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taeescript · 3 years

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29 + 1 (Part Two)

𝔰𝔶𝔫𝔬𝔭𝔰𝔦𝔰: In which Seokjin is the Devil from The Devil Wears Prada, Taehyung is your work Jesus and Jimin is your handsome successful brother.

𝔭𝔞𝔦𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: seokjin x reader (squint harder than before for taehyung x reader)

𝔤𝔢𝔫𝔯𝔢: slice of life; ceo!seokjin; a dash of enemies to lovers au

𝔴𝔠: 7.6k

𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: language; a plethora of drunk people, maybe a sext, and a ton of lying (possible implication of impending smut?!)

𝔞/𝔫: this part came out longer than i thought it would be but *shrugs* feedback and thoughts always welcomed. enjoy (: 𝔡𝔦𝔰𝔠𝔩𝔞𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯: DailyHive is real; this is not associated with it

part one || part three

The bright pop music that is blaring from the speakers does little to slow your animated talking. Bodies are packed into the small local bar, and students on summer break fill booths and form a snake of impatient, drunk (and horny) people. A slow trickle of the brazen has started to fill the dance floor as the evening morphs into the night.

You whip your hair into a ponytail and dab at the sweat that is beading your forehead. You definitely should have worn that sleeveless top rather than this thicker t-shirt dress.

“So, is he like your sugar daddy or something?” Taehyung asks, “Also drink.”

Friday nights were usually spent at home, snuggled under the blankets in your pjs binging another rewatch of Friends. After work today, you could no longer hold onto your secret and invited Taehyung out for drinks. His girlfriend, Fei, was supposed to join but had been held back for overtime.

You tip the shot back with no chase.

“You’re a monster,” he comments as he bites into his lemon piece.

The two of you had made a bet at the beginning of the evening: you each chose a pop song and each time it played, the nominee had to take a shot. That was your fourth of the night, and to say there was a bit of a buzz is an understatement.

“It’s all throat technique, Tae,” you say with a bit of a slur, “Hit the back and swallow. No innuendo intended. Also, why the hell haven’t you had any to drink?”

“You picked ‘Peaches’ for fuck’s sake.”

“I told you I don’t listen to pop music. It was the first one playing.”

“And shouldn’t that have told you something? Justin Bieber of all people?”

“Shut up. It’s your song.” You nod at the pink-faced barista for another round. She slaps your order in front of the two of you without so much a glance.

You don’t even know what song is playing, but you feel quite satisfied watching Taehyung make a face as he downs it in one go.

He clears his throat after the liquor has burned its way down to his stomach. “Back to my question: is he your sugar daddy?”

You bark out a laugh. Was he? Perhaps the fact that he paid for fancy meals at lunch? Those have been his one o’clock meetings for the past two months.

“I don’t know. I’d rather he buy me a car or pay my rent if anything. A casual 1k a week wouldn’t be so bad either. We just sit in his office and eat in secret, Tae. He’s ‘training me in the art of culinary cuisine’. I think it’s just so I don’t embarrass him by stuffing a shrimp cocktail up my nose.”

“You do know – ”

“Yes, I know. And I would never. It’s a metaphor. It’s just that the position ‘intern’ is quite loosely defined at DailyHive, don’t you think?”

Taehyung rinses his mouth with water before speaking. “So let me get this right. Mr. Kim calls you into his office, says he’s going to take you as his guest to the biggest tech event of the year, treats you to lunches and doesn’t ask for anything in return? No secret midnight meetups or shady business deals…”

You shake your head.

“Damn,” Taehyung says, resting his arm on the bar table, “Forget sugar daddy. He’s just daddy.”

Sticking your tongue out, you gag visibly at his comment. “Do not ever call him that again, Tae; ev-er.”

He laughs and watches you pensively. After a moment’s thought, he says, “Nobody has ever called me Tae.”

“What do they call you then?” you reply, wrinkling your brows together. A cute brunette across the room catches your eyes and for the briefest of seconds, you wonder what a one-night-stand would feel like.

He shrugs. “Just Taehyung.”

The brunette waves in your direction. You are about to return his wave when an equally cute brunette runs up to him. He promptly kisses her before swivelling her around to join his group of friends.

“Sorry. Do you want me to stop? I just assumed since we were out of the office…”

Oh Fate, how cruel you are. Life of twenty cats and solidarity, here you come. Maybe dogs. You feel like you could be more of a dog person.

“No,” he stops you, “You can call me Tae. Whatever you want.”

You turn your attention back on the also cute brunette in front of you. In all honestly, despite his youthful god-like countenance, he looks slightly out of place at this college bar with you in his upstanding business attire and dorkishly adorable thick-framed glasses.

“Sure. How about Tee-Tee? Or Hyungie? The TaeMan?” You wiggle your brows with the suggestion.

“God help me.”

The two of you clink your shot glasses together even though neither of your songs are being played.

His Apple watch lights up to indicate an incoming message. He relays the text to you, “Fei’s done work. She’s on her way now.” You can’t help but notice a shift in his previously excited demeanor.

You nudge him with your elbow. “Aren’t you excited? She’ll need a glass of wine or two to destress after work. I might be projecting onto you for this part, but you’re buzzed. So after we get her to unwind I’m sure the overwhelming power of pheromones will get you lucky tonight.” You wink at him to emphasize your point.

“She’s not a big drinker. She’s probably just going to come and ask to leave in five minutes. Bars like this aren’t really her thing either,” he states. He then unbuckles his watch and tucks it away into the pocket of his pants. Undoing the cuffs of his shirt, he rolls up the sleeves and continues to regard you solemnly. “Okay, next round is one me. Are you absolutely sure you don’t want to switch songs?”

You notice how nice, long, and slender his fingers are. Plus the thing of girls liking when men have visible veins on their forearm? That had never really caught your attention until now.

“She’s a bit of a bitch,” you say and immediately regret, “Shit, sorry. That just slipped out. Alcohol.”

He offers you his water to drink.

“I mean, she’s a little…uptight at times? But people can be completely different in and out of work. I can only imagine how stressful it is in her position. Working overtime until 9pm on a Saturday night seriously sucks,” you say to try and mend your wrongdoing.

“Fei in the office is basically Fei at home,” he says softly, “It’s always work with her.”

“We support career-driven women, yeah?” A smile is offered from you to him.

He finally lets out a small one and nods. Out of the blue, he reaches over and covers your hand with his. Staring intently into your eyes, he says, “I know she makes you do her reports and occupies your time to do her coffee runs as well. You can say no to her. She may be my girlfriend, but you’re technically my intern, and I will stand on your side no matter what.”

“Um, okay. Thanks, Tae,” you say. His sincerity has caught you off guard.

At that moment, the sound of clicking heels pierce its way into your eardrums through the noise of the even busier bar. Taehyung quickly retracts his hand.

Fei arrives, not a hair out of place in her tightly pulled bun. Her lips are painted a striking red against the paleness of her skin, and her manicured nails dig into the forearm of Taehyung when she reaches them. Even though she is wearing an otherwise drab office business suit, the curvature of her body draws quite a few glances from the younger men in the crowd.

“It’s like a zoo here,” she sneers, turning away from a sacrificial lamb who had been bold enough step out of his circle of friends to greet her with a sleezy “hey”.

“Hi, Fei. Busy night?” you greet her first.

She gives you a tight-lipped smile. “Yes. I don’t know why you weren’t there. Isn’t it the intern’s job to complete reports?”

Again, a loosely defined use of “intern” at DailyHive.

You return her smile with a crisp one of your own.

She turns away from you and regards Taehyung, who looks as if he had been the sacrificial lamb instead. “Teddybear, let’s go home. You know this type of place isn’t my vibe. I’m getting a headache already.”

You raise an eyebrow at his pet name.

He turns a little bit pinker, if that is possible under the current alcohol-induced glow of his cheeks, and says, “Um, sure. Y/N, are you going to be okay getting home?”

Waving him off, you show him your phone. “30% left. I’ve got pepper spray in my bag and enough booze in me to not run from a fight. I’ll call an Uber home soon, don’t worry.”

Fei has already begun to fight her way through the squirming, dancing bodies. Taehyung glances quickly at her and turns back to you once last time. “Text me that you’re home safe.”

“Will do, boss,” you smile at him warmly.

He lingers for just a moment more before running after his impatiently waiting girlfriend.

You turn back to the bar and order another beer for yourself. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is perhaps the biggest perk of being single.

...

On the opposite side of town, sinking deeply into a soft lounge chair is Seokjin enjoying a rare evening out with his best friend. He has swapped his usual attire for a more relaxed fit of a white oversized crewneck and techwear bottoms. A heavy, exorbitant fur-lined long leather coat hangs on the coat rack beside the door to their private VVIP room. He swirls his glass of Chateau Lafite before sipping delicately.

Outside, only a handful of patrons sit quietly engrossed in their own conversations. It is a relatively empty night at the high-end lounge. A lady sings sultrily on stage with the smooth background of a saxophone as accompaniment.

Junho has poured himself another glass while he is talking to Seokjin. Seokjin had since slightly tuned out his friend’s rather elongated rendition of another celebrity sighting to occupy his mind with another individual.

“Earth to Jin? When did you get so lightweight since I’ve been gone?” Junho waves a hand in front of Seokjin’s nose.

Seokjin blinks to refocus.

“The mansion I bought last year or the one I bought last month?” he reiterates. Sensing that Seokjin truly had no idea what the topic at hand had been, he tries again.

“Where should I do my birthday party this year, man? I thought the mansion from last year since it’s closer to the city, but I feel like it’s been reused too many times. It’s not completely furnished yet, but the property I got last month is significantly bigger and I can probably host more people.”

“The new place then,” Seokjin answers half-heartedly.

Junho grumbles something intelligible.

“What did you say?”

“Nothing,” Junho sighs, “Tell me what’s new with you. How’s that little project of yours going? I still can’t believe you won’t let me know who you’re planning to take to the Gala.”

Seokjin had refused to release even the slightest detail about you to Junho. Letting him know that Seokjin had agreed to one of his plans would be enough to inflate Junho’s ego for at least a little while.

