started to wake from her slumber. Forcing her weak body to sit up, she cast a disoriented glance around her only to find herself in her chambers at her mother’s palace.

All of a sudden, memories started flooding her mind and she felt her heart rate pick up.

Madara.

She finally met him. She was in his palace. She was so close to getting some answers. A blush crept up her neck at the thought of his calloused fingers holding her chin in place as he was leaning closer to her, before… Before the dawn gods laid siege to his palace to take her away from him.

Wait, from him? Where did that thought come from? Since when did Sakura think she belonged by his side? She had only known him for a few moments and from what she had seen on the battlefields, he was not a god whose company she should be yearning for. And yet, she had never felt so strong, so alive as when being close to him.

And now that they were separated, her old familiar frailty had returned as well.

The young dawn goddess could feel frustration bubble up inside her. Rarely did she get mad at something or someone, but her constant state of weakness had been a source of anger for all of her short life. And the one being who could rectify that just had to be her mother’s mortal enemy and the one who had been waging war against her kin for the last weeks.

Sakura felt like throwing something against the wall. Alas, all the smashable things in her room were solid gold or heavy ivory, all of which was too difficult for her to even pick up now. In Madara’s presence, however, she felt like she could carry the entire heavens on her shoulders.

Her depressing thoughts were interrupted when she felt the voices on the other side of her door grow louder.

“Look what Tsunade’s tying down has brought us. She went to him, willingly. All that keeping her close was for nothing!”

“She is so weak, she cannot even open doors without struggling, and you really think she made that trip all the way to the Western end of the heavens on her own? He clearly kidnapped her. We are lucky he left her alive for whatever reason.”

“Then tell me why she was reaching out to him when I-“

The angry voices were silenced when her mother suddenly burst through the doors and stomped into her room, glowering at Sakura with a furious expression.

“What in the heavens were you thinking?!”

#madasaku #naruto #naruto fanfiction #Sakura Haruno #Uchiha Madara #madasaku fanfic #sakura uchiha #sakumada #sakura haruno fanfic #madara uchiha fanfic

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rorykillmore · 5 years

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so i have an extraordinary number of friends with march/april birthdays, and now that it’s technically the 26th, it’s @tailsthesales!!! HAPPY BIRTHDAY GIZ!!! they asked me to write a little leon/laura thing for our panfandom site soooo i gave it a shot! luv that alliteration they have goin’ on,

but first, to get mushy for a second... giz, i know you deal with a lot. you’re not one to complain very much or put it on other people but.... i know you do and i also know that you work so hard to stay strong and positive and kind for your friends and i love that SO MUCH about you. thank you so so much especially for everything you’ve helped me with staff-wise on denny lately and just, in general, for making my life a little brighter and better. i hope you have a wonderful birthday because you deserve the WORLD <3 <3 <3

anyway now enjoy leon and laura laughing alone with salad(tm) at the gala event

What is it with her and nice guys?

Okay, not ‘nice’ -- genuine, kind, decent fucking human beings. They make Laura feel so empty in comparison.

In life, Laura had never considered herself a self-conscious person.

In death, she’s sheer, walking defiance. Mad Sweeney cracks his seventieth dead wife joke, and she doesn’t give a fuck. Random passersby stare to her pale, discolored face half-masked by the usual giant pair of sunglasses she wears, and she doesn’t give a fuck.

As a rule: she generally does not give a fuck. It’s one of the best things about being dead.

It’s one of the things she doesn’t miss feeling.

But there’s something about getting glammed up to go to a high-end political gala that’ll smack the self-consciousness right back into a gal.

No amount of washing, it turns out, will give her hair back the natural sheen and bounce it had when she was alive, and no amount of make-up is going to convincingly return the glow to her skin. Laura guesses she was pretty, once. It had never been very high on her list of concerns, mostly because Shadow would have looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman in the world even on a terrible day.

Tonight, she’s just trying for presentable. But Leon beams at her when she actually shows up anyway, kind of like Shadow might have, and she’s not sure if it makes her feel better or worse.

“Hey,” she says when she’s close enough to greet him, feeling a bit silly as she wonders if that was somehow too informal.

“Hey, Laura,” Leon returns amicably. “You look great.”

Laura raises her eyebrows at him, in a ‘come on, you can say it’ kind of way, but as per usual, Leon seems nothing if not sincere. She decides not to ruin his mood by griping, even if she can’t understand how someone who’s been through everything he has can look at a dead woman and feel anything but uneasy at best. “Thanks. You too.”

It’s not a lie on her part: Leon cleans up nice. It’s a little jarring to see him in something other than casual attire, but his clean, pressed black suit makes him look a little less weighed down, somehow.

Or maybe it’s just the vibe of this place. Laura can already tell from out here that the gala is thrumming with a kind of excitable energy that even she can kind of feel. She guesses most rifters haven’t had anything quite like this to look forward to in a long time.

“Shall we?” she asks Leon, only a little sardonically. He offers her his arm and she rolls his eyes and takes it carefully, quietly grateful that it’s not skin to skin contact.

“You’re taller in heels.” Leon notes, catching Laura off guard by teasing her.

“Shut up.”

The banter settles her nerves a little, and they head inside. Everything’s a little too bright, or at least it feels that way to Laura, fresh out of the night and down her usual pair of shades. Maybe ‘zombie’ has been missing the mark, this whole time. Maybe she should’ve been making vampire jokes this whole time.

“You okay?” Leon asks her, and Laura tries not to feel taken aback at how quickly he notices her discomfort.

“My eyes are a little sensitive, that’s all. You know I don’t even really see in color anymore?”

“That’s probably lucky, in this particular situation.” In mild amusement, Leon watches some kid strut past, and even Laura can tell that his suit’s the gaudiest fucking thing she’s ever seen.

Wait --

“Let’s go this way,” she says suddenly to Leon, tugging his arm perhaps a little harder than she meant to and unbalancing him as she jerks them both out of the Technical Boy’s eye line.

“Hey --” It takes Leon a moment to find his footing. He glances over his shoulder. “Who was that?”

“No one important,” Laura says, knowing it’s technically a lie but also that it isn’t, because that particular God is not particularly important to her. “Just one of those awkward ‘I don’t want to run into anyone I know’ situations.”

“Why was he dressed like that?”

“I ask myself that question every time I see him.”

Leon chuckles, and Laura manages to smile a little despite her slightly frazzled state. “What about you?” she continues. “As an... official member of the MLD, you’re probably expected to do some socializing, or something. Right?”

Leon glances at her, slightly pained.

“Shitty co-workers?” Laura prompts, and is a little pleased to hear him laugh again.

“I just don’t know them that well,” he tells her gingerly. “Except for the chief -- Felix? He’s actually pretty decent.”

“Surprising, for a police chief.” Idly, Laura scans the room as if she thinks she might be able to pick Felix out on sight, even though she’s never met him before. “Well... if you don’t want to introduce me, what do you want to do?”

He looks pensive for a second. “We could get some drinks?” Then he nearly stammers over his own words, giving her an apologetic double-take. “-- Sorry. I forgot.”

“You forgot?” Laura needles him, though it’s entirely playful. Somehow, some of her earlier self-consciousness has ebbed away without her noticing. “It’s fine, Leon. I don’t care if you wanna get a drink -- you’ll probably need it.”

But Leon is shaking his head, and his expression is different now in a way that Laura can’t quite read. “...Or... we could dance?”

Laura stares at him, deadpan.

“Is that a no?” Leon asks, smiling easily, and Laura knows that if she did say no he wouldn’t push her. But that doesn’t make her feel any less like she’s starting to put a damper on his night.

“No. I mean, yes. I mean --” She huffs a little, or at least goes through the motions, since she doesn’t technically breathe anymore. “Nevermind. What kind of asshole comes to a thing like this and says they don’t want to dance? Let’s go.”

She leaves his side to stalk out onto the dance floor, praying that whatever universal karma is almost definitely working against her at this point doesn’t prompt the DJ to start playing Thriller, or something. Leon follows a little more slowly, and looking back at him, Laura suddenly wonders if he hadn’t expected her to say yes. The slight uncertainty in his posture makes her feel a little better about her own nerves, at least. She doesn’t think she’s done this since her’s and Shadow’s wedding, and even then, she wasn’t stellar at it.

“So...” Leon begins as they come to a standstill. Laura can’t bear the thought of them awkwardly sizing each other up any longer, so she reaches up to put her hand on his shoulder, and uses her other to take one of his. She knows she must be cold to the touch, as she always is, but to Leon’s credit he doesn’t flinch.

“You lead,” she tells him. “‘Cause I will definitely fuck us up.”

Leon carefully settles his other hand on her waist, and Laura only thinks about the fact that there won’t be any pulse for him to feel for a second. She’s more preoccupied with trying to remember how to slow dance without looking like an idiot.

Not that anyone said that this was supposed to be romantic, but it’s so entirely the opposite as they both try to find their footing that she kind of wants to laugh. Which, in a weird sort of way, makes her feel a little better. Soon, they settle into an easy, swaying rhythm with the music, and -- sure, maybe it’s not the total, cheesy, embarrassing nightmare she might have imagined it as.

It’s almost kind of nice. And because she can’t let herself have nice things for too long, Laura starts to circle back around to feeling guilty again.

What is it with her and nice guys?

Okay, not ‘nice’ -- genuine, kind, decent fucking human beings. They make Laura feel so empty in comparison.

But then again, pretending that Leon isn’t capable of being a reasonably aware judge of character after all he’s been through is probably doing a disservice to her. And telling herself that nothing has changed - that nothing will ever change - since she was alive won’t get her anywhere.

And Laura’s not sure where it is she wants to be... but she doesn’t want to be standing still.

Neither does Leon, she thinks. That’s why he’s always pushing forward, why he’s already secured his position in the MLD, why he still wants to help people even though Laura knows he’s probably met too many people who were beyond helping to count.

It’s not like Laura wants to be his charity case, or anything, but she’s not so sure she likes the idea of being beyond help either. So maybe they can help each other.

If only for tonight. If only a little, in passing moments like this one.

#i wasnt sure id have time to post this until waaaay later in the day tomorrow so #instead i figured id leave it for you to wake up to!#i love these two the like... warmth of their dynamic is such a SURPRISE #but i love them!!!#happy birthday again giz #tailsthesales #fic

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badass-stapler-tua · 4 years

Text

You’re like a book I never want to put down - Chapter 1

"Alright so, what you're saying is, starting today, there are going to be detectives here?" Klaus asks as he re-adjusts the children's books. "Yeah. Apparently there's a drug ring that stems out of that building over there. Y'know, the one that's all creepy?" The brown haired male nods. "Well, do they know about our new cafe hire? He starts next week." Oh, shit. I forgot about him. "Uh, no. What's his name again?" The detectives needed to do a background check on everyone working in the store because it wouldn't make sense to work with potential drug ring affiliates trying to take down a drug ring. "I think he said his name was Five? Five Hargreeves." "Alright, I'll be sure to tell one of the detectives." As if I had summoned Diego's energy, the man walked through the bookstore's door. I motioned for Vanya to come with me. "Hello, detective Hargreeves-" Ben began. "Please, call me Diego. I hate how formal 'detective' sounds." Ben smiled. "Alright, Diego, this is Klaus. He's the other employee I was telling you about." Klaus steps forward with a smile. "Hello." He shakes his hand. "Hi Klaus, nice to meet you." I then remember our new employee. "Oh! I forgot to tell you, but next week, we'll be getting a new employee for the cafe. His name is Five Hargreeves." Diego nods and writes something down. Presumably, Five's name to run him through a background check. "Speaking of people, Eudora and our assistant should be here soon. They had to stop at the station first." Assistant? He hadn't said anything about an assistant. I just nod instead of voicing my confusion. "Well, is there like, a good place for us to set up? I don't want to disturb any costumers." Diego flashes a smile that just about makes me blush. I quickly turn on my heels to hide it. "Well, we have a decently sized room in the back. We haven't done anything with it yet, because I haven't been able to decide what to do with it but, it should be perfect for the three of you." The little bell above the door rings as some enters the store. I turn around to greet the person. It's actually two people. It's Eudora and- "Vanya?" Eudora looks at her. "You know him?" "Yeah, we live next door to each other."

"Anyway. There's an extra table and some chairs in the storage room. So we can get that all set up for you guys in the room." They all nod. I quickly unlock the door with my silver key. He eyes the table. Diego walks in. "Do you need any help?" I nod, as I attempt to maintain eye contact instead of looking at he gorgeously defined arms. "Yeah. On three, okay?" I nod. "One.. Two..Three." I help lift the table but it's almost as if I'm not lifting it. I feel myself lifting it but I can only focus on Diego. His perfectly long hair, his deliciously plump lips, his- "Ben. Are you okay?" Diego asks me, waving his hand in my face. I clear my throat, "Yeah. I'm fine. Just a little distracted.." Diego smirks a bit. "Oh, I know." He winks before walking back over to talk to Vanya. What? Did he notice that I was staring at him? Oh god, this is gonna be a long three months.

