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tswaney17 · 6 months

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I Do Bad Things with You - Part 45

Back again, with a doozy of an update. I recommend grabbing a snack for this one. You'll be here for a while. 😅 This update does feature a torture session, so mind the trigger warnings. Only four parts and an epilogue left! Hope you like it! 💜💙💚

My fanfic account: @tswaney17fics

My ao3 account: tswaney17

Please let me know what you think about this update. I love getting your feedback. Constructive criticism is always welcome. 💕

Catch up here.

Credit to @featherymalignancy for Cassian’s nickname, Cash. 😘

Trigger warnings: violence, sexual assault , language, NSFW

Word Count: 11,274

Three days later, Emerie had the adoption process in full swing. Elain wouldn’t lie, having a multi-millionaire husband made people work fast. What should’ve taken weeks (or months to be honest) to get through, only took two days. They would be taking Kaden home that night for the first time so he could get settled, and would remain with them throughout the adoption process.

The hospital approved him to stay in the ICU in the meantime to avoid having to place him in a temporary foster home, a perk of her job, and having the chief of surgery vouch for her. Elain had been worried that with an unfamiliar place, his now-healing arm in a cast, and his fear of people, would negatively impact him. The hospital board agreed—though Elain assuring them that she and Azriel would pay for the board in full probably did something to help sway their decision. She understood why hospitals had boards for making decisions, but sometimes she thought they cared more about the money than their patients.

Azriel had taken the last two days off of work to prepare the spare bedroom for their newest addition—Elain helping to the best of her ability when she got off. Due to Kaden’s small size, he also needed a booster seat that was meant for somebody younger than him. She hoped that it wouldn’t be long before they got him to a healthier weight and could put him in something more appropriate for his age.

They still hadn’t told their family, wanting to wait till after they got the approval from social services when they completed their adoption interviews the following month, but they did let the Moonbeam twins know, seeing as they would be carting him and her to work most days. Kaden was going to temporarily join the daycare group at the hospital until they got him into school. Unfortunately, the year had already started, and they were elbow-deep in research for the best ones in the area to enroll him in as soon as possible.

With the twins expected in four months, and now Kaden, it also meant they had to move—the penthouse no longer serving them and their growing family. Azriel had been in touch with his realtor to get the process started, and she hoped they had a new place and time to settle before the twins were born.

Her husband had some very specific requests for their new home security-wise, and she couldn’t disagree with any of his suggestions. They were going to lose the safety the penthouse provided with combo locks and front lobby staff twenty-four-seven. The first thing Az had requested was something gated, preferably away from others, and large enough to host their entire family in spare bedrooms. He would be able to add in the additional security, but this was the foundation of what they were searching for.

To put it lightly, they were running around like crazy trying to get things in order.

Elain was eternally grateful for her husband who could drop everything to take care of things. Perks of being the CEO, she chuckled to herself. He was going to meet her here later on that evening to pick her and Kaden up, wanting to be the one to bring him to the penthouse for the first time.

Finding that Kaden loved being read to, they had already put together a full bookshelf in his bedroom filled with books of various sizes and reading levels, along with too many stuffed animals, a boatload of other toys, and, of course, clothing. They had stocked up on items for him to last through the next year, even with the possibility of him growing.

Elain was sitting next to his hospital bed, reading him a story about giving a mouse a cookie. She was nowhere near the level of enthusiasm that Azriel had provided when he read “The Three Little Pigs” the other day, but Kaden was enamored by her nonetheless.

A commotion at the children’s ICU front desk caught her attention and she glanced up to find a man in a suit shouting at the nurses, looking agitated, furious, and threatening.

She knew who it was immediately, snatching her phone from the front pocket of her scrubs and shooting a text to the Moonbeam twins.

SOS. Children’s ICU level 3. Now.

Her fingers stroked Kaden’s plump cheek. “I’ll be right back,” she whispered, setting the book down on her chair and striding from the room. Elain closed the curtains, shielding Kaden from view before sliding the glass door shut.

But it was too late. He had seen her and the boy and was stalking his way over to them.

Elain’s back straightened as she lifted her chin, meeting him head-on just outside the room.

“Give me my son,” he snarled.

“You mean the boy that has been here for three days and you’re just now coming to claim?”

He flicked his hand, far too close to her face for comfort but she refused to flinch. “I’m here to collect him.”

Elain’s anger flared, but she reined it in, not wanting to give him more of a reason to react violently. “If you want him, you will have to go through child protective services. Because I am not releasing him to you.”

His tanned skin flushed at her comment, his rage rising to meet her challenge. “He is my son—”

“Blood doesn’t make you a father,” she snapped.

Those green eyes took her in, narrowing to slits. “You’re the bitch trying to steal him from me.”

The breath rushed from her lungs. How did he know they were trying to adopt him?

Lorenzo’s mouth curled up in the corner with a cruel smile. “Move, the fuck, out of my way.”

He shifted to his left and she countered, stepping to her right. “No.”

His gaze snatched down her body, taking in her swollen stomach before returning to her face. “If you don’t move, I’ll make you regret it.”

Elain’s heart pounded in her chest, but like hell was she letting him anywhere near her son. Kaden was hers and Azriel’s and this pathetic excuse of a man wasn’t ever getting near him again. “Touch me and I can guarantee you’ll be in a body bag by the end of the week,” she breathed. In her peripheral, she saw Fenrys and Connall jog from the elevator, spotting her across the room. Elain swung her eyes back on Lorenzo’s face. “You’re nothing but an abusive monster and if you want to try and take him, you’ll have to go through me.”

The man swung, palm open to crack across her face.

But a golden-tanned hand snatched it around his wrist, halting him just inches from her cheek, the breeze fluttering the loose hairs over her ear.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Fenrys deep voice purred. “Her husband wouldn’t like it.” Though he sounded amused and wore a slight smirk on his face, Elain saw the darkening of his eyes. A cold look of a predator waiting to pounce.

Connall wore a similar mask, standing so close to Lorenzo’s other side that any large breath would have his chest brushing against his shoulder.

Both males had become not just good friends of hers, but rather protective too. Even more so since they found out she was pregnant. She knew that with them there, Kaden’s father couldn’t touch her.

Lorenzo glanced down at her name badge, pinned to the front pocket of her scrub top at her waist. His eyes widened in surprise as he took in that hyphenated last name.

Archeron-Knight.

Only a fool wouldn’t recognize that name, and if she was correct in her assumptions about who this man was or whom he worked for, then she knew he’d know immediately who her husband was.

She saw the recognition flash across his face; the hint of fear too before he quickly tried to cover it up with a sneer.

Elain wanted to slap the scorn off his face, but she settled on using her words instead. “Unless you get clearance from social services, you are hereby banned from entering this hospital and trying to reach Kaden. If you step foot in that lobby, I’ll be sure to have you thrown out.”

His nostrils flared furiously, but before he could respond, she looked at Fenrys and nodded toward the exit behind them. “Get him out of here.”

Connall gripped his other arm as they lugged him away, curse words falling from his lips faster than she could hear them.

Her heart raced beneath her ribcage at how close it came. He would’ve hit her to get to her boy had the twins not interfered. But Elain would’ve taken it if it meant protecting the little one behind her. Taking a few steadying breaths to slow her heart rate, she turned and slipped back into Kaden’s hospital room.

He was still awake, green and hazel eyes wide with fear. It was obvious that despite the closed door, he had heard his father’s voice.

“He’s gone,” she murmured, slowly approaching his side. “You’re safe with me.”

As soon as she sat on the edge of the bed, he curled into her side, little hands gripping her scrubs. “You stay wiff me?” he asked her in such a soft voice, she almost missed it.

Elain’s chest tightened at him finally speaking. At being comfortable enough to open up to her. She carded her fingers through his soft, inky hair. “Yes, sweetheart. I’ll stay with you.”

And she did, notifying Thesan to remove her from the rotation for the rest of the day while they waited for her husband to arrive that evening.

~~~~~

Blood sprayed, showering his torso in tiny, red droplets. He felt his knuckles split at last as he threw another punch into Elias’s jaw, tooth cracking.

Azriel withdrew into the darkest corner of his mind, the place he firmly kept buried deep and only brought to the surface when his fury needed a bloody and brutal outlet. It was the tainted part of his soul that was bred and honed into him as a child. Brought upon by fists and fire.

His father made sure of it.

So did his brothers.

When he delved into the monster, he felt nothing. Became nothing. He had to in order to inflict the pain, the torture, on those who crossed him. Az didn’t let himself think about her, about their growing family. He couldn’t taint their image with the cruel, twisted version of himself that he turned into.

No matter that the man deserved every single ounce of brutalized agony he delivered. Azriel had always used violence as a method for managing his anger. Some may have called it an “unhealthy coping mechanism,” but was truly the only outlet for his fury. It was the reason why he and Cassian would spar as teens, his elder brother the only one of the two who could really throw down with him when he needed to release his pent-up rage.

As an adult, he didn’t let himself cross that bridge too often—at least not anymore—but it was even less so since she had reentered his life. For her, he tried to be a better man, wanted to be, and typically let Ruhn handle the dirty side of things.

But not for this. Not after what he did to his wife. Tried to do to his unborn children. Those acts were unforgivable and Elias would pay for it with his life.

Eventually.

The man spat it on the floor, grinning savagely up at him, despite the fact that he was tied to a chair in an abandoned warehouse and hours from death. “Is this how we end things, Azriel? You kill me to satisfy some sick fantasy?”

It had taken Ruhn a while to finally track down Elias’s hiding spot. Some secluded cabin way out of the city. But once he finally caught the trail, he tailed him like a rabid dog until he captured him for good.

He readjusted the sleeve of his right arm, pushing it back up to his elbow. His scarred fingers stained red. “Oh, Elias, how blindly imprudent you are,” he taunted, throwing another punch and nailing him square in the nose.

To Elias’s credit, he didn’t yell or shout, simply hissed, spitting more blood onto the tarped ground.

“This isn’t some fantasy. This is revenge for what you did to my wife. You signed up for this the first time you put your filthy hands on her.” Az grabbed a knife off a nearby crate, flipping it once between his thick fingers. “You will beg for death before I grant it to you,” he snarled, embedding the blade into the top of his thigh.

This time, Elias did scream, fight it as he might, the pain, the surge of blood were too much for him to hold back. His head tilted back in agony as Azriel yanked the dagger out and plunged it into his other leg.

Elias’s body tensed, fighting the restraints that would never give, as he sucked in heavy, rasping breaths. “We were supposed to have been partners,” he wheezed between clenched teeth.

“No. I was forced into a partnership with your uncle. Not you. I gave you a way out and you chose to throw my generosity in my face.” His lips curled up slightly at the corner in a sinful smirk. “Your downfall is on you, Elias. You have nobody to blame but yourself.”

The dimmed fire reignited in those dark eyes at his words. “Your slut is to blame,” he spat with a renewed vengeance.

Quick as a flash, Azriel had his large hand wrapped around the man’s throat, squeezing until Elias’s face turned an ungodly shade of red. His body twitched under the force, but Az didn’t give in an inch as he struggled and fought to breathe. Leaning forward until his lips were nearly touching his ear, he whispered, “If I were you, I would choose your words very carefully. Nobody refers to my wife in such a manner without consequence.” The smirk turned sinister as he watched Elias turn from red to purple. “It’s not so fun being on the other side of this, is it?” he mocked, knowing how Elias put his soiled hands on his wife’s neck, bruising her pale flesh for almost two weeks.

He tightened his hold, squeezing the thrashing man with a sick vengeance. He could’ve easily snapped his hyoid. Literally choke him to death. But that wouldn’t have been satisfying enough and only released his throat when he was on the verge of passing out.

Elias choked on his air, coughing with the might of his lungs. “Your fucking bitch,” he wheezed with as much venom as he could muster.

Ripping the dagger still protruding from his thigh, Azriel gripped his hand and twisted the index sideways until a distinctive snapping sound echoed in the warehouse. Pressing the blade into the joint, he began to cut, severing skin, tendon, and bone.

Hands flexing beneath his grip, screams tore from Elias’s mouth, loud enough that Az was surprised his voice hadn’t given out. Maybe he should’ve shattered that when he crushed his windpipe; at least then he could’ve had some peace and quiet. But he didn’t stop until he dropped the amputated digit onto the floor in the pooling blood that stained the bottom of his dress shoes red.

He moved to Elias’s other side, intending to even out his hands when the ringing of a phone cut through the air. His eyes flashed to Ruhn, leaning on the wall while letting him exact his revenge.

Ruhn pulled Az’s phone that he’d been holding onto out of his pocket. “It’s Connall.”

He stuffed a gag into Elias’s mouth, effectively silencing him before wiping his hands on a rag and taking the phone from Ruhn’s outstretched hand. “Connall,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

“Azriel,” he started. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s been a situation.”

His heart plummeted into his stomach. “Is Elain okay? Is she hurt? What about Kaden?”

“Everyone is fine and safe. We had an unexpected visitor today.”

His eyes flashed to Ruhn, though he knew the other man couldn’t hear the conversation. “Who?” he gritted out.

“Kaden’s biological father, Lorenzo, showed up and caused a scene. We’ve removed him from the premises, but I thought you ought to know.”

Another name to add to his list. Azriel swore if one more person went after his wife or family, he was going to lose his shit and rain hellfire on this fucking world. “Did he lay a hand on either of them?”

The very distinct pause had another blood-thirsty sense of fury washing over him. “No,” Connall finally admitted. “He attempted to strike her, but Fenrys caught his arm before it connected. They are both physically unharmed, though by the way she’s comforting Kaden, it appears he may not be emotionally or mentally.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’ll be in this afternoon to pick them up—Kaden is coming home with us today. Until I get there, I want at least one of you stationed outside of his room and the other monitoring Elain.”

“Already done. Elain informed us that she has requested the rest of the day off and is sticking by his side. We’re posted on either side of his door. Nobody in or out that’s not approved by her.”

The twins deserved a raise, he realized, noting that detail for later. “Thank you, Connall. For the update and keeping them safe. I’ll see you in a few hours.”

“Always, Azriel.”

The line went dead and he had to take a breath to settle himself. Too many emotions had risen to the surface and he needed to separate himself again to finish what he started. But as he turned to face Elias once more, his overwhelming need to make him suffer hours—if not days—of torture vanished.

He didn’t need to torture the man. Az just needed him dead. “It’s your lucky day, Elias,” he said, striding over to rip the gag from his mouth. “My desire to torture just took on a new face.”

Some sick satisfaction swept over him at the hope that lit Elias’s dark eyes. Because he knew the man thought Azriel was going to let him go, and he was about to rip that dream of freedom right out from underneath him. “Which means, your life has served its purpose.”

True terror blanketed Elias’s face and before he could even voice a shout, Azriel snatched the dagger from the crate where he left it and slashed it across his throat.

Elias choked on his blood, drowning in it as it poured from his lips.

Dropping the knife on the ground, he turned his back on the dying man and told Ruhn, “Bury him on top of his uncle. So, the beginning and the end of their regime can meet in death.”

He left the warehouse without another word, letting Ruhn handle the cleanup and dealing with the body.

As the sunlight warmed his skin on his walk to his car, Azriel released the mask of his inner demon and summoned his true self back into its place. The man who loved his wife and their growing family. He let out a heavy breath, breathing out all of the darkness from his soul. Climbing into the car, he drove away from the warehouse and did not look back.

~~~

Azriel had done his research in the short time since deciding to proceed with the adoption, needing to know what they would face by taking in Kaden. Lorenzo was, in fact, a part of the Illyrian Mob, though he wasn’t ranked high. He had about three superiors before he reached Nick, let alone Frankie. His death wouldn’t even cause a stir in their pyramid of power.

A kernel of knowledge he kept in the back of his mind because that’s what he signed up for when he went after Elain and Kaden. His death by Az’s hands. Another stain on his blackened soul, but he would taint it for her. For them. He’d carry the weight of the world if it kept his wife and family safe.

But that would come at another time. Right now, he had to focus on the boy they would be bringing home that night. He pulled into a parking spot outside the hospital and climbed out of the car. He and Elain spent the morning installing the booster seat in the back for Kaden before she left for work, and he did a last-minute glance over to make sure everything was ready. Snatching the small backpack filled with proper clothing inside, Azriel strolled into the front lobby of the hospital.

He took the elevator up to the third floor, nodding at the Moonbeam brothers who stood guard outside of Kaden’s room and knocked on the door.