“It’s been going...”

Junho waits for more of Seokjin’s answer, but his friend’s attention has been turned to a received text.

10:17pm “Safe and sound, Teddy Bear.”

10:17pm “Or should I say Taeddybear? 🥴”

10:18pm “That last beer done me rael godo.”

10:18pm “Real good**”

Seokjin raises a brow at the unknown number. He responds back.

10:18pm “Who is this? I think you’ve got the wrong number.”

Junho crosses his legs and sits back with a sigh. He presses the button to request for an attendant.

10:19pm “You know who… Anyways, I just wanted to say thank you for saying you’ve got my back. It’s definitely appreciated.”

The response doesn’t do much except to further pique Seokjin’s curiosity.

“Sorry,” he says, sliding his phone back into his pocket, “Rogue text I think.”

Junho shrugs. “Is that right? Seems to have caught your attention.” There is now a manner of indifference to his voice.

“It’s going well, by the way – answering your question. I mean, all things considered. It’s not like I have to teach her how not to stuff a cocktail shrimp up your nose.”

His friend snorts. “I’d be concerned and against this person if it’s who you’re planning to bring.”

Seokjin’s phone buzzes again.

10:21pm “Pray for me when I wake up with the worst hangover of my life. I’m going to bed now.”

A moment of silence.

10:21pm “I hope I didn’t piss off Fei tonight for stealing you for the evening.”

10:22pm “Okay I’ll shut up now. Please don’t tell me you’re reading this. You should be getting some 😼💦.”

The emoji makes Seokjin choke, liquid sputtering from his lips.

Junho cusses. He angrily dabs at the speckle of red wine that has landed on his pearly white top.

10:23pm Download attached image. “Just in case, here’s a little something to get the night started 😉”

“What the hell man?” Junho gets up and makes his way to the bathroom. Luckily, the previously called attendant had arrived in time to escort him.

Seokjin barely notices that he is alone in room as he taps the download button. It isn’t until he has returned home and is looking at the picture one last time before bed that he realizes who his mysterious texter is.

The employee nametag clipped to the collar of your workday shirt hanging on the arm of a chair can only be found when zoomed in past your painted toes and naked feet.

...

You cannot hide your nervousness when you arrive at your “lunch meeting” the following Monday morning. All weekend, you had cursed yourself for not better checking who the recipient of your texts were before pressing send. Never had you thought that in your drunken stupor you would mix up “The Devil” in your contact list with “Taehyung Kim.” Curse you and your lack of friends beginning with the letter “T”.

You balk before, a hand poised in perfect position for a knock. Maybe he didn’t download it? And even if he did, it was just a troll feet pic. You had made sure that it was as pg-13 as possible before you had sent it.

“Hi,” you greet sheepishly when he has given you the go to enter.

In a smart plain blue button-up and round frames that are almost certainly for the aesthetics, the CEO of the company and your boss sizes you up and down.

“I know we’ve gotten to know each other better these past few weeks. But you’d think it’s still common courtesy to at least make eye contact,” he says. You look at him wide eyed without a word.

He rolls his eyes but does not gesture to your usual seat. In fact, you don’t spy a take-out container in sight. He instead stands up and picks up his phone, walking to the door. He notices you have yet to move.

“Let’s get moving. You’ve only got a 45 minute lunch.”

You scramble to match his speed and catch Taehyung’s eye as you grab your jacket at your desk. Taehyung’s gaze follows you as you hurry to leave in pursuit of Seokjin’s coattail.

...

The restaurant is a popular vegan establishment with a plethora of greenery crawling up its high ceilings and a window-framed overview of the city’s skyline. Waiters and waitresses who may just as well be walking New York Fashion Week serve you brunch mimosas on a golden plate; they attentively wait to the side in case you ever run out of water.

Common topics are rare between the two of you. Initially, you respectfully kept quiet and only answered questions when asked, but you have never been one for awkward silence. Yes, it’s awkward only if you make it awkward; there is just no denying the hanging suspense that curls your toes each time. Recently, you have started with simple inquiries regarding the company, who they might meet at the Gala and everyday mundane topics.

“You’re probably wondering why we’re out of the office,” Seokjin says. He continues shortly after taking a bite of his meal and ignores the look of your surprise at his initiation of a conversation. “My office has been getting stuffy with the warmer weather so I thought it’d be nice to get some fresh air. How’s the food?”

You nod, making small sounds of contentment as you chew on the Avocado Lime Tartare. Mmm… tart-y.

He takes a deep breath in, stalling the incoming conversation. “It’s my friend’s birthday this next weekend.”

“Oh,” you say, “Happy early birthday to him.”

“He’s my best friend.”

“Well… An extra happy early birthday to him.”

A sigh. “Are you free next weekend?”

Your chewing comes to a halt and you blink once at his question. Next weekend is the weekend before the Silver Gala. It is also the sole weekend before your birthday the following Friday after the Gala. You had hoped to spend it with Taehyung and maybe even Jimin who had promised to be in town on a long overdue vacation despite your chastising to visit your parents first.

He senses your trepidation. Quickly, he explains himself,

“He’s having a birthday party Saturday night. He has a place about an hour north of here. I can have somebody pick you up if that’s more convenient. I don’t have a birthday present for him and thought it’d be nice for you to meet him.”

“You’re giving him me for a present?” you ask, incredulously.

He bites his tongue. He never anticipated how awkward this conversation could go.

“You’re going as my plus one. He really wants to meet you; in fact, he insisted that you be there. He’ll be at the gala too. I have something else planned for his birthday present,” he adds hastily, “Besides, you’re less than qualified as a present.”

Musing silently to yourself, you wonder if in any situation should a human be qualified as a present. Despite that, you hate yourself as you agree on the spot.

The rest of the lunch passes by quickly in dull silence. As Seokjin pays for the meal on the company card (and hands you the receipt for reimbursement), you note that there has been no comment made on any strange photos texted to him over the weekend.

Perhaps being nonchalantly implied as a human birthday gift to a stranger is your karma for sending weird texts to your boss.

Seokjin stays inside the car as he drops you off at the office after lunch, already preparing for his next business meeting. You nod your goodbye and step onto the pavement through the courteously held open door of the limousine.

“Y/N, try a soft pink. Fuchsia is not your colour,” he tells you as the door is closed.

He then leaves you standing in front of the large office doors, staring at your chipped, week-old purple toenails.

...

“I’m not exactly expecting a package in the mail or a dress laid out on the hotel bed – ”

“You guys are staying at a hotel?” Taehyung says over the phone.

You are standing in your bedroom, an hour before when Seokjin is supposed to pick you up as an offering to his best friend. There are two dresses laid out on your Hello Kitty bed covers: a simple black dress you had worn once when you were a little bit more in shape and your prom dress.

“No, I’m at home. But I mean, let me play into this movie metaphor.”

“You suck at metaphors.”

You have your phone propped up on some pillows so that you can see Taehyung as you debate your fashion decision. He is in a relaxed white tee, hair messily framing his face after a shower and a bowl of popcorn in his hands. You watch as a droplet of water runs down his face from his still-wet hair. He nonchalantly licks it off from the side of his mouth.

“As I was saying, it wouldn’t hurt to get me something. He made it seem like it was a big deal. Like doesn’t the male lead usually surprise the female lead with a big bouquet of flowers and this over-the-top expensive dress which she wears and makes the male lead fall head over heels in love with her?”

He chews silently on a kernel then probes, “You want Mr. Kim to fall in love with you?”

“No,” you hastily correct, “It’s a metaphor. I think you’re the one who sucks at metaphors.”

There is a beep on your phone to indicate you have another incoming call.

“Tae, I’m going to have to call you back. My brother’s calling me,” you tell him. The black dress; your old prom dress is way too early 2000s. Black never hurts.

“Okay. Have fun tonight. Pretend that it’s your birthday party. And then I’ll meet you for brunch tomorrow, my treat? You can tell me all about it,” he says. “Also the black. You look cute in that one.”

“My party if I was 30, rich and successful. Oh wait, I’ll have one thing in common soon; that’s a start. Thanks though. I’ll call you tomorrow morning once I get up,” you say, then switch the call over to your brother. You had missed the flush of his cheeks as you busily swipe your phone.

Sticking the prom dress back into your closet, you rummage around the meager display of shoeboxes for a pair of high heels.

“Hey, Jimin,” you greet over the phone.

“Jesus, I do not need to be accosted by my half-naked sister,” he yells over the phone.

You turn rapidly, seeing that you had accidentally continued a video call from when you had hung up on Taehyung. You throw a pillow over the camera in your haste to cover yourself up.

“I was going to ask why you’re dressed like that but on second thought, I think I’ll leave your sexual exploits as your own secret.”

Despite how disturbed you feel about this comment, his cheerful voice makes you smile.

“So little sis, the weekend before the big three-oh!”

“Please stop reminding me.”

“Where do you want to meet tonight? I just got off the plane, but I can be ready to meet in about an hour. I booked a hotel close to the airport.”

Shit. You forgot to tell Jimin. These heels will have to do.

“Um… I, uh…”

“What?”

You clear your throat and begin to undress in front of the mirror. You have a sudden conscious thought that the dusty treadmill in your living room seems to be staring daggers at your back.

“I’ve got plans tonight.”

“Plans? I wasn’t even aware you had friends here.”

“Ouch, Jimin. But yes, I have friends. In fact, I am meeting a friend for brunch tomorrow if you want to join. I’m sure he’ll be okay with it.”

“He?” Jimin repeats, “Should I put on my big brother boxing gloves? Give him a good talking to in case he’s interested in my baby sister?” Pause. “Was that who you were calling before?”

You bite your answer back, not feeling the need to go down that rabbit hole.

“He’s just a friend; A co-worker really,” you say, “He’s also unavailable. And before you suggest anything, his goalkeeper is technically one of my bosses so I do not want to try and shoot past her thank you very much.”

Jimin laughs. “I wasn’t going to suggest anything. Well if you’re busy tonight, tomorrow morning works for me. Give me a call. I’ll spend the night in watching some good ol’ Netflix and enjoy this vacation time.”