It's been a week. I've successfully made it through an entire week without doing something wildly embarrassing in front of Diego. On the downside, it's been a week of me only being able to think about him. Maybe I should ask him on a date? That's a horrible idea! I don't even know if he's into guys. Okay, focus. Today, the cafe hire is going to be here. Instead of sitting around allowing yourself to fall head over heels for a man you met last week, you can be productive and train Five. Klaus was standing behind the counter typing something on his phone. Someone enters the shop with a ring of the bell. It's a semi-short, lanky, brown haired male who is presumably Five. Before I could even think to walk over to greet him, Klaus has already beat me to it. "Hey! I'm Klaus, and who might you be?" Klaus asks Five with a wink. "Uh, Hi. I'm Five, I'm the new cafe worker? I talked to Ben about starting today." Klaus smiles wider and claps his hands. "That's amazing! Well, you're in luck because I shall be the one to train you!" And, there goes my distraction. Getting in his way wouldn't be a wise decision Having known Klaus for literally my entire life, I know when he has a crush on someone. He's done just about all the tell-tale signs on the Klaus list. The last thing left is the twirl. "Follow me, sweetheart." He twirls in his flowy black skirt and leads Five to the cafe. Okay, then, I could organize the bookshelves? No, you did that yesterday. Maybe I should come up with new recipes for the cafe while I wait for any costumers. That sounds good. “Thank you, have a nice day!” I smile and wave to the last costumer of the day. I walk over to the door and flip the ‘open’ sign to ‘closed.’ I look over and see Five and Klaus standing the the cafe area. I realized that I haven’t even talked to Five today. “Hey, Five. Klaus. How’s the training going.” Klaus smiles. “It’s going fabulously. I taught him how to turn on the oven, and the espresso machine-“ Five playfully rolls his eyes. “He didn’t know how to work either of those, actually. He tried to voice command the oven to preheat like it was some sort of robot.” I snicker. That does sound like Klaus. I usually make dinner for the both of us, considering if I didn’t, he’d probably forget to feed himself. (It’s happened before) Speaking of dinner, what should I make tonight? I don’t really feel like cooking though. I realized again that Five had been talking the whole time and I was not listening. I quickly tune back in hopefully get the theme of the conversation. “I make my own coffee blend at home, It’s the only kind I drink now. Hey, would it be okay if I made I here, too? It could be like the house blend.” He suggests. I nod. “Yeah, that sounds great! I’ve actually been making a list of some recipes for the café corner, so I can definitely add that to the list!” “Sounds great,” he looks down at his watch. “Oh shit, I have to go. See you tomorrow!” Klaus giggles “See ya, Five!”! I roll my eyes. Once Five is out of earshot, I turn to Klaus. “You have his number already don’t you?” Klaus grins. “Yep! I do, and by tomorrow I plan on setting up a date.” I smile softly. “Well, for tonight, what are you thinking of for dinner?” “Oh, about that. I am going to the club with my friend Allison, so you don’t have to worry about me.” He lights up. “Ooh! Maybe you should invite Diego over! It’s so obvious that you’re head over heels for him and I’m sure he’d be delighted to have dinner with you-“ I quickly cover his mom as I see Diego walking towards us. I laugh awkwardly, “Hey, Diego!” Diego smiles warmly. “Well, I’ll leave you two to it, I have to get my outfit ready for tonight. See ya, Benny!” Klaus winks at me from behind Diego. “He’s right, y’know.” “Hm?” “Klaus was right. I would love to have dinner with you.”

#haha uh oh #ben hargreeves #diego hargreeves #klaus hargreeves #five hargreeves #non incest aha #blease lemme know what yall think #tua fanfic

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distant-rose-archive-blog · 7 years

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No Leg to Stand On (2/2)

Note: Oh my god, this took FOREVER to write. So much is packed into this aftermath focused part two. I wasn’t expecting everyone to be so upset about Beth not telling the truth, but here we are. Anyway, please note that this takes place four years in the future. Beth is now 20, Henry is 39, Harrison is 24, Wes is 22 , Neddy is 15 and Lucy is 14. Scary right? Anyway, there is A LOT of emotions in this. A LOT. Please do not kill me. Thanks @welllpthisishappening for being the coolest person alive and feeding me fluff as I wrote this. Summary: At sixteen, Beth Jones is Killian’s pride and joy. She’s gorgeous, intelligent, clever, witty and possibly the most talented swordsman of her generation. She might also be pregnant Rating: T Word Count: 9,400+

Four years later...

Parents weren’t supposed to have favorites amongst their children. Killian Jones would vehemently deny he had a favorite out of his kids, but if he had to pick one, he would admit, privately and only to himself, that it would be his daughter. Killian loved his sons and he would fight anyone to said otherwise, but he and his daughter Beth had always had a close and special relationship. Daughters were a different sort of breed than sons were and his connection with Beth seemed to go deeper than the ones he had with Henry, Harrison, Wes and Neddy. Since the moment she had opened her eyes, Killian had felt nothing but an intense love and a fierce need to protect his daughter; to cradle her in his arms and never let her go.

There no denying that Beth had always been a “Daddy’s Girl.” When she was a child, she rarely left his side, often tugging on his pant leg and clutching his hook tightly - she always made a point to hold onto his hook and had done so since she was a toddler. She would snuggle into his side and listen with full attention as he regaled her with stories of his pirate days, often interrupting him with a question or a comment, but nonetheless always eager. For the first five years of her life, she walked around with a foam play sword and preened whenever they would call her the “Pirate Queen.” And that’s what she was to Killian, a little queen. His little queen.

Naturally, she became more aloof and independent in her teenaged years, but they maintained a close relationship. Until she turned nineteen and went off to have adventures of her own, Killian and his daughter would purposefully wake up just before dawn and would work on her swordplay in the backyard. She had a tenacity and talent with swords that none of her brothers had shown and Killian loved nothing more than those moments where they would spar and talk about everything and anything. It seemed like there was nothing they could talk about. There were no secrets between father and daughter.

Or so Killian thought.

His entire opinion on his relationship with Beth changed one night when he answered a call from the Rabbit Hole to intervene on drunk and disorderly conduct being committed by one Benjamin “Benny” Booth. None of this seemed out of the ordinary. Booth was an acknowledged alcoholic and known to be belligerent when he was too gone in his cups.

Killian did not like handling calls for drunk and disorderly conduct. They were often messy affairs that involved him hauling someone away in the back of his car where they would proceed to throw up over his leather upholstery. With the recent additions of his eldest son Harrison and his brother-in-law Neal to the law enforcement team, Killian normally left the night business, especially the drunks, to the boys. Harrison and Neal were both tall, healthy and able-bodied young men who were more than capable of handling violent and inebriated shenanigans.

However, that particular night Harrison had on a date with his longtime girlfriend Nasira and Neal had been sick when he and his wife received a call from the local bar and were asked to intervene. Emma was just as fond of those type of calls as Killian was, which led to them drawing straws on who would be the one to answer. Naturally Killian lost. He grumbled a bit in his defeat, but gave his wife an affectionate kiss before donning his leather coat and answering the call.

It was a call he wasn’t likely to forget.

“Deputy Jones,” Booth had acknowledged him with an exaggerated nod and a smirk as Killian had approached him. “An alcoholic after my own heart. Normally I’m a whiskey man but for you, I can stomach some rum.”

“No need to switch on my account,” Killian replied smoothly. “Actually, I would prefer it if you would consider turning in for the night. It’s getting late. I’m sure Marco and August are worried.”

“Are you trying to kick me out of here, Deputy?” Booth asked. “Because I’m not leaving this seat. This is my seat, you see. This is where I live.”

Booth’s eyes were glossy and he was wobbling a bit in his aforementioned seat. His speech was also a bit slurred and Killian would bet a pretty penny that he smelled like a distillery. Killian subtly placed his hand on his hip, not too far away from his cuffs. He didn’t want to hull the man out and he would give him every chance to go in peace, but Killian had a feeling Booth wasn’t going to out quietly.

“That’s quite evident,” Killian replied, tired and trying his best to be patient. “But it’s getting late. Nick is looking to close down soon, mate. He would appreciate it if you went home.”

“No. I’m not leaving! You want me to leave, you’re going to have to fight me!” Booth snapped back belligerently.

He banged his glass down hard on the table, causing the patrons around him to jump and eye him warily. Killian sighed. This was actually what he had wanted to avoid.

“Look, Benny, I don’t want to fight you. I don’t even want to cuff you. I would prefer it if we handled this like civilized men and we parted company without me hauling you down to the station for booking. I would much rather you go home to your family so I can go home to mine,” Killian replied, giving to keep his voice as gentle as he could.

“You’re not a fighter, huh, Deputy? You’re more of a fucker than a fighter,” Booth slurred, swaying in his seat like an angry cobra and glaring at Killian. “Like your daughter, huh? You would rather fuck than fight.”

Drunk cursing never really bothered Killian. He had heard more than his fair share of colorful insults over the centuries. Booth’s ravings were far from creative. However, the second Booth mentioned Beth, a spike of anger ran down his spine.

“Let’s leave my daughter out of this business, shall we?” Killian asked coldly.

“I fucked her, you know,” Booth smirked, leaning back in his seat before turning to the people around him. “I fucked his daughter. I fucked Beth Jones. Everyone thought she was an untouchable but I had her! I screwed the brains out of Storybrooke’s perfect little princess! And let me tell you, the things she could do with her legs? The girl belongs in porno. She was surprising a good time, you know, for being sixteen and all. And now, she’s fucking a fish.”

Killian had made a lot of progress over the years abstaining from giving into his more violent impulses when he was angry but the second Booth smirked and kept spewing nasty things about Beth, he saw red. He grabbed Booth by the front of his t-shirt, hook piercing the worn cotton. He glared down at the drunken man with murder in his eyes, wishing that that his hook was lodged in the man’s neck rather than his shirt. He wanted nothing more than to watch this pitiful excuse for a human being to choke on his own blood.

The entire bar went silent as Killian grabbed Booth, watching with wary but curious eyes. He had no doubt that someone in the crowd was texting his sons to let them know what was happening at the Rabbit Hole.

“It would be a wise decision if you stopped talking,” Killian said in a dangerously soft tone. “Just stop talking. Because if you say another word about her, I can’t promise you that you’re going to leave this bar tonight with your face intact.”

“You’re not going to hurt me,” Booth scoffed. “You’re a cop. Besides, after all, we were almost family.”

“What are you talking about?” Killian hissed.

Killian pulled Booth closer. His hook slipped further into his shirt until the fabric hit the top of Killian’s brace and the sharp tip was poking into Booth’s chin. The steel nicked Booth’s skin, blood trickling down the side of Killian’s hook.

Either Booth was so drunk that he didn’t feel the hook digging into his chin or he was just insane, but he laughed as Killian got in his face; arrogant and completely unafraid.

“Didn’t think I knew about the baby, did you? She told me she thought she was pregnant and I know you killed it. Couldn’t bear the thought that I put a bastard in that belly, huh? I’ve always wanted to know how you got rid of it. Did you take her to a clinic across the town line or do it the old fashion way with tea and tansy? You’re an old fashioned boy, aren’t you, Deputy? I’m betting it was the tea.”

Killian’s eyes bulged and he nearly yanked Booth off his seat in his rage. There were a few gasps that resounded around the room and Killian became very aware that the people around him had heard the ridiculous accusations that Booth had made.

“Do you know what I hate more than sloppy violent drunks, Booth? Shameless liars who try to tarnish the names of ladies,” Killian replied through gritted teeth. “I’ve told you twice now to stop bringing my daughter and lying about her. Mention her name again and I will make good on my threats.”

Booth laughed in Killian’s face again.

“Lady? Please! Your daughter is a wh-” Booth didn’t finish his sentence.

Killian’s fist connected with Booth’s jaw with a loud sickening crack. Booth sunk back in his seat, knocked cold by the combination of Killian’s hard swing and the massive amounts of alcohol in his system. Killian shook out his hand, hissing slightly at the throbbing in his knuckles. He detached his hook from Booth’s shirt, not caring as the unconscious man’s head slumped forward and smacked into the table. He pulled out his cuffs, roughly brought Booth’s hands behind the chair and restrained his arms.

The bartender Nick was an old friend of Killian’s. He had been working at the Rabbit Hole for as long as Killian could remember. He was a heavyset man with graying black hair and a lightly bearded face who shared Killian’s penchant for wearing black. Nick was a capable man and didn’t often call about the drunks who inhabited the Rabbit Hole, often preferring to take care of them by himself. However, like Killian, he was an aging man and had recently had a hip replacement surgery. Drunk wrangling wasn’t easy for him anymore.

Nick had a glass of rum waiting for him on the counter when Killian looked up.

“On the house, Captain,” Nick said with a sympathetic look.

Killian looked at the rum then looked back at Booth who was unconscious and probably would be for a few more moments. Feeling still a bit raw and petty, he kicked Booth’s foot unkindly before joining Nick at the bar with a weary expression.

“Thanks, mate,” he said, lifting the glass and taking a healthy sip. “I needed that.”

“It’s a pity that you didn’t get to hit him before he passed out on the table,” Nick said loudly, looking sternly at his patrons as if daring to them to contradict him.

Killian snorted.

“That’s not necessary,” Killian said. “He was so liquored up, I doubt he’ll remember it.”

“Hey, I don’t want you getting in trouble. I’ll lose my best customer then,” Nick replied. “Besides he was saying shit about your daughter. Beth’s a good girl. She doesn’t need those rumors flying around.”

“I’ll drink to that,” Killian responded, taking another generously gulp.

“Speaking of your daughter…How is Beth doing these days?” Nick asked casually.

“Well. She’s doing well. Grown up and off doing her own thing. Barely has time for her old man anymore,” Killian chuckled. “David is convinced she’s going to be settling soon since she’s been seeing Will for a year now. You’ve probably seen him around be around before. Ariel’s boy. Big tall ginger lad.”

“Ah, so the fish comment now makes sense. I didn’t quite get that,” Nick said with a nod. “A pirate’s daughter with a mermaid’s son. That’s quite the pair. Is he a good guy?”

“He’s a very nice kid,” Killian replied diplomatically. “Very respectful. Very polite. Just as charming as his mother. Asks a lot of questions like her too.”

Nick frowned as he listened to Killian’s words, cleaning down his side of the bar as he did so.

“Sounds decent enough. But you don’t seem to like him.”