Elain waved him in with a smile on her face as she got up off the stool to greet him. “Hello, Az.” She swooped in for a sweet kiss, his hand automatically settling onto her rounded stomach.

“Hello, my love,” he grinned, leaning forward for another small peck of her lips.

Her eyes glanced down at the hand cradling her belly. Her fingers grazed the fresh wounds that littered across his knuckles. “What happened?”

Azriel twisted his wrist to grip her palm, bringing it up to plant a soft kiss there. “Just work stuff.”

She frowned but didn’t ask him to elaborate. Elain was intelligent and could easily guess how he split his knuckles. But she knew better than to bring it up in front of their little boy, who was watching them closely.

Knowing that he came from a rough home, they made sure to show their affection to each other in his presence, wanting him to know that he was joining a loving home.

Azriel looked around her shoulder, smiling at Kaden sitting on the bed. “Hello, Kaden. I brought you something to wear.” He stepped forward, unzipping the backpack and pulling out a pair of pants, a long-sleeve shirt, socks, and sneakers, that he hoped fit him.

Elain moved to shut the curtain, offering them some privacy as they helped change him from his hospital gown to street clothes. “I’m going to put your bear in your backpack to take him home, okay?” she said, showing him the stuffed toy being placed in the dinosaur backpack.

Kaden’s dark hair rumpled when he tugged the shirt over his head and Az couldn’t help but chuckle as it fell into his eyes. He’d need a haircut soon.

His little hand rose to push it back, but a shy smile tugged on his lips.

Azriel felt his heart soar from that smile. He hadn’t been offered one yet, but spending the last few days here with him had helped tremendously. Kneeling, he helped put his shoes on, tying the laces, and then carefully lifted him off the bed and onto his feet. “Shall we go home now?” he asked.

Kaden immediately took Elain’s offered hand, but he was surprised when he felt small fingers wrap around his pinky. Azriel looked down to find the boy staring up at him.

Every single worry he had about this kid not accepting him as his father vanished from that moment on. He was his, no matter his blood, and Az would do anything to keep it that way. Nobody was ever going to take his son away from him and Elain.

He pushed the curtain aside and opened the sliding glass door, tugging his little family into motion. The Moonbeam brothers fell into step behind them, always guarding their backs but now with even more reason and focus. Azriel had seen the way they stepped up in their protection detail since Elain had gotten pregnant, and he knew that their dedication would extend to Kaden tenfold.

They rode down the elevator in comfortable silence, a pleasant hum running through his body. Viviane looked up at them when they made it to the nurses’ station, a smile pulling on her lips and she clapped Elain on the shoulder as they passed.

At the car, he kissed his wife’s cheek, murmuring for her to get in as he lifted Kaden and strapped him into the booster seat. He ruffled his hair with a large, scarred palm, catching that green-flecked gaze.

Closing the door, Az dismissed Fenrys and Connall for the weekend before climbing into the driver’s seat.

“What’s for dinner tonight?” Elain asked, turning to look at the boy in the back.

Azriel glanced in the rearview mirror, watching as he took in the sights around him. “Steak with mac and cheese,” he said out loud, pulling out of his parking spot.

She rubbed a hand over the swell of her stomach. “One baby agrees with that decision very much.” Her light laughs echoed in the car, and he reached over to feel the hard kick from one of the twins.

A little fighter, that one was.

Elain’s cravings had varied throughout the pregnancy. In the beginning, she wanted nothing but carbs. Then she was into Mexican, and Az spent a lot of time making bean and cheese burritos at two in the morning when she woke up hungry. But right now it was barbeque. Steak was his go-to, but last week, she was dipping chicken breast into frosting because, apparently, it was sweet and savory. He had to hide his disgust over the last one, but the image of her utter happiness while eating it brought a smile to his lips.

When they made it to the penthouse, Azriel immediately went to light the barbeque and put the mac and cheese in the oven while Elain gave Kaden a tour of the downstairs living area. Once finished, they walked him up the stairs to her old bedroom where he would temporarily be staying until they bought a new place. “This is your room, Kaden,” he said, opening the door and allowing him to slowly shuffle his way in.

Green and gold eyes went wide at the outrageous display. To be fair, he and Elain might have gone a bit overboard on things to buy, but they wanted to make sure Kaden felt at home and well-loved.

Az had put together two bookshelves against the far wall that were nearly overflowing. A rocking chair sat with them so that they could read together in the evenings before bed. A basket full of stuffed toys sat in the corner, and a large shelving unit was placed next to the dresser and contained everything from a dinosaur set to blocks to racecars.

They had decided to keep the queen-sized bed in there for now, not having had the time to replace it, nor wanting to. So, they purchased kid sheets instead, with a cartoon character on them that he couldn’t remember at the moment.

Truthfully, the bedroom looked like it belonged on the cover of a home décor magazine, but their only concern was comfort.

Kaden glanced up at them, waiting for permission.

“Go on,” Az encouraged him with a gentle nudge on his back.

The little boy ran for the boxes on the shelves, opening the tubs they had organized before sliding them back. He then took off for the plush toys, digging around until he found a stuffed dog.

The squeal he let out had warmth flooding his body and Az turned to share a look with his wife, whom he could tell was experiencing the same kind of utter joy.

Kaden stopped at the bookshelves, roaming the selection before he carefully placed his dog on the rocker and then ran back to them. He threw his arms first around Elain’s legs, making her choke out a sob, and then carefully around his, almost as if nervous to show affection towards him.

Az’s throat grew thick with unshed tears and he crouched to put himself at eye level, holding out his arms to see if he would embrace him.

The little one hesitated for a second before he slowly stepped into his chest and wrapped his arms around his neck. Azriel held him tightly to his body. Felt the heaviness of his worries that this boy wouldn’t accept him disappeared within that embrace.

“We’re happy to have you home with us, buddy,” Azriel whispered, pressing his lips to the side of his son’s head.

His son.

The words hadn’t hit him until that very moment. But as he clutched that little body to his torso, he realized how right it felt to think it. To say it.

Elain sniffed, carding her fingers through Kaden’s soft hair. “Go play, sweetheart. We’ll come to get you when dinner is ready.”

Azriel released him, letting him toddle off back for the assorted containers. He stood back up and wrapped an arm around her waist as they watched him a moment longer explore his new bedroom. “Come on, let’s get you changed.”

Though it was obvious that both of them wanted to stay, they also agreed to give Kaden some space to settle in, so it didn’t feel like they were hovering over him.

Elain padded to their bedroom to swap into some comfier clothes while he went back downstairs to throw the steaks onto the barbeque. They busied themselves in the kitchen, listening to Kaden’s imagination run wild up the stairs. Though not loud, it was something they both kept sharing shy smiles over.

“He seems to love it,” she breathed.

He looked over at her. “You did well in picking out stuff for him. I don’t think I would’ve had any of the right toys.”

Elain laughed softly, brushing a soft kiss to his cheek. “You’ll get better at it as you grow into your role as a father.”

They harmoniously worked together to finish prepping dinner, basking in their contented silence—it wouldn’t be long until the silence became a rarity for them—and it wasn’t until a distinct crashing sound had him racing up the stairs, two at a time.

Az threw open the bedroom door.

Kaden whipped around, looking guilty and nervous at the blocks knocked onto the floor. It was clear he had accidentally dropped the container as he pulled it off the shelf.

His son slowly took a step back, like he thought he was in trouble. The evident fear made his stomach clench, sorrow and range dancing through him at the mere thought of somebody harming this child for making any sort of sound.

Elain gripped his shoulder and he glanced at her, seeing that same worry on her face.

He turned back toward the little boy, hoping to calm him. “Are you all right?” Az asked carefully.

A minute passed, then another until finally, they received a silent nod in confirmation.

“We thought maybe you got hurt,” he tried explaining. “You’re not in trouble.”

Those shoulders relaxed slightly.

How often did he get hit or shoved or yelled at, simply for being a kid? It made his heart ache and his blood boil for vengeance on Kaden’s biological father. That man had a limited number of days before Az sought him out.

“Dinner will be ready soon, sweetheart,” Elain cooed, offering him a sweet smile that seemed to provide him some semblance of ease. She gently closed the door and they both paused, holding their breath to see if he would continue playing. After a moment’s hesitation, they heard a car being rolled across the hardwood floor.

She gripped his hand, tugging him down the stairs. “It’ll take some time to adjust to his every sound, but I think we can hold off on running up the stairs whenever he makes a peep,” she teased, shooting him a grin over her shoulder that didn’t touch her eyes. Because she knew as well as him the horrors their little boy faced in his short lifetime already.

Az sighed more to himself than anyone else. “After everything he’s been through, I can’t help but want to make sure he’s okay, one hundred percent of the time.”

“That’s fatherhood calling you, Azriel. Our kids are going to get scrapes and bumps and bruises. That’s just a part of childhood. The best we can do is just make sure we’re there to bandage them up and kiss away the hurt.”

He stopped her, turning her around to kiss her softly. She melted into it. “You are my rock, El.”

Her breath teased his lips as she looped her arms around his neck, securing him to her. “And you’re mine.”