“Sorry again,” you apologize.

“Go out and have fun,” he says, “You deserve it.”

The two of you finish off the call with the usual goodbyes. You have forty-five minutes to dress the part of a sparkly birthday surprise for the co-founder of the company you work for. Throwing on your favourite throwback music, you get to work.

Once satisfied, you snap a picture and sending it to Taehyung making special care that you have picked the right individual this time.

...

The mansion is bigger than you could have ever imagined, and the amount of people present are…

“You’re telling me I can do whatever I want tonight,” you ask Seokjin in the car.

There is no denying that Seokjin knows how to dress for an event. In a velvety black and white suit, contrasted by his blonde hair which he has elected to temporarily dye for the evening, he looks very much the posh CEO magazines brand him out to be. You are glad you elected for the simple black dress as standing beside this Renaissance statue in a floral pastel yellow dress would be like planting dandelions in Kanye’s sculpture garden (if he ever wanted one).

“The majority of people won’t recognize you after tonight. They’ll also be too drunk to even register anything you tell them,” Seokjin says.

He cannot believe that you chose a simple black dress. Did you really not own anything remotely feminine besides the most generic clubbing outfit? Even if you had wanted to make an appearance as a hooker, at least make it an expensive-looking one. Maybe he should have bought you that Versace dress he spotted in the window the other day. Instead…

“Take this. Your earrings are too gaudy for this event.”

You touch the sparkly black cats you have put into your ears. Their eyes are made of crystal, and you thought it looked quite fetching in the light. Opening up the box, you see a dainty elegant pair of teardrop earrings that may or may not be of real diamonds.

“Only Junho will know who you really are and then you can enjoy the rest of your night. I don’t want you to feel like you’re being held here against your will.”

Putting them on, you note that even this simple change in attire has elevated the entirety of your presence. You felt as luxurious as this gift.

“Thanks, Seokjin,” you try the first name basis he had insisted upon for this evening, “Not going to lie, I had imagined that maybe you’d send me a dress in the mail or something, but this is still very nice.”

He snorts and rolls his eyes. “Like in the movies? Please, I run a start-up company. I’m not a millionaire and I don’t think you would appreciate my handouts.”

You don’t respond, making your second note of the night on the Prada label on the cuff of his suit. “To clarify, I don’t introduce myself as your plus-one tonight.”

“No. I don’t want you associated with me,” he curtly states. He watches as your smirk twitches and he hits himself mentally in the head again. “It’s to protect you. There are bound to be tons of paparazzi tonight at a party as big as this. I don’t want you to find yourself in the tabloids tomorrow morning. Just be smart.”

The car pulls to a stop after inching its way up to the front door. People mill about outside in extravagant brands, holding glasses of champagne. The man of the hour is somewhere inside the building, charming his way into new business deals as well as making new friends.

“Stay close to me. You can leave after we meet Junho. It is his birthday after all,” Seokjin offers a hand as you step out of the car.

You take it, looping yourself into him so that your hand rests on his forearm. You are only 13 days younger than Junho, and yet this striking contrast in lifestyle hits you like a landslide while the two of you walk up the stairs and into the mansion.

Inside, it is dim with disco lights flashing to the beat of amped party music. Upon entrance, the two of you are offered glasses of liquor (you take a swirling iridescent drink) to which you are then ushered to where the birthday boy lounges.

Junho has an even more youthful face than Seokjin does. Where Seokjin’s features exude class and charm, Junho appears mischievous and looks to have stepped out of every girl’s bad boy dream.

You stop Seokjin with a tug and make him look at you. “Tell me: do I look like a passable birthday offering?”

Seokjin rolls his eyes and pulls you along with him.

“Jin!” Junho hollers loudly across the room when spotting his oldest friend. There is a doll-like female magnetized to his side. “This is Clara, my date for the evening.”

Seokjin shakes her hand and greets them. The female cannot seem to pry her eyes away from this handsome new stranger. He introduces himself chivalrously to her as Junho sides up to you and grips your hands in his. His breath smells strongly of mixed drinks, and you know that in about fifteen minutes the entire night will be a blur for him.

“You must be Y/N!” he says excitedly, “Jin didn’t tell me that you were coming! What a surprise!”

“I am,” you greet back with a large smile. “Although I’m also surprised. Seokjin told me that you had insisted I came.”

Seokjin grits his teeth, annoyed at Junho. Would he ever learn when to keep his big mouth closed?

Laughing loudly, Junho grabs two drinks just as a waiter passes by and hands them to you. “Insist might be a strong word,” he says, drilling another hole unknowingly, “I honestly thought I’d have to play part-time wingman tonight. But I’m glad he’s got someone by his side.” He jabs you a little too hard in the ribs. “Next week’s gala is going to be fun! Okay, now there’s only one rule tonight: there are no rules!”

The four of you clink your glasses together, while you do your best to hide an embarrassed smile on behalf of the birthday boy.

“You bet I’m going around as your trophy wife tonight,” you whisper in Seokjin’s ear when Junho looks away.

He whirls around to look at you, the tip of both your noses impossibly close together. He can taste the acidity of the wine when you breath out with a wicked smile. He barely has time to stop you as you peel yourself away to mingle with the crowds.

Seokjin is about to follow you but Junho pulls him away, flamboyantly introducing his handsome best friend to a group of international models. He turns on his brightest smile, but his heart thunders in his chest at you calling yourself his wife.

...

You twirl around in your dress, nobody noticing the small splash of champagne on the front of it in the quickly changing lights.

“He bought this for me last week. Says it reminds him of the first night we met. Our eyes met across the waters in Tuscany where he was on a business trip. I’ll let you on a little secret, but I was his mistress for a little while.”

Seokjin cannot make out the words you are saying to a small but growing group of people around you. He stands across from Junho, but looks over the latter’s shoulders to watch as you do another spin.

“A little while, Charlotte? Are you still his mistress?” an older lady with an exuberant amount of jewels hanging off her body whispers with a keen interest in your expertly spun story.

Charlotte Dior Laurent, an identity you are pretty sure is an amalgamation of French brands from the top of your mind. You continue to personify this character however.

“Don’t worry. He’s left her since. I know I know, my friends all say the same. ‘He’s already been divorced three times. How can you be sure he won’t leave you?’”

At this point, you are in way over your head at having told this story to at least two other groups and a multitude of other renditions to whomever you have met tonight. But there is something powerful about liquid courage as it courses through your body.

The lady lays a hand on your arm. “I don’t want your heart to break. You are still young.”

Looking up between the heads of your audience, you catch Seokjin’s eyes. They are fiery and it sends a strange sensation up your toes to your abdomen. You give a titillating wave at him in which he does not return.

“He says I’m special and different. How can you say no to that?” you exclaim with exasperation, fully committing to the poor damsel just oh-so in love.

There is a look of genuine concern on the lady’s face at your statement.

Before you can dig yourself a deeper hole, you place your empty glass on the table and excuse yourself. You do not know if it’s the drinking on a relatively empty stomach or if the room is really much warmer due to the multitude of bodies, but you head out to the balcony.

On your way out, you notice that the clock reads twenty minutes past midnight. This gives you a shock at how fast time has passed. Perhaps you should go find Seokjin if you are to get a decent amount of sleep before meeting with Taehyung and Jimin tomorrow. Speaking of Taehyung…

You pull out your phone and see that there are two unread messages. The first is from Jimin, confirming that he is indeed invited to brunch tomorrow morning. The second is a response from Taehyung.

11:09pm “Wow. You have me a little lost for words. I had imagined you’d look nice in the dress but… You really are beautiful.”

Smiling, you type in your response.

12:21am “Thanks, Tae. You’re up late.” You take a picture of the earrings Seokjin had gifted you and attach it to the message. “What do you think of these?”

Barely have you returned your phone into your bag when it buzzes again. This time you receive an attached image. Taehyung seems to be sitting in front of a monitor, as his face glows with a blue light and contorted into a pensive furrow of his brows.

12:21am “A little different from your usual style. Are they new? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear those.”

12:21am “Fei’s out with some friends tonight. She likes when I wait for her to come back before I sleep. To make sure she’s safe, I guess.”

12:22am “Pooey. I should’ve brought you as my plus-one 😩. Also, Seokjin bought them for me for tonight. He says my other earrings are too gaudy.”

12:24am “First name basis 🙃”

12:25am “How is your night going? Having fun?”

You are about give Taehyung a call for a detailed recounting of tonight’s escapades when someone speaks out from within the shadows.

“A penny for your thoughts?” He walks into the moonlight. You flush, meeting the eyes of this particularly dashing gentleman, the phonecall immediately forgotten.

Oh, Alcohol, you make even the smartest of people do dumb shit. And right now, your effects are even worse on this idiot.

Your mouth hangs slightly open as you watch him puff out smoke from his cigar and offer it to you. He brushes up beside you, his fingers trailing up your hand which grips the balcony. You cannot seem to break away from his gaze.

“Lung cancer has an increasing incidence rate particularly for females due to smoking. Are you sure you want to be condoning this type of behaviour?” Seokjin interjects himself between you and your Tuxedo Mask, pushing the outstretched cigar back towards its owner.

There is a small stare down amongst the two men before the latter quietly exits the stage. Your eyes continue to linger on him even as he walks towards another female alone in the night enjoying the outdoor breeze.

“You’ve just ruined by chance. I could have seduced then blackmailed him with the story of his illegitimate child to play Black Widow,” you whine.

Seokjin takes the glass that had somehow magically appeared in your hand during the short walk from inside to outside on the balcony.

“How many have you had since we came?” he asks.

You sigh wistfully, still in your dangerous daydream. “I don’t know. I’ve lost count.” You turn your attention back to him eventually. “What are you doing here? Did you see me with him and get all jealous, hubby?” you tease.

He scoffs, drinking from your glass and pulling a face. Once again, there is that twist and jump within his chest, but he attributes it to whatever nasty concoction he had just ingested. He pours its contents over the railing and into whatever shrubbery lies below. “You seriously went with being my trophy wife?”