“I don’t like anyone who dates my daughter. But I like Will as much as I could given the circumstances. He’s a thousand leagues better than Whiskey Dick over there,” Killian said, jabbing his thumb back in Booth’s direction. “But I can’t figure out what Beth likes about him. He’s too…safe. Too vanilla. She leads him around by the dick.”

“Maybe she likes that. If I recall your daughter as well as I think do, she’s always been on the bossy side,” Nick commented, taking Killian’s empty glass and pouring him another drink.

“That’s my little girl you’re talking about, mate.”

“Allow me to apologize. Your drink is on me again,” Nick replied lightly.

Nick pushed it across the bar until it stopped against Killian’s forearm. He took and raised it in thanks before bringing it to his lips. A comfortable silence fell between the two men.

“Killian, we’ve known each other for a long time…” Nick started, looking unsure for a moment.

“Since I pilfered your rum stock when I first arrived back with Cora. I remember it well,” Killian chuckled.

“Yeah. I’m never going to forget that, you old bastard, but please understand that I don’t mean to insult you or your family when I ask this, and you’re quite welcome to steal my rum stock again for this question, but is there’s any stock in what Booth said? I mean, he’s drunk out of his mind, but he seemed to believe what he was saying and you know what they say…drunk words, sober thoughts.”

Killian’s jaw worked. He wanted to berate his barkeep for asking the question and follow it up with a taste of his hook, but the truth was that Booth’s words had been marinating in the back of his head since he heard them. Beth had never mentioned Booth to him, and they had lengthy conversations about her paramours in the past without much issue. If there was once something between Booth and his daughter, he would like to think that she would have told him about it, especially if there was a pregnancy involved.

“No,” Killian said firmly. “He’s just a fuckhead. Beth would have told me if she was involved with him.”

Nick gave him a sad smile.

“You sure? Teenage girls tend to hide things like unsavory boyfriends…”

“Positive,” Killian replied with as much conviction as he could muster. “Beth has always been open with me about her relationships with her boyfriends and her girlfriends. Booth is full of shit.”

“Just checking,” Nick said before leaning down, grabbing an unopened bottle of rum and placing it down in front of Killian. “For your troubles, old friend. I wasn’t sure if he had struck a nerve or not aside from just being a complete shitbag. Needed to know if I was going to have to help you hide a body later.”

Killian and Nick didn’t discuss much after the exchange. Killian finished his glass, picked up the unopened bottle and placed it in the crook of his arm before not too gently dragging the still unconscious Booth into the back of his car. Killian stopped by the station and placed Booth in one of the holding cells. As he hauled Booth onto the metal bed, he looked down at him and studied his features.

Despite being an absolute piece of garbage in Killian’s mind, Booth was admittedly on the attractive side. He had lots of thick wavy hair and almost feminine looking eyelashes. His visage was one could be classified as conventionally handsome. He could see why women would like him even if he was an unsavory character while intoxicated.

Had his daughter fallen for this pretty face? Killian wanted to think that his daughter was capable of seeing the character that lay behind the mask. He had always taught her on how looks could be deceiving and had even advised her to use her own to her advantage if she was in a tough situation and if her life depended on it.

Booth had given a specific age. He had claimed to have slept with Beth when she was sixteen. The very thought sickened him. Beth had always been clever and a head more mature than her peers; always trying to act older than she was. Killian had always attributed it to the fact she had a tendency to hang around her older brothers and their friends. On top of that, as intelligent as she was, Beth had always been horribly impulsive, jumping into things before she had really assessed them; continuously brazen and bold. With as lively and beautiful as she was, Beth was definitely capable of catching anyone’s eye and with Booth being older than her, she would have thought of him as a challenge.

Furthermore, Killian had never made it a secret how he felt about Benny Booth. He had never been a fan, but then again, this wasn’t surprising, considering who his father was. Killian disliked August Booth with a passion of a thousand suns and didn’t necessarily like the looks August gave his wife. He was even less of a fan when August had arrived back in Storybrooke twenty years ago with a three-year old son and had all but dropped that son on his elderly father Macro. As much as he didn’t care to admit it, a lot of Killian’s dislike of Benny stemmed from his dislike of August. Beth had known this. Perhaps knowing his dislike for the Booths had made her reluctant to admit to her father that she was attracted to him.

The more Killian pondered, the less confident he felt.

Beth getting involved with Booth? It was a possibility, Killian begrudgingly admitted it. But Booth getting Beth pregnant? That was really the kicker. He really didn’t want to believe that Beth would keep something that major from him or that she was even capable of hiding something like that. She was clever, but not that clever. Killian had supported his wife through four different pregnancies. He would like to think he could spot the symptoms if he saw them again. He raked his memory, trying to find something that would imply that Beth, at some point, could have possibly have been pregnant but there was nothing.

The more Killian thought and the more he looked at Booth, the more he wanted to kill him for even putting these horrid thoughts in his head. He left the station as quickly as he could, trying to put as much distance between himself and Booth as he possibly could.

When Killian crawled into bed next to his wife that night, Emma immediately turned to face him and curled her arms around his torso. When she felt how tense he was, she frowned sleepily and looked at the pensive expression on his face.

“What’s wrong?” she asked softly.

“Nothing,” he replied with a sigh.

She pressed her fingers into the stiff muscles of his shoulders. He winced slightly at the feeling.

“This does not feel like nothing,” she said.

“Benny Booth said something and I can’t get it out of my head,” Killian sighed.

“Well, what was it? If it’s bothering you this badly, it’s got to be something.” Emma shifted closer to him. Her fingers trailed down his clavicle and his arm until they brushed against his only hand. Her hand gently met his and she laced their fingers together, getting him gentle squeeze.

“According to Benny, he and Beth were a thing once upon a time…”

“A thing?”

“Well, he pointblank said he fucked her and claimed she had gotten pregnant,” Killian clarified, glaring up at the ceiling. “He accused me of aborting the child.”

Emma sat up and looked at him with a mixture of horror, shock and outrage. He sat as well, searching her face. It didn’t seem like his wife knew anything more about this absurd tale than he did. Killian had been certain that Emma would never keep something like this from him if he knew, but they did have a history of keeping things from one another if they thought it was too upsetting.

“That’s quite the story and quite an accusation,” Emma breathed. Her green eyes were still wide as she regarded him. “You don’t believe him, do you?”

“Every part of me wants to call him a lying sack of shit, but he seemed so certain. He was drunk as a skunk, but that’s nothing something you come up with when you’re too deep in your cups,” Killian sighed. “Well, one thing he’s wrong about is that I certainly didn’t make my daughter have an abortion. That is something I would never do. But did Beth and him ever have a thing? I’m not certain. She never spoken of him, but this keeps rubbing me raw.”

“I would hate to think that I was so oblivious that I didn’t notice that my baby was having a baby,” Emma remarked, running her hands through her hair. “But then again, I thought Neddy was menopause.”

They silently regarded each other for a moment, both of them tired but full of adrenaline. Emma was fiddling with the corner of their down comforter, biting her lip. Killian swallowed for a moment before reaching for his phone which he had left on his bedroom table. He thumbed in his passcode before scrolling through his contacts.

“You are seriously not calling our daughter at two in the morning!” Emma hissed, whacking his shoulder.

“No,” Killian sighed. “I’m calling Henry.”

“Why the hell are you calling Henry?!” Emma exclaimed. “He sure as hell isn’t going to be up! You really want to wake him and Jacinda up over this insanity!? No! Killian put it down!”

Killian paused in his task and looked up at Emma with an exasperated look.

“Look, I’m not going to get any sleep tonight until I get some answers. If anyone is going to know anything, it’s Henry. They always tell him everything. I bet you the Jolly that if Beth had any involvement with Booth, he would know. And he also is the only one out of the five who knows how to forge my signature. If she had a procedure done…well, no one would think twice if he claimed to be her father…He would have been able to give authorized consent. I need to know this, Swan,” Killian said in a near lecturing tone. “I need this. I need to know. And Henry owes us.”

“What do you mean he owe us? Killian, what are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about all the times in college he called us at two, three or four in the morning because he was drunk and needed something. Remember when he lost his keys during that absurd school festival of his and we had to get a locksmith to make a new car key? I’m cashing my payback in for that,” Killian replied.

“That was eighteen years ago, Killian,” Emma groaned while rubbing her temples.

“Perhaps. But I don’t care,” he said, not looking at her as he pressed his thumb on Henry’s name and placed the phone to his ear.

The line rang three times before Henry picked up.

“Hello?” His voice was muffled by sleep. There was a loud yawn that followed the greeting. It was obvious that the phone call had awoken him.

Killian didn’t care.

“I’m going to ask you questions and you’re going to answer them honestly yes or no,” Killian said tersely.

Emma groaned beside him and there was a long pause on the other end of the line. Killian was about to address him again when Henry spoke up.

“…May I ask why I’m facing the Inquisition?” Henry asked with another yawn.

“Because someone said something to me tonight and I need answers. And if anyone knows the truth of the situation, it’s you,” Killian replied.

“They really must have said something if you’re calling me at two in the morning on a Friday? Saturday? Fuck, I don’t even know. All I know is that it’s too early for this…Why would I know the truth about anything?”

“Because WWHD,” Killian said with a sigh, rubbing the back of his ear.

Emma was looking at him in confusion. Upon seeing her expression, Killian made a sigh and he nudged her arm to the side with his injured arm, tapping the inner side of her wrist with his blunted one. Her eyes went wide when she realized what he was referring to.

When Beth turned eighteen, she and the boys had the brilliant idea of getting matching tattoos. Killian couldn’t necessarily judge. He had more inked skin than not, but they hadn’t necessarily told their parents about this plan before they had done it. The day after they had celebrated together, they had come home with bandages on their wrists. Harrison, Wes and Beth all had gotten the words ‘WWHD’ tattooed on them. When Emma had asked what that meant, Harrison who replied that it stood for a question they all asked quite often when they were in trouble.

“WWHD? What are you talking about, Killian?” Henry asked, sounding now more confused than sleepy.

“WWHD. What. Would. Henry. Do,” Killian responded, emphasizing each word. “Your brothers and sister admire you more than anyone else. If they told anyone anything, it would be you. Don’t deny it. I know you’ve bailed them all out once or twice. I’m not angry with you about that. That’s just being a good brother, but this…I need to know.”

“Okay, okay, easy Killian. I’ll talk. Okay? Death Star plans? Marauders maps? The one ring to rule them all? It’s all yours. Just ask.”

It always amazed him just much Henry could sound like Emma at times. And this was definitely one of those times. The pure exasperation in his voice was definitely something he got from his mother.

Killian licked his chapped hips for a moment and looked his wife in the eye. She gave him a firm nod. He kept her gaze as he asked his question.

“Was Beth ever involved with Benny Booth?”

Over the phone, Killian could hear Henry suck on his teeth when he heard the question. Killian closed his eyes. There was silence and Killian knew the answer before Henry even spoke. He wanted to throw something, preferably his phone but he wanted, no, he needed Henry to answer the question.

“Yes,” Henry said reluctantly.

Killian tossed his phone down on the bed with a frustrated noise crawling up the back his throat. He picked it up again and put the phone on ‘speaker mode’ so that Emma could hear the conversation. Emma seemed to realize the answer that Killian had received because she paled visibly.

“You’re on speaker. Your mother is awake and listening,” Killian informed his stepson. “Now, you’re going to tell us everything you know.”

“Well, this is certainly a wakeup call. Look, give me a second and we’ll talk. I really don’t want to wake my wife. I think you both can understand and sympathize with that,” Henry said and there was a snappish hint to his tone.

Killian rolled his eyes and Emma leaned forward to give him a smack on the shoulder. If Killian wasn’t so anxious over the situation at hand, he would have offered his wife a smirk, a wink and a tumble in the sheets, but all joy seemed to be sucked out of him at that moment.

There was rustling on Henry’s end following by a soft clicking down, which Killian could only assume was a door.

“Okay, I’m back, High Inquisitor. You may begin your interrogation,” Henry said with a sigh,

“I would tell you’re hilarious, but I’m afraid I’m not in a charitable mood,” Killian replied with a small scowl. “I need you to tell me everything you know about Benny Booth and Beth. In as much detail as you possibly can provide, lad.”

“To be honest with you, I don’t have that many details, Killian,” Henry sighed. “I don’t know when they got together or how they got together or how long they were a thing. Beth was pretty scant on the details when she told me. She just thought she was in a bad place and that they had broken up and that she needed my help. I know that they ended on horrible terms and they haven’t spoken to each other since…I do know that Benny was as big of a douche-canoe as you can imagine and wrote some pretty shitty stuff about her in the bathroom at Flavors. It really hurt her, but I think Wes and Harrison took care of that.”

“That’s why Harrison threw Benny Booth over the Hermans’ fence that summer,” Emma gasped, eyes wide. “He never said why he did. Just fixed the fence without complaint.”

Killian recalled the incident in question vividly. Nothing had shocked him more than getting a phone call from Sean Herman about how his eldest son had lifted up Benny Booth and had nearly tossed him over the white picket fence that outlined their property. Harrison hadn’t been able to completely fulfill his human toss as Booth’s ass hadn’t cleared the top of the posts and therefore had broken that section of the fence. No matter how much Killian and Emma had grilled him, Harrison had never given an explanation for assaulting the young man. He had just quietly accepted his punishment without compliant.

His sons had known about the relationship and what it had done to their sister. They had never told him anything about it. A strange mixture of guilt and rage churned in Killian’s gut.

“Henry, I need you to answer me honestly now, lad,” Killian said after he fully digested the information. “Did Beth ever mention anything about being pregnant?”

Henry was quiet for long a time. As the silence stretched, Killian and Emma shared another anxious look. This was not a good sign.