Azriel felt those words settle into his heart and spread all over his body. Warmth and love and the undying faith that he knew to be true. Together, they could take on the world.

~~~~~

The next few weeks had been a blur. Kaden blossomed under their care, speaking to them in a quiet voice, though they could tell he was a bit behind in his speech. They hired a speech therapist who worked with him three days a week after school. Kaden loved school, even if he was shy with the other kids, and they did find out he’d never attended one before, which also explained his developmental delays. He mostly kept close to his teacher, who had been informed of his past and fears, but a few of the kids in his class kept trying to engage with him and only the day before were they informed that he accepted an invite to play with one of the other children.

After dinner, they’d each take turns reading to him and with him, hoping to help catch him up to his classmates. Both Kaden’s teacher and speech therapist had recommended it, and she and Azriel would do everything in their power to help their boy succeed. And though he was calling them by their given names now, they were working toward momma and daddy.

It was progress, Elain had said one night. “Every day, I see a little bit more of the boy he’s supposed to be.”

There were a few rough challenges they had to handle. About a week and a half into living with them, Kaden woke up late evening with a nightmare. Elain didn’t think she would ever forget it…

Azriel was on his side, head propped on his fist as he spoke to her belly. It was something he did every night, wanting the babies to hear his voice as much as possible. Sometimes he read them stories, sometimes he sang, and other times he just told them about his day and how much he couldn’t wait to meet them. Whatever it was, Elain always had to choke back tears at the love and joy that shone on his face when he talked with their children.

It was nearing eleven o’clock when they heard Kaden’s desperate scream.

Her husband launched out of bed, tearing down the hallway to reach their son’s bedroom. Elain hurried behind him, though her waddling—yes, she was fucking waddling now—slowed her down a bit. When she reached his room, Az already had Kaden’s crying form tucked into his chest.

“You’re okay, Kaden. You’re safe. Nobody will ever hurt you again,” he murmured, pressing kisses to the top of his head. His golden eyes met hers, blazing with a fury she only saw when his family was threatened. “Love, can you get some clean sheets out?”

Her brows raised in surprise, but with the hallway light on, she could see the dark stain on the bed where their son had wet himself from fear. Elain’s heart ached, but she nodded, slipping to the cupboard just outside the door and pulling out new linens.

She set the bedding on the dresser and then headed into the bathroom to start the water in the tub. “I’ll trade you,” Elain said, indicating for the child.

With one last kiss on his head, Azriel placed Kaden into her arms and began stripping the bed of its soiled sheets.

“Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get you cleaned up.” She rubbed his back in comfort, hoping it would slow the tears still rolling down his red cheeks. Once he calmed down enough, Elain helped him out of his pajamas and got him into the bathtub.

As she was gathering his clothes from the floor, he asked her, “Is Azweel going to punish me?”

Her head snapped up, catching Azriel in the mirror whirling around in shock at the question. She could read the devastation on his face. The hurt of being associated with that monster. Knowing she had to carefully address this, Elain knelt by Kaden at the edge of the tub. “No, sweetie,” she murmured, running a hand through his soft hair. “Azriel isn’t going to punish you, sweetheart. It was an accident.”

It became clear that this wasn’t the first time Kaden had an accident and received corporal punishment for it. A level of anger she’d never felt before kindled in her gut as Kaden’s bottom lip quivered.

Gathering his clothes, she stepped out of the bathroom, finding the bed already remade, and Azriel standing there looking as if he’d been slapped.

“He thinks I’m going to punish him?” he asked in disbelief.

But that wasn’t quite right. “No, he believes that he will be punished for an accident because he likely has been before. You are stepping into the role of his father, Az. It’s going to take some time for him to see the difference in how you respond to things versus the man who sired him. He will see it, though. I promise you that he will.”

Az chewed on his bottom lip, a habit he did when he was anxious about something. “Should I go in there?” he worried.

“I think it’s important that you do.”

He nodded, picking up the clean sleepwear for his son, and stepped into the bathroom.

Elain tossed the soiled pajamas into the hamper before leaning against the wall, just outside the bathroom to listen to her husband.

“Hey, buddy. You ready to get out now?” Azriel kept his voice whisper-soft, not wanting to give Kaden anything to worry about.

Water sloshed and she heard the distinct sound of the drain popping.

“I heard you ask momma if I was going to punish you…” there was a pregnant pause and she held her breath for the rest of that sentence. “No matter what, Kaden, I will never punish you like that. Whatever happens, I promise you that you won’t ever have to fear me, okay? I love you so much, Kaden. And I will always, always protect you.”

A wave of tears washed over her, rolling down her cheeks. Damn hormones. She glanced into the bathroom, catching Kaden as he slipped his arms around Az’s neck, hugging him tightly.

Her husband rose to his feet, still clutching their son in his arms. He turned, catching her watching them, and shot her a pleading look.

Elain knew what he was asking her for. Could read his desire to continue holding his son. So, she reached out a hand for him. “Come on. Let’s go to bed.”

They walked back down to their bedroom, Az lying down on his back so Kaden could sleep on his chest. Elain snuggled in next to him, her hand rubbing up and down their son’s spine until he drifted off into a deep, peaceful sleep.

“You’re good with him,” she whispered.

“We’re good with him,” he amended. “I don’t think I could let him go, now.” He left the rest unspoken. How, if social services didn’t approve of the adoption, they would fight until their dying breath to change their minds. Because like hell were they letting anyone take their boy away.

But she didn’t doubt that they would be seen as the best thing for Kaden. And she would use that confidence to power through their interview which could change their lives forever.

Much like the little boy sleeping on her husband already had.

Elain blinked, drawing herself from her memory. They were on their way to the adoption interview, and though she had confidence that this would go their way, it didn’t stop the butterflies from erupting in her stomach from her nerves.

Almost as if he could sense it, a large, scarred hand reached across the console to squeeze her knee. Az glanced at her once before returning his eyes to the road. His touch instantly soothed the anxiety running through her.

“Ewain,” Kaden called from the backseat.

She twisted her head to look at him over her shoulder. “Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can we get ice cweam?”

Azriel let out a chuckle as she smiled at the little boy. “I think we can do that after the interview.”

“Yay!” he cheered, throwing his arms into the air and kicking his feet wildly in his booster seat. Despite fall having rolled in a few weeks earlier, summer had yet to lessen it’s hold on the city and a cold bowl of ice cream did sound appetizing.

At that, her husband laughed, deeply and so full of love as they pulled into the parking lot of the social services office. Azriel collected Kaden from the back who grabbed both of their hands, nearly swinging between them as they walked into the building.

“Mr. and Mrs. Archeron-Knight. Welcome,” a woman said from behind the front desk. “Please follow me.” She escorted them to the back into a private room. Half of it was set up with a couch, desk, and two chairs, while the other half was clearly designed for children, including a small table with coloring utensils and a cubby holding various toys. “The interviewer will be in shortly. Please make yourself comfortable.”

They moved to sit on the couch together, Az gripping her elbow to ease her down. The joys of being pregnant with twins.

“Can I go pway?” Kaden asked, shooting them those puppy-dog eyes that neither could resist. They were definitely in for trouble with that face.

“Of course,” she told him, brushing a curl behind his ear.

He went straight to the table, grabbing a coloring book and some crayons to occupy himself, humming lowly while his feet swung beneath his chair. Kaden had a love of art; something his Aunt Feyre would go nuts for.

“We’ll have to get him more coloring supplies,” Azriel murmured, pressing his lips to the side of her head.

A knock sounded from the door before it was opened, revealing a young woman with dark hair braided back, and a beautifully tanned complexion that could only be from her heritage.

She smiled brightly at them. “Hello Azriel and Elain. My name is Nesryn. It’s lovely to meet you both.”

At the sound of a new voice, Kaden’s head whipped up and he quickly made his way back over to them, wiggling to place himself between their bodies.

Her brows raised in response to his shyness.

“Kaden is still a bit uncomfortable with strangers,” Elain said, running her hand along his back as he buried his face into her torso. “We’re taking it slow in introducing him to people so he doesn’t feel overwhelmed.”

Nesryn’s lips turned up at the corner. “I can’t say that’s entirely a bad thing, or surprising for that matter given his history.” She took a seat opposite of them, using the table as a buffer between her and their son. “I took a look through his file and, frankly, the number of past injuries is highly concerning. I know that Emerie was originally on his case, and she will be conducting his interview because I believe she may have a better chance at working with him but given her close relationship with you, Elain, she’s asked me to conduct your interviews to prevent any biases.”

She nodded. “I think that’s fair.”

Flipping open the file in front of her, Nesryn leaned back in her seat and asked, “So, why do you want to adopt Kaden?”

They shared a look before Azriel responded. “To put it point blank, he’s our son, without a doubt.”

“When Kaden was first brought into the hospital, I connected with him instantly,” Elain added. “He seemed timid with the nurses and other doctors, but with me, he relaxed. I knew from that initial meeting that he was brought into our lives for a reason. Even with his nervousness around men, he opened up to Azriel fairly quickly too. Almost as if he knew he could trust us to love him.”

Nesryn nodded, noting something down in her file. “And how has he progressed with you since he’s been living with you?”

“He’s communicating with us, will tell us what he wants to eat, and asks if he can do something. His food intake is good and I can see he’s beginning to put on some healthy weight,” Az explained. “He’ll sit with us as we read bedtime stories and let us kiss him goodnight.”

She smiled. “It sounds like you have a solid routine for him, would you agree?”

Elain tucked her foot behind her ankle. “Yes. We try to keep a set schedule with him as much as possible. Dinner time, bedtime, when we wake him up to get ready for the day.”

“How’s he sleeping?”

Azriel glanced at her, a question in his eyes and she nodded. “There was an incident the first week. He woke up one evening with a nightmare so terrifying for him that he wet the bed.” Nesryn’s brow cocked, but she didn’t interrupt. “We comforted him, cleaned him up, and put new sheets on his bed, but it was a question he asked that concerned us…”

“What was the question?”

He sighed, lips parting. He hated having to admit this, but it was important to be honest with the social worker. They had discussed whether or not to talk about that night earlier and decided if it was brought up, then they would. “He asked Elain if I was going to punish him.”

Nesryn noted that down and he fought the hackles that rose as a result. “Did you punish him?”

The question caught him off guard. “No! Of course not. He didn’t do anything wrong and I would never punish him in the way he was asking.”

“What way is that?”

“We believe corporal punishment was used on him in instances like this,” Elain spoke up, seeing how the question twisted at Az’s insides. “After he asked me that, Azriel went to speak with him and reassured him that he would never punish him like that. That he would always protect him.”

The woman smiled. “That was probably the best thing you could’ve offered him at that moment.” She turned her dark eyes onto her husband. “I don’t ask these questions to pry or to insinuate anything, Azriel, but just to get a feeling of how well you two respond to it. I could see that you were upset by that question and I wanted to make myself clear. You both have shown me that you would make excellent guardians for Kaden already.”

She flipped through her file, checking off a few boxes. “Now, I do need to address the obvious.” Her eyes flashed to Elain’s rounded stomach before returning to meet their gaze. “You’re expecting in a few months. That’s a hefty change for you both. How do plan to balance having newborns with a newly adopted child at the same time, along with the additional financial obligations that come with it?”

“You don’t need to worry about the financial aspect. We are more than capable of handling whatever expenses come our way,” Az told her.

Nesryn huffed a knowing laugh. “True, but I’m still required to ask it.” It was no secret to her how wealthy they were.

“As for balance, I think it’s important to note that even though Kaden will not be our biological son, at no point will he ever feel like there’s a difference in the love we show him in comparison to the twins. He will always be our son, no matter what. And we will do everything we can to ensure that he’s settled, included, and as much a part of our family as anyone else. There is no limit to the love we can give him.” Elain said each and every word with her whole heart, feeling Azriel take her hand as they huddled closer to the little boy still sitting between them.

“While Elain will be taking a generous maternity leave, I will also be taking two months off from work to be at home after the twins are born. And then will work from home for a good portion of the few months after while we establish a rhythm, to settle with our three children, and to make sure that Kaden is as comfortable as possible.”

Her whole face lit up with a smile. “I’m happy to hear that. Many fathers aren’t able to take time off like that and adjust their schedule to help out, so knowing you plan to, I believe will make all the difference in adjusting to your new life.” She skimmed through her notes and then closed the file. “Well, I must admit that you two would make wonderful parents to Kaden. I don’t have any concerns with approving your adoption of him.”

The air whooshed from Elain’s lungs in one giant breath. Relief and happiness and so many other emotions rushed through her until her eyes grew misty. “Thank you, Nesryn. That means a lot to us. Truly.”

“Always a pleasure.” She stood from her seat. “I’ll send Emerie in for Kaden’s interview now. You two will need to step out of the room for it, so we can try and get unbiased answers from him.” She indicated to the mirror on the side of the room. “You’ll be able to watch through there. His interview won’t be as extensive as yours was.”

“And if he doesn’t answer her questions?” Az asked, nervous for the same reason she was. Would that affect their ability to adopt him if he refused to speak?

“His questioning is just to get an idea of how he’s feeling. If he doesn’t respond, then we will notate that and go with just your interview.”

She breathed out a sigh of relief.

A moment after she bid them farewell, the door opened and Emerie walked in. “Good morning,” she beamed, stepping up to the coffee table. “I was hoping that perhaps Kaden and I could chat over there,” she pointed towards the area where he’d been coloring earlier.

Elain glanced at the boy, still tucked against her side. “Do you want to go color again?” she asked him softly, brushing his hair back.

Kaden peeked up at her, his green-speckled eyes wide. He dipped his chin in confirmation.

They got him set up at the table to continue his drawing from earlier when Az knelt next to him. “All right, buddy. Emerie here wants to talk with you for a minute by yourself. Momma and I will be right outside the door if you need us. Okay?”

Elain kissed the top of his head on her way out the door. They made their way to the side room where the one-way glass was, watching as Emerie made attempts to communicate with their son.

“Do you like living with Elain and Azriel?” she asked him as she worked on her own drawing. Nesryn explained that it helped reduce the anxiety of feeling interrogated.

Kaden nodded, not looking up from his drawing.

Silent communication was better than no communication, she thought, relieved to see that he did like being with them.

Azriel gripped her hand in his large, warm one.

“What do you like about living with them?” she encouraged, picking up a new color.

He was quiet for a moment, then told her, “They’re nice.”

“He’s talking to her,” she breathed, throat constricting with emotion. They had done that. They had broken through his barriers to help him speak.

“Nice, huh? Was your dad not nice?”

Az shot a look at her, puzzled by the question.

Kaden shook his head, grabbing a yellow crayon, but didn’t elaborate. Not that she expected him to. Elain realized early on that Kaden didn’t like to talk about his biological father, even with them. She hoped that in time, he would open up about it, but they weren’t going to push the subject with him.

“Did he hit you?” Emerie asked quietly.

His coloring slowed, eyes never straying from the paper in front of him.

She reached out to touch his hand, but he snatched it away from her. “You can tell me, sweetie. He can’t hurt you anymore.”

“I don’t fucking like this,” Az growled, tensing as she pushed their son into speaking.

“Did he hit you, Kaden?”

His head snapped up, crocodile tears rolling down his cheeks. “Where’s Azweel? I want Azweel!” he shouted, voice cracking in desperation.

Elain felt that pain in the pit of her stomach; her husband already moving.

“Fuck this shit,” he snarled, throwing open the door to the interview room and hurrying to collect his son.

“Azriel!” Emerie started.

“This interview is over,” he snapped, cradling Kaden’s crying form to his chest.

Elain reached his side, her palm running along Kaden’s arm in comfort as he clung to his father’s neck

Emerie rose from her chair, arms crossing. “I know that it’s hard to watch, but if we can get a verbal statement from him, admitting to his father’s abuse, we have a stronger case against him!”

“Do not raise your voice in his presence,” he said forcefully. “What you’re doing isn’t helping him. He’s not ready to talk about what he went through and I will not stand by and watch him have to relive his abuse when he is not ready for it.” Azriel was a force to be reckoned with when it came to his family. “I don’t think you understand the trauma a child goes through after living in an abusive household. We have worked so hard to get him to open up to us, to progress forward, and if you push him, we’re going to lose all the growth we’ve made.”

“If and when he’s ready to talk, we will be there for him, but we’re not going to continue like this,” Elain added, standing with her husband on this.

Footsteps sounded behind them and Nesryn walked in, skin turned a ghastly pale color. She held her phone in her hand as she looked at them all. “We don’t need to worry about building a case against him…”

Emerie frowned. “Why?”

“Because they just found Lorenzo’s body.”

~~~

They were silent in the car, the last hour replaying over and over in her mind. After hearing the news about Kaden’s biological father, chaos broke out. Phones were ringing and both Emerie and Nesryn were arguing with their superiors about how nothing changed their minds.

Elain, for a brief second, thought she was going to lose her son in the madness. Only Azriel’s strong presence at her side kept her from breaking down completely. But when the dust settled, they received the stamp of approval for Kaden’s adoption.

She had wept with joy, kissing her husband, still holding their son to his chest, before she descended upon Kaden’s head until he giggled at her.

But now, as they were headed home, having stopped to grab an ice cream to go, she couldn’t stop the question from passing her lips. “Did you do it?” Elain asked, glancing at Azriel behind the wheel.

His eyes shot to hers for a brief second before returning to the road. “No,” he told her honestly. “No matter that he deserved it and I should’ve.” Azriel’s words held a dark and dangerous tone and she knew that he would’ve ended that man if the opportunity had presented itself to him. Not just for their son, but for the time Lorenzo nearly attacked her too.

She breathed out a sigh of relief. Elain couldn’t exactly blame him for wanting Lorenzo dead. The man had tortured the sweet boy in the back seat for years. Left hurt, scared, and to fend for himself. She saw a lot of her husband in him and she knew Az saw himself too—saw the trauma of his childhood in those green and golden eyes.

“Should we be worried?” If he didn’t end Lorenzo’s life, somebody else did. And the timing was just too coincidental for her not to have concerns.

Azriel let out a heavy breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted.

Elain looked over her shoulder at the boy humming while he ate his ice cream, most of it smeared on his lips. His feet kicked happily over the edge of his booster seat.

“No matter who did it, nothing will ever happen to him, El. I promise you that.”

She looked back at her husband. “I never doubted that. I’m just worried at why it was done.”

He grabbed her hand, kissing her knuckles. “Let’s not think about it right now and focus on our growing family.” Az ran his thumb over the back of her palm. “We need to let our siblings know.”

Elain pulled her phone from her purse. “I know. I was thinking of dinner. What about tomorrow night? You could barbeque again—ooh, barbeque…” Her mind wandered to Az’s grilled specialties, which he made for her three times a week to curb her cravings.

His chuckle pulled her mind back from thoughts of food and the growl in her stomach. “I can barbeque, my sweet.”

“You spoil me.”

Az’s head tipped back in a laugh. “You’re the one growing two babies inside of you. I think making your food is the least I could do.”

Her grin split her face as she typed out a message to her sisters. HerH

“Momma, I’m all done!” Kaden shouted from the backseat.

Elain whipped her head around at the name, sucking in a sharp breath. For a moment, she just stared at the little boy, replaying the sound of him calling her momma. Tears welled in her eyes and it took her a minute to realize he was holding out his empty paper bowl and spoon for her to take. With a shaking hand, she reached out and collected the carton, heart hammering in her chest.

“Tank you!”

“You’re very welcome, sweetie,” she managed to spit out, still in shock.

Azriel pulled into their parking spot in the penthouse garage, turning off the ignition to smile broadly at her.

He called me momma, she mouthed at him.

Leaning across the console, he kissed her, cupping her jaw and letting his thumb swoop over her cheek. “You’re his momma,” he whispered only to her.

Her phone dinged twice and she lifted it to read the text from her sisters. “Dinner for tomorrow is a go,” she told him.

They glanced back at their son, oblivious to the shared moment. Tomorrow, their siblings would find out they had a new nephew. And she couldn’t wait to share the news with them.

~~~~~

Azriel was on the balcony, checking on the two chickens he had on the grill. His wife’s obsession with anything barbeque still made him smile. He did his best to mix up the way he prepped it so he and Kaden didn’t grow tired of it, but Az didn’t dare to tell his wife no when it came to whatever she was craving.

It was a quarter till six when he heard the elevator ping and made his way back inside to greet his siblings. “How do you all manage to show up at the exact same time?” he asked, sliding the glass door closed behind him.

“Impeccable timing?” Cassian supplied with his signature shit-eating grin.

Az simply rolled his eyes, calling for his wife. “Elain! Everyone is here!”

“Be right down!” she hollered back.

They had decided to have Elain bring Kaden down to meet everyone at once, hoping it would be less intimidating for him. He wasn’t sure how their family would react to the adoption, but he didn’t believe they had anything to worry about.

“We brought wine,” Feyre announced, heading towards the kitchen in search of glasses.

There was nothing he could do but let her further into the dining area, watching as she paused at the table, brow furrowing. “Az, do we have somebody else joining us? The table is set for seven.”

Before he could answer, absolute silence descended upon the room as Elain appeared at the top of the stairs, carrying what looked like a sleeping Kaden in her arms. She managed to take only three steps down before Az reached her, taking the little boy from her arms. “Come here, bud. Momma shouldn’t be carrying you right now.”

Even in his sleepy state, Kaden willingly went into Azriel’s embrace, arms sliding around his neck.

“He was asleep on the floor when I went into his room,” Elain told him, taking his elbow as they made their way down the stairs to where their gaping family awaited.

“Question,” Cassian started, looking utterly bewildered. “Did you two have a previous child that we don’t know about?”

Elain laughed softly, running her fingers through their son’s dark locks. “Everyone, we’d like for you to meet our newly adopted son, Kaden.”

Azriel turned so he could see his aunts and uncles. “Kaden,” he murmured quietly, running a hand down his back. “Kaden, this is your Uncle Rhys and Aunt Feyre,” he said, then turned towards their other siblings. “And your Aunt Nesta and Uncle Cassian.”

Those green eyes peeked out from his chest, glancing at the four new adults before he turned his face and buried it into his neck.

He chuckled, hoisting him up higher in his arms. “He’s a little shy.”

Their siblings remained frozen like statues. Much to his surprise, it was Nesta who managed to snap out of her reverie first, stepping forward and presenting her daughter propped on her hip. “Hello, Kaden. It’s nice to meet you. This is Sutton,” she told him, angling the almost one-year-old so he could see her better. “She’s your cousin.”

That had him turning to look at the little girl in his aunt’s arms. “Baby,” he whispered, fingers grappling with the collar of Az’s shirt.

He kissed the top of Kaden’s hair. “That’s right, buddy. She’s a baby, like what your brother and sister will be.”

“Does anybody want to explain what is going on?” Rhys demanded, startling the boy in his arms.

“Lower your voice,” Az said fiercely, taking a step back from the group to murmur words of comfort into his ear. “Would you like to go color before dinner?” he asked, already moving towards the coffee table where Kaden had left out coloring books from earlier.

He gently set his son on the floor, kneeling to kiss the side of his head before rising and ushering the adults further into the dining area to give Kaden some space.

“Kaden was brought into the hospital a while ago with a fracture to his arm that required surgery,” Elain explained. The cast had come off the previous week and his surgical site was healing well. “X-rays showed that it wasn’t his first fracture.”

“Or his second, or his third,” Az practically growled, still furious at how much the boy had suffered at the hands of his biological father.

“Four fractures?” Cassian breathed in horror.

Elain touched the back of her head. “He had one on his skull, here. Likely the result of being pushed into the corner of a low-lying table.”

“Oh, my god.”

“Because of the obvious abuse he suffered, he’s very timid around adults, particularly males. Despite that, he connected with me in the hospital. Clung to me,” his wife told them, looking at their son with such love that he had to wrap his arm around her waist and tug her close to him, wanting to bask in the warmth she radiated.

“We were approved for the adoption yesterday, and go to court in a few weeks,” Azriel announced.

Silence descended one more before Cassian cleared his throat in obvious discomfort over what he was about to say. “Not that we aren’t truly happy for you both, you do remember you’re having twins in just a short while, right?”

Elain’s eyes snapped to her brother-in-law, going impossibly dark. “Well, fuck me, Cash. I’m pregnant? Who would’ve thought?”

Azriel snorted in amusement at the hostility.

Cassian’s tanned face went pale. “I didn’t mean it like that, Elain—”

“Then how did you mean?” she snapped, not even letting him finish his sentence.

It surprised him that Cash, of all the siblings, made a comment. He had always been the more accepting of the group to changes and surprises.

His brother scratched the back of his head, knowing he’d dug himself into a hole. “I just meant that newborns are a lot and you have two on the way. Taking on another child could be more than you anticipate.”

Jesus Christ his brother was burying himself in a grave.

Elain stepped out of his grasp, shooting daggers at Cassian. “Azriel and I are well aware of the responsibilities that will come with adopting a child and having newborns. We’ve discussed things endlessly to ensure that Kaden feels welcomed and loved even with the twins’ birth.” She crossed her arms as she stared him down. “But I’m curious, would we not see the level of support that we have shown you since Sutton’s birth?”

At that, Cash blanched. “Of course you would.” He sighed, shaking his head. “Forgive me, Elain. It was not my intention to question your ability to parent and raise three children. I know you’re more than capable of it.”

She turned her attention on the rest of the group. “Does anybody else have any opinions they’d like to address?”

A chorus of declines sounded from the rest, making him chuckle.

“Good.” Elain turned to face him. “How are we doing on the chickens?”

Azriel glanced down at his watch. “They should be done. We can start bringing stuff to the table and I’ll carve.”

His family went to scatter, Nesta slowly approaching Kaden with Sutton in her arms and asking to join him on the floor. Nesta laid her daughter on her stomach, sitting back against the couch with some toys. He watched as his son cautiously stepped toward his niece. A smile touched his lips, already seeing a life-long bond between the two children.

Feyre and Rhys followed Elain to the kitchen, helping her pull dishes from the fridge and finish setting the table.

Cash took a half-step toward his wife when Azriel reached out and snagged him by the crook of his elbow, forcing him to look back at him. He lowered his voice to ensure the others couldn’t overhear him. “Don’t you ever speak to my wife like that again,” he warned.

Regret flashed in those hazel eyes so much like his own. “It won’t happen again.”

He nodded, releasing Cash’s arm. “Good. Now help me with the chicken.”

Gathered around the table, the family welcomed their newest addition, growing more and more excited for all the new changes coming their way.