You shrug. “Of sorts. You’d better be right about people being too drunk slash not caring about me enough after tonight to remember the things I’ve said. ‘Cuz you’ve been divorced three times, had me along with another as your mistress, I think you’ve sired a few illegitimate children and all in all, a Games of Throne life. Damn, maybe I made you a little too badass.”

“You’re having water for the rest of the night,” he says.

You glare at him, contemplating on making a remark about his equally flushed face but decide against it. Instead, you lean onto the balcony and give a cat stretch. A large sigh escapes from you.

Wordlessly, he shakes off his jacket and places it around your shoulder all the while averting his gaze on the unblemished skin of your upper thighs that had been exposed from your previous movement.

Your blood feels like liquid fire coursing through your veins. Feeling overheated even in the evening breeze, you give him back his jacket. You note his reluctance to meet you even as you throw what could be a thousand dollar jacket in the air to him. “So what’s it like to live like this every day?” you say in wonder. You feel said breeze return and lean over the balcony to catch its chill.

“Like what?” he asks. The warm summer night’s breeze blows through, settling his hair in a childish tousle.

“Like rich,” you say. You sigh again. “Believe it or not, I’m the same age as your birthday boy best friend.

And everything feels absolutely unreal right now. If I hadn’t agreed to come here tonight with you, I’d probably be at another dingy bar knocking back shots with my brother and friend.”

“Are you a secret alcoholic?”

You glare at him. “No,” you state matter-of-factly. “As I was trying to share, this type of lifestyle is something I could ever only imagine. I’m not ungrateful about spending time with them, but at the end of the night I’d go home, sweaty, drunk and gross, and then simply pass out. My bank account might be a couple hundred bucks lighter. Come Monday I’ll be working my ass off just to earn back what I had spent. Then cue the repeating cycle.”

Resting your chin on your palm, your other hand sweeps your hair back behind your ear.

“It’s amazing the difference a few life choices can have.”

Seokjin remains silent beside you. Truthfully, he is at a loss of words. The moonlight plays across your face and caresses your nose down to your lips. You are arching your back once again to pull away the soreness that comes with wearing high heel the entire night. It is just a simple black dress but on you it made you look –

“Well, you’re Mrs. Kim tonight,” he starts.

“Charlotte Dior Laurent,” you correct him.

He raises an eyebrow. “Okay… Ms. Charlotte Dior Laurent. Tonight you get to live like the rich, as you’ve put it. As a rich person, what would you like to do?”

You ponder his question a few moments for the answer. “Hmm…I think I’d like to play golf. It’s a rich person’s sport. I want to play it on a private golf course, wearing cute golfing outfits and talk about million-dollar deals with a client without a care in the world. I want to order sangria by the gallon.”

He laughs out loud. It takes a while for him to be able to speak again, but when he does you feel as if the night has been illuminated a few degrees brighter. “I personally don’t have a private golf course, but Junho does here in his backyard if you’re up for it. I can’t promise cute golfing outfits so you’ll have to do with your wine stained dress. And if you’re really up for it I can pretend to make business deals with you, that’s my job anyways.”

You grin, taking the hand he has offered you. “Call.” The two of you shake upon his suggestion.

As he is leads you by the hand towards the dim gates of said golf course, you tug at him gently. “There’s something missing…” you say.

He shakes his head and pulls you back in towards the party room.

“I’ll see what they have at the bar.”

...

As the hands of the clock continue to spin past another hour, the summer night takes a chilly turn. Seokjin has lent you his jacket but even that cannot stop your fingers from becoming numb. Your hands shake even as they tightly hold the golf club. Seokjin watches you in silence as you prepare to hit the golf ball, a beer in one hand and a few opened bottles littered on the grass beside him. The club hits the ball with a resounding “cling” but does little in propelling it a few centimeters.

“This one doesn’t count,” you announce, “It’s too dark to see anything here.”

Seokjin takes a swig as you readjust your position. You sway in the wind and the last tendrils of your hair come undone in its half up half down hairdo. Your hair now whips wildly around your face when another gust blows through.

“Shit!” you exclaim, missing the ball again. “Why is golfing so hard?!”

You throw your club down and trudge to Seokjin. The six pack the two of you had been sharing has officially been depleted. Seokjin offers you his half empty bottle. This time, you are the one watching as he goes to your spot and effortlessly swings his target into the darkness.

He smirks from the spot.

You grumble. “You’ve had years of practice. Not fair.”

“You’ve got to do better than that, Mrs. Johnson,” he says, teasing you.

Your grumble becomes more audible. You place the now empty bottle on the ground and cross your arms against your chest. Since telling him of your other American alias from tonight, he has not ceased to remind you of your strange choice of name.

“Just so you know, Mrs. Johnson can afford both an affair and the consequential prenup,” you huff.

“It’s still a stupid last name.”

“It’s an American multinational corporation with an income in the billions, okay?”

“Keep telling yourself that if it makes you sleep better at night. Now come on, I’ve got one last ball. Take a swing.”

Groaning, you shuffle over. You wish you had not suggested golf. You had never been good at sports anyways – bad hand-eye coordination.

He stands beside you this time, scrutinizing your every movement with hawk-like eyes. “No, not like that,” he says, “Have a wider stance and bend your knees. Better centre of gravity gives you a better swing. Also hold it with a neutral grip.”

You readjust your positioning following his instructions.

“Index finger down the center. Good. And three knuckles on each hand. No, that’s two. Okay your hands are just weird now. Three. I said three.”

“Stop standing there and show me then, Mr. Know-It-All,” you say, your patience in this makeshift lesson also coming to an end.

He walks closer to you, reaching out for the golf club. He retracts his hands in seeing that you have yet to let go. “You got to – ”

“You can touch me. I did tell you that Mrs. Johnson can afford an affair and prenup. Besides, I’m not going to be able to learn anything if I can’t even see you in this dark.”

He comes behind you and puts a foot between yours to guide your stance. Wrapping his arms around you, he fixes the placement of your hands to grip the shaft of the club in the way he had previously instructed.

Perhaps it is the mixture of wine, champagne and beer offered tonight, but being enveloped in the warmth of this embrace intoxicates you. The tingles that are sent down from his soft breathing on the base of your neck, make you shake like a leaf in the wind.

He inhales the sweet undertones of your perfume. The tendrils of your hair brush against his collarbone, sending a sensual kiss onto his skin. Unconsciously, he draws you closer to him, shielding you from another gust.

“Now you just want to swing,” he says, the words a mixture of a whisper and guttural grunt. His chest rumbles with it, passing the vibration through to your back.

You remain as still as a statue and lean ever so slightly back into him until your entire backside is pressed upon him.

You can’t stop yourself as you ask him, “Do you want to have sex with me?”

...

156 notes · View notes

spiltscribbles · 3 years

Note

Prompt 37 (from the first list) and bodyguard au seems interesting

By the way I love your writing please never stopped just finished your recent fic and its one of my favourites.

~Notes: 😭😭😭 baby u can’t be out here recklessly making me sob!!! I am so flustered right now!! Thank you so much for being a beautiful soul 😌😌 ok NEGL the bodyguard thing is not here Becs I’m dumb and couldn’t think of one, but there’s protective sirius💜 I hope you don’t hate this!!! ILU!!!

Smash Game | Send Me A Prompt💜 | A Reblog Means SO Much!!!!

Alphard Black was a good man, a man of his community, a man of the law. He taught the ins and outs of the constitution at Columbia, never went an inch over the speed limit, hell, he even separated his recyclables into their proper piles for the garbage collector, and all while spending his down time volunteering at some sort of virtuous charity or impactful outreach program for inner city youths—the man basically leaped right out of the screen of some cheesy, after school special, wacky ties and rumpled hair aplenty.

Alphard Black was a virtuous, humble man who abided by the laws set out for him to a painstaking degree—So Sirius sorta thinks it’s hilarious that he’s kind of the exact antithesis of his uncle— the man who brought him up after running away from his bat shit parents and their bat shit values as the top of the one percent. Just kind of though.

Sirius likes to think he’s still a good guy—albeit in the typical, non second coming of Christ wannabe kind of way. He gives spare change to homeless folks at Grand Central, doesn’t sneer at raucous kids inside of restaurants or busses… for fuck’s sake he even smiles at strangers more often than not—— just the typical, What a nice day isn’t it, smile and not, I’m actually a blood thirsty maniac ready to carve out all your organs and wrap your naked, dead body in saran wrap Dexter style, smile…Which is actually a type of smile Sirius has become intimately familiar with considering that unlike his Uncle Alphard, Sirius may have a problem with the whole “Laws are created for the good of the public,” ideology, and rather subscribes to the way of thought that thinks it’s kind of thrilling to see how much you can bend and skirt around the rules till they break, or till he gets caught. Which in turn mostly manifests into Sirius participating in a very high demand business—the sort that’ conducts it’s transactions within the metaphorical underground, and makes it so he spends his days with a group of brilliant assholes that he considers family, and a discretely wicked boy who he thinks is most probably the love of his god forsaken life.

Mother Mary, help them all.

~*~

“Padfoot too Moony, are you in, Moony.”

A moment of static passes before Remus’s voice trickles through the minuscule bluetooth snuggled in Sirius’s ear, and he can’t help but smirk. “Why are you still trying to make these codenames work—they don’t work, they’re all awful and trash, and we should just stick with the numbers we were given when Moody first scouted us.”

“Mmm yeah, Moons, talk dirty to me.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,”

“Say trash again.”

“I hate you,” Remus intones. He sounds all surly and bothered, and Sirius’s fingers curl together to card through the phantom strands of his hair, knowing full and well how adorably flustered Remus gets whenever they are having one of their little sparring sessions—It’s also the same look he gets whenever he’s incredibly turned on and has no idea how to handle it. Coincidence? Sirius thinks not.

“Ah, Moony, my love, you say that as if my perfect baritone isn’t the highlight of your day. Like you don’t write sonnets and odes about it’s every cadence and lilt in your little diary you think I don’t know about. As if—“

“I’m shutting you off now,” Remus cuts in with his best, I’m trying to pretend that I am so totally annoyed even if I’m actually really amused by you and all your antics, voice. It’s one that’s basically come second nature to him whenever he speaks to Sirius, ever since they had met three years ago and Sirius had to teach him the trick of the trade after Remus had been invited into the fold, while also trying not to completely accost him with his lips and hands and teeth until the work day was over.