“Beth was never actually pregnant,” Henry said cautiously. Killian and Emma both breathed sighs of relief. A weight lifted itself from Killian’s shoulder and he felt much lighter than he had since Booth had thrown the accusations around. “She thought she might be and she called me. I got her a test and it came out negative. And that was the end of it.”

“Henry, why didn’t you say anything?” Emma said, taking Killian’s hand and squeezing it.

“Because it wasn’t mine to tell. Look, I wanted her to tell you. I told her to tell you, but she didn’t.”

“That’s not her call,” Killian said sharply. “She was a little kid. She doesn’t get to make that decision. Henry, you were the adult. You should have told us.”

Emma sucked in a breath at the anger that was building up in Killian’s tone. She gave him a warning look that he didn’t give much mind to because he was more than aware that if he did then they would get into a nasty fight.

“I was between a rock and a hard place, Killian. I wanted you to know, but she didn’t want you to. She begged me not to tell you about it. Numerous times. I didn’t approve of her keeping it from you, but I didn’t want to lose her trust. I was thinking in the long term. If I had told you, she would have stopped telling me things and I thought you would rather have an adult who she could turn to in a time of need instead of going at all alone,” Henry said defensively.

“All I’m hearing is a bunch of weak excuses as to why I wasn’t notified that my daughter had a crisis and was harassed,” Killian responded, almost spitting his words in his fury. “The key wording here is that she’s MY daughter, Henry. Mine. I know it gets a little confusing sometimes with the age differences, but she’s not your child. How would you feel if Lucy had a crisis like this and I kept it from you? Because I’m fairly certain you would punch me in the face if I kept it from you for four years. Four fucking years.”

“There is no need to bring Lucy into this just because you’re pissed off with me,” Henry snapped.

“Apologies, I meant no disrespect to her, she is my granddaughter after all, but I need you to understand this from a father’s prospective, not a brother’s. This isn’t just hiding Wes when he’s too hungover or buying a new couch because Harrison broke the old one and he didn’t want us to know. This…this is bigger than that. This…I’m not sure I can forgive this,” Killian replied.

There a long silence that followed. Emma was pale and staring at him in disbelief. Killian was still feeling raw; emotions that he hadn’t felt in a long time were quelling inside of him. He felt like he was on the verge of exploding.

“You know what, Killian? You can be mad at me. You don’t have to forgive me. You’re entitled to whatever. But it’s three in the morning and I really am not in the mood to be berated and yelled at like I’m seventeen again for something that happened four years ago. So, I’m going to hang up before this goes any further. Goodnight.”

When the call ended, Killian picked up his phone and threw it against the wall. It made contact with a loud thud before falling. It bounced three times before laying defeated on the rug. Killian leaned back against the pillows, placing his forearm over his eyes and letting out an angry sigh. He wanted yell, fight, destroy something and cry at all the same time.

“Did that make you feel better?” Emma asked after a moment.

“No,” Killian said hollowly.

“If you shattered your screen again, I’m going to have to kill you. Those things are horrible to replace,” Emma signed.

Killian lifted his arm and look at her with an expression that couldn’t decide if it was perplexed or annoyed. Emma, who had long since learned that her husband was a bit more open with his emotions than she was, took his hand back in hers and gave him a small squeeze.

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Killian,” she sighed. “All I can say is thank god she wasn’t pregnant. And fighting with Henry isn’t going to change anything.”

Killian didn’t reply, mainly because he knew she was right. There was absolutely nothing he could do about the situation now, except possibly beat Booth bloody, kill him and then take Nick up on his offer to help hide the body. He couldn’t do that though. His wife would kill him.

The real heart of the issue lay in the betrayal. He was used to the boys keeping things from him. In fact, he had come to expect that from them but Beth? Killian had been certain that nothing could have come between them. They had a relationship that he had been led to believe was based upon openness and honesty. She kept this from him. And apparently all of his children had been in on it. Henry had gotten the test and kept it a secret. Harrison had assaulted the bastard and hadn’t said anything. Idly Killian wondered how Wes had reacted to the news and what his retaliation had been. The sadistic part of Killian hoped it was clever, painful and humiliating.

“Goddamn it, Elizabeth,” Killian muttered under his breath. His heart felt heavy.

“Well, lucky for me, Beth and Will are stopping by tomorrow,” Emma said lightly. “You won’t be a brooding and sulking mess for long, and the screaming match won’t be delayed. It will be nice to have this all out in the air. Just promise me you won’t do it on the front lawn. The neighbors talk about us enough as is.”

“Very funny, Swan,” Killian grumbled before turning to look at her.

He looked his wife in the eye and tried to convey all the emotion that he was feeling that he couldn’t bring himself to express through words; the anger, the betrayal, the fear and, most of all the pain. Physically, Kilian’s back ached, his knuckles were bruised and his knees weren’t what they used to be. But emotionally? He felt as if he had been skinned and covered in salt.

Emma sighed, understanding what he couldn’t say and bringing his hand up to her lips and giving it a kiss. As her mouth brushed against his discolored knuckles, he was reminded of all the times he had done the same action to comfort her.

“She didn’t tell me, Emma. She kept this from me.” The fact kept repeating in the back of his mind like a broken record.

“Of course, she didn’t, Killian. She was a teenager. And that’s such a typical dirtbag teenage thing to do. I can understand you’re hurt, but I’m not surprised,” Emma said, giving him a sad smile.

“We were always so close. I thought she told me everything. She came to me when she got her period. She came to me when she got kissed for the first time. She told me about every single fight she had with her girlfriend or boyfriend at the time. She admitted to me when she got that tattoo underage…” Killian trailed off.

“Maybe that was the problem,” Emma said quietly. “Maybe you were too close…”

“What do you mean?”

Emma was quiet for a while. Killian pulled at their hands, not disconnecting their fingers, but moving them so that their hands over his heart. He waited patiently, allowing her to gather her thoughts.

“I was jealous, you know? Of you and Beth. You two were always as thick as thieves. She looked at you like you were both the sun and the moon. She always followed you around, always went to you, always wanted to be you. Everything was Dad! Dad! Dad! She looked at you like a god. She never saw me that way even though I carried that child for the longest nine months of my life,” Emma said with a harsh swallow.

Killian couldn’t breathe. He wanted to say something but words were failing him.

“I made my peace with it because it was something that was just so pure…I just didn’t want to ruin it or see it ruined…Anyway, that is not the point,” Emma paused for a moment, gathering her bearings. “The point is I’m certain that to this day that there is no one Beth loves more than you Killian, but with that worship…there is a certain need to be perfect, to be worthy of the person you hold so dear. As someone who has lived through a teenage pregnancy, there is a lot of shame to it. Tattoos, drinking, dating, violence, sex. Those are things that be spun as something cool, something to be admired. There’s nothing admirable about being pregnant as a teenager. How do you tell someone you love so much, someone you admire, someone who is your god, that you are in a situation that is surrounded with so much shame?”

“I didn’t want to be her god,” Killian whispered. “I just wanted to be her father.”

“It doesn’t matter. That’s just how it was. You wanted to an explanation of why she didn’t tell and I’m telling you why. She didn’t want to lessen yourself in your eyes. Henry? She loves him, but he’s not you. His disapproval is nothing to compared to yours. That is why she didn’t tell you and she told him, Killian.”

Killian didn’t sleep well that night. The secrets that Henry had unveiled and Emma’s comments kept swimming in his head and they wouldn’t let him go. He spent the majority of the night staring at the ceiling and wondering what else his daughter had kept from him.

Despite the pain, the anger and the disappointment, Killian found it in himself to smile when his daughter and her boyfriend arrived the next morning. Beth, who had spent the last month in the Enchanted Forrest with Will and his parents, looked happy, healthy and incredibly tanned. As a child, Beth had Emma’s lily white complexion, but now she looked just as swarthy as Killian had in his pirate days. It made both her green eyes and the freckles on her face look more pronounced. Her hair now was longer than Emma’s had ever been, but still wild with small braids running through it. She looked more pirate than princess, wearing leather breeches, a silken maroon blouse and a dark corset. It amazed him how as Beth got older, Killian started notice more resemblances that his daughter had with him than his wife.

“Dad!” Beth cried, letting go of Will’s hand and sprinting towards her father.

Killian stepped forward and pulled her into a fierce hug, closing his eyes and he held her close. She smelled like the sea, and a part of him jolted at the scent; there was a small part of him that still longed to be out on the ocean, free from everything.

“Welcome home, Minnow,” Killian murmured against her hair.

“I missed you.” Beth snuggled herself against him, burrowing her face into the crook of his neck as she had since she was a little girl.

“I missed you more,” he replied and it was the truth. No matter what she had done and how much it had hurt him, he still loved her fiercely and ached when she went away. It was hard at times to swallow, but his daughter was nearly grown and out of the nest.

As they pulled a part, Will approached him and held out his hand for Killian to shake.

“Hello Mr. Jones. A pleasure to see you again. It’s been too long. Perhaps next time, you will join us at my parent’s castle. My mother misses you terribly,” Will greeted with a broad grin.

Killian’s first impression of Will was that he smiled too much, but then again, that had been the same thought he had about Will’s mother Ariel when he first met her. Despite the grim circumstances and less than savory outcome of their first meeting, Killian had found Ariel to be determined, unfailingly optimistic and full of energy. Will was the same way. He greatly resembled his mother with his fiery red hair, kind eyes and wide smile. The only thing he seemed to have gotten from his father was his stature and ability to be perfectly content with being driven about by a strong woman.

“No need to call me Mr. Jones, Will,” Killian said good-naturedly. “You can call me Killian. Or even Hook would be more preferred.”

"No can do, sir,” Will said the name like he was testing it on his tongue. “I mean I've always known you as Hook, but my mother taught me better than that. She always loved to tell us about the pirate who fell in love with a princess and would do anything to get back to her, but she would slap me across the face if I called you by your first name. It's just not respectful.”

Killian wouldn’t help the faint blush that rose to his cheeks and Beth laughed.

“I didn’t realize she shared those stories,” Killian muttered as Beth pulled him into a side hug.

“Oh yes. She loves to tell us that any fish-head could be a prince as long as he had someone to love,” Will responded with an amused smile.

Beth laughed even harder and Killian just chuckled.

“Well, Ariel isn’t wrong. Luckily this fish-head got his lady or this marvelous creature wouldn’t be here today,” Killian replied, placing a quick kiss on top of his daughter’s head. “Though, Will, I must apologize though, because I am hoping to steal your lady tonight. You see, my favorite daughter has been gone for a month and we need to have a drink together, pirate to pirate. I hope you’re willing to forgive me.”

“I’m your only daughter,” Beth said with some amusement.

“That just makes you my favorite,” Killian chuckled.

“There’s nothing to forgive. Though I wouldn’t call her mine. She’s her own person, wild and powerful as the sea and no one, not even myself, could give own such a thing. If Beth wants to have a night with her father, she’s more than welcome to have it,” Will replied, taking Beth’s free hand and giving it a kiss.

Beth grinned at Will, affection clear in her eyes.

“You’re sweet and very cheesy,” she said, leaning upwards to give Will a quick kiss.

“I’m yours,” he responded with a fond smile.

Killian desperately hoped this wasn’t what he and his wife looked like when they were making eyes at each other. It was almost too saccharine for him to handle.

The sweet words, constant touching and cuddling continued throughout the entire day. It was almost disturbing to Killian to see his daughter so in sync with another person aside from himself. Will seemed to know whenever Beth wanted something and got it for her without complaints while Beth seemed to sense whenever Will was getting uncomfortable with a subject and would change the direction of the conversation. It made Killian uncomfortable.

And it was only going to get more uncomfortable, Killian knew. He was going to have to confront his daughter when they went for drinks. He just couldn’t keep what he had learned to himself. He needed to her to look him in the eyes and tell him everything.

When the moment came and they arrived at the Rabbit Hole for their drink, Killian made sure to place him and Beth at the furthest end of the bar where no one would over hear them or bother them. Killian met Nick’s eye as they sat down and held up two fingers at him.

“You’re actually allowing me to drink? Nick is actually going to serve me?” Beth asked with a raise of her eyebrow.

“I fail to see why not. You’ve been drinking since you were fifteen. Don’t think I don’t know about that because I do. You’re twenty and the only person who could arrest him for serving someone underage is me,” Killian responded with a shrug.

Nick approached, placing two glasses of rum in front of them.

“Hey Beth, you’re looking tan,” Nick greeted. “I almost didn’t recognize you and thought to myself ‘Who is the poor gorgeous woman with Killian Jones? Is she brain damaged?’”

Killian rolled his eyes, snorting as he picked up his drink.

“Well, you get tan when you spend in an entire month in the Enchanted Forrest and occupy most of the day by being in the water,” Beth laughed.

“Your father says your boyfriend is a merman,” Nick stated with a small grin.

“Did he now?” Beth asked, circling the rim of her glass with her pointer finger. “What else did he say?”

“That he’s not good enough for you,” Nick replied with a shrug.

“The first one is true. Occasionally my boyfriend has fins instead of feet, but he’s more than good enough. Trust me on that,” Beth said, taking a large sip of her rum.

“I’ll take your word for it. Dads tend not to be reliable on that sort of thing. They think no one is good enough for their girls,” Nick chuckled.

“Don’t you have other customers, Nick?” Killian asked archly.

“I do and I also know when I’m being dismissed,” Nick replied smoothly. “I’ll let you have your drinks. Beth, if he gives you any trouble, just give me a shout you hear?”

Nick gave Killian a mocking low bow before turning to serve a gaggle of young women who were sitting at the other end of the bar. Beth shook her hair, smirking a bit.

“Some things never change,” she commented.

“Eh, some things do. Mainly in ways you never expect,” Killian responded rather cryptically.