~~~~~

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theresattrpgforthat · 5 months

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Any games about cross-country racing or just racing in general? I've had this setting with this grand race for riders of fantasy creatures and its rough trying to find a game that fits it.

THEME: Racing Games.

Hello friend, so I have some good news and some bad news for you. The good news is that I found a number of racing games! The bad news is that all of the games I found are built with the expectation that you are racing machines, not creatures. I don’t think that makes these games completely non-viable, but pretty much all of them will probably need a little bit of re-wording or hacking in order to become games about racing living things.

SUPERSTARS Racing Icons, by Tristan B Willis.

The air screams around your helmet as you hurtle past the final turn and towards the finish line. Your best friend looks to make a pass that could take both of you out. Do you play it safe and risk losing, or play for glory and risk everything?

Welcome to Superstars: Racing Icons.

Trophies are nice, but racing careers are short and you’re here to build something that lasts. Is that a rabid group of loyal fans who follow your every move? A list of sponsors willing to keep you comfortable long after your racing days? Or just one meaningful connection with a teammate, a rival, a friend, a lover?

The designers expect you to translate this game into a setting that works for you, but plenty of the language expects elements like sponsors, a PR team, and vehicle terminology. The game is GM-less and comes with a menu of backgrounds, which define your character’s narrative role in the race.

Because Superstars is a Firebrands game, instead of freeform play the group instead moves through a series of scenes, embodied through various mini-games. This means that this game is well-built for telling some kinds of stories, but not others. Much of the game is about the tension between the riders; the races are simply methods through which you can explore that tension.

If you want a game that is focused on the spectacle of the race as much as it is on the race itself, you might want to take a look at Superstars: Racing Icons.

Speedway Showdown, by Bammax Games.

Speedway Showdown is an ultralight, GMless minigame for two players that aims to quench your need for speed! Built on Cezar Capacle's Push SRD, Speedway Showdown begs you to put the pedal to the metal and take risks to walk away with the glory. Take a single turn on the tracks and reap a lone victory, or form your own circuit with your friends and race for the top of the ranks!

This is a business card rpg, so it’s very simple and therefore probably pretty easy to hack. Instead of damage to your car, your creature might get wounded or spooked, and you can replace mechanical benefits to reasons why your creature might suddenly get a boost of speed. This is also GM-less, so everyone can throw their hat in the ring for the title!

The game is probably going to be over pretty quickly, since there’s not much to it, so this would be a good set of rules to couch within a larger game.

Ghost Kart Racers, by kumada1.

Lord Aoyama was your master. He wronged you and killed you, but in doing so he made two mistakes.

He angered your spirit.

And he left an unsecured motor-kart in his stable.

Ghost Kart Racing is a 20 page supernatural racing trpg in which you shred rubber, use power-ups, and unhinge your entire face to devour the man who wronged you.

This is a multiplayer game that relies on different sided dice to represent your Kart (or perhaps, in your case, your Steed). You take turns flicking your dice towards a finish line, with the goal of hitting it exactly, with falling short being considered just as bad as overshooting. The game also comes with extras for customizing your racers, creating custom tracks, and adding Charms that change how your vehicles work.

I think the rules for this game can definitely be separated from the story that the designer has introduced, and the idea of having different steeds with different strengths may make sense if each racer is riding a different creatures. You could re-tool the charms into abilities that different fantasy creatures might have, such as a glowing body part or the ability to jump over low obstacles. The game also has optional skills that represent your character’s abilities outside of racing, which you could change to reflect what your characters might need to be good at when they’re not out on the race track.

Dirt Eaters and Grid Beef, by e.a.

DIRT EATERS is a dice game where players compete to see who can get the best score driving their cars through dangerous tracks! Players build the tracks through dice rolls, ranking each sector on a scale from 1-5. Rolling six sided dice, players have to get a number of successes equal to the difficulty of each sector to score a point. The more dice you use, the harder you're driving, and the more damage your car takes! Replenish your dice by 'repairing' your car between stages. It's a game of resource management, strategy, and a little bit of luck!

GRID BEEF is a roleplaying game about racing. In this game, players will be racing cars against one another in a series of events across the world. In between races, they'll form friendships, clash with bitter rivals, and be submerged in the world of politics and drama that comes with racing at a world championship level. Sometimes, the biggest drama happens off the track!

Both of these games follow the same core mechanic, in which a number of d6’s are rolled and the results over a certain number are counted as successes. While DIRT EATERS focuses on damage and hazards, GRID BEEF is more about the relationships between the racers, and how you interact with people affect your performance on the track. I think the core rules can work on their own, and the outside elements are examples on what can affect the race depending on what is important to you. In both cases, there’s probably a good amount of hacking and home-brew that you’ll have to do, but the benefit of looking at both of these is that you can see examples of how the core game can be re-tooled to focus on elements that matter to you.

Love by the Quarter Mile, by Dice Monkey.

Rev your engine and prepare to fire the NOS. In Love by the Quarter-Mile, you play as a street racer trying to make it while fighting for family. This one-page tabletop RPG is quick and dirty, providing you with everything you need to use to play games in the same vein as Fast and Furious and Gone in 60 Seconds.

This is another short game that I think can be very easily hacked to turn this game into a game about racing animals, rather than racing cars. You can replace the car tags with animal tags to differentiate the creatures that you are riding. However, being fast isn’t the only asset you have here - the game is also about fighting and personal relationships. You can fight rivals or other characters, and the rules are loose enough that you could use fists, or weapons that match your setting. You can also have arguments that can tax your emotions, so if there are personal stakes in the competition, you can enjoy some hair-raising drama in between each race.

Also Check Out

Gravity RIP, by lukewestaway.

#tabletop games #indie ttrpgs #game recommendations #dnd #asks #racing

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jackhkeynes · 3 months

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I have a question about pluralization in your conlang! From what I understand, your nouns aren’t conjugated for number. Are there any words where the plural survived sound changes? I ask this because my accent of Spanish (Dominican accent) loses syllable final S, meaning that only some words have a plural while others can only be distinguished by number by the verb and article. I’ve also heard that French is similar in that regard but my knowledge of it is very limited.

Also this is unrelated to the first question, but I’d like to see some examples of Boral names. The etymologies of names are very interesting to me and im curious if some Celtic names still survive in your conlang!

Hi—these are great questions! :D

Pluralisation

Final /-s/ is lost really early on in the development of Borlish; it's one of the very first sound changes that distinguishes it from the mainland Romance languages, occuring by around 500 AD. This, along with the loss of the genitive case (replaced with the ablative) makes the noun declension of typical nouns look like this:

Notice that masculine nouns typically have only two forms, and feminine nouns only three. Once final vowels also get neutralised to schwa (and eventually lost entirely), the noun paradigm for regular nouns has completely collapsed.

A few nouns briefly retain an irregular paradigm of the following shape, with a separate nominative singular:

However, by the late Old Borlish period these have all been levelled to (usually) the oblique form; sour "sister" is the only counterexample where instead the nominative singular survives.

Several strategies for marking noun number were innovated during the Old Borlish period, mostly involving demonstratives like ille, iste and ipse. However, the forms that survive to the present derive from the demonstrative hic "this". Specifically, we have:

oc "singular" < hoc, neuter singular ec "plural" < haec, neuter plural

In the late Old Borlish period we see the redevelopment of a proximate-distal contrast, with new distal demonstratives formed using the adverb i "there" (since lost; cf. Modern Borlish la < illāc):

oç < oc i "that" < hoc ibi eç < ec i "those" < haec ibi

Coda: Some Modern Borlish Names

There are a few Celtic names which survive in modern Borlish, for various reasons.

A very few names entered Borland Latin from the local Celtic during the Roman Empire. As a possible example, the male name Ivocq is thought to reflect Borland Celtic *iwok- "like a yew tree".

More Celtic names enter Borlish at various stages since the medieval period. One of the earliest is the female name Jonnovar, cognate with Guinevere and Jennifer, and which is also used as a common noun meaning "butterfly".

#conlang #boral #conlanging #boralverse #conworld #alternate history #lectronicproot #writing

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puzzled-pegasus · 1 year

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I love wof but heres some annoying technical things I despise about it

The scaling of Pyrrhia is nuts. You're telling me they flew across the ENTIRE world in a few weeks?? Like bro. And Pantala is basically an island, not even a continent with how much space the damn Hives take up.

Also the populations? There should be MILLIONS of dragons but naw, just a few hundred of each tribe. What? I mean I guess the war and whatnot but like?? They're the dominant species of the world??? Can't tell me that RainWings are the largest tribe when SandWing have all that space too and SeaWings have the entire ocean, but naw RainWings. SandWings I can understand cause so many of them were killed but SeaWings aren't more populated??? SeaWings?????

The scaling of dragon to scavengers is completely inconsistent and drives me nuts. Are they the size of a mouse? A cat? A monkey? How do they compare to other animals??

SeaWings "turning on" their night vision. Girl how do you think eyes work?

SkyWings being red and orange instead of sky colors. I mean I guess if it was like males that were bright and females were more bluish gray, sure, but it seems weird they'd need to stand out so much. Though I suppose if you even see one it's too late cause they're so fast.

Surely dragons must have better senses of smell? It's not talked about much at all.

OH MY GOD THE TWO THOUSAND YEAR GAP WHERE DRAGONS ALL LOOK AND TALK EXACTLY THE SAME AS THEY DID. DO YOU KNOW HOW LONG TWO THOUSAND YEARS IS. TWO *HUNDRED* YEARS AGO THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE WAS WILDLY DIFFERENT. 2000 YEARS AGO, CORRECT ME IF IM WRONG BUT ENGLISH DIDN'T EVEN EXIST

Language evolution is a thing, Tui, especially over Two Thousand Years. Do you know how cool it would have been for Darkstalker to at least have an accent or speak Olde English but nooo. In the actual book Darkstalker, I understand; as making them speak a weird old language for the entire book would be exhausting and meaning is better interpreted if the language makes sense. But like? When he's talking to dragons 2000 years later? Some contrast would have been cool. Like every thirty seconds he says some weird extinct word out of habit and everyone is like ??

How come in 3000 years one species of dragon evolved into 10 tribes but 2000 years didn't even give them any new inventions or language changes. Ain't no way. Also there's no explanation of how or why they evolved that fast and adapted all their wildly different traits. A dragon tribe family tree would be so cool.

Not an unusual opinion but erasing animus magic. I had PLANS! Come on!

Why do IceWings have spikes? Why?

Also why are there IceWings named Penguin and also ones named Polar Bear. Penguins live in the SOUTH POLE. If this planet does not have a SOUTH POLE, there should be no PENGUINS. If it DOES have a SOUTH POLE, we need to MEET the SOUTHERN ICEWINGS.

Various other animal and habitat glitches: animals that live nowhere each other being used for names in the same tribe.

SEASONS???? SUMMER AUTUMN WINTER SPRING?? I'M SEEING THE NAME WINTER BUT I'M NOT SEEING A FKING WINTER?? RAINWING DRY SEASON WET SEASON?? SANDWING SEASON OF STORMS?? AUTUMN LEAVES? LIGHT SEASON AND DARK SEASON WAY UP NORTH WITH THE ICEWINGS?? HOLIDAYS IN THE DARK SEASON TO CHEER THEM UP?

Why do IceWings all have blue eyes if their blood is blue? Are they all albino? Has Tui ever heard of snow shine?? These poor dragons should all have eye damage cause their poor unpigmented eyes don't protect them from the snowshine burning their retinas

Why don't MudWings have fins or webbed talons? They don't need gills but they are semi aquatic so?

Every time it mentions HiveWings flapping their wings instead of buzzing I lose a week off my life expectancy

#wings of fire #rant post #wof

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spoofymcgee · 2 years

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star trek fic recs:

(i've never done this before so bear with me)

TOS:

- Spoctoria series by @waldorph and @screamlet

WC: 78k / Rating: Explicit / Status: Complete / Relationship: Spirk, Spock & Sybok, Spock & T'pring / Genre: Longform Plot, Falling in Love, Royalty AU

Summary: "Spock is heir to the Federation throne, Jim is Prince of America because his fucking brother abdicated, and the Klingons are on the verge of blowing shit up--a love story."

(listen. listen. literally anything by these two authors will be the best thing you've ever read. but this series? blew my fucking mind with how good it was. something about the the way jim and spock are written, combined with the setting they're in and various bits about the universe is just so delightful. it's been three months and i still think about this series every day)

- The Longest Year series by A_Noone and Hinya_O_Elena

WC: 140k / Rating: Explicit / Status: WIP / Relationship: McSpirk / Genre: Longform Plot, TOS Structure, Self-discovery

Summary: "Leonard McCoy has been through some shit. A terrible divorce, losing his kid, and terrifying life-long spooky weirdness due to having his psionic potential catalyzed by God-Knows-What in high school. When his best friend, James Kirk, finally took command of the Enterprise, things seemed to be looking up -- right up until that damnable green blooded hobgoblin got involved.

This is the Second Year of the Five Year Mission as it could have gone, with angsty romance, harrowing adventures, metaphysical revelations, and McCoy discovering that James Kirk and Spock care more about him that he'll ever know."

(this is one of my favorite hidden gems. it manages to pull of first person pov so excellently, it's dry and witty and funny, the plot is constructed really well)

- To Catch a Fish by Darksknight

WC: 15k / Rating: Mature / Status: Complete / Relationship: Spirk / Genre: Crack, Humor, Fluff

Summary: "Spock’s realized that while he treasures his deep friendship with Jim, he’s come to desire more. He sets out to tell Jim of his feelings, but finds the task... considerably more difficult than he'd first imagined it to be."

(spock is in love with jim. all that's left is to tell him. unfortunately, jim's having a little bit of trouble getting that through his head, so spock has to figure out how to say it in human terms. it's. it's great, go read it. spock catches him two fish and literally sweeps him off his feet, sarek quotes spice girls, and. just read it, please. i promise you won't regret it)

- love is an affliction by WerewolvesAreReal

WC: 5k / Rating: Teen / Status: Complete / Relationship: Spirk, McSpirk / Genre: Crack, Humor

Summary: "“A condition – you're sick? With spontaneous flowers? How do I get rid of them?”