“You would never.”

“You seriously have an overinflated sense of worth if you’re starting to doubt that I very much would,” Remus goads, but he forgets that Sirius can see every nook and cranny of the swanky penthouse from his perch in the getaway van, thanks to his very beautiful laptop monitor. And yeah, Sirius can so totally spot that little flicker of a grin tugging on the edges of his pink lips, where Remus is trying to hide it behind the flute of wine in his grasp—his very strong and capable grasp, one that’s wrapped around the neck of that glass just so tight—Oh, erm, yeah. That’s a thought Sirius should definitely not be having at their current predicament.

“Righto, beautiful, whatever you say.”

“Was there an actual reason for your little interference, besides you being pissy that you had to take the get away position this time around?” Remus sighs, long suffering before offering a subdued, half grin to a very haughty looking woman passing him, predatory leer on her plump lips. And jeez, Sirius bemoans her poor eardrums if they’re suppose to be carrying diamonds that thick all night long— Poor hag will probably end up needing stitches like his dear mother.

“I missed you is all, lover.”

“Goodbye, Sirius.”

“Oh fine, you total spoil sport. Just an FYI that Marlene’s gotten into the volt’s room, and she’s decoding it as we speak.”

“Oh, good. Should I-“

“Moons, it’s Marls, she’s got her shit handled. You just stand there and be a the good, pretty honeypot that we all know you can be.”

Remus growls somewhere deep in his throat, and it’s bringing a flurry of such beautiful imaginings to the forefront of Sirius’s mind— including last night, with Remus’s lovely, thin wrists tied up and Sirius’s mouth trailing up and down his every patch of skin.

God, was that a good night.

“You’re a pain in my ass.”

“I know, it’s a point of pride for me that I get to say I tap that. But hey, always game to switch things up if you are?”

“You are the absolute worst person ever.”

“Ooo are we circling back around to speaking filthy things, because I’ve been having this fantasy including you and these lace—“

That’s when Remus actually does shut off the communication device, and starts chatting up some smarmy businessman who can’t stop staring at his protruding collarbones.

Sirius is most certainly not jealous.

Nope, not at all—Not even a little bit.

Sirius is not jealous.

Okay, fine…So he’s a bit bothered, but can anyone blame him? All of that—chorded muscles and sparkling eyes—is reserved for Sirius, and Sirius alone. It’s taken years of volleying barbs and really intense sexual tension that was all finally resolved after a way too dramatic spat outside some sleazy BDSM club on the wrong side of town where Sirius got himself fucking shot, and Remus couldn’t stop yelling at him for being such a mother fucking, idiotic, thoughtless prick, (Remus’s words not Sirius’s,) for them to finally get to this point. For fuck’s sake, it seemed as if Remus’s anger fueled diatribe would never end, so Sirius just took the dilemma into his own hands and slanted their lips together, bloody and breathless, panting out an “I love you too,” while Remus just patted up and down Sirius’s torso, not knowing where to put his hands, dumbfounded and eager. As if he could hardly believe that it was actually happening, as if he was shocked that Sirius had finally just put them out of their mutual misery and spoke out loud what’s been lingering in their gazes, and tailing the ends of too short exchanges for years at that point—ones always composed of banter and barbs but always to fearful to take the extra step they yearned for.

Yeah, so it wasn’t exactly a cinderella story level of romance, but the point is they’ve fought tooth and nail to finally get to this point in their relationship. Nights made up of spilt hair on warm sheets, and hungry kisses of farewell, and shirts tumbling together so many times that they don’t even know which belongs to who anymore—All of them lingering with a sent of both of them, together. Something intimate. Something remarkable. Something far too soft when considering their line of employment—But it works for’m, and that’s all that counts.

Before Sirius could get to lost in getting all starry-eyed over the life they’ve built for themselves, Sirius moves to sweep his hands across the keyboard, A cautious eye still on Remus and his unwanted suitor while dividing the screen so that he can check back on Marlene’s progress, which is quite impressive if he does say so himself.

“And Black Widow pulls through again,” He commends with a low whistle, watching her practically stroll out of the volt, ancient artifact securely settled in the bag swinging off her shoulder, and cocky sneer proudly splayed across her pretty face.

“You know it dweeb.”

“THat’s not my code name,” Sirius points out with a put upon exhale.

Marlene’s only response is to hike up her manicured brows in counterfeit surprise. “you sure? I could’ve sworn…”

Sirius legitimately contemplates just driving off and leaving her stranded, signaling to Remus a separate meet up point for just the both of them. But Eventually, he reasons that might be a bit of an over reaction. So he settles for just growling out a reminder for her to “Respect the name,” while a glowing Marlene slinks into the passenger seat.

“Your so precious.” Sirius swats her hand away where she’s begun rubbing her knuckles into his scalp. “Call pretty boy and let’s bounce, will you?”

Reluctant, Sirius listens—only and only because he’s about ninety nine point five percent positive that she could probably beat’m to a pulp with one hand tied behind her back and both eyes glued shut.

~*~

The mission was one they’ve been calculating for months, a huge catch with a credibility brought with it that doubles its actual monetary prophet—(And wowza, that price check is all levels of ridiculous.) Moody is beyond proud, and tells them as much with a crazy large celebration back at their little underground headquarters, (which is actually an entire floor on one of the top levels of a huge ass skyscraper in the meatpacking district that disguises itself as just a financial consultant firm in the light of day.)

It’s made even more wonderful considering how he, Remus and Marlene are basically the guests of honor for their success. So that night they drink, and dance and just generally get absolutely slobbered…Then subsequently remember nothing the following morning, as tradition always dictates.

Though Sirius does distinctly remember trading sloppy hand jobs in the bathroom with Remus while the latest Beyonce banger pounds in the space between them.

It’s a good night.

~*~

Unsurprisingly, the hangover that persists even two days later really makes Sirius question the worth of all that celebrating, and he ponders on whether or not being sober would be so bad.

“Morning, Black!”

Sirius cringes back at a crowing Dorcas—Looking as wickedly gorgeous and put together as always—Dark eyes clear and methodic, and long curls obviously freshly washed.

“Sorcerous!” He accuses with as much vehemence as he could muster. “your evil! How are you even so perky! Stop it! Stop! You’re hurting my eyes!”

Dorcas just preens with far too much amusement than what should be warranted—it’s almost as if she’s enjoying his pitiful disposition. “Not all of us got as sloppy as you Saturday night may I remind.”

“Then you’re doing your entire life incorrectly.”

“I just have a modicum of self restraint, unlike you.”

“Lies! Lies and slander! I am so very disciplined! I didn’t even tell you guys about the time Remus gave me a blow job in the middle of a glass elevator when we were shopping for Jamsie and Lily’s engagement gift!”

Dorcas just rolls her eyes heavenwards, painstakingly exasperated. “C’mon, dumb ass, Alice needs you to use those hacking skills of yours to get the money Lestrange still owes us for collecting those tears of the ocean. And her bank account is sealed shut.”

“Ah, no Cas ’s too early! And my head hurts! I can’t.”

“Shouldn’t have been such a drunken mess during the party I reckon,” Dorcas scoffs with an imperious tilt of the head, tugging him along without even an ounce of sympathy.

“Hey! It was a celebration!” Sirius flails, and Dorcas just looks at him with a decidedly unconvinced glower.

“It’s all in moderation Sirius.”

“Not at a party it isn’t!” He argues back, totally knowing he’s in the right.

“Yeah whatever, you’re just lucky you weren’t sent off to Shanghai with lover boy, which by the way,” Dorcas pivots on her heels to face Sirius straight on, prodding at the juncture where his neck meets his shoulder. “Looks like you missed a hickey sweets,” she toots loftily, poking at it again, a flush blooming across Sirius’s cheeks in response. “Not good work decorum if you ask me.”

“You’re face ’s not good work decorum,” Sirius snarks back mulishly. Dorcas just laughs with glee.

“Do I need to talk to poor, innocent Remus about proper biting placement for you once he gets back?”

“Pff, Remus and innocent don’t belong in the same sentence.”

“Fine, then I can just give you some tips on how to properly layer foundation? I’m sure it’s a travesty how easily shit shows up with your Wonder Bread complexion.”

“You actually are evil! Aren’t you?”

Sirius could still hear Dorcas’s cackles from down the hall where Alice has set him up for the morning, and he idly thinks to himself how exactly he’s made it so that every woman in his life could destroy him with nothing more than a look.

~*~

Considering that all of their livelihoods are basically glorified bank robbers, Sirius knows that their jobs don’t really lend themselves to being able to check in on each other whenever they’d please—the only devices they’re allowed for communication are the bluetooth sets for the team deployed on the task at hand, and a single burner. It can get annoying sometimes, but Sirius and Remus always make it a point to send each other a message from the router phone whenever they arrive to the mission’s ground of operation—It’s a practice ingrained into them, one they began long before they ever started dating, one that they never break, not even if they’re arguing or it’s the middle of the night—It’s important. They’ve both lost to many people in their short lives, and they both know how it feels to be delegated to the worrying mess, wondering what’s happening to their loved one, being consumed by the most awful of possibilities. They do it because they respect each other far too much not to.

So Sirius finds it excruciatingly odd that he doesn’t hear from Remus in over thirty-six hours since he left to the Shanghai hit.

“Maybe he just forgot, Pads,” James shrugs, always the level headed ringleader. “No Proclivity is absolutely bullet proof—Ah, excuse me for the unplanned pun.” He scratches the back of his head a little sheepishly— the glasses of his wireframes glinting in the light of their shared workspace.

And the thing is, point. James is totally right. Remus just could’ve forgot. It was a long plane ride, he could’ve just been jet legged and a little dazed and it could’ve just slipped his mind to message Sirius when he landed. That’s totally a possibility.