Beth bit her lip for a moment, looking down at her glass but looking up at her father with a small smile.

“I’m glad we’re doing this. I missed you terribly. Ariel and Eric have a beautiful kingdom, but it’s nothing compared to home. And there was no swordsman I couldn’t beat. No one was as good as me” Beth said, voice filled with pride.

“Ah, well, not many men are taught from age six and have two master swordsmen as teachers. Nor does anyone practice as much as you do. I still get up early and have a jaunt and work on my strikes in the backyard, but it’s not the same without you too….” Killian said with a sad smile. “You and I, we’ve always been close.”

“Yeah, we have,” Beth grinned. “I love that about us.”

And that was a moment that Killian knew that he couldn’t keep what he knew and how he felt to himself. This was the opening. He finished his rum before he spoke.

“Yeah, but you don’t love it enough to tell me about what happened with Booth and that pregnancy scare of yours.”

Beth stiffened, as if someone had casted a freezing spell on her. The only movement was the widening of her eyes. She didn’t move for a good few minutes, but when she did it was to open her mouth. She looked like she was trying to say words but she was put on mute. She swallowed for a moment before finally finding her voice.

“You know?”

“I know,” Killian said before taking her glass of rum and downing it himself. If there was ever a conservation that needed a drink, it was this one.

Beth was still stunned. She didn’t even react to him stealing her glass.

“Did Henry tell you?” She asked in a hushed voice.

“No. Not at first. You should have told Booth you weren’t ever pregnant though, so he didn’t shout out about your dalliance and accuse me of making you get an abortion in front of an entire bar,” Killian replied, vaguely surprised that he was about to keep his tone even.

Beth buried her head in her hands on the bar.

“Shit.” Her voice was slightly muffed by her arms, but Killian could still hear the curse.

“Shit is definitely word for it,” Killian remarked. “There are lot of other words I would use, but we’re kinda in public and I don’t think everyone would appreciate that much salty language.”

“Shit,” Beth repeated, not looking up from her hands.

“Is that all you’re going to say, Elizabeth?”

“What would you like for me to say, Dad?” Beth looking up from her hands. Her face was pale, as if the tan she had gained over the last month had been drained for her face.

“Well, you could start with the fuck you thought you were doing? Why you never said anything? It’s been four years, Elizabeth, four years and you’ve never breathed a word of it to me. Never. I’m more than just your swordplay instructor, I’m your father. You’re supposed to tell me when these happen!” Killian stated, his voice rising with every word.

He slammed his fist down on the bar, causing his daughter to flinch.

“Dad…I…I thought I could handle it,” she whispered

“You were not supposed to be handling it. You were a child. You had no business being around Booth and you certainly had no business thinking you handle that situation alone. I thought we were better than this, Elizabeth. I never thought this would ever happen with you. I thought you smarter than that.”

“I’m sorry,” she said and there were tears in her eyes. “I’m sorry, Daddy. I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to hate me…”

“I don’t hate you. I could never hate you,” Killian respond, taking one of her hands and squeezing it hard. “Am I disappointed? Yes. Am I angry? Without a doubt. Am I hurt that my only daughter trust me enough to love her and support her when she needs it? That’s one I feel most of all. I failed you as a father. It’s my job to protect and raise you and to teach you how to manage in this world, and I failed you.”

He had finally given a voice to the emotion that he didn’t want to name. Failure. He had failed her. If he had spent more time being a father rather than an idol to follow, then this situation wouldn’t have happened. She would have told him about Booth and maybe he could have prevented this entire saga from happening.

Beth shook her head violently.

“You didn’t fail me. You didn’t fail me at all. You were the best. You are the best. I fucked up,” Beth said, her voice cracking. Tears were dribbling in earnest down her cheeks.

When Beth was a child, she rarely cried. She screamed to the high heavens and tore things apart like the little human hurricane she was, but rarely did tears come to her eyes. In fact, Killian could count only sixteen instances in her twenty years of life where she had burst into water works. He hated it. There was nothing Killian hated more than the sight of his daughter sobbing. He cupped her face and wiped her tears away with his thumb, brushing gently against the apple of her cheek.

“You’re supposed to fuck up,” Killian said with a sigh. “That’s practically your job as child. You’re supposed to fuck up, but you’re supposed to trust me to teach you and help you fix your fuck up. You don’t trust me enough and for that I’m sorry.”

“But I do trust you…” Beth whispered. “Daddy, I trust you so much.”

“But not enough to let me help you with something like that…”

“How do I fix this?” she asked, almost desperately.

“I’m going to tell you something your mother once told me. Elizabeth, you come to me. I don’t care what it is whether you’re pregnant with a fishstick, murdered someone or whatever. You come to me. And you lean on me. And trust me to be able to help you. We can’t hide things from each other, love. I hoped the daughter that I raised would know that, but apparently you don’t, and that’s my fault. But whatever it is, no matter what, I will help you out because I’m your father and that isn’t a damn thing I wouldn’t do for you.”

“I can do that. I can do that, I promise,” Beth said with a brittle smile.

“I want to believe that. I really do,” Killian replied, giving her a fragile grin of his own.

Father and daughter regarded each other for a while as if they were both taking their time to examine the fractures of their relationship. Beth took his hand away from her face and held it in her own. She didn’t lace their fingers together like she normally did.

“Where do we go from here…?” she asked in a shaky voice.

“Well, things are going to take time. That’s just the nature of it, love. But for now, I guess we can talk about how everything is between you and Will, and you can give me heart palpitations when you tell me how much you want to marry him?” Killian said with a sigh.

“I wouldn’t mind marrying him,” she said with a shaky laugh.

“So, it’s that serious?” Killian frowned.

“Dad, I’ve been with Will for year. Of course it’s serious, but I’m not planning on wearing white anytime soon. If he asked I wouldn’t say no,” Beth said with a shrug.

“Okay, okay, okay,” Killian said, filing this information for later. He couldn’t deal with anymore heavy emotions at the moment. “Good to know. It’s just funny. I always joked that you would end up with a pirate, but I think I can handle grandchildren with fins.”

“Don’t think I turn Will into a pirate?” she teased and her smile almost convinced him that she had recovered from their conversation. Almost.

“Elizabeth, you can do anything you set your mind to.”

#captain swan #cs ff #cs fic #cs fanfic #dad!killian #little pirates fic #little pirates #beth jones #no leg to stand on #introducing will seaborn #and benny #but fuck benny

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cafephan · 7 years

Text

Middle of the Night (I Need You)

Summary: Dan and Phil are stuck in their hotel room at Playlist after fans find out where they’re staying, so they make their own entertainment.

Genre: Reality, Fluff

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of alcohol

Word Count: 2.2k

Read on ao3

YouTube events are always hectic. The meet and greets are often disorganised and everyone runs riot, the green room fills up every year with more people that they don’t know, the ‘younger, fresher, new faces of online content’, and they often find themselves retreating either to the corner of the room or back to their hotel room as soon as they can.

But nothing is ever as hectic as the after-parties. Not the ones put on by the event, they can rarely be bothered to tolerate awkward small talk, whilst desperately trying to dodge any vlog cameras and snapchat stories and sipping on weak alcohol. Not that they can ever avoid being in an overwhelming amount of thumbnails.

No matter how many times they’ve subtly shown their disapproval at people doing as such.

So for the past few years, they’ve taken to hosting little parties of their own, inviting a few close friends over for drinks and easy chat. Everyone knows that Dan and Phil are introverts, they’ve said it themselves. Everyone also knows that Dan and Phil pretty much come as a package deal, and over time their friends have tired of teasing them about it. If anything, it’s one of the two men themselves who make a dig at their closeness.

Not being ones to break tradition, Playlist is no exception. The event’s party is happening in one of the event rooms somewhere on the ground floor, yet Dan and Phil are in their room, surrounded by their closest friends who are also fellow attendees. Drinks have been had and many a laugh have been shared, but as soon as Tom yawns, everyone begins to yawn, and the long day of panels and meetups begins to take its toll.

Slowly people begin to leave, each hugging Dan and Phil goodbye and thanking them for the get-together, and soon enough it is just the two of them in the big double room.

“So, what do we-“ Phil is cut off by Dan holding up a finger whilst he looks down at his phone.

Phil is about to throw a little tantrum (he can blame it on the alcohol despite not being anywhere near drunk) when Dan shoves his phone in Phil’s face, displaying a text from Cornelia.

Hope you two weren’t planning on leaving anytime tonight…. group of fans heading your way

“How did they even know to come here?” Phil asks, and Dan immediately places a finger to his lips, and nods towards the door.

Muffled voices can be heard, a lot of them by the sound of it.

“Is this the right room?” a voice asks.

“That’s what people are saying. They saw Phil head this way earlier today, I’m sure!” another replies, and Dan turns to face Phil again, and raises an eyebrow.

‘I told you!’ he mouths, and Phil shrugs.

‘I needed it!’ Phil replies, and Dan rolls his eyes.

‘It’s not even cold!’

‘You’re in a jumper!’

Dan waves his hand dismissively, and begins to mouth something else, but Phil can’t even begin to decipher it. He silently asks for it to be repeated, but instead Dan walks over to the desk at the far end of the room and picks up two of the complementary notepads provided by the hotel, and two of the many sharpies they brought for signing.

He then makes his way over to turn off the lights and then switches on the bedside lamps, and sits on one of the single beds (for some reason the hotel put them in adjoining rooms, one with two single beds and one with a double bed – needless to say this is the only time they’ll be using the single beds) and Phil sits on the opposite one, and Dan hands him a notepad and sharpie.

Why the lights?

Dan starts scribbling his reply.

Why do you think, genius?

Phil puts his sharpie to paper, but at the same second, yet another new voice speaks from outside their door.

“Okay I just messaged the person who saw him earlier and they said it’s definitely this room. They’re on their way too, actually.”

Best get used to lamplight and this old-school communication. Dan holds up his notepad, and a small smile has crept onto his lips.

Could we not just text? Phil replies, and Dan heads to writing again.

We could. But admit this is more fun.

Phil can’t deny it. It is fun.

Besides it’s free, it’d be rude not to! Dan is smiling widely, and it is virtually impossible for Phil not to match it.

You’re weird, he writes, and when Dan shrugs he writes again, But how long do you think we have to do this?

Dan’s sharpie is poised over his paper when one of the voices from outside speaks up again.

“Shall we just order pizza?”

A while by the sound of things…. do you think they’d give us some of that pizza?

Phil laughs, though immediately cups his hand over his mouth as they both listen to see if they were heard. When the next sounds they hear are someone ordering food from outside, they ease in relief.

It isn’t that they don’t love and appreciate their fans, of course they do, it’s just that after a packed schedule of panels and hours-long meetups, they need some time for themselves. Phil feels slightly guilty as it’s his fault, he was the one who insisted going back to their room to get a jacket (despite Dan telling him again and again he wouldn’t need it, which he didn’t in the end, but wore it anyway to prove a point) and some fans obviously saw him in the lobby and followed from a distance, then posted about it. Credit where it was due, they have always admired their fans’ dedication and sleuth skills, but everyone has their limits.

You’re going to blow our cover, you know! Phil holds up his notepad and waggles a finger from side to side in feigned disapproval, and it is Dan’s turn to laugh, and he too cups a hand over his mouth.

They’re safe again, no voices speak up.

Not the only thing I’m going to blow if you don’t stop making me laugh

Phil tilts his head to the side in confusion, and Dan shakes his head before writing again.

Ignore i said that, i don’t get it either

Phil smiles and flips to a new page. Literally never going to ignore you said that, can you not keep it in for five minutes?

A blush creeps onto Dan’s cheeks as he flips Phil off, and they both press their lips together as they desperately try to keep in their laughter.

It’s these kind of moments that they both treasure most. When the atmosphere is light and easy and they know they wouldn’t rather be there with anyone else, that it wouldn’t be anywhere near the same with anyone else.

People often assume that when Dan and Phil leave early from events and/or are somewhere else keeping themselves to themselves, things are always hotting up. When in reality, they’re doing stupid things like writing to each other on notepads whilst sitting two steps away from each other.

Not that they haven’t done anything of the former calibre, but since the incident of 2014 when it pained Dan to walk and stand upright for countless hours for a meetup the day after, they decided to keep that kind of fun for when they’re back home. Louise and Cat, the only ones who know about said incident, still tease them about it from time to time.

Guess what, Dan writes, and Phil just blinks at him, encouraging him to continue. I have an idea

I have lots of ideas, Phil writes back, Remember my idea to adopt two dogs???

Dan rolls his eyes. Forever home…..

Phil pouts, but Dan doesn’t see as he writes again.

But anyway, want to hear my genius idea?

Do i have a choice? xD

Dan narrows his eyes and flips Phil off. Let me live my life you dork, it’s not my fault people keep bringing that god awful thing up… I WAS YOUNG

Phil holds up his hands in surrender, and Dan reaches for his phone and wiggles it in his hand.

‘Watch and learn’ he mouths as he begins to type.

@danielhowell: is there anything better than free food at an event i think not

Phil’s phone immediately displays the tweet notification, and he glances at it before writing.

Wow check your privilege much

Dan flips him off yet again and nods towards the door.

“Did you see the tweet?” one of the voices asks, and is met with a chorus of mumbles of agreement.

“Should we head to the green room then? Sounds like they’re there” someone else suggests.

“It could be a scheduled tweet though, they might not be there.”

Phil reaches for his phone.

@AmazingPhil: @danielhowell i’m going back for another muffin right now i think i have an addiction help

Dan looks down at the notification and raises an eyebrow.

@danielhowell: @AmazingPhil you have a problem i can literally see you filling your pockets

It all happens in a few seconds, then, multiple voices speak at once, most significantly higher pitched and more excited than before, and then there is the sound of eager footsteps running further and further away.