“You do not."

(Or: Hanahaki disease is not fatal, but it is exclusive to Vulcans. Honestly, death would be more dignified.)"

(DROP WHAT YOU'RE DOING AND GO READ THIS RIGHT NOW. it's the funniest fucking fic on the entire internet, and i love it with a passion. all of the author's stuff is excellent, especially their fic Ni'Var, but this one lives rent free in my head and i love it beyond words)

- Compromises (The Bridge Between) by purpleeyesandbowties

WC: 30k / Rating: Teen / Status: Complete / Relationship: Spock & OC, Spirk / Genre: Character Study, Coming of Age, Self-discovery

Summary: "There were only three Vulcans at Starfleet Academy. One was a professor. The other was a third year science student, finishing up two credits before a mid-year graduation. The last was T'rin. There had been other Vulcans in the past, but all had graduated before T'rin enrolled. They were all Science track. T'rin was Command track. Her advisor, S'chn T’gai Spock, recommended she enroll in Introduction to Vulcan: Language, History, and Culture, co-taught by himself and a Professor James Kirk.

In which there are cats, classes, compromises, and an unacceptable number of highly emotional conversations.

(i have a fuckin huge soft spot for old married spirk, but that aside, t'rin is the best y'all. i love her so much. she's so cool)

AOS:

- Graduate Vulcan For Fun And Profit by @lazulisong

WC: 15k / Rating: Teen / Status: Complete / Relationship: Jim & and OC, Spirk / Genre: Humor, Character Study

Summary: "It really does take a village to raise a Jim.

The members of the Kelvin's crew watch over Jim as much as he lets them."

(hhhhh this fic made me feel so many things. the characters are written so well and the structure of the writing is so cool. everything by lazulisong is excellent but this fic in particular is my favorite)

- Sacra Familiae series by Joules Mer

WC: 22k / Rating: Teen / Status: Complete / Relationship: McKirk, Pike/Boyce / Genre: Character Study, Relationship Study, Slice of Life, Recovery

Summary: "It makes the skin on the back of his neck prickle— the strangeness of it. There’s a lassitude in his limbs and a tightness in his chest and as a confused shock of jumbled memories and pain come back Chris hears a heart monitor give a little blip of alarm and can’t help but wonder, Am I dead?"

(this series contains some of my favorite pile fics ever. it manages to capture his character so well and the relationships in it feel so fleshed out despite the fact that it's fairly short as a series. it's sweet and a little sad and it made me cry a bit)

- hexagons impromptu trek week 2k21 series by @hexagon

WC: 23k / Rating: Teen / Status: Complete / Relationship: Pike & Kirk, QPL McKirk / Genre: Character Study, Slice of Life

Summary: “"You’ve been so brave, James,” he whispers, and Jim lets out the slightest exhale of shock, his mouth falling open.

or: captaincies and self-doubts and chris finally getting to tell jim he's proud of him"

(this is, hands down, my favorite st slice of life fic. no contest. the dynamic between pike and jim is. indescribable, but it did make me cry quite a bit. the relationship between mccoy and kirk is happy dance worthy, and i don't say that lightly)

- Everything That Disappears by @sagesiren

WC: 20k / Rating: M / Status: Complete / Relationship: McSpirk / Genre: Character Study, Relationship Study, Slice of Life, Falling in Love

Summary: "Jim dropped his duffel and grinned at him. “You’re still calling me ‘kid,’ even though you have a kid now? I love the hair, by the way,” he said, coming over and running a hand through it before turning, smiling down at Jo in the high chair. “This her?”

“No, she’s the decoy kid. I’m hiding the other toddler somewhere else,” Leonard said, rolling his eyes at him.

Or, the one where Leonard is fresh out of gender affirmation surgery, given custody of the daughter he didn't know he had, and in an open relationship with Jim where they don't tell each other anything about their partners."

(ahhhh!!! this fic. just. all of it. jo is such a realistic baby, which is a weird holdup, but i hate when kids are talking dolls instead of the tiny little dumpster fires they are in real life. bones is written delightfully well, the twist at the end is so good and all around an excellent fic)

- VaYehi series by @trekkele

WC: 10k / Rating: Gen / Status: Complete / Relationship: Jim & the bridge crew, Jim & Spock / Genre: Character Study, Slice of Life

Summary: "Every starship Captain has their quirks.

This is less about Kirks, and more about what lies at the heart of it.

In which Jim has his secrets, McCoy is overprotective, the crew learns something new, and Spock is curious. Of course he is."

(these are my absolute favorite jewish trek fics ever. the bridge scene in the first one lives rent free in my head and i actually spent all of wednesday afternoon drawing it instead of studying for midterms. i love the examination of jim's relationship with his judiasm–how he's proud of it but scared of people knowing. it really touched a thread in my heart)

#tos #star trek #star trek tos #aos #star trek aos #jim kirk #mr spock #bones mccoy #spirk #mcspirk #chris pike #fic rec #star trek fic rec #star trek fic recs #star trek fanfiction #i love all of these so much

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valdez-my-love · 2 months

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“Unsteady” || Marc Spector

(fanfiction) Marc Spector x fem! OC

[ my works in Polish are available on Wattpad ValdezMyLove and in English on Wattpad VenniLanRosie]

PROLOGUE “HOW DID IT START?”

Malibu

summer 2005

ONE MOMENT COULD CHANGE A PERSON'S WHOLE LIFE WHEN THEY LEAST EXPECTED IT. This is how Ivelle Stark would describe the evening when a group of military men came to the bar where she worked. She honestly wasn't thrilled about it, as she knew exactly how many of them acted after having a few drinks. She had to deal with them too often — all thanks to her older brother Tony, who ran a company that created an arsenal for the United States Army.

But she knew she could never date one of them — she couldn't fall in love with someone she could lose in a second and then suffer twice as much, especially since she was quite an emotional person. She felt like she couldn't survive something like that.

Someone might say that after what she had experienced during her two-year training at the academy, where future agents of the organization founded by her father Howard were trained, she should have been tough and unfeeling. But she couldn't do it — emotions were something she didn't want to get rid of because it felt like she was becoming a robot. She tried to do it once, but she couldn't, so she gave up. She concluded that it was not worth forcing a change if someone couldn't do it, as was the case with her. This was the reason why she abandoned her training a year ago and returned home.

Thanks to Tony, or rather the tutors he provided, she began preparing for the exams, which she managed to pass, and because of this, she got into law school in New York, which she had dreamed of before starting her agent training. She had always been homeschooled, so that made it a lot easier for her, although she dreamed of studying in a regular school. She promised herself that if she ever had children, they would have a life she couldn't experience — at least as normal as being in the Stark family allows.

"Damn it," the girl muttered, seeing the group at one of the tables, or rather several, because they had managed to push them together. She didn't like the fact that of all the bars in Malibu, they had to choose the one where she worked. "Why can't one evening be complete without drunken recruits? What did we do to deserve this?"

"What happened?" Layla, a girl she met while working there, asked her. They found a common language very quickly, which meant that at times they communicated with each other almost without words. They hadn't worked together for long, but they became very close. "I thought this sight was normal for you, considering your brother's job."

The girl shook her head. She just wasn't in the mood to serve them. If they came, she knew only too well what that meant for them — they were about to fly to the front. They either didn't come back alive, or if they did... they weren't themselves, although that was putting it mildly.

Ivelle was just like that — sometimes she was too empathetic, which caused various situations, even not entirely positive ones.

"Hello, Ellie," Rhodes, her older brother's best friend, walked up to the bar where young Stark was standing.

Ivelle knew perfectly well that she was not a Stark in flesh and blood but had been adopted when she was three, but she had no problem with it at all. She always said that family is not only about blood ties. She and Tony were the perfect example of this — even if her brother's personality was different, she knew he would do anything for her, just as she did for him. Their relationship was definitely more important to her than whether they were related by blood.

She was happy that she had the opportunity to experience love that many children could only dream of. She paid absolutely no attention to how her peers laughed at her and said very unpleasant things about her. She had one low moment early on, where she asked Tony if he regretted having to take care of her after Howard and Maria died. What he replied to her then became deeply embedded in the girl's memory.

"You may be my adoptive sister, but it doesn't change the fact that thanks to you, I feel a semblance of normality. Just because I work a lot doesn't mean I avoid you or anything. I just want you to have a better life than what I had at your age."

He tried for her, and she... she couldn't even tell him what she had been doing in the last years she had been studying at the academy. She couldn't do it for his safety. He was her only loved one, and she wouldn't forgive herself if she had to lose him because of her recklessness.

"Hey, Rhodey," she said with a smile, hugging the dark-skinned man, which he returned with the same joy. "What are you doing with the Marines? After all, you serve as an Air Force pilot."

"A friend asked me to keep an eye on them," he replied, nodding at the group of young men. He sighed heavily. "Some of them leave in a few days, others in a dozen or so weeks... You understand."

Just as she thought... she wasn't wrong even in the slightest. There was no way, considering she knew how it all worked. She really felt sorry for them, but at the same time, she knew that it was their conscious decision and they knew what they were signing up for when they joined the army.

"I didn't know you were still babysitting," she laughed, drying the dishes. "I thought after taking care of little me, you'd had enough of it."

Rhodes burst out laughing. He laughed about it now, but Ivelle knew it had taken some of his nerves to keep an eye on her. In fact, even a lot. After all, she was everywhere.

"You were a good child, after all," he replied, smiling. "It was quite a pleasure to be able to do that."

"Yeah... when I hid in the tree house and you couldn't find me, you probably weren't laughing," replied the girl, fixing her hair, which was tied up in a ponytail. "I thought you would curse me forever with your rage."

The man laughed again.

"Ivelle and her childhood sins?" Layla appeared curious next to them. Miss Stark wasn't too happy that her best friend would learn some story from her childhood. "Why don't I know anything about this, huh?"

The girl just shook her head in amusement, and Rhodes returned to the original topic of their conversation.

"After all, this group..." he pointed to his charges to the girls. They were having quite a good time, and they hadn't had a chance to drink anything alcoholic yet. "They're on a completely different level, or at least some of them are."

The girl apologized to her friend and then approached the table. Three of her peers, at least those of similar age to her, took notice of her without hesitation. The fourth of them... was quite withdrawn for the girl's taste. It didn't fit the description of the soldiers she had already met, but at the same time, she felt intrigued by him.

"What is such a pretty girl doing in such a dive?" he asked her as his companions started checking out other girls and she managed to take their orders. "You don't seem like an ordinary waitress to me."

"I'm trying to earn money for college because I hate asking my brother for anything. He's already done too much for me in the last year, although I'm grateful for that," she said, making him laugh. "You also don't fit the image of an ordinary soldier I knew so far..."

He was definitely different from the others, which made her want to get to know him better, but she was afraid that their relationship would not end well. She could get attached to some people way too easily, and she knew it.

The boy smiled and then shook her hand.

"I'm Marc Spector," he introduced himself.

The girl shook his hand. There was something about him, and she could see it perfectly. He was a walking mystery to her.

"And I'm Ivelle Stark," she said. "Nice to meet you."

"Nice name," her interlocutor replied. "Quite unusual... Still, I think you deserve a much better job than dealing with drunk people."

The girl smiled at him, and Marc himself felt really good around her, which was surprising to him. After everything he had been through in his life, he never thought he would meet someone like the girl in front of him again. They may have only known each other for a few minutes, but he felt somewhere deep down that he could trust her and even let her get closer to him, if something more was to come from this relationship. He didn't really know if he wanted that. However, he knew perfectly well that fate could play some really good tricks.

The girl returned to the bar to prepare the orders for the young Marines, but her attitude was completely different than a few moments ago. Layla had already noticed this.

"What changed you so suddenly?" she asked, smiling. "Just a moment ago you weren't exactly thrilled about having to go to them."

The girl waved her hand at this question. She knew that El-Faouly had already added something, but she knew what it was like. She realized that her friend would love to find her a boyfriend against her will, but she didn't need anyone to be happy. At least that's what she thought at that moment…

THE CONTINUATION OF THAT EVENING WAS NOT VERY POSITIVE, AT LEAST NOT ONE HUNDRED PERCENT. Even Rhodes' intervention did not help much, because the new addition to the army caused quite a stir, which was nothing new in this place. Young Stark wanted to throw them all out of there, but she knew she couldn't handle them on her own — after all, there were several of them, and they were definitely stronger. Even if Layla wanted to help her, she knew it wouldn't do much good.

"Of course," one of the drunk boys muttered towards them, pushing Ivelle. "We fight for people like them, and two ordinary waitresses will pay attention to us?"

"You destroyed half the bar!" Layla exclaimed. "What the hell did you expect, you idiot? We're not here to pat your heads!"

The same boy swung at Ivelle again, but at the last moment someone caught him and punched him in the face.

"You must not raise your hand against the defenseless!" Marc called to him. "We are here to protect them, not harm them!"

Young Stark was shocked after he stood up for her. She didn't expect that he was able to do this for a complete stranger. He was completely different from his colleagues — she knew that one hundred percent now.

He impressed her very much — she could tell by the way her heart was beating like crazy just by looking at Spector.

Did this mean that she had just fallen in love against her principles? Possibly... but she wasn't one hundred percent sure about it.

#wattpad #marvel #fanfiction #marvel fanfiction #marc spector #jake lockley #steven grant #khonshu #mr knight #moon knight #fanfic #wattpad fanfiction

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presidentbungus · 2 years

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Pyro x Solly 👀👀 curious to hear your ideas

there's some sense of something from the beginning, I think. when pyro meets soldier, soldier's loud and obnoxious and has already blown a few holes in various walls (and the fun kind of explosion too, like a whole bunch of fire happening all at once), and there's also the subconscious relatability of his helmet, and the way they don't see his eyes once now or even until a few months into their employment. when soldier meets pyro they have a strong handshake and a good sense of enthusiasm, both of which you don't seem to get much of around here. he doesn't dwell on it (he doesn't dwell on much)--but good first impressions are few and far between on this team, and when they start running together in battle and in common rooms neither of them even notice they're doing it. it's just natural. stick to each other like glue.

soldier's stupid--if pyro puts their head really close to his, they swear they can hear something like the sound of glass breaking rattling around behind his eyes--but, like, it's not the lame kind of stupid, like scout's various insecurities. on some level they don't believe a word soldier says but they aren't going to be a spoilsport about it, and if soldier thinks that ransacking a toy store is the only surefire way to stop the communists they aren't going to argue. the main degree of separation between them is that soldier probably genuinely believes that what he's doing is the thing to do, or at least is stretching some long-held truths in his head to the breaking point, while pyro just likes to have fun. and there's some unique brand of fun soldier's got down to a T; constant, breathless enthusiasm, plotting but never thinking, just beating the shit out of the world one communist plot at a time.

maybe, eventually, it occurs to pyro that the only thing that makes the world more colorful than fire is soldier. and, to be honest, they're not really sure what this means, in terms of anything; when they ask scout about it he goes wait weren't you guys already going out or something, and while it's true that they share things and cuddle and bump heads and go everywhere together like couples do they argue that it's not really that--not romance, not quite. and scout asks, what are you missing. and they're not missing anything, really. it's just different.

maybe the more prudent realization is that the previous realization doesn't really change anything. because they're already something. engie describes it as "partners in crime", and pyro agrees, and soldier says he only commits crimes in the pursuit of justice. it might not quite be romance--neither of them are really into that stuff--but it's still love, and it goes deep.

some other bits that didn't quite fit into this format:

i think there's some kinda something going on with the fact that they both hide their faces--maybe for entirely different reasons, but there's still some security there. if pyro loses a glove or god forbid the mask soldier's probably gonna break their nose trying to tackle them and hide their face, and if soldier loses his helmet pyro will absolutely return the favor.

they have a hard time understanding each other. pyro's voice is difficult to make out under the mask, obviously, and on his bad day's soldier's incomprehensible to just about everyone. pyro teaches him a bit of sign language and he cottons on pretty fast, but it's still a relatively slow process.

in the meantime they accidentally manage to develop their own pseudo-language out of inside jokes, muttered words and gestures, and if you combine this with them getting better at all the other avenues of communication they eventually get good enough at it that, to an outsider's perspective, they're basically telepathically connected. which they might as well be; they basically never leave each other's sides, so distance is never a problem for communication. watching them communicate isn't like much else because it's completely incomprehensible.

pyro likes explosions but always thought they were a bit of a waste because watching fire is something they like to savor, and blowing shit up tends to go really fast--but pretty quickly they find out that becomes a bit of a moot point when the explosions never ever stop, and around soldier they really don't.

soldier likes to give them piggyback rides and rocket jump around; they like to watch the bursts of color under their feet, and rocket-jumping feels a bit like if the thermal thruster actually worked like they were hoping it would when they ordered one. said piggyback rides almost always end in broken bones but that's what medic's for, even if he strongly believes something to the contrary.

pyro introduces soldier to the concept of blanket forts. every blanket in the base disappears over a twenty-minute period. the sprawling mess of cloth in the rec room becomes Fort America, and the casualties caused by scout accidentally knocking over a load-bearing broomstick in front of the TV are enormous

#sorry this took me like 3 months loll #pyrosoldier #soldierpyro #tf2 pyro #tf2 soldier #tf2 #bungus headcanons #bungus snippets #thanks for the ask!#welcome to ikea #i'm working on clearing out my askbox so aiming to get through at least 2 or 3 more of these today! look out !!