But see the thing is, that’s also totally not a possibility—like at all. Remus is like the most diligent person on the face of the planet, which may kind of seem out of character considering how he’s more of the type to follow his heart over protocol when it counts, and his entire livelihood is based off the evasion of the law—But even still, Remus is also the guy who likes a true and tried method. He likes having security in the aspects of his everyday life he can control. Sirius knows how borderline neurotic Remus can get about certain things, like finishing all of his paper work the night it’s given, or having a stable workout regiment, and a bunch of other minuscule, everyday things that tethers him. But Sirius also knows that the texts Remus sends him blows all of those out of the water. They’re something crucial—something vitally important. If the roles were reversed, if it were Sirius who forgot to send the text, then yeah, Remus would have a perfect history to look back on and just shrug it off as Sirius having been thoughtless, no big deal. Remus would just make a note to give him an ear full when he gets back.

But the rolls aren’t reversed.

It’s Remus who didn’t send anything, and Sirius knows it in his heart of hearts that this is not normal, that Remus would never have forgotten. Remus would never have fucking been able to go to sleep without passing Sirius a message of safe arrival. It’s just not him.

James still looks unsure even after Sirius’s way to verbose and borderline babbling explanation of why he knows something isn’t adding up, so he decides to hit him below the belt.

“If this were Lily you wouldn’t be second guessing this.”

James jolts back as if Sirius had just smacked him, which Sirius guesses is kind of true, in the metaphoric sense at the very least. But whatever, Sirius’s right, and he knows it.

IF this was Lily— the beautiful, kind baker that James had met coincidentally on a random Sunday afternoon, someone completely divorced from this world— well, there would be no room for discussion.

“IF this were Lily you would trust your gut, and we’d already know what went wrong. We’d know that you were right, the she wasn’t safe.” Sirius’s face feels heated, and he knows that his throat is closing up, but he can’t help it god damn it. This is Remus—And even the thought of him being in any way hurt—No, Sirius refuses to think that way. Because he’s not, he can’t be. This is Remus god damn it. He’s brilliant and strong and he can handle himself. He’s what everyone in their group secretly strive to be—He’s not hurt, he can’t be hurt.

James just sits there, gawking at Sirius, for a moment of pure and utter silence. Sirius doesn’t even flinch, doesn’t fold back from the intensity in his best friend’s— his brother’s— gaze.

“This is Remus god damn it, James”

Something fierce rippling over his face, James nods, finally seeming to understand.

“Let’s tell Moody, and call a group meeting. We need to figure out what the hell’s going on.”

Sirius sags with the little relief he’s given, pretends that it doesn’t feel like there’s not a wildfire still spreading over his chest from the bone deep fear.

~*~

Two hours later finds their little ragtag group huddled in the largest meeting room they have, and Sirius hunched over a menacing letter that was hand delivered by one of Lestrange’s ghoulish little minions— Crouch if their intel is correct.

“Any news is good news, right?” Peter— their mousey little researcher— says in some weak attempt of comfort from where he’s silently been situated in the love seat the furthest away from the lump some, and Sirius replies by snarling viciously at him; making Peter shutter back, like the spineless weasel Sirius has always assumed him to be.

Sirius is not comforted. Sirius is furious and sick and he hates everything in sight. And all Sirius could think of is Remus, Remus, Remus.

“What do we do,” James’s voice is strong, convicted in the painful silence of the room—But when Sirius looks up, he could still see the worry etched into his handsome features, and the fear threaded into his stance.

James is scared, and that might worry Sirius more than anything else could.

“This is my fault, I sanctioned just stealing the money she owed us and I was the one who thought Remus would be fine on a solo mission—I thought it’d be a simple grab. I didn’t put two and two together—I just didn’t—“ Alice breaks off, looking away from the group, and Frank slings an arm around his wife’s slender shoulders.

“Hey now, ’s not your fault, ’s not no ones,” as if to emphasize his point, Frank gives a downright menacing grimace to everyone in the room, daring them to disagree. “It’s Remus, he’s resilient. And that bitch knows if he’s actually hurt we’ll destroy everything she’s ever built for herself.”

“Don’t be so sure,” Sirius’s surprised of the jaggedness of his own voice, leveling him with a look of utter fury. “She’s a psychotic, selfish, self indulgent bitch—There’s worse things than just beating him up or locking him in some cellar.”

From the corner of his eye he sees Alice shutter, is briefly reminded of that stint where she was badly injured after a run in with one of the darker ringleaders in their line of work, Riddle. And then he remembers, unbidden, how that bastard has some sort of fucked up Harley Quinn, Joker esthetic going on with Bellatrix Lestrange— and a sick, twisted part of Sirius that actually does blame Alice for sanctioning those two risky missions so close together, is savagely pleased of the effect that the reminder has on her. But the rest of Sirius is just disgusted by himself and hates himself even more when remembering where Remus is at this very moment, and what he must be going through. There’s no time to be pointing fingers, and Sirius knows it.

“Whatever, no time to think of it now,” Sirius rises, and the way all of their eyes follow his every move (Even Moody who is the actual boss— doesn’t go over his head.

“What do you think we should do from here?” Dorcas asks in a small voice, clutching onto the letter like a life line—She’s Remus’s best friend, Sirius knows that, knows that she stopped only skirting along the edges of this unsavory line of work until Remus came along and helped her wiggle out of her shell. And the reminder makes Sirius feel such a burst of aching for Remus all at once that he nearly topples over, just barely catches himself with a hand on the tabletop.

“Peter,” Sirius barks, making the blonde finally straighten. “Check out where Bellatrix is scheduled to appear next.”

“Ah, erm on it, of course.”

Sirius starts to feel a little better—no not better, balanced. He knows what needs to be done, what will happen next, knows that it’ll turn out all right.

It has to turn out all right, because he can’t fathom a world where it doesn’t— a world without Remus isn’t worth even a breath.

~*~

If there’s anything that Sirius knows about supreme bitch face herself, it’s that Bellatrix is cavalier to a fault. So it really doesn’t surprise him when Peter finds out that she’s holding a little gala for her new play things art exhibit in her own home that night, and Sirius intends on giving his congratulations, whether or not he’s on the guest list.

~*~

“Hey, can you hear me.”

Sirius presses an inconspicuous finger onto his eardrum when Dorcas’s voice breaks through, speaking the affirmative.

“All right, well Moody says that upstairs is most likely where you’ll find’m. Marlene and James will stay down at the party just incase anything goes wrong.”

“Right,” Sirius nods to himself, trying to put together all the new information that’s swimming in his mind. “Thanks Cas.”

“Stay safe, and bring him home. Don’t fuck this up, Sirius.” Her voice is small and fragile. Sirius could picture the gleam to her big doe eyes. “We need you both safe.”

“Of course."

~*~

As expected, the upstairs is a labyrinth of doors and alcoves that Sirius could barely wrap his mind around, the only constant thought is that it makes sense that Bellatrix would want to keep the money from the job she had them perform for her. The rent for this place definitely can’t be cheap.

Sirius tries at least ten different rooms before he comes across one that’s locked from the inside as well as a deadbolt, and His heart seizes with a choked sort of hope before he starts pounding against it.

“Remus! Remus! Are you in there!” His voice goes ragged at how loud he’s screaming, but Sirius doesn’t let up. He starts calling for him even louder if possible. “Remus!”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Sirius stiffens, his blood running cold before slowly turning around to a very amused looking Bellatrix Lestrange. Predatory sneer swept across her blood red lips, and weight slung to her left hip. The picture of radiance and leisure in her slinky, black dress. She’s having fun toying with Sirius, with all of them.

“Where the fuck is he,” Sirius spits out tersely—trying to sear wholes right through her disarming face. He thinks with a start that she’d be pretty in an almost unchanging way—a timeless elegance that kind of mirrors Remus’s. But where beneath Remus’s golden exterior is all passion and goodness and an endless capacity of love, under Bellatrix’s pale white skin and dark eyes and sheets of even darker hair is just ugliness and cruelty and Sirius has never hated anyone more, or so intensely.

“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry that they sent the best of their group to the den,” She swaggers up to him, each step premeditated—a lion closing in on her prey, and her leer right then— self assured and cruel all at once— is like a mirror of his mother’s so thoroughly that it’s painful. “I’d really hate to ruin those movie star good looks you’ve got going on,” she runs the back of her hand down his face slowly, tendrils of her warm breath edging his lips. “And honey, you really are so deliciously gorgeous. But Moody needs to learn that no one double plays me so flippantly. No respect, that kind of behavior really can’t be tolerated. You understand that, don’t you love?”

Right then, Bellatrix moves to gouge Sirius right in the stomach with a dagger she had hidden in the sleeve of her dress—but Sirius’s quicker.

He sweeps Bellatrix’s feet right from under her, twisting her arm behind her back and using her own weapon to chop off the doorknob, all in one fluid movement. Though, he only has a sparing moment to feel boastful before he steps into the room to find Remus—sickly looking with blood matted in his golden locks, before everything turns to a buzzing in the background—Sirius runs on autopilot, with the only crucial thought being to get Remus out safely.

“Baby, I’m here, I’ve got you.” Sirius tells him with the words catching in his throat, and feels such a drowning amount of relief when he hears a gargled retort from Remus. “I’d never let anything happen to you, love. I’m so sorry. I’ll never let something like this happen again.” Sirius tells him with all the earnestness in the world, gently collecting him into his arms. “I’ve got you now, I won’t let go.” The promise is as sure and true as the pump of his heart—Remus, Remus, Remus.

~*~

When they all return to headquarters, everyone circles a still limp and shallowly breathing Remus, while Dorcas figures out the extent of his injuries.

It’s the worst hour of his life Sirius thinks—The not knowing, it hurts like nothing else. And he swears once more, to himself and the moonlight and the stars peeking through the skyline that he’ll never let this happen, never again., doesn’t want Remus ever out of his sight.

~*~

A week later, and everything feels as if it’s back to normal—more or less.

Their bedroom smells like sage—thanks to the candles Lily bought Remus for his last birthday—And Remus’s swaddled into the most comfortable blanket Sirius could find—his twisted ankle elevated, and a fresh bowl of soup on his night stand.

It’d be the picture of absolute bliss… Now if Remus wasn’t scowling so morosely.