Dan presses a finger to his lips as he slowly stands up and walks over to the front door and looks through the peephole.

“Looks like it’s finally just the two of us” he says with a grin as he makes his way back over, switching the lights back on as he passes the switch.

Phil stands up from the bed and stretches his legs. “I’d say we maybe have about…” he looks down at his bare wrist and taps a finger to his chin, “Fifteen minutes?”

Dan nudges him in the arm. “We could do a lot in fifteen minutes.”

“I know you mean order room service and watch anime.”

Dan rests his head on Phil’s shoulder.

“Damn right I do. Can we?”

Phil smiles and rests his head on Dan’s. “Whatever you want.”

Ten minutes later they’re tucked up in the double bed finishing off a stack of chocolate coated waffles (Phil is still holding a grudge at the hotel for taking pancakes off of the menu) and watching an episode of an anime.

“You know what I just realised?” Phil asks between bites.

“Not until you tell me, oh wise one” Dan replies.

“We probably could’ve just gone straight to this room and just, like, whispered. I think we’d have been fine, the doors are far apart.”

Dan stops chewing for a moment as he ponders the theory, and eventually laughs.

“We’re stupid.”

Phil laughs too. “We really are.”

“We had fun, though.”

“We really did.”

They don’t speak another word for the rest of the episode, but Dan moves into Phil’s arms and Phil gently draws patterns on Dan’s bare skin with his fingers, and they both take a moment to silently thank whatever higher forces may exist in the universe for making everything possible.

As the party downstairs continues in full swing and the sky continues to darken and the American nightlife blossoms outside of their window, they snuggle into the duvet and pull it up to their chins (the sheets are only thin, and they constantly have the air conditioning running despite them not needing it on after ten minutes).

“Can I ask something of you?” Phil whispers, they’re both now half-asleep.

Dan yawns, and turns to face him. “Anything.”

Phil pauses for a moment and smiles to himself. “When we get back can you please take some handwriting lessons?”

Dan doesn’t open his eyes, though gently kicks Phil’s leg under the duvet. “Fuck you,” he says, his voice is laced with sleep and a smile toys at his lips.

“I love you” Phil says, and can’t stop himself from closing the (already very small) gap between them and kissing Dan softly, causing Dan’s eyes to open.

“I love you more” Dan replies, then places a hand on Phil’s neck, bringing him back down for another kiss. “But your handwriting sucks too.”

“If that’s the only complaint you have, I can live with that.”

“You’re lucky you’re cute or else I’d kick your ass right now” Dan says, evidently falling back into the clutches of sleep.

“We established onstage today that we wouldn’t fight, besides you’d be too scared that I’d annihilate you” Phil grins, and Dan sighs dramatically.

“Go to sleep, loser” he says fondly as he finds Phil’s hand and loosely links their fingers.

Phil presses a kiss to Dan’s forehead and closes his eyes.

The room falls silent, and nobody has returned to outside their door.

“… But we both know I’d be the one to annihilate you” Dan adds to his previous statement.

“You didn’t seem to think so on the night before we left for America” Phil quips, and Dan cringes.

“Phil.”

It is the last word spoken before they both fall asleep, lulled to sleep by the distant pounding music from the party.

Little do they know they dream about the same thing that night. Of many easy, light-hearted nights like the one they just had, in a forever home of their own with a canine friend running around at their feet.

-- E n d --

thank you so much for reading, i hope you enjoyed the fic!

please let me know what you thought and like/reblog if you liked it :)

find me on: twitter // ao3

also the title is from Middle Of The Night by The Vamps!

#cafephanfics #phanfic #phanfiction #phan fluff #phan #phan fanfiction #damn i'm nervous to post this #ok let's just go for it

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ellebeebee · 8 years

Text

Day 5 -- Growth

Sabine and Zarad have a fight.

3316 words, Zarad/Widow, general rating, warning for alcohol

A knock rang outside her door and forced Sabine from her intent focus. She snapped shut the bulky leather portfolio before her and called out, “Come in.”

She felt, rather than saw, Sayra and Ria enter on their trained servants’ feet, quiet and measured. Sabine pulled a card from one of her desk drawers as they closed the door.

“Good evening, Lady Sabine,” they both greeted her, no doubt curtsying as well.

“Good evening. When I finish this, can you take it to Jasper, please, Sayra? And tell him there’s a change of plans.”

She added a flourish to her script, pressing a bit harder than usual. The card done, she stood with it and blew across the wet ink as she finally looked at her maids. Sayra stood some paces away, while Ria had paused, hovering, by her wardrobe.

“It’s short notice, I know,” Sabine said, “but I’d like to invite Prince Zarad to a private dinner instead of dining with the others tonight. I’m sure Jasper has worked greater miracles before.”

“Yes, my lady,” Sayra said with her quiet assurance. “Do you have any particular instructions for the dinner?”

“No. As long as Zarad is there, I don’t care if we sit out in the rain with a stalk of celery each.”

Sayra took the note from her and left silently. Sabine turned to Ria, who stared back with light concern.

“The dark blue jacquard, dear,” she told the girl, moving to the mirror in the dressing area. She frowned and turned to look herself up and down, hands running down her curves.

“I suppose I ought to eat more celery anyway,” Sabine sighed, her voice sour.

Ria had her out of her day dress and into an evening gown with practiced speed. Soon after, Sayra returned with Jasper.

“His Highness accepts your invitation with pleasure,” the butler said. He spoke with his usual professional coolness, but Sabine could tell he and Sayra had been talking by the way he studied her. He handed her a card with Zarad’s seal. She stared at it for a moment, running her thumb over the wax seal, until she glanced up at the portfolio still sitting on her desk. Jaw twitching, she lay the card down unopened.

“Did you have trouble arranging things?” she asked Jasper lightly, donning her usual society smile.

“Nothing insurmountable, my lady,” he answered.

She nodded. She would have to thank him properly tomorrow, as well as apologize to the girls.

“I see I shall have to invest in a smelling salt mine-- do smelling salts even come from a mine? Nevermind. I must find some way or other to have some on hand at all times when dealing with you, because, frankly, your behavior is becoming more and more shocking.”

Zarad swept into the room with his usual grace and teasing statements.

“Really. A sudden, desperate summons! My maid was swooning!” he exclaimed, grinning as he bowed to her.

“Oh?” Sabine said. She remained seated. “And you, kind soul that you are, caught her. Tucked her pretty little head right into your bosom.”

“I do have a nice bosom,” Zarad agreed. “But no fear, my dove. I will always make room for you on it.”

“That’s sweet of you,” she replied.

Something in her tone, in the way she cut short the banter, caused Zarad to study her. He paused, but if he was going to say something it was interrupted by the entry of the soup course through the door. Between them grew an uncomfortable silence peppered with the soft clinks of the servers laying down their dishes. Sabine sipped at the wine and avoided his eyes.

When they were alone again (or as alone as anyone on this isle could be), Zarad cleared his throat.

“I certainly have been waiting for the day you’d be dazzled into silence with my mere presence,” he said lightly. “But I do so prefer to hear my praises on your tongue.”

She studied him for a moment. He was smiling, but for the first time since she’d known him, he seemed nervous. Neither of them touched the soup.

“Did you get a chance to look at my accounts I sent over?” she finally said.

Zarad raised a brow. “I glanced over them. Very neat and tidy.”

She stared at him. “That’s all you have to say?”

“I’m not sure what’s the matter, Sabine,” Zarad said slowly.

“Your books are a complete mess,” she said sharply.

Now that their engagement was solidifying, the time to address the business aspect of marriage had come. Both of them had collected their records to send to the other with an appointment scheduled later to go over the details of consolidating the households. However, when Sabine had seen the disorganized and haphazard mix of receipts and incomplete documentation in the portfolio now sitting on her desk, she had not been able to remain patient.

She threw the napkin on her lap back onto the table where it dipped sadly into the soup. She straightened to stare fully at him, shoulders stiff and coiled with tension.

“Where should I even start?” she asked. “For one, your household currently subsists on your imperial stipend. In entirety. Which would not be terrible if your rate of spending did not consistently outstrip that very generous amount year after year. Of course, I might be unfairly forgetting your one other source of income: personal loans from your friends. The funds from which seem to trickle around to pay off other personal loans.”

Zarad said nothing as she continued this tirade, his usual smirk gone and nothing floating up to the surface to replace it. His walls had crashed down, his face blank. Even if he attempted to say anything, she did not allow it.

“Perhaps you might defend your expenditures?” Sabine asked, choking out an insincere laugh. “Gambling dens, clubhouses, the races, parties, and loans. My word, if you charged interest at least you could register as a bank. But that would require to you to actually collect on those loans. The current outstanding debt owed to you is obscene. The debts that you owe? It doesn’t bear polite conversation.”

She snorted and shook her head. “Really. Heavens know I have never exactly lived frugally, but I certainly don’t go beyond my means. And you have not made a single wise investment since you reached your majority. There are no ships sponsored, no land bought, no-- no anything. For god’s sake, you don’t even use a double-entry booking system.”

“I didn’t realize my imagined solvency was what attracted you so to me in the first place,” Zarad said coolly. His expression remained blank, but his eyes were retreating further and further away.

Sabine raised her hand dismissively. “Do not give me that. That is not what this is about.”

“No? It seems exactly what it’s about.”

“I have my hold to think of,”she said acidly. “My tenants. Even with my returns from Namaire and all of my investments, at the growing rate of your spending my wealth would be bankrupted within ten years. I’d have to sell the barony-- and I will not do that. Not for anyone.”

Zarad’s jaw clenched as he looked down, idly smoothing out his robes across his lap.

“Well, my lady, you certainly have a route to prevent such a tragedy.”

Sabine suddenly stood, her chair screeching behind her. Her voice turned tight and rough and touched with tremors.

“For years, I watched my father do this to his family. I will not see my future children go through what my siblings and I did.”

With that, she jerked away from the table and turned away. Realization crashed onto Zarad’s face, and he shot to his feet.

“Sabine, wait--”

“No.”

“Listen to me--”

At that moment, the door to the private dining room silently opened and Jasper entered.

Thus, the butler’s pointed stare deflated the tension between them, and they parted in silence without meeting the other’s gaze.

Sabine dismissed Jasper and told him not to send in the girls to help her undress. She could manage on her own. He seemed to want to say something, but at her expression he merely nodded his assent.

She slumped at her vanity and impatiently pulled out her dangling earrings, tossing them down. Her reflection in the mirror stared back at her. She wasn’t seventeen anymore. How long could she keep doing this? She turned away from the mirror.

Sabine stood and crossed the room to a trunk storing various gifts and some books. She pulled out a bottle of authentic Revairan red another delegate had given her. As she stood at her writing desk and used the letter opener from Ana to pull out the wine’s cork, the leather portfolio and the unopened card sitting on it caught her eye.

Having no glasses at hand, she took a swig straight from the bottle and stared at the source of her current dilemma. Sighing, she took the portfolio and the wine to her sitting area, kicking off her slippers along the way. She popped open the portfolio.

It was ridiculous. Crumpled up receipts were crammed into the wrong year’s records, contracts involving exorbitant sums were wadded up and stained, the records wandered around mathematically in lazy routes and sometimes fell off into obscurity. Really, if he wasn’t good with finances, that was fine, but he was completely capable of hiring someone who could handle it.

She nursed the wine.

“I mean, who in the world are all these people?” she sighed.

Many of the personal loans were to other nobles in the Corvali court, and she either knew of them by name or could guess with her own familiarity with the different holdings and positions in Corval. But so many others were unknown to her. And the justification for the exchanges were scrawled in the margins as ‘seed money for Jadet’s mole trainer,’ ‘Ulden proved he could get drunker than a donkey,’ ‘twinkle toes,’ etcetera.

Suddenly, Sabine sat up.

She frowned, putting the bottle down. Her fingers flew through the tattered pages of the portfolio. There was a certain loose thread. And as she flipped through the annotations and the figures, she pulled on this loose thread. The more she pulled on it, the more she began to unravel a pattern she had not seen before. A logic woven coyly through the apparent disarray of the accounts.

Sabine sat back, breathing deep and closing her eyes.

“They’re fake,” she said softly. “These books are fake.”

She shoved the portfolio off her lap, bits of paper fluttering to the floor. Stumbling a bit, she went to the desk and snatched up Zarad’s card.

As the stars must follow the lovely glow of the moon, so I must follow your every dear command.

Ever yours,

Zarad

Overwhelmed, Sabine put down the card and held herself against the desk’s surface.

“My god,” she groaned. “I am an idiot.”

She banged her head against the desk.

“My lady. My lady.”

Sabine shot upright.

“What, what?” she croaked.

Jasper stood at the foot of her bed, eyeing her.

Her head pounding, Sabine peered around. She was still dressed, and had somehow ended up on her bed with a good portion of the portfolio’s contents surrounding her on the coverlet. In fact, her room’s floor was littered everywhere with scraps of paper. The first bottle of wine was rolling around, empty, beside her while a second one sat opened on her nightstand.

“Uhm,” Sabine murmured, putting a hand to her head. “Jasper…”

The butler shifted. Almost imperceptibly, he gentled his tone. “Shall I have a bath drawn for you, my lady?”

“No,” she cleared her throat and looked up at him properly. “I have something I need to do. Right away. I can dress myself. I’ll need all this cleaned up, though.”

She gestured around her.

“Someone discreet, please,” she added softly.

Jasper nodded and gave her a hand as she pushed off the bed. He looked her in the eye.

“I shall take care of it myself, Lady Sabine.”

She squeezed his hand for a moment. “Thank you. I will need that bath when I come back.”

“Of course.”

As he exited silently, she went to the mirror to see the damage. Good lord. She sighed. Today was not going to be easy.