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english-proficiency-learning · 22 days

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Common Mistakes to Avoid in the PTE Email Writing Section

Writing an effective email in the PTE exam can boost your overall score. However, many students lose valuable points by making common mistakes. In this blog, we'll explore these mistakes and provide tips on how to avoid them. Let's dive in!

1. Not Following the Word Limit

Mistake: Writing emails that are too short or too long.

How to Avoid:

Stick to 50-70 words: The PTE email task typically requires you to write between 50 and 70 words.

Plan Before You Write: Spend a minute outlining your main points to ensure you stay within the limit.

2. Ignoring the Email Structure

Mistake: Failing to include essential components like the subject line, salutation, body, and closing.

How to Avoid:

Use a Standard Format:

Subject Line: Summarize the email's purpose.

Salutation: Start with "Dear [Name],".

Body: Clearly state your message.

Closing: End with a phrase like "Kind regards," followed by your name.

3. Using Incorrect Tone

Mistake: Mixing formal and informal language or using the wrong tone for the context.

How to Avoid:

Understand the Context: Determine if the email is formal or informal based on the prompt.

Be Consistent: Use language appropriate for the tone throughout the email.

4. Spelling and Grammatical Errors

Mistake: Making frequent spelling mistakes and grammatical errors.

How to Avoid:

Proofread Your Work: Allocate time at the end to check for errors.

Practice Regularly: Improve your language skills through regular writing practice.

5. Overlooking the Prompt Details

Mistake: Missing key information requested in the prompt.

How to Avoid:

Highlight Keywords: Before writing, identify and note down the main requirements.

Address All Points: Ensure you cover every aspect mentioned in the task.

6. Using Abbreviations and Slang

Mistake: Including informal abbreviations (e.g., "u" instead of "you") and slang terms.

How to Avoid:

Write Full Words: Always use complete words and proper language.

Maintain Professionalism: Even in informal emails, avoid slang to keep your writing clear.

7. Poor Paragraphing

Mistake: Writing the entire email in one block of text.

How to Avoid:

Use Paragraphs: Start a new paragraph for each main point or idea.

Enhance Readability: Proper spacing makes your email easier to read and understand.

8. Repeating Ideas

Mistake: Saying the same thing multiple times in different ways.

How to Avoid:

Be Concise: Make your point clearly and move on.

Plan Your Points: Outline what you want to say to avoid unnecessary repetition.

9. Incorrect Use of Punctuation

Mistake: Misplacing commas, periods, and other punctuation marks.

How to Avoid:

Review Punctuation Rules: Brush up on basic punctuation guidelines.

Read Aloud: Sometimes hearing your sentences can help spot punctuation errors.

10. Neglecting Formalities in Formal Emails

Mistake: Omitting polite expressions and formal language in professional emails.

How to Avoid:

Use Polite Phrases: Include expressions like "Please," "Thank you," and "I would appreciate."

Maintain Formal Language: Avoid contractions like "can't" or "won't"; use "cannot" or "will not" instead.

Final Tip: Practice makes perfect! Write sample emails on various topics and get them reviewed by teachers or peers. The more you practice and refer to some tips to attemp write an email section, the more confident you'll become in avoiding these common mistakes.

Ready to improve your PTE email writing skills? Start implementing these tips today, and you'll be on your way to achieving a higher score in the PTE exam. Good luck!

#pte preparation

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bryanlorrr · 11 months

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Denny Denny Ja’s 33rd writing excellence in “Wounds continues to light”

In the world of Indonesia, Denny Ja’s name is one of the leading writers who has produced many works that readers recognized and recognized. One of his latest works to discuss is the “wound” essay poem. In this article, we will welcome Denny JA’s writing excellence in his 33rd essay poetry. Denny JA is a writer who has been in the world of Indonesia for a long time. It is known as a critical figure and dares to raise the relevant social issues in his work. “Wounds continue to light” is one of his latest essay poems that not only attracts attention, but also touches the reader’s soul. In this essay poetry, Denny JA returned to show his tales in developing interesting and emotional stories. In each page, the reader will be brought into the world of strong and complex characters. Denny Ja is able to describe his character’s feelings and thoughts so deeply, so readers can feel every emotion they experience. In addition, Denny Ja’s writing style is also special and attractive. It is able to combine the use of simple and simple language with beautiful and poetic expressions. Every word he chooses has a deep strength and meaning, thus reflecting the atmosphere and feelings very clearly. In “wounds continue to light”, Denny Ja also succeeded in presenting a complex but regular storyline. It is able to organize every scene well, so the reader will not lose direction in reading this essay poem. In addition, the use of flashback and the change in perspective also provides an interesting nuance in the story. Not only that, Denny Ja is also able to raise social issues that are relevant in “wounds continue to light”. It is intelligent depicting the lives of the Indonesian people and the various conflicts that occur in it. In this essay poem, it commented on friendship, love, politics, and other very actual issues. Through his story, Denny Ja gives readers different perspectives and thoughts. During this entire essay poetry, Denny Ja is also able to present a description of a living place and atmosphere. It is detailed depicting every background of the place, so the reader can imagine and feel the life inside. This living description provides additional dimensions in reading this essay poem. In the “wounds continue to light”, Denny Ja also uses special narrative techniques. It uses the first and third -person viewing points, so the reader can experience the presence and experience of his character. This technique provides a depth in describing each character and keeping the reader in each page. In conclusion, Denny Ja has successfully presented an incredible work in the poem “Wounds continues to light”. With the excellence of his writing, he was able to describe his character’s feelings and thoughts very deeply. Its special style of writing and the use of beautiful language make this essay poem into an interesting and emotional work. Denny Ja is also able to present a complex but regular storyline, and to raise relevant social issues. Through this essay poetry, Denny Ja once again proves his ownership of producing a charming work and having a deep message.

Complete check: Denny JA’s 33 -year -old writing excellence in “Wounds continues to light”

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blogkarisman · 11 months

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About Denny Ja’s selected work 44: “Sound the bell, always”

This year, we are all given the opportunity to enjoy the selected works of an important figure in the Indonesian world, Denny Ja. His chosen work entitled “Sound the bell, always” has stole the attention of many readers with his interesting and meaningful story. In this work, Denny JA succeeded in depicting day -to -day life in a touching way. It takes us into a world full of joy, sorrow, and hope. Through a simple yet strong language, Denny JA is able to describe the atmosphere and emotion with an incredible prescription. The story in “sounds the bell, always” centered on a leading figure named Joko, an owner of the old bells located in a small village. Joko is a wise and kind person, who always helps the people around him. He was loved by the entire villagers for his friendly and sincere attitude. However, one day, Joko’s bellsuited shop was laid down by a cruel group. They stole all the bells in the Joko store and left a ruin behind them. This incident caused Joko to feel hit and lost hope. However, this story doesn’t end there. In deep darkness, the light of hope arises from an unexpected place. Joko met a son named Andi, who fell in love with a small bell left on the Joko store. Andi, with a passionate heart, decided to help Joko recover the store and find the lost bell. Together, Joko and Andi are traveling full of adventures and adventures. They meet with various people and face the obstacles that test their courage and perseverance. However, with a strong determination and a never -ending spirit, they succeeded in gathering the lost bells one by one. During this journey, Denny JA has successfully highlighted important findings such as friendship, courage, and perseverance. It teaches us how important it is to rise from failure and never lose hope. “Sound the bells, always” is a work that inspires and hopes for its readers. Not only is the story interesting, Denny’s writing style should also be covered with thumbs up. The language used in this work is simple but full of deep meaning. Each word is chosen with the attention to describe the atmosphere and emotions with accuracy. In this regard, Denny Ja is a member of the speech to create a living and a sense of feelings. Through this work, Denny Ja also succeeded in inspiring readers to consider the value of goodness, friendship, and hope in their own lives. “Sound the bells, always” is a work that gives us a valuable lesson about the meaning of a struggle and the importance of maintaining a never -ending spirit. As readers, we cannot be attracted to the strength and message presented in “sound bells, always”. Denny Ja not only tells an interesting story, but also gives us a wonderful picture of life and value that is important to all of us.

Complete Check: Delivering a complaint review of Denny Ja’s selected work 44: “Sound the bell, always”

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abhishekconnectdrum · 1 year

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"Awakening the Inner Rhythm: Discovering Yourself Through Drum Circles"

Have you ever had the impulse to make a connection with both your inner self and the outside world? We frequently lose touch with our true selves as a result of the everyday grind of life. We are always looking for ways to find our inner rhythm and renew our spirits in this hectic modern environment. With their historical origins and current relevance, drum circles provide a transforming path to self-discovery. Join us as we embark on a rhythmic voyage to explore the vast realm of drum circles and how they can help you discover your own inner depths.

Bringing Order out of Chaos The Contemporary Puzzle The twenty-first century can be a turbulent time. We frequently feel overburdened and detached as a result of the responsibilities of work, family, and cultural expectations. The continual hum of technology makes our own rhythms even more unheard. A primitive beat, though, is hiding in this mayhem and is just waiting to be rediscovered.

Drum Circles: An Age-Old Custom Drum circles have existed in human society for many years; they are not a new-age trend. Drumming has traditionally been used to promote connection, healing, and self-expression in settings ranging from traditional tribal ceremonies to modern gatherings.

Beyond Music, Drumming Has Power Drumming is a profound experience that involves your entire self; it's more than just making music.

Getting Emotions Out The emotional expression that drumming offers is possible only through its rhythmic vibrations. When words fail, the drum speaks, helping you to discover catharsis and let go of suppressed feelings.

Contemplative Practice One way to practice mindfulness is by drumming. You may completely present in the moment and put worries and tension aside by becoming lost in the rhythm.

Creating Relationships Drum circles are evidence of the strength of a community.

Diversity in Unity People from various backgrounds together in a drum circle as equals. The rhythm eliminates distinctions and fosters harmony and oneness.

Healing Through Relationship Together, drumming develops bonds that go beyond language. It's a common experience that encourages understanding and empathy.

Getting Started with Your Drumming Journey Step 1 :Find a drum circle first Find a drum circle in your area and start there. These events can be found in parks, community centers, or internet forums. Join the group that speaks to you.

Connect with the rhythm in Step 2 Accept the beat with a heart open. You don't need to have any prior drumming experience; just follow the beat. The goal of drumming is feeling, not precision.

Discover Your Voice in Step 3 Your drum serves as your voice in a drum circle. Use the beats to express yourself, whether it's with a soft whisper or a shout from the depths. Your drumming is wholly distinctive.

The Process of Self-Reflection You'll have times of self-reflection as you drum and interact with others. Your inner world is mirrored by the rhythm, which makes it easier for you to comprehend your feelings and thoughts.

Empowerment It feels empowering to drum. It teaches you that, despite the appearance of chaos, you have a voice and can affect change. Your rhythm is crucial.

Conclusion We frequently lose sight of the calm rhythm of our own existence in the continuous pursuit of a fast-paced life. Drum circles provide us a chance to rediscover ourselves in the company of others and reacquaint ourselves with that inner beat. The beats of the drum provide solutions to the queries that plagued us at the start of our journey. You'll uncover a world of music as you delve into the age-old practice of drumming, as well as a way to self-awareness, empowerment, and harmony. Why then wait? Awaken your inner self by joining a drum circle, letting your beat flow, and starting your journey.

#drumming #drum circle #drums #djembe #event #corporate events #community event #wedding event #birthday event

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i-myeoni-blogs · 2 years

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REMEMBERING WHO I AM: A glimpse of tribal community.

How many of us talk about our ancestors' ethnicity? There may be a few people who are still connected to their roots, but the majority of us in generation Z are influenced primarily by western culture and fashion. Though it’s not bad but somehow, we’re losing our own authenticity.

I am no exception; having been born and raised in a town, I shaped myself in accordance with the trends that emerged. When it comes to natives, I am a member of the "Santhal Tribe," an indigenous minority group. There are over 100 tribes in India, and each one has its own clothing, food, festival, language, and rituals. But, due to school and other obligations, we were unable to visit our hometown as frequently as we would have liked. And perhaps this is why I know so little about my own tribe.

It was my cousin's brother's wedding—the only boy in our entire family tree, with only one brother to seven sisters. I was overjoyed, but no Indian function is complete without a hiccup, and so my exams fell on the same day as my brother's wedding. I couldn't make it to the wedding, but I promised I wouldn't miss the authentic Santhali reception. Okay let’s not jump into the fact that I missed the ceremony. But visiting my hometown after almost a decade felt so relaxing.

Sagarbhanga is a small village located in the Jharkhand district of Sahebganj. Tribals can be found at every turn and are extremely friendly. I don't want to brag, but my family home is the largest in the entire district, and it is referred to as "Bada Ghar" by the locals. Because of the village people's regard for us, they came to assist with the preparations. Women were involved in making decorations out of the palm leaves. Oh, how beautiful their work was, and how natural everything was. Few men were painting on the walls, and they were tribal wall paintings with various creatures painted on them. It was absolutely lovely. The beauty of a tribe is that we live as one community and help each other unconditionally.

I should be familiar with the local tongue they use, santhali, but alas, I am not able to communicate in it. We even have our own traditional clothing, known as "Panchi Parhat" for women and lungi or dhoti for men. My sisters and I decided to dress in traditional attire for the ceremony. The dress was arranged, and a few locals assisted us in draping it. it was so pretty and easy to handle, light weight as it was made of cotton. My parents and other relatives were so happy to see us in our own traditional clothes.

In the ceremony all the village people gathered and presented gifts to the bride and the groom. My brother is so lucky he got a lot of gifts and blessings, I can’t wait to have a ceremony of my own.

It was time for food after the gift exchange. "The simpler, the better," is all I have to say. I'm sure the first thing that comes to mind when we hear the word "marriage" is the food. Being Indian, we always want pulav, Manchurian, or paneer butter masala; it's just ingrained in our minds that it should be on the menu. And I thought the same thing, but the taste of authentic simple food on a 'pattal' surprised me. Off-white perfectly cooked rice, dal, meat, and veggies, and that's it, all served on dried leaf plates. And, no offence, but all the dishes I've ever tasted in restaurants and hotels paled in comparison. I know you're thinking it'll create a lot of trash, but pattals are biodegradable, so we dumped it in a large hole that was later covered by soil. "Khaane ke baad kuch meetha ho jaye," we say now that we've eaten. You won't be sorry, believe me. Aside from the usual sweets, there was one item that piqued my interest. Those yellow bead-like things called "Bundiya" just melted as soon as I took a spoonful of them. Mesmerizing, a perfect way to round out the dish, but what I really missed was the authentic 'Dumbu' sweet from the tribe. It's made of rice flour, and the sweet dough is formed into many small balls before being steamed.

While I was eating the sweets, I overheard people discussing being a patient. Who got hurt, I wondered, until my mother explained that it was a ritual. A fun ritual in which the new bride pretends to be a doctor while the groom's sisters and relatives pretend to be injured by covering their legs and hands with mud and straws. And the bride is expected to treat them well (wash their hands and feet). But the best part is yet to come: the bride tightly grips the patient's feet and demands fees (gifts), refusing to leave until you give her gift. That sounded like fun, so I tried it as well.

It was great to see the entire family enjoying themselves after such a long time apart.