“You seem mad,” Sirius notes, standing over him with a freshly fluffed pillow. Remus looks up at him from under his spider leg lashes, so very unimpressed.

“You’ve never taken care of me nearly so intently a day in your life.” Remus charges.

“Untrue!” Sirius squawks in contrary.

“When I got food poising from that sushi place last year, you blamed me for eating it wrong.”

“Yeah, well it’s blasphemous to ever blame Kimiko! The woman is a titan!”

Remus’s mouth quirks up, his eyes twinkling with unadulterated adoration. “You’re an idiot.”

Sirius deflates. “Okay, so I might be kind of majorly mother penning it right now,” Remus cranes a incredulous brow. “Okay, okay so a lot mother penning it. But, Remus— love— you were missing—like legitimately missing. And then i found you and you were…” He trails off, can’t even speak the horrors of that night.

“Yeah, I was,” Remus links their fingers together, pulling Sirius closer, and opening his mouth so that when Sirius crouches to come face to face, he can kiss him properly. “But you happen to be a pretty all right boyfriend, you found me—I’m fine. You made sure of that.”

“More than all right prick,” Sirius knocks their foreheads together and Remus feigns being in excruciating pain. “I fucking hate you,” he snorts, saddling against Remus’s side, and nuzzling into his neck, taking in the miraculous scent of him— the citrus and cinnamon and sunlight that he’s come to crave at all hours of the day. “I love you sort of a lot, and it was the worst three days of my life, all right. Can you understand that?”

Remus only hums, kisses the tips of Sirius’s fingers before lacing them into his own.

“I understand, love, but Sirius, I’m fine. I’m here. You’re amazing, but you don’t need to protect me. Not constantly. This is our lives, and I need you to trust me that I can handle myself for the most part. All right?”

Sirius makes a displeased sound, lips curled distastefully, and it makes Remus actually giggle like they were school boys again. And Jesus, Remus’s smile is blinding and beautiful and fucking hell, he’s here. He’s back in there room, back in Sirius’s arms.

“God, I missed you.”

Remus crunches upwards, kissing Sirius, and it feels like a promise that he’ll never leave him again. “I love you Sirius.”

Sirius leers, isn’t ready to have the conversation about learning how to let Remus go out without him. So instead he traces his thumb over Remus’s beautifully plump bottom lip, and bends down to whisper into his ear. “So can we talk about the lace then, because I’ve made some purchases and—“

Remus pushes him off their bed, and Sirius feels his laughter punching out of him in response.

~*~

~My Wolfstar FIC Index💜

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #REMUSXSIRIUS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #MARAUDERS #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #spilt ink #love you angel #?!!!#This is edited from an old old FIC of mine #in my drafts #and i'm afraid my writing is so so contrasting #rip #sdlkjgalksdfjoiwpqgdsa

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halfamilliontransgendercyborgs · 3 years

Text

The Moon (Small AU concept ficlet)

Alone in the night that stood with the posture and presence of a great tree, with long dark hair framing their face and falling down behind them like a veil, a figure with piercing amber eyes hidden underneath a mask of white and red, eyes that looked up through slits at the black sea of the sky, eyes fixed on the shining face of the full moon.

Dressed in a hakama that faded from a white to a red hue and a haori of refined black, the figure stood inside the grounds of the shrine and watched as a light began to fall from the sky, a shooting star that grew closer and closer for every second that passed, until it crashed in front of the shrines sanctuary, shaking the ground as it landed, kicking up dirt to form a haze around it.

Once it began to settle, there was a flower bud made of pure light resting where the star had landed, one large enough it size it could swallow a person whole, for as it bloomed where it lay, it became obvious that it was a vessel, a vessel for travel for the being that stepped out from it.

Dressed in a lavish junihitoe with an overcoat and a mo trailing behind that were all crafted from the finest of silks, even down to the kosode worn beneath, the fabrics were coloured in shades that mimicked the night sky with what seemed like careful brush strokes of glowing pinks and blues decorating the surface to reflect the beauty of the galaxies beyond, hair that shone with the colour of snow flowing in a non-existent gentle wind as small particles of pure brilliant white light dusted the entire figure, with string like lines connecting those that formed constellations, shining on their fabrics, inside of their dark yet translucent skin, and twinkling in their half-lidded eyes that glowed like fireflies in the darkness of the night, it was as if the stars were weaved into every fabric of this being.

“…Kiibo.” The tall figure greeted the one of smaller stature who had arrived out of the sky, giving them a knowing nod as their previously tensed form began to ease.

“Korekiyo.” The being of starlight responded with a knowing nod of their own, the eyes that glowed like burning lanterns softening as they met the familiar gaze.

“Wearing the junihitoe instead of the sokutai as is usual I see, may I ask where your attendants are?” Korekiyo asked, glancing around briefly to see if they had landed elsewhere, but finding this search to be fruitless as there we no other beings of starlight to be found in the dark night.

“Ah, I- I asked them not to come.” Kiibo let out a giggle that sounded akin to the ruffling of heavy sheets, soft and wheezy, yet still adorable, especially paired with a smile that shined with the brightness of his eyes, but well, since Kiibo’s whole skeleton was glowing underneath his translucent skin, it was more than a metaphorical brightness.

“Hmm? That’s rather unusual for you Kiibo, Is something troubling you?”

“Not really- Well- Sorta… Maybe?” Kiibo averted his gaze, cheeks painting themselves in soft blue as he fiddled with the sleeves of his overcoat, “Heheh- Sorry, I know I’m supposed to be more formal than this.”

“No, it’s quite alright, I find it quite endearing.” Korekiyo smiled under xyr already smiling kitsune mask, huffing with amusement as xe saw Kiibo’s face flush in brighter blue, it was probably rather rude to find such a thing amusing, but it couldn’t be helped, it was rather adorable after all.

“Thank you! Much ap- Thank you..” Kiibo simply stood there, posture indicating a hidden anxiety that bubbled and boiled inside of his mind.

This was Kiibo, a god, the bringer of the night, a being of the moon and stars, now blushing like a schoolboy being asked about a crush, here he was, about to say something neither he nor Korekiyo thought they would ever hear him utter.

“I- I lo- Give me a second please.” Kiibo took a deep breath, closing his eyes as if to concentrate, letting a few heartbeats pass, taking in the feeling of the glowing organ in his chest beating against his skeleton as if it were a taiko drum.

“…I want to form a romantic pair bond with you, Korekiyo.” Kiibo shot open his eyes to stare into the painted ones of the others mask, eyes soft, wobbling with emotions that felt as if they were going to boil over and drown them both in its rushing waters, “Do you- Do you accept?”

It would be preposterous not to be shocked by such a confession, a god falling for a simple human, someone who simply worked at a shrine dedicated to them, a nobody on the vast face of the earth, but, Korekiyo was different than other mortals Kiibo had met on similar nights, ones who groveled at Kiibo’s feet with wishes for absurdities, no, Korekiyo was one who barely asked for anything more than what xe could give in return, one who was happy living a life of mediocrity, one who though curious in nature, who though fascinated by those like Kiibo who lived beyond the mortal realm, never obsessed and never followed, never grabbed and never cried for immortality.

And thus, it was xem of all people who the moon fell for, that the moon wanted to be in the company of until the last possible moment, it was xem that the moon wanted to join his family of him and his many stars who made up the sky.

“Yes, absolutely, without a doubt, yes.” Korekiyo was immediate to respond, quickly realizing the possible implications of their lack of hesitancy however, xe was quick to apologize “Ah, my apologies, that sounded overly eager.”

“No no no! That’s fine! That’s totally fine! I’m actually kind of glad, it means I don’t really have to stew in my own thoughts.”

“Ah, thank you… But, truly, I do feel the same.” Korekiyo let out a deep sigh, taking a few steps closer to the god before extending one bandaged hand, a hand that was immediately met with the ghostly flesh of the immortal being, fingers wrapping and gently squeezing, “I’m aware my life is… Limited, but I believe we can make the most of it.”

“…Yes, I agree, I’ll try to visit more often so we can.” Kiibo nodded, eyes burning with determination as he stepped closer, letting go of Korekiyo’s hand as he moved to gently wrap his arms around the others form, resting his head against xyr chest, “I can even see if I can convince Himiko to let me visit in your dreams! If you want…”

“…I would like that.” Korekiyo once again let xyr body relax, almost melt into Kiibo’s arms as xe returned the embrace with tender touch, there was a feeling of, relief, blissful relief, to have feelings that were harboured, tucked away for so long to finally blossom forth inside of xyr heart, it felt… Nice… “Well… We have until morning for today, so is there something you had in mind to do?”

“Not really… I think just, talking, maybe Uhm- maybe cuddling… That would be nice…”

“Sounds wonderful, shall we find ourselves a spot in the garden?”

“Yes, please, lead the way.”

~ Finish ~

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pricemarshfield · 3 years

Text

fresh as a daisy

Chapter 2/2. Requested by @renluthor: dani/ainsley angst/angry makeout?

Read on AO3 here.

Ainsley wakes up to a text from her brother and Dani pressed up against her, back to front. She's breathing slow and steady, like she doesn't have a care in the world. She does, of course--Ainsley's learned how crime scenes haunt her girlfriend(?) in the way she wakes up stiff and frozen, sometimes, like Ainsley does when she dreams about not-Endicott's blood on her hands. She's lied and said something about that time she got locked in Claremont, and Dani believed her, and that's the worst fucking part.

"I can hear you thinking from here," Dani murmurs, voice rumbling against Ainsley's chest. Ainsley doesn't jump, but it's a near thing. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ainsley says, too quickly, a lie meant to be caught.

Dani rolls over, eyes still hazy with sleep. "Come on, you can tell me."

Ainsley sighs, props her head up on her arm so she's leaning slightly over Dani. "I'm just worried about my meeting with the head reporter. He said he wants 'more' from my reports." It's easy enough to muster up annoyance about it, because she is annoyed with him.

"Carr?" Dani asks, and Ainsley grumbles, leans into Dani so she's pressed right into the crook of her neck. She could stay here for hours. "Fuck that guy."