After untangling some of the worst snags in her half-undone hair, washing away the streaks of kohl on her cheeks, and throwing on a new dress, Sabine went on a search.

She found him in the gardens, tucked away in a small shady corner that smelled of dew and jonquils.

It was a rare thing that she could find him so quickly when it seemed the norm for him to dissipate like mist whenever her thoughts turned to him. Perhaps-- and she may frankly be flattering herself with this notion-- but perhaps he had sensed the direction of her heart’s change overnight. It would be nice to think so.

He watched her approach with quiet eyes. He seemed much the same except for the lack of mirth and the quietude. And it gutted her that she was the cause of this change.

At a few paces away she stopped. She gestured behind him to the ornate stone bench set against a smooth-faced hedge.

“May we sit?” Sabine asked.

“By all means,” Zarad replied.

They sat down in tense silence, but she did not allow the tension to last overlong, drawing herself up and clearing her throat.

“I owe you an apology,” she said, turning slightly to look him in the eye.

He gazed back. There was a shift in his expression. Relief, uncertainty, contrition: all of these or maybe none and something she couldn’t define at all. Anxiety leaped into her throat. She leaned closer.

“Zarad, I’ve been an idiot. An absolute idiot. I did not see your books for what they were.”

Her hand nervously swept a curl from her face, but she forced herself to keep her eyes on his.

“Even so, I should not have overreacted the way I did. I should have had faith in you and discussed it with you like an adult. Not fly off into a rage. I should have trusted you,” she said, her throat tightening. “I feel as if I’ve hurt you, and I am sick over it. I am sorry.”

Zarad’s gaze dropped. He raised a hand to shield his eyes. His mouth worked around several emotions, words that wouldn’t come, until he put on a flimsy smile to cough out an awkward laugh.

“Sabine, how do you do this? Where did you even come from? What horrible, wonderful fairy magicked you into my life?”

She remained silent, watching him. He finally looked up.

He shook his head. “I should have apologized first. I was the first to show you distrust.”

He pulled a slim dark volume from somewhere, a sleight of hand that she hadn’t caught.

“I should have given you this to begin with,” he said quietly, pushing it into her hands. “I could say that the habits of the Corvali court are hard to forget, but that would be making an excuse. The truth is I was careless and thoughtless. I didn’t think about the way you would think of this money-- not just the money, but the partnership we should be building.”

She did not open the book, running a hand over it slowly. “Or perhaps I am just not as clever as you may have believed me. Did you think I would figure it out quicker?”

“Sabine, that’s not true. And you shouldn’t have had to figure it out, anyway,” he said firmly. He sighed and adjusted his robes. “It’s a… new feeling. Wanting to trust someone completely, wanting to be trusted completely. Hiding all your cards-- like your money and what you’re doing with it-- is just second nature at home. Really, it’s the difference between surviving and…”

He shrugged.

“I am sorry. I should have considered your feelings more.”

She smiled and slipped a hand into his. “We’ve both behaved badly.”

He smiled back and his fingers wrapped around hers to squeeze lightly. They stayed like that for a moment, simply enjoying the rarity of a moment to themselves. The intimacy of knowing each other better, and committing themselves again to the idea of them.

After a while, Sabine pulled her hand from his and flipped open the slim volume he’d given her.

“Now,” she said brightly, “Let’s have a look.”

She carefully inspected the records, following columns of figures with her finger lightly ghosting down the page. Zarad watched her, a smile tugging at his lips. As she poured over the numbers, her brow arched up and she made little sounds of interest.

“You know,” Zarad said musingly, “You’re very attractive when you’re angry.”

She glanced at him and rolled her eyes. Her attention drew back to the book.

“This apologizing thing is quite useful,” he went on. “If I ever want to see that lovely visage of you again, thunderous and stormy like the righteous heavens, I can just apologize to put things back in order.”

“Why don’t you try it sometime and we’ll see?” Sabine said, eyes on the ledger, but her tone a little dangerous with too much sweetness.

“Didn’t we already have a discussion about open-ended invitations?”

“Yes,” she said, pulling her head up. “You invite too many of them.” Shutting the book, she slapped it into his chest.

“If these numbers are true, then I’m impressed.”

“So it was my imagined solvency that led you to me. Madam, you are shamelessly using me.”

“Not the amount,” she said with mock-hauteur. “The finesse and skill with which the amount was handled.”

“And the double entry system?”

“Quite tidy.”

“Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

She sighed in exasperation and reached up with both her hands to cradle his face.

“Yes, Your Highness. You are very handsome and dashing and very, very intelligent,” she cooed in grinning his face. “You must be the smartest creature I’ve ever met. Wonderful and splendid in every aspect. From the glossy curled top of your head to your precious little piggies.”

A snort of laughter sputtered behind her.

Sabine leapt to her feet, startled. Hamin and Clarmont stood only a few paces away, having come upon them with Sabine completely unaware. Beside her, Zarad bent over, helpless with laughter.

“You--” she started, irritated.

She stopped, turned her back on him, and curtsied to the sudden intruders.

“My lords,” she said coolly.

Clarmont recovered his surprise, and even minimised his amusement by biting on his lip, and returned to her a proper bow. Hamin, however, was sniggering too much to manage more than an awkward bend.

“What was that, Sabine, p-precious little piggies?” Hamin gasped out.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied calmly.

“Don’t be like that, we’re friends, right?” Hamin said, his grin far too wide for her liking.

“Well, I’m sure I’d only be friends with gentlemen. And gentlemen would surely never eavesdrop on a private conversation.”

Clarmont elbowed Hamin to keep him quiet and smiled at her. “You are too correct, Lady Sabine. We’ve been unpardonably rude.”

Zarad cleared his throat. “That’s right. Run along so she can continue wooing my precious little piggies.”

Both Hamin and Zarad howled.

“I’m done with this,” Sabine snapped. “And I’m done with you. I’m not marrying you.”

She whirled away and began marching back toward the castle. Zarad followed easily with his wider stride.

“Again? Wait, Sabine, I apologize! At least let me walk you back, I can tell you’re hungover.”

“How dare you! I am a lady. I don’t get hungover.”

He laughed, and she took his arm, trying and not very much succeeding at hiding her own smile.

#7kpp #7kpp week #7kppweek #revaire!mc #alcohol tw #fanfiction #my writing

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50funny · 5 years

Text

Mage: Chapter 17- A Troubling Trend

Written By 50Funny

Part 1- The Numbers

A loud, high pitched scraping noise sounded out through the board room as 9 pulled out his chair. He slumped himself lazily down into the seat.

“So what’s this all about then?” 9 asked as he looked around the round table.

Sitting around the table were nine seats with a number from one to ten skipping six labelling each. On the opposite side of the table were 3, 4, 5 and 7 sitting in their labelled seats.

“You can wait till we’re all here, it's regulation,” stated 5.

“Oh come on you don’t have to be such a stickler,” 4 said.

“We have rules for a reason,” 5 insisted. “Besides it’s not my fault everyone is always late.”

The double door leading into the board room began to creak open. 8 strode into the room making a line for her seat stretching her arms out above her head as she did.

“Morning everyone,” 8 yawned.

“You’re late,” 5 hissed.

“Don’t blame me. Do you know how long it took to find all the stragglers in that maze?” 8 groaned as she took her seat. “Plus it’s no cake walk getting big stuff back there out of bed,” she continued as she gestured back to the door.

The ground began to shake slightly as a loud stomping sounded out from down the hallway. Into the room entered an enormous man wearing a t-shirt and shorts, his oversized belly poking out from underneath his top. He was pale and had a sunken expression on his face, letting out a pained groan as he walked into the room.

“How you feeling 10?” asked 3.

“Ughhhhh,” 10 groaned, holding his bloated stomach as he walked towards his seat.

“I think he’s still sick from whatever it was he ate before the test began,” 8 explained.

Everyone in the room shifted their eyes to 9 with an accusatory stare.

“Hey don’t blame me. It’s not my fault he’s a party animal,” 9 defended.

10 sat down next to 9, shaking the ground as he impacted the chair. 9 looked across to his friend sitting next to him, placing his hand on his back.

“How you been buddy, you down for some more fun tonight?” 9 asked.

10 retched as he remembered his last night out, quickly raising his hand to cover his mouth. 8 looked across to 5 sitting on the opposite side of the table.

“So what’s this meeting about anyway?” asked 8.

“You’re wasting your time, she’s not gonna tell us anything till her little crush gets here,” 4 chimed in.

5 turned her head to 4, staring daggers into him.

“I don’t have a crush on anybody. It’s just standard procedures to wait until all members have arriv…”

“Hey look, 2’s here,” 3 interrupted.

5’s demeanor quickly changed as she turned to face the door. An enormous smile spread itself across her face.

“2, it’s great to see you. It’s been too long. I hope you’ve been doing well,” 5 stammered in as sweet a tone as she could manage.

Her eyes focused on the doors quickly realising that no one had entered the room. 3,4 and 8 cackled childishly amongst themselves as 5 sat in her embarrassment.

“Haha sure, you don’t have a crush… I believe you,” 8 giggled sarcastically.

“Who’s a good teachers' pet?” 3 teased.

5 turned her head to face the group, her eyebrows angled in rage as her cheeks turned a deep red. She lunged towards the group fist first. The trio ran away from 5 as fast as they could around the table, still laughing amongst themselves.

“Argh, why do you all have to be so annoying!” 5 yelled.

“5 loves 2, 5 loves 2,” 3,4 and 8 chanted in unison.

The clacking of heels on the wooden floor began to emanate from down the hall leading to the room. 5 continued to chase the group around the room in a psychotic rage as the door leading to board room creaked open. From behind the door entered a lady in a crisp, well-fitting suit and tie, writing on a clipboard with a ballpoint pen. The woman was followed behind by a similarly dressed man with thick glasses and bright orange hair. 4 looked over to the woman as she continued to stride into the room.

“Hey look, 2 here!” 4 exclaimed.

“Yeah right, like I’d fall for the one again!” yelled 5.

“Fall for what again?” 2 said.

5 stopped dead in her tracks and slowly turned around to face 2. Her cheeks turned an even deeper red as she began to shake with embarrassment.

“Oh…2… h…how are you?” 5 stammered nervously.

“Shall I even ask what was going on in here?” asked 2.

“I was… I mean… We were just.”

“We were talking about 5’s little crus…” 4 blurted out.

“Nothing… we were doing nothing!” 5 yelled as loud as she could, covering 4's mouth with her hands.

“Very well then, shall we proceed,” 2 said taking her seat.

2 held the clipboard out behind her. The man took the clipboard from 2, bowing his head down before turning to leave the room.

Part 2- A Troubling Trend

5 stood up in front of the rest of the Numbers by a large whiteboard.

“Now we should begin. As I’m sure you know, one of the most important parts of a Guild’s functions are the jobs that we receive on a daily basis,” 5 explained. “When a job is submitted to our Guild, it is posted on the Guild board for all our mages to see with a monetary reward for its completion. Once a mage accepts and completes the job they receive whatever reward was on offer, minus the twenty percent cut we take. While most jobs and quests are submitted by regular citizens and private businesses, the most important jobs for a Guild are those submitted by government bodies. These government tasks offer up the highest monetary rewards and thus a greater cut for us.”

“Yeah yeah, we all already know all that. What’s your point?” 4 said dismissively.

“My point is that over the past few years the numbers of government jobs have been slowly getting less and less,” 5 stated. “Three years ago we received thirty of these high paying jobs, a fairly standard amount for a Guild of our size. The following year we received only twenty-four, then last year hit an all-time low at only thirteen. And as of June this year…” 5 took a brief pause. “We’ve received only six government sanctioned jobs.”

The Numbers all looked at 5, finally understanding her concern.

“Without these high paying jobs, we may find ourselves running out of the money to pay for the Guild's expenses. On top of that, I’m sure many of our other members have noticed the same trend. They’re not saying anything yet, but when they start to notice their wallets lightening, you can bet will have a riot on our hand,” explained 5.

“So what? Have we done something to upset whoever is handing out jobs for the government?” asked 8.

“No, I’ve checked around and it would appear that most other high ranking Guilds are experiencing a similar problem.”

“Well, if we’re not doing anything wrong then how are we meant to fix it?” 4 blurted out.

“Surely, this is a good thing? We live in a time of peace without much to complain about. Can’t we just be happy about that?” 7 said nervously.

“If you think this is happening because we live in a time of peace then your sadly mistaken,” 3 chimed in.

Everyone in the room shifted their gaze across to 3, beckoning for him to explain himself. A cocky smile drifted across 3’s face.

“See it, does pay to know your history,” 3 stated. “This sort of thing has happened many times before, much before our Guild was even formed. However the last time…” he paused for a brief moment, “was just before the last Lemian conflict.”

The rest of the Numbers listened on with sudden horror as the gravity of the situation struck them.

“When the government realised that war with Lemia was inevitable, they started hoarding all the wealth and resources they could buy, cutting off all unnecessary expenditure. One of the many things to be cut off was the hiring of mages.”

“Hang on a second. Are you saying that another Lemian conflict is coming?” asked 9.

“Well not necessarily. But I’d say it’s fairly safe to say…” 3 took a brief pause, “something big is on the horizon.”

An uneasy silence settled on the group as they sat contemplating the consequences of what had been said.

“Well… that certainly is a concerning thought, but I must admit I fail to see why this meeting was so urgent. Surely this could have waited until after the Guild test was done with,” said 2.

5 nodded as she looked back over the group.

“Yes, let’s get back on track,” she said. “With the job shortage being as bad as it is, I don’t believe it would be wise to add to many new members to our Guild. I’ve been watching the remaining twelve rather closely and I truly believe that all of them have the potential to pass the final test as it currently stands. Adding twelve new members will only serve to exacerbate the problems we’re already facing… ”

“Ahhhh I see,” 2 interrupted. “So you want me to change the parameters of the final test so less of them pass. That’s fine by me, so how many of them shall I let get through?”