What about the dance, though? The ground was cleared, chairs were moved, and music was played immediately after each ritual. I was expecting the barati dance, but it's an authentic wedding. A few men who could play mandar gathered in the centre, and women formed a circle around them. It was a santhali folk dance, and it was a lot of fun. We danced until after midnight, which resulted in sore leg muscles next day.

Those were two lovely days spent in my hometown. I learned a lot about my own culture that I was unaware of because I had spent my entire life in a city. I enjoyed every minute I was there and hope to return soon. Yes, there is one thing I still regret: not learning my native language.

There is a misconception that tribal in Jharkhand live in jungles, wear leaves, and eat raw food. Well, the answer is already given; it is simply a misconception. We as a tribe prefer to live close to nature, not in jungles, but in homes that only a few people know about, which is unfortunate. Remember that there is a distinction between being indigenous and being uncivilized.

And I've learned that it's important to know and respect your roots no matter where you live.

#santhal #tribal #tribestories #feature story #weddingvibes #authentic

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97-liners · 3 years

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knock on your door

wonwoo x reader | gender neutral but shorter than wonwoo | fluff, foul language and alcohol, suggestive maybe but no smut, warning for lots of awkwardness 😔 | words: 3.1k

expanded from my previous text post:

au where you’re roommates with mingyu’s girlfriend. they have a big anniversary coming up, so mingyu bribes convinces you to switch rooms with him for a week, and he gives you those pathetic puppy eyes that he wields like a weapon and you can’t say no to those eyes, so you agree and move into mingyu’s room for a week.

except what he didn’t warn you was: his roommate, wonwoo, is hot. and mingyu evidently hadn’t warned him that the roommate exchange was happening, because you’re in the living room when he walks in without a shirt, makes eye contact with you, flushes completely pink, and immediately turns around without a word and closes himself in his room for the rest of the day. (his painful embarrassment is so acute, you can feel it oozing from his door like sludge.)

so now you have to spend the rest of the week in close proximity to mingyu’s hot buff perfect roommate wonwoo who refuses to talk to you, all without losing your mind. until one night, you accidentally lock yourself out of mingyu’s room after taking a shower (for some reason he only gave you the key to the apartment, not the room), and now it’s 2am, you’re naked and cold, and you have no choice but to shelf your pride for another day and knock on wonwoo’s door

Home cooked meals by Mingyu for the week. That was the deal that he made a few days ago when he convinced you to switch rooms for him for a week, Sunday to Sunday, so he and your roommate, his girlfriend, can have the entire apartment to themselves for their two-year anniversary. (You don’t even want to think about what they’re getting up to, all over your shared living room furniture. You wrinkle your nose at the thought.)

It’s annoying, but the offer of food made by Mingyu isn’t one that you can turn down so easily. And, besides, his apartment is nice, and his roommate is, as far as you can tell, normal.

You don’t know for sure, because you’ve never met Wonwoo. He’s a bit like a cryptid among your friend circle. Despite all the parties Mingyu has hosted and all the evening study sessions spent at his place, Jeon Wonwoo has never even left his room. Mingyu says he’s introverted, Seokmin says that he’s nearly a pro gamer, and Minghao says that Mingyu’s friends are just loud and annoying. (“That includes you and me,” you point out to Minghao, and he nods, unfazed. He responds, “I said what I said.”)

And so that’s how you end up here, standing in their kitchen, scoping out the fridge. Your suitcase is still packed and zipped up in Mingyu’s room, which is thankfully clean. Anything in the fridge is fair game, Mingyu had texted you, hyung doesn’t cook much besides ramen so don’t worry about eating his food. You tap your fingers on the door handle as you examine the various glass containers neatly stacked in the refrigerator shelves, each labeled with a sticky note and Mingyu’s handwriting. Spicy eomuk bokkeum. White radish kimchi. Yangbaechu kimchi. Gamjatang. There’s even a jar of homemade pesto with a strip of washi tape affixed to the front, inscribed with a date and a list of ingredients. Basil, pine nuts, salt, garlic, pecorino sardo, and EVOO.

You move up to investigate the freezer, and are delighted to find a large plastic bag filled with frozen handmade dumplings and a box of melona bars. Almost immediately, you tear the top flap of the box open and remove a popsicle, unwrapping it and sticking it in your mouth. You close your lips around the popsicle and hold it in place with your teeth while you close the freezer door and look for a trash can to discard the wrapper in.

“Mmfuck,” you mumble around the melona bar as you feel the beginnings of brain freeze starting to set in, rifling through the cabinets in search of the elusive kitchen garbage.

That’s how Wonwoo finds you when he steps out of his room and walks across the living room toward the bathroom, clothed in nothing but a towel around his waist.

You’re crouched by the ground, holding your head, popsicle melting onto your hand, squinting stupidly up at Mingyu’s hot roommate and his perfect six-pack abs and perfect jawline and perfectly broad shoulders, when he notices you and squints back.

He must be nearsighted, you think, because a moment later, he seemingly realizes what he’s seeing and flushes bright pink, spreading from his ears down to his neck.

“Um,” you say, blinking up at him, removing the popsicle from your mouth. Your head still throbs with brain freeze. “Did Mingyu say that I’d be staying here this week?”

Wonwoo doesn’t respond. He just stares at you for another second before turning on his heel and making a beeline straight for his bedroom. The door closes with a slam, and you’re left feeling horribly awkward and utterly, completely, absolutely fucked.

You’re lucky that your class schedule is nearly the opposite of Wonwoo’s. When you leave for your morning classes, he’s inevitably still asleep in bed, and by the time you get back in the afternoon, Wonwoo is out of the apartment for his classes. It gives you hope that you might get through the week without having to confront him a second time, which would be optimal, because you remember the horrified embarrassment written all over Wonwoo’s face the moment he realized that he had just walked nearly naked into the living room in front of a stranger.

“I mean, I wouldn’t be embarrassed,” you tell Minghao over your calculus homework. The two of you are hanging out in the living room of the apartment, which is, thankfully, empty save for the two of you. “I wish Mingyu had told me that he looks like, I don’t know, a greek god or something.”

Minghao shrugs. “I don’t think Mingyu accounted for you being such a horndog.”

“Shut up,” you feel your cheeks flush, “don’t call me that.”

“And, they’ve been best friends since they were little kids,” Minghao ignores your flustered expression, “I don’t think Mingyu really thinks about that sort of stuff. If he even thinks at all,” Minghao adds on, tapping his chin thoughtfully.

“Don’t be mean about Gyu,” you mumble, “he’s feeding me this entire week. I’m eating like a king here. This would be the perfect arrangement if it weren’t for the awkwardness.”

“You have nothing to be awkward about.” Minghao raises his eyebrows at you. “Except for horny crimes, perhaps.”

“Shut up,” you shove him. “This is my apartment this week. I can kick you out if I want.”

Minghao has perfected the art the eye roll and sarcastic tone of false dismay, you think, as he responds, “oh no, what will I do, being banished from Mingyu’s apartment for an entire week?”

You ignore him, because you don’t have a better response. “Anyways,” you flip through your homework, head completely empty of all thoughts of math, “even if that was true, the point still stands that I think Wonwoo feels way too awkward to engage in social interaction with me now. I mean, I almost saw his dick.”

“You sound disappointed–”

“Shut up, Minghao!”

You’re going to kill Mingyu, you really are. You know where he lives, you know what types of bugs he’s most afraid of, you know his class schedule. You’re going to end him. Because why in the world would he give you the keys to the apartment, and not his room?

(Maybe it was your fault that you didn’t notice the quiet click that sounded when the door closed behind you, or for forgetting your pajamas in your room on top of your laundry pile, or for turning Minghao down last year when he offered to teach you how to pick locks. But in your defense, it’s 2am and you’re exhausted after an 18-hour day of classes, office hours, study sessions, and homework.)

So here you are, cold and naked, wrapped in a wet towel that’s barely large enough to cover all the important parts, pacing back and forth in front of Mingyu’s room, cursing him internally. Maybe you can call Minghao, and assuming he doesn’t murder you through the phone screen for waking him up at 2am, ask him how to teach you how to pick a lock. Maybe you can call Mingyu, interrupt whatever anniversary sex he’s having all over your couch, and ask him to come over and unlock the door for you. You turn around, take one step toward the bathroom, and then you remember that your phone is in Mingyu’s room too.

“Ohh my god,” you moan to yourself, sinking to your knees in dismay. “Oh my god. God, fuck!”

As you wallow in your misery, you faintly register the sound of a mechanical keyboard clacking furiously through the paper-thin walls, and in a single moment of relief and dismay, you realize that there’s still another option for you.

Oh well. If Wonwoo is embarrassed that you saw him almost naked that first day, then you deserve some humiliation as well. Shoring up your courage, you pad down the hall toward Wonwoo’s floor, leaving damp footprints on the hardwood flooring, bite your lip, wrap the towel a bit tighter around yourself, and knock on his door.

You wait a moment, and when the keyboard sounds don’t let up, you knock a bit harder. “Wonwoo?” you call out, “um. Can you, uh, help me out real quick?”

The keyboard sounds stop. A few seconds later, the door opens and you’re met with Wonwoo, gaming headset around his neck, looking criminally good for someone dressed in a white tee shirt and sweats. He’s wearing glasses this time, and you can tell that he can actually see, because the moment he opens the door and registers what’s in front of him, he immediately slams the door shut.

You blink.

The door opens again, this time cracked open. Wonwoo peers around the edge, pointedly staring above your head. “Can I help you?”

“I’m so sorry,” you immediately blurt out, words rushing from your mouth in a mix of panic and embarrassment, “I should have warned you about the, uh, nakedness. But, I accidentally locked myself out of Mingyu’s room while I was taking a shower and I don’t have the key, and my phone is in my room, so can I borrow your phone to call Gyu and get him to come over to unlock the door?”

Wonwoo sighs. “Did he not give you–”

“No,” you finish, shivering, “he only gave me the apartment key, not the room key.”

Maybe Wonwoo takes pity on you. Or maybe you’ve somehow managed to seduce him despite looking like a drowned rat, because he opens the door wider and steps aside, wordlessly inviting you in.

He turns toward his dresser and busies himself for a few moments as you step onto the carpet of his room and look around. It’s dimly lit, with most of the light coming from the large double monitors and gaming computer setup at his desk in the corner of his room. There’s a bookshelf on the wall next to his bed, and you take a step forward and scan through the titles. That’s a lot of Jane Austen, you think to yourself.

“Here,” Wonwoo says, shaking you from your thoughts. He’s still furiously avoiding eye contact with you, electing instead to stare at the wall above your head. “You can change in here. I’ll call Mingyu.” He sets a neatly folded stack of clothes on top of his bed, and then, almost painfully, looks down just enough to make eye contact with you. “Uh, I’ll be just outside. Let me know if you need anything.”

Wonwoo escapes into the hallway, leaving you alone in his room. You let the towel drop to the floor and examine the clothes on the bed, flushing when you realize that on top of the stack is a pair of his boxers. But, you’re literally butt naked, and you’re literally a beggar who can’t be a chooser. You grit your teeth and step into his boxers and somehow manage to swim your limbs through all the correct openings of his sweats. They’re very large on you, but they’re warm and soft, and they smell nice. Warm, slightly spicy, a hint of floral fabric softener, and then you realize you’re sniffing Wonwoo’s sweatshirt like a freak and immediately drop the hem of the shirt. You adjust everything until you look as presentable as you can while wearing clothes two sizes too big for you, and you open the door to his bedroom and step into the living room.

Wonwoo is on the couch, frowning at his phone. He looks up and stares at you as you walk out, towel in hand.

“Did you manage to get a hold of Mingyu?” You nod your head at the phone in his hand.

“No,” he groans, tearing his eyes away from you to look back down at his phone screen. “I called him three times and texted him. He’s not picking up.”

“Let me call my roommate,” you say, taking a seat next to him. Wonwoo hands you his phone, once again looking at a spot vaguely above your head instead of directly at you.

You call your roommate. You text her. Then you call her again. And then you see the date on Wonwoo’s phone and realize that it’s already Thursday. “Oh no,” you say quietly, in despair, “it’s their anniversary already. Which means they’re probably both occupied.”

“At 3 in the morning?” Wonwoo raises his eyebrows incredulously as you hand his phone back to him.

“Yeah,” you say dejectedly, “my roommate said that she was planning on getting her back blown out for a full 24 hours.”

“Oh my god,” Wonwoo mutters quietly.

“Yeah, tell me about it,” you pick at a loose thread along the hem of Wonwoo’s sweatshirt. “It’s okay. Can I borrow your phone again in the morning? I can just call Minghao and ask him to come over and pick the lock. He’s done it before, and he wakes up really early to meditate or do yoga or something.”

This time, Wonwoo looks surprised. “In the morning?”

“I’ll watch Minghao and make sure he only picks Mingyu’s lock,” you quickly promise. “No weird stuff.”

“No, not that,” he shakes his head, “I trust Minghao. What are you going to do until morning, though?”

You shrug. “I’ll just sleep on the couch. I have lecture at 9.”

Wonwoo purses his lips, and then he says, haltingly, “do you want to sleep in my bed.”

“Huh?”

“I’ll take the couch,” Wonwoo says. “I have an extra blanket.”

“Oh, I can just take the blanket and sleep on the couch,” you say, standing as Wonwoo stands, but he only shakes his head and frowns.

“No, I can’t let you sleep on the couch. I mean, I think your night is going poorly enough,” he points out, and you laugh. The moment you laugh, Wonwoo grins, visibly relaxing the tension in his shoulders.

“Fair,” you concede. “Alright, I’ll sleep in your room, then. You’re the best, Wonwoo. I owe you.”

“It’s no big deal,” he shrugs. “I think Gyu is the one who owes us both. Why would he not give you the room key?”

“Dunno,” you follow Wonwoo to his room. “Head empty, no thoughts, I guess.”

Wonwoo leans over his desk and with a click of a keyboard shortcut, shuts down the monitor and puts the PC to sleep, dimming the glow of the keyboard and tower. The switch for the lights is here,” he says, pointing to a small box attached to the strip of LEDs along his walls. “Mind if I take a pillow?”

You take a seat on the edge of his bed. “Take whatever you need,” you say. “After all, you’re the one sleeping on the couch. And they say chivalry is dead,” you add, and Wonwoo’s lips curve up into a smile.

He grabs a pillow and an extra blanket, gives the room one last once-over, and wishes you a good night as he leaves his room. And as you settle into his bed, pulling his blankets up to our chin and inhaling his scent, you think, maybe cohabiting with Mingyu’s roommate isn’t so bad after all.

“Here, take this,” Seokmin shoves a shot glass into your hand, “drink up.”

You sniff the glass suspiciously. Wrinkling your nose, you look up at Seokmin. “Is this tequila?”

Seokmin nods. “A treat for the host,” he says without a single ounce of irony.

You and your roommate are hosting tonight. It’s not supposed to get too crazy, but your roommate and Mingyu are both social butterflies and somehow the apartment is filled with both friends and acquaintances that you barely know. Dance music fills the space, vibrating the walls, and it’s getting rowdy already. Your roommate giggles, accepting a matching shot from Seokmin.

“C’mon,” she nudges you, “didn’t you just spend all day finishing that essay? You deserve it.” Seokmin appears with the container of flaky salt that you keep in the kitchen cabinet for fancy desserts and a lime that you don’t remember buying.

You huff, because she’s right, you did spend the entire day agonizing over a comparative literature essay, and you do deserve to be drunk. “Fine,” you acquiesce, licking a stripe between your thumb and index finger because your roommate is already getting a pinch of salt ready.

You let her loop her arm around yours in a love shot. You lick the salt off your hand quickly, grimacing, and then you both tip back the glasses at the same time. You wince as you feel the alcohol burning down your throat.

“Lime,” you turn toward Seokmin, reaching out for the promised wedge, only to be met face to face with Wonwoo.

You blink at him, but he hands you the slice of lime, and automatically, you take the citrus and bite down into it, making a face at the acidity.

“Thought you’d be happier to see me,” Wonwoo laughs, pushing his hair back. He’s wearing a button up that accentuates the broadness of his shoulders, tucked into his jeans at his narrow hips. He looks criminally handsome, and you wonder why he spends so much time cooped up in his room when he looks like that.

“Oh my god,” you grimace, removing the lime wedge from your mouth, “I can’t be this drunk already. Am I seeing Jeon Wonwoo at a party?”

“It’s me, I’m real,” Wonwoo confirms. “I just got here.”

You look around for your roommate and Seokmin, but both of them are gone already, leaving you and Wonwoo standing in the corner alone. Looking back up at Wonwoo, you wave the fruit in your hand. “I am happy to see you, you can’t be judging me for the faces I make when I suck on a lime.”

“I know,” he grins.

“You never show up to these, though,” you say, “I thought you didn’t like parties.”

“I don’t,” he says, “but I wanted to see you.”

“Oh.” You feel yourself flush. You had thought that he’d never want to see you again after the painfully awkward events of the previous week, for which Minghao is still teasing you about and Mingyu is still guilty for. “Well I’m glad I didn’t scare you off.”

“I hope I didn’t scare you off,” he says, eyebrows raising. “I never apologized for that first time we met. It was… not ideal. But in my defense, I couldn’t see anything.”

“Hey, let’s not pretend I didn’t show up at your door mostly naked,” you laugh, leaning against the wall. Wonwoo laughs too, deep and quiet, and you’re suddenly struck with the urge to shift forward, to bring yourself closer to him.

“Um,” you purse your lips. “I know you just got here, but do you want to get out of here?”

Wonwoo grins at you. “I thought you’d never ask.”

#i wrote this all in one go in like 2 hours i feel insane this is not proofread sorry !!#I WILL BE BACK TO PROOFREAD THIS LATER!!!#wonwoo scenarios #wonwoo fluff #seventeen scenarios #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen #wonwoo #97.yn #97.writings

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foxymoxynoona · 2 years

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The Lowlander (Chapter One Preview on Tumblr)

(Banner & Line breaks by @awrkive)

The Lowlander (Complete)

Avvar Warrior Jungkook x Noble Halfelf OC

Summary: Out of the frying pan and into the fire: Marguerite is already used to life as a barely-tolerated outcast, being the elven daughter of an Orlesian noble, but after her travel party is attacked, she goes from one hostage situation to the next. Sure, her new "man" is brave and handsome and one of the best warriors in the Hold, but he's also hard-headed, impatient, and expects her to be the perfect Avvar woman. She refuses. She will not lose herself in this place. Anyway, she only has to endure him until she can figure out how to make her escape, or face an even worse evil at the end of a month...

CW: explicit sex, language, captor-captive trope & trope inversion, graphic violence, gore & grievous injuries, sexual assault, dub-con, power dynamics/imbalance, non-consensual touching, character death, murder, pregnancy loss & fertility issues, character death, period-typical sexism, loss of virginity, domestic violence, angst, fluff, smut, pining, depression, brief suicidal thoughts, hurt/comfort, really dark stressful times, loss, grief, drug use, alcohol use, religious themes, HAPPY ENDING THOUGH I swear

Read entire work on AO3 | Read Chapter One below

At first Marguerite didn’t move, not at the first scream. It was low and angry and someone was always yelling at someone else here. Even the second scream didn’t give her much concern because at least it meant the violence was focused on someone else for the time being. She shifted in her wooden cage, wincing as the rough bars tugged at her hair. She barely slept anymore, just dozed curled up in a ball in the corner, because falling asleep inevitably meant waking up with someone stroking her face, tugging at her clothes, or poking her with a sharp stick. And that was just the kids, before the adults ran them off, so they could douse her with freezing water, throw rancid food in for her to gag at, or drag her out for what she understood to be a ritual beating. Every day. When the sun was at its highest. Without fail.

Her ribs ached. Her lip was stiff and swollen. Her arms and legs were covered with the bloom of purple and brown bruises, the older ones even turning yellow. The scariest part honestly wasn’t the beating though, it was the order to the beating. There was process, intention, organization. They never beat her hard enough to break anything. They never caused her to lose consciousness. Just enough to make her cry, to make the ring of singing attendees cheer, and then she was doused with buckets of various things --herbs, seeds, hay, gravel, and water-- and dragged back to her cage. It was humiliating and terrifying and painful. But she wasn’t dead. The same couldn’t be said for anyone else taken from her travel party, those unfortunate enough not to just be killed instantly.

That they were counting down to something was obvious to Marguerite, though she didn’t know what. It confused and relieved her she hadn’t been raped or even molested, other than some wayward pinching. But the starving and beatings were enough, the jeering, the yelling strange words at her even though she was certain they spoke the common tongue same as her. Each day that passed in which she was only beaten, not killed, gave her more anxiety, not comfort. Something held them back, but she could see it in the way they stared at her, that whatever it was would not last forever. And she was afraid. And tired. And afraid. And hungry. And she just wanted to go home.

She’d grown familiar with most of her captors, at least by face. She didn’t know any names. The one who scared her most had long wild red hair and a jagged cut beneath his eye and he liked to hold her arm through the bars of the cage and stroke her hair so she couldn’t pull away. Sometimes he flicked his tongue at her, a filthy gesture that filled her with dread. Only once had he spoken common tongue to her.

“Go ahead, Lady. Piss yourself with fear. I like when my fuck smells like piss.”

“You’re vile,” she’d retorted without thinking of it. He’d thrown her across the cage; she’d gashed her forehead on a knot in one of the wood bars and then gone limp, pretending to be dead. It hadn’t fooled anyone.

All this was to say, Marguerite was miserable, and afraid, and a prisoner. So when the third shriek bled into a cacophony of shouts, she wasn’t sure whether it was a good thing or a bad thing. She stood in the cage, holding the wooden bars with trembling, frozen hands. Out of habit she glanced to the occupants of the other cages in the row but they were all empty. Everyone had died except her.

The attackers broke on the makeshift camp like a murderous wave. Marguerite watched with a detached horror as a spear of unfamiliar warriors shot straight through the camp, cutting down her captors left and right. Then the spear split, the warriors splintering out to take on the ones who lived here and all Marguerite could do was watch as blood sprayed, as shouts fractured into groans and silence. Bodies slammed back against her cage and she threw herself backwards, afraid of being injured and yet trapped.

Wait. But if she could get the cage open, now was the time to flee! She crawled around, searching for a body close enough for her to grab a weapon. The gate had a metal lock but the beams were held together by rough rope and maybe she could hack through it while no one paid her any attention. She jumped at the sound of stone and steel sparking against each other, at the sound of wood splintering under blunt force. She yelped as an arrow sliced through her cage, narrowly missing her and planting itself into a man on the other side.

Marguerite crawled lower, trying to ignore anything that wasn’t her own heart beating in her ears. She couldn’t be distracted. This was her chance. She grabbed the collar of a body she just could barely reach and dragged, grunting at the exertion. It worked, at least enough for her to grab a dagger still tucked into his chest belt. Only to drop it because her hands were shaking too much.

In trying to reach it again, she realized the red-head man had spotted her. He stood perfectly still and calm despite the whirl of battle around him. He grinned at her and stalked over, stabbing anyone who dared step in his way. When he reached the cage, he slammed the butt of his axe down on the lock twice to shatter it, and threw the cage door open.

“Leave me alone,” she pleaded.

He grinned, “No one to stop me now, girl. Let’s go.”

“No!”

He shrugged, his grin growing wider as he stepped in.

“Think I won’t fuck you right here? It’ll be all the sweeter with the smell of blood in the air.”

She tried to dart past him but of course he was too quick. He grabbed her throat and slammed her down to the ground. Her layers of skirts and petticoats were a bit of a deterrent, perhaps they even did more to protect her than her thrashing and clawing and screaming. He tried to drag them up, all the layers, without dropping his axe.

It was frustrating him, her fighting angered him. He dropped the axe and grabbed her shoulders, slamming her down so hard she briefly saw stars. Dazed, she looked to the side, to the eerie battle still raging just beyond the cage. The sun had only just come up. It was all so strange, how quickly the world had gone from night to red with blood and here she was just in the middle of it, helpless to stop this angry man from having his way with her.

Her gaze came back into focus, pausing briefly on a man who locked eyes with her. He’d frozen, or maybe she was disoriented. Whatever the truth, the moment of eye contact was enough to knock her back into herself.

The red-head man had succeeded in dragging her skirts up and was about to just rip clear through her pantaloons. She bucked beneath him, catching him off-guard. Not enough to toss him off, but enough to buy her a second. She shrieked and kicked her legs.

“Get off me! Go! Get off you disgusting, foul--” She broke off with an ear-splitting shriek when a sharp point suddenly bloomed from the man’s chest, stopping only a foot above her own. He looked with confusion down at it for a second, only to then spin.

The man she’d seen a moment ago, the one she’d made eye contact with, easily danced around the red-head man as he grabbed his axe. Marguerite threw herself backwards to get away from the clash of weapons in the small space, the red-head man still fighting on despite the spear skewed through his chest. It was horrifying. Blood streamed out, and her hands slipped on it, knocking her onto her back.

The new man gave the red-head man a bemused stare, then stepped forward, swung his own axe the opposite way, and cleaved the man’s head from his body like it was nothing.

Marguerite’s head swooned. She scrambled backwards, gagging and retching up sour bile as she rolled through the open gate of the cage and landed painfully on the cold stones below. She didn’t need to stick around to find out what this new man would do with the spoils of his battle.

But being outside of her cage meant now there was nothing at all protecting her from the furious conflict. She darted here and there, trying to remain out of the way, but weapons were flying, arrows zoomed by, heavy bodies stumbled and thudded, and the ground was littered with things to trip her up. She also didn’t know this place; she’d only been led routinely up and down a single path. She didn’t know where to go to escape. She couldn’t think or see clearly. All she knew was get away.

A heavy boot stomped on her. She yelped and rolled as the person continued to fall, a massive man who would have easily crushed her on impact if someone hadn’t grabbed her arm and dragged her up.

“Stay close,” the man from earlier told her, pressing her to his side.

“What?” The fact he spoke common tongue baffled her. The fact he’d followed her. Even his command. Suddenly he pushed her down, spinning around her and biting out with his axe. A second later she felt the spray of warm blood across her face and hands, which she’d covered her eyes with. She was going to die. There was no way she could survive this murderous chaos. The whistle of an arrow inches from her ear would have made her piss herself for real if she hadn’t been so dehydrated.

A grunt made her open her eyes again. The man wiped at his forehead, plastering his hair back with blood and sweat. His ponytail barely held his wild hair, and the blood dripping down from a gash on his crown mixed with the white and black paint decorating his skin, making him look wild and terrible. His eyes were opened wide, searching around for the nearest threat, thick eyebrows in a stern angle. His dark gaze found her. He had no facial hair, which surprised her among these people, making her briefly wonder his age.

His age didn’t matter. He clearly was a competent warrior, comfortable on the battlefield; in an instant he’d turned from her and carved through two more warriors like they were nothing, his axe flashing as if he merely danced. Their bodies fell without even a counter attack. He’d even stepped backwards, so then all he had to do was turn and grab her arm to drag her up.

For a moment he stared into her face, far too close for comfort, and yet… his eyes narrowed like he recognized her. Like he’d confirmed she was someone in particular, even though she was certain she’d never seen him in her life.

“You are ok?” he asked.

It was wild. It was the first humane question anyone had asked her since the she’d watched her travel party slaughtered as she was carried off by cruel, evil men. It was the first drop of compassion. And it broke her. Was this a good man? Had he come to save her? She grabbed hold of his vest and pulled herself against his chest, desperate to believe there could be an end in sight to her torment.

“Save me,” she pleaded. “Take me home. Please. Please. ”

His arm wrapped suddenly around her, yanking her around as he lifted his axe and grunted at the effort of keeping the incoming strike away from her. She cried out and buried her face against the leather and furs on his chest. When his hand pressed to her head, holding her there, she felt the briefest moment of… relief. Someone strong had her, someone who had not yet hurt her, someone who was killing those evil men. His paint was scary but maybe it was a nice man under it, maybe not even a man much older than her. It was over.

He dragged her away from his chest, and panic replaced the momentary relief, panic he was about to push her away. Maybe she’d misjudged him. Maybe it was only instinct that had made him protect her but he was repulsed by her clinginess.

But the look he gave her was so strange. For a moment, his gaze overpowered all the chaos, his eyes looked so impossibly large and deep and gentle that it completely disarmed her. She’d managed to shock him, that much was clear, and it shocked her that a fierce warrior like this could be shocked.

Just as quickly the look passed. His face hardened and he gripped her arm, dragging her along. She barely felt his touch though, tossed now back into awareness of what felt like the final minutes of the attack. Only a handful of warriors still clashed. She watched as one of her captors suddenly dashed his axe across his own throw, blood fountaining out as he slid to his knees. She gasped and leapt closer to the warrior she’d attached herself to, but it made her stumble. He wrenched her back to her feet and kept her moving but it hurt her arm.

“You’re hurting me.”

“Be silent,” he told her, his voice sharp in a way that made her sulk. So much for the hero, talking to a lady like that…

He dragged her away from the camp, to where many of the people he’d arrived with were cleaning weapons and inspecting wounds. He shoved her forward, pushing her down to the ground next to several bound men from the tribe that had held her. One hissed and snapped at her and she yelped and shuffled backwards away from him; one of the new warriors swiftly kicked him in the ribs. Before she could thank him though she saw his gaze, the gleam in his eye as it raked over her.

These men too spoke the common tongue, they must, because her savior had used it. But it was another language they spoke to each other now, a half dozen fo them suddenly animatedly talking about her. One held up a length of rope, another raised his axe, and while she didn’t understand she could sure make some guesses what they were arguing about. A man behind her grabbed her arm and lifted her clear off the ground, pressing his face close to her face and breathing heavily. When she yelped and struggled and kicked him, he laughed and dropped her roughly back to the ground.

Desperately she looked around for the man who’d saved her, eager for his protection once again. The other men weren’t all like him, she understood now. Maybe they were just as bad as the first tribe. Winning didn’t make you kind or good. But he, he was different, right? He’d saved her. He had kind eyes. He was easy to pick out, his hair dark while so many others either had lighter hair or had painted over their dark hair. He hadn’t painted his hair, but slicked it back again now, trying to tuck it back into the leather strap it refused to be held by. It wasn’t quite long enough, she realized, which would have been humanizing, if he didn’t look otherwise so… serious. Unconcerned with her. Focused only on the battle.

Questions were asked of him that he answered shortly, and when someone pointed at her, he only flicked his hand in her direction. The dismissal was clear. She protested but there was nothing else he’d do for her, he didn’t even look at her again as a man grabbed her and tossed her over the back of a horse. She tried to wriggle into a better position, one that didn’t make it hard to breathe, but they’d already begun walking, even though the clashing had just finished and people were still picking through the camp.

It was destroyed, she realized with a start. She’d thought her captors cruel and invincible, but they’d been carved up like a turkey. She stared at the place, watching as a few fires were put out, the smoke curling up to the sky. Bodies were left where they’d fallen, except for a few which must belong to this new tribe; some men remained behind, carefully wrapping them onto boards. Meanwhile the hostages taken alive were tied and dragged behind the horses, expected to walk or let the skin be torn from their asses.

There was no guarantee these new captors were better. Whatever brief hope she’d placed in her savior was quickly buried by the familiar, hungry looks men gave her as they mounted horses and rode around her. It was all the same to her. She wouldn’t know they were any different if she hadn’t seen them killing the other men. Those men had beaten but not raped her. Would that be different now? A new tribe, new rules, new dangers. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t do this anymore.

There wasn’t a good moment so she just went for it. She slid from the horse, but the impact of landing on her feet was harder than she expected and she fell on her ass. Still reeling, she leapt up and took off at a sprint.

Comically fast, she was lifted from her feet by a rider.

“Bad girl,” this new man told her, giving her a broad grin. “Do not run.”

“Let me go.”

“Scarier things than us out there.”

“There’s nothing scarier than barbarians,” she argued, only to gasp when he shook her. He just dangled her above the ground with one arm like she weighed nothing.

“Yes,” he told her, chuckling. “Angry barbarians. Be good or I break your legs.”

She went silent, only to whimper when he dragged her sideways into his lap. That was not where she wanted to be, his arms wrapped around her as he held the reins of his horse. Another man said said something to this man that made him laugh and pat her ass. She glared but figured it had little threat behind it. She was helpless. She was always so helpless.

Turning away with shame, she saw the man with the dark ponytail again. He stared at her a moment, then turned his horse and rode ahead, finished with her.

Marguerite cried silent tears as she was simply transported from one captivity to another.

Read entire work on AO3 | | Multi-Story Series Masterlist

#jungkook ff #jeon jungkook x oc #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts fantasy au #bts fanfiction #bts ff #warrior jungkook #jungkook x oc #bangtan smut #bts smut #jungkook angst #jungkook fantasy au #jungkook fluff #jungkook/oc #fighter jungkook

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