5 looked down, holding her chin in thought.

“If I’m correct, at most we should be able to handle six new members,” stated 5.

“Ha… ok then,” 2 replied as she stood up out of her chair, a smile stretching across her face. “I’ll narrow them down to three.”

2 turned around and began walking towards the door. She reached her hand out to the handle and began to turn it. She stopped for a moment before turning her head back to face the rest of the group.

“Oh right, I almost forgot,” said 2. “I’ve been pretty busy over the last few days so I haven’t had the chance to watch the contestants very closely. You’ve all spent much more time with them than me so I wanted to get your opinion on who deserves to win the most?”

There was a silence over the group as they thought, for a moment, of the events of the preceding days. 3 looked across to 2.

“If I might, I’d like to abstain. My third eye has already seen everything that’s coming and it would be no fun if I spoiled it now.” 3 said.

“Why do you have to be such a pain, can’t you just answer the question,” 5 hissed.

“5, please its fine. If 3 doesn’t wish to participate then there’s no need to force him,” 2 intervened.

3 sat clearly enjoying the mischief he had caused. 4 raised up his head as he finished formulating his answer.

“For my money, I’d say that guy with the boxing gloves or the one with the weird familiar. They were the only ones that even came close to beating me which shows they’ve at least got a little bit of strength,” said 4.

“As I said before I think all of them have the potential to join our Guild. The only one I wouldn’t want passing is the one with the fire powers. He gives me creepy vibes and I don’t think he’d be a good fit for our Guild,” 5 explained.

7 looked down to the ground nervously as he realised his turn had come.

“Well… um… I don’t know. Cecilia seems nice I suppose, I talked with her on the train ride here. Her power is pretty unique and could prove useful if she hones her skills enough,” mumbled 7.

2 looked across the room to 7.

“If I may, could we please get 6’s opinions as well? He is part of the Guild to after all,” 2 asked.

“Oh… well umm… yes. I… I guess that’s fair,” 7 mumbled as stuttered looking down to the ground nervously.

7 began to shake and trimmer, his body letting out a series of inhuman cracks and breaks. His skin began to turn a pale grey colour. He let out a low pitched moan as a pointy grey horn began to grow out of his skull. His face began to distort into a psychotic smile as his eyes sunk back into his head.

“Well well, am I being summoned, this is certainly a surprise,” 6 groaned in an inhuman tone.

“Freak,” 4 mumbled under his breath avoid eye contact with the creature.

“That guy with the fire would be my bet, he’s got the eyes of a killer, I like that,” continued 6.

“Thank you very much 6. Now if you would please go away,” 2 stated sternly.

6 looked across the room to 2, his smile fading away into an eerie scowl.

“Whatever you say, but remember the second you wanna get rid of this weakling I’ll be waiting,”

6 began to once again shake and trimmer as the horn began to retract and his skin returned to a normal colour. 7 opened up his eyes looking out across the room awkwardly.

“Oh umm… I… I’m terribly sorry,” 7 stuttered.

“If it were up to me that Alex kid would do more than just fail,” 8 said, breaking the awkwardness. “He has no respect for authority. As for who I want to win, Elmer would be my pick. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could throw him but it can always be useful to have a kiss ass around.”

“I don’t really care who wins. They all seem too serious, no one I’d like to party with,” said 9.

10 let out a long low pitched groan of pain as he grasped at his stomach. 2 looked across the rest of the group smiling pleasantly.

“Thank you all. Well, I guess we should get on with it then.”

2 turned around opening up the door. She walked out into the hallway followed shortly behind by her redheaded secretary. The clicker clacker of her heels got quieter and quieter as she walked off to begin the final stage of the test.

________________________________________________________________ Thank you for reading chapter 17 of mage. If you like what you see consider checking out my AO3 at this link https://archiveofourown.org/users/50Funny to see all new chapters 3 days early. If you feel so inclined please consider following my tumblr for all updates and other tid bits. Until next week, have a good day.

#Mage #Chapter 17 #Magic #Story #Original Story #50Funny

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survivorjordanpines · 7 years

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Episode 4: Bless me father, for I have sinned - Adam

Okay, I really hope my tribe isn’t full of slow dumbasses who take forever on this challenge. Because if my (script-assisted) challenge time of ~3 minutes doesn’t end up winning me immunity, I am going to T H R O W H A N D S

So, that vote was a cluster fuck. Can you believe LA didn't tell me that the vote was on Kage and not Regan? i'm same. I can't wait to stab her in the back later on in this game just for the hell of it. I'm thinking I'll play nice for now and then when she least expects it, shove her into the proverbial waters and let her drag herself down. True friendship. This challenge has ruined my life so many times in the past. I.. actually did pretty good? 9 minutes, 21 seconds.. I think. I don't think I could have done it faster. I'm happy with my time. Can you imagine a world where I, the biggest flop, actually win an immunity? I mean, I won't, because we'll probably lose when half the tribe throws the fucking competition to try to win the immunity for themselves. I hate these people. I honestly only like Adam and Rafael right now because those kids didn't lie to me!!!

Bless me father, for I have sinned. It has been three tribals since my last confessional. I went to the isle and climbed the third tree, the last one that should've had something since kage told me there was nothing in the second, and jess said there was definitely one in one of the trees, but since mine was empty, someone lied. Probably Kage. He's nice he always says good morning to me. But turns out him and Jaiden were liars. They used my name to try and get Regan out. Saying I said she was an easy vote. Which is awkward because I did say that but not to them. Doesn't matter because Jaiden came clean and cleared my name. But these bitches can't be trusted. Sad I wasted my time on the isle, shoulda gone north but I wanted to rule out the trees. Oh well, hopefully I get to go back. Could really use some of them advantages. Oh well, glad I didn't have to go to this tribal cuz I didn't do shit for the music video challenge. Jordan just can't come up with a challenge that's not lame or cliche. Like flag making? Music video? Come up with something original

Kage going was a major blindside. I think Charlotte and I were the only ones not part of it. So I need to maneuver through this game with her carefully. I am at the bottom of this tribe which means I need to a) up my social game and b) advertise myself as a free vote for anyone who wants it. Hopefully, I can make it through as I do not want to go against Kage in redemption island.

So i'm super excited its the Steps because I have an opportunity to redeem myself after being booted because of the steps in Easter and Great Lakes! Anyways theirs like a glitch with skype where if you go on airplane mode and then write all the messages then go off airplane mode they will all send within like a minute. It's a cute look and I want that immunity so I don't have to deal with having to send someone home I like. I'll return to the ashes of my tribe and figure out whats happening lmao

I'm tired of these people already when can we tribe swap??

I think I managed to get Gage's trust. Our conversation today was a real heart-to-heart game-wise. He told me, willingly, about the Kage vote and we managed to agree that Kage was playing too hard, too fast. I think I have deflected a vote against me from him. I know I didn't win individual, but I think I secured a spot as the worst maybe? Karen is gunning for me all because of previous bad blood. I'm frustrated that my life in the game depends on her attitude. All I need is five votes in this next tribal council and I better go fishing now. Right now I feel like I have Gage and Charlotte only. They seem to be the ones who trust me like I trust them.

Well I have Gage's and Jaiden's vote for tribal. I don't know exactly who but I'm all ears for anyone that comes by. I was really hoping that Charlotte wouldn't go since I kind of needed her vote. If she stayed, I would have had four votes right there. Karen is heavily against me and I don't know who is on her side. It'll certainly be one hell of a vote, that's for sure.

[2017-11-24, 11:08:24 PM] charlotte (themyscira host): my first legitimate effort earned immunity [2017-11-24, 11:08:30 PM] charlotte (themyscira host): mastermind i don’t count bc thats partly luck [2017-11-24, 11:08:34 PM] charlotte (themyscira host): shooketh [2017-11-24, 11:08:43 PM] charlotte (themyscira host): regan with 47 hours is a fucking look [2017-11-24, 11:08:54 PM] charlotte (themyscira host): she pissed i’m going based on what i saw before i got kicked out lmao [2017-11-24, 11:09:09 PM] charlotte (themyscira host): i hate people who sabotage their tribe for personal gain so i hope they vote her ass OuT

Can you believe your girl found an idol?

Apparently I'm the queen of finding idols if Jordan isn't in the damn game. I found one in Forbidden Forest, and one in Kuang Si. I mean, okay, technically I stole one from Ian in KS but I'm still counting that as a win for me. All my walking paid off and I searched the right tree to find an idol. It's not a cool idol or anything, Jordan just called it a hidden immunity idol and I GOT NO PICTURE, but still... it means I'm guaranteed safety whenever someone tries to vote my ass out so that's something. Let's see them try to come @ me with an idol in my pocket. Is that a granola bar in your pocket or are you just happy to see me? NAH BITCH, that's an idol and I'm voting your ass OUT.

okay damn here's the sitch we got this weird six-person alliance going with me/ryan/jess and ruthie/emma/andreas, the last three of whom are presumably very close, and apparently jess/ryan/cole/casey also have a chat, and as a result i'm feeling more than a little left out of things. especially because both ryan and jess are unable to vote tonight (rats) so it's basically me and everyone else that i don't trust. BUT i had a good talk with casey last night and decided i would much rather work with her & cole and ryan/jess than the other three, especially cos emma's like literally not ever around and i dont see the point in keeping her here over someone who would talk to me. so what i'm thinking right now is, i vote with casey and cole for emma, the other three vote whomever, then there's a 3-3 and jess gets to vote on the revote so we can get it done. of course, this assumes that i can trust anyone, which - as previously stated - i can't. but i don't have time to worry about it so i'm gonna go with my gut. i'll write more later but i have to go make pita bread so ttfn

So my strategy in this challenge totally failed! Miserably. Anyways, so we have tribal and I really didn't wanna have to vote because I think this is where things shall get messy. I wanna stay in the background but Ari is really smooth and I can see they're like trying to paint this as my idea to send Cole him when it's kind of an unspoken thing that Cole should be the next to go. And then, part of me also wants to gather Cole and Casey and we vote Jess. Then plus her self-vote, she'd go home. I feel that it would be an iconic MOVE but its way too early to turn half my tribe against me and then I'd still be in a 4-3 minority. So honestly who knows what will happen tonight.

So, when i was chatting with Ari I knew they were making the convo seem a certain way and yet here I am now having Ari throw me under the bus to Cole. I had a good relationship with Cole and Ari just completely screwed me. I thought Ari was smart, but they're causing a lot of distrust. The only, ONLY way I see how this makes sense in their head is if I'm going to be the one going home. And that pisses me off. How do I know this is happening ? Because Cole confronted me about comments I made and guess what, the only person I've chatted with is Ari. I'm very frustrated, this move makes no sense for Ari, and now Ari is trying to throw Casey under the bus. I'm just overly very frustrated right now and this moves makes no sense for Ari. None at all.

What a day. So I got all that sorted out with Cole, and I know Ari told him so I don't trust Ari anymore. What I thought we had is GONE. Now Casey is probably going which I'm not here for. AT ALL. But, I need to make sure Cole stays around so he still trusts me. I also think that Ari/Jess/RTP are setting me up to go home if we lost again, so I'm hoping for a swap so I can make some good relationships. One thing I have going for me is that I know a fair bit of people in this game and I can def use that to my advantage. Plus im the redemption island king so people don't wanna fuck me over for that. Part of me wants to just vote Jessica to get back at Ari, so honestly who even knows at this point. I'm a rather vindictive person and I think that ends up fucking me up in games, so I'm trying to think with my head but its hard when people are blatantly trying to pull the wool over my eyes.

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASSSE make it so that Emma and I are on the same tribe, she's the only one that I think is 100% real to me. Also I think Ari might be a rat, she told Cole that me, Emma and Andreas were voting for him and I???? I would never vote Cole. I would vote out some of my alliance members before I would vote out him. Maybe.

The people that have come up to me about anything game-related are Regan, Gage, and Jaiden. Gage seems to honestly want to work with me along with Jaiden. Then there is Regan who just told about why the vote went as it did which I already knew about. Finally, I was talking with David and that was just friendly conversation. The only way to actually live through this tribal is to up my social game and basically follow wherever the majority is. That's the plan, but I still feel like I'll either get some votes or be voted out. The latter seems most likely.

So it looks like the majority is falling on Jaiden and I'm depressed. Jaiden is the one of the only people on this tribe that has my back. Losing him is losing a vote that will be with me for the rest of this tribe's existence. Now I just hope he wins redemption and isn't too pissed about me voting him out. Please let this work in my favor gods of Survivor!

Hey first confession here~ First tribal my tribe is full of sketchy people first pippa made a voting confessional i was throwing her name around well that was everybody and this vote i wanted to go vote off casey but ari decided to be messy and throw andreas name out i wanted to be loyal to them for once instead of voting them off but noooo now jessicas name is being thrown out and aris name and caseys names because of me and etc.... Ruthie is my number 1 so yeah

Anyway I think we're blindsiding Adam, it'll be 4-2-2 so like 4 would be David Regan la and gage, 2 would be me and jaiden and 2 would be Adam and raf, assuming that Adam is voting with raf and not against him. Tbh if this works out then it'll look like I'm on the outs of the alliance so 🤷🏽‍♀️ It could work bc it might get me info on ppl who think I could swing their way instead. Also I'm considering actually working with jaiden, he seems trustworthy so far and he said he would vote for me so

FOR THE LOVE OF GOD PLEASE BE A TRIBE SWAP PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE OR A MUTINY LET ME GET AWAY FROM THESE PEOPLE!!!!!

that was a mess and a half!

#supportyourlocaljordanpines

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