Ainsley laughs, teeth scraping at Dani's skin mostly-on accident, and Dani shifts so that Ainsley's half-on top of her. "When do you have to go into work?"

"You're insatiable," Dani says with a little put-upon sigh that's as fake as the innocent expression Ainsley's definitely wearing right now.

"That's not actually an answer to my question," Ainsley says.

Dani doesn't respond for a second, and Ainsley pushes herself up to see a frown on her face. "In...less than an hour and a half, actually."

"Boo," Ainsley says, dramatically flopping back down. Dani's chest rumbles a little with laughter that Ainsley feels more than hears, and it's so fucking nice in a way that Ainsley's not used to yet, even after months of it all.

She hasn't looked at her phone yet. She knows it'll break the morning into something she has to deal with and not just luxuriate in.

"Do you have time for breakfast?" she asks instead, and Dani laughs.

"What, you're gonna cook?"

"Better than you," Ainsley says. "I didn't know you could burn toast that bad unless you were trying."

"You have all these weird 'smart' appliances, how is that my fault," Dani mutters. "I can make pancakes."

Ainsley hasn't had pancakes since she was young enough to still wear a bright pink dress with ruffles to school. "Sure."

Ainsley's mom had asked her to move back in, and she had been planning on it before--this, with Dani. She still goes back basically every day--she has a little study space in the basement--but it's nice to have a place that's hers.

And Dani's, in a way.

Dani has her own apartment, a place with chipped paint but plants everywhere, homey in a way that Ainsley hadn't thought was a real thing outside of home and garden magazines. She spends more nights than not here, though, and Ainsley's started to feel like the place is too big without her home.

She doesn't have a key yet. Ainsley has no idea when she should bring it up. If she should, even; there's that whole thing with the murder she got away with and Dani being a homicide detective.

Ainsley glances at her phone to see the text from Malcolm, complete with hidden message. She should check it. Dani's busy at the stove, it's the best time.

Dani hums some oldies song at the stove, the admittedly-weak smell of cooking pancakes wafting towards Ainsley, and she still can't bring herself to break the morning. Instead, she puts the phone facedown on the table, stands up, and wraps her arms around Dani from behind. Dani doesn't start or stiffen like she used to, when they were still figuring each other out.

"Is it supposed to look that lumpy?" Ainsley asks brightly.

"Yes," Dani says. "They're pancakes, it's not gonna be perfectly even."

"As long as they taste good," Ainsley says. She has to push herself up a little to rest her head against Dani's shoulder. It's not exactly comfortable, but she has no intentions of moving. Dani flips the pancakes with an expert little twist of the spatula, and Ainsley makes an impressed noise. "Where'd you learn to do that?"

"I worked at a diner in college," Dani says. "I was hired as a waitress, but I was way better behind the scenes." She shudders a little. "I hate customer service."

Ainsley's never had experience with customer service. She's thankful for that, but it does mean she doesn't have anything she can add, so she just hums agreement into Dani's shoulder. They sit and sway sway to the sound of pancakes cooking and their breathing for a little longer.

Dani covers her pancakes in almost as much syrup as Malcolm used to, and at Ainsley's disbelieving look, laughs, and says, "Really, you should try it!"

Ainsley does, if only so she can prove herself right, but it does end up being pretty tasty.

"Don't tell Malcolm," Ainsley says, ignoring all of her etiquette training to talk with her mouth full because she knows it'll make Dani smile. Sure enough, she does, and Ainsley feels this warm glow in her chest she's still not used to. "He'll be so smug."

"Really?" Dani says. "He doesn't seem the type."

Ainsley feels something twist in her stomach, remembering how horrified Malcolm was when he'd figured out that she faked it. She stands by it, of course she does, but yikes. He'd lied to her, why does she feel bad? There's the text she's ignoring, the worry around that...that's probably it.

Still, she can hardly check it with Dani at the table, so she smiles at her and says, "That's just 'cause he always had a soft spot for you."

There's an awkward beat of silence where both of them sit in the reality of that being true in a way that's completely at odds with them sitting across the table for each other, half-dressed and warm.

"I do have to head to work," Dani says after awhile, and Ainsley frowns as if she doesn't want her to go. In reality, she could use the time to check her texts, figure out how she's going to present herself when Dani gets home. Tired, probably, but not too tired, she's still working from home as much as she can. Happy to see her--that part she doesn't even have to fake.

"Aw," Ainsley says. "You coming back here after?"

"Of course," Dani says easily, like it's nothing to just let someone else in her life the way Ainsley's been letting her here.

Ainsley's not sure what tugs at her heart just then, but she's pretty sure it's not a good thing. Dani heads to the bedroom to get dressed while Ainsley finishes her pancakes. The syrup's significantly less enjoyable now that they're cold, sticking to her mouth in a way that makes her want to toss them in the trash.

Dani's not looking. She could.

She stares down at them for awhile too long, chewing on the mush in her mouth until she wants to gag. When Dani walks out of the room again, she looks up, forces herself to swallow, and smiles. "Heading out?"

"Yeah," Dani says, pressing a quick, casual kiss to Ainsley's cheek. Ainsley wants her to linger, but instead she rushes out. Ainsley has to get up and lock the door behind her, and she stands there, staring blankly at the front door of her own apartment for a bit.

Her phone buzzes in her pocket again, and she unlocks it. Something about a private investigator, because of course it's about a fucking private investigator. She just knows Malcolm's gonna lord this over her, talk about how this is proof he didn't overstep when he was trying to protect her. Biting back an annoyed reply--she has to give him the benefit of the doubt, save the rudeness for when he fucks up--she texts back something about meeting tomorrow.

Today she's trying to do something for Dani.

One: her apartment's always neat, but she remembers being told that neatness was onto holiness at her etiquette schools, and the lesson's hard to shake, so she cleans. She's not down on hands and knees scrubbing the floors or anything, but the place looks a little nicer, and she's proud of it.

Two: something Dani will care about a little more. She goes the extra mile--lights candles, gets flowers, is polite (if direct) with the restaurant worker on the phone who'll get something delivered to her door. The candles are warm, smoky scents that are a far cry from the crisp, clear ones Ainsley favors, but Dani had murmured stories about a campfire into her shoulder once, tracing her freckles, and Ainsley hopes she'll like that she remembered. The flowers aren't roses. Dani had a story about some ex who got her roses that Ainsley winced in sympathy at even as her sides hurt from laughing so hard. So she got orchids, as expensive as they are hard to keep happy. (It's a little on the nose, but Ainsley is her parents' daughter, and drama is the easier vice to indulge.)

The food is the part Dani will like the most, Ainsley's guessing. The thoughtful, almost-metaphorical gestures are Ainsley's thing, always unsure with how to give affection without giving too much away. Food, though, is an almost universal love language--Dani making pancakes in her kitchen, Ainsley buying her wines that cost more than Dani's rent. Plus, Dani likes Thai, and Ainsley hasn't had good tom yum in too long.

She gets this all ready by 10am, and finds herself bored by 10:03.

Ainsley would normally go bother Malcolm about a case, but Dani hasn't texted her anything interesting, so it's not worth the effort of dealing with his panic over this investigator guy. She does care about him, and she does worry, but just--God, he'd lied to her for ages. It's hardly like she's incompetent. She'd handled things just fine, hadn't she?

There's a bitter twist in her stomach, and she pauses, considers it for a second before choosing not to look at it too closely.

She goes to lunch with her mother, who talks around Ainsley and Dani as best she can while still prying for information. Ainsley ignores the more back-handed comment about her always wanting her brother's things and says, "We're having dinner tonight, actually."

"Oh, where are you going?" her mother says. "I can get you a reservation if you don't have one. There's that new French place on--"

"We're staying in," Ainsley interrupts, something she'd have gotten a ruler on the knuckles for if she'd tried it back in etiquette school. "Sorry."

"Oh," her mother says. "Well. We are quite different, aren't we?"

Ainsley shifts in her seat, immediately, uncomfortably aware that there's something hidden behind her words that she can't quite make out. "Not that different. You--" She cuts herself off, which is also rude, but she's pretty sure her mother would have slapped her if she'd finished saying you made compromises in your relationship, too. "You, uh, would have a home dinner if Gil asked."

Her mother finishes her drink without looking at Ainsley, cheeks a little pink. "Ainsley..."

"I'm just saying," Ainsley says, turning back to her food with a grin.

Working from home--the one thing the pandemic brought that Ainsley's happy to hold onto--is great, but she can't deny the little rush of productivity she gets from being in the office again, even if she's just waiting in a hard plastic chair to talk with a man she hates. He's got to listen to her about this private investigator thing, though; he always listens to her when it comes to crime stories.

She used to get pissed about it, she's more than her father's daughter, but...well. Hoxley's here to investigate a murder she did, so.

Not that she plans to include that in her pitch.

When he finally waves her in, thirty minutes after their meeting was supposed to start, she can feel her smile is a little brittle around the edges. He looks up at her through his glasses, which badly need to be cleaned, and says, "What've you got, Whitly?"

"There's a private investigator here in town," she says quickly. "According to my sources, he's here to figure out who killed Nicholas Endicott."

"Your sources," Carr says, looking at something on his laptop. Ainsley's fingers twitch. "Your brother or your girlfriend?"

"...my brother," she says, knowing better than to tell Carr that her sources are private, even if that's what every ethics in journalism conference tells them. Carr thinks he's above it all.

She wonders who he'd assign her story to, if it ever came out. Leslie doesn't do the crime beat. No one does the crime beat except for her. He'd probably take it himself, try and get a Pulitzer, squander the research completely, and make her look innocent. Hm. It would help in court.

It's not healthy that she's thinking this, she knows, but at least she can talk to her dad about it later.

"Endicott died ages ago, why now?"

"His head surfaced in a lake somewhere," Ainsley says.

"Find out where. You're good, take the camera crew."

Ainsley smiles at him. "Thank you, sir."

He waves her out rather than even do her the courtesy of addressing her.

Dick.

Reporting is invigorating, as it always is, and she gets to wave at her brother before the cameras turn on. He looks panicked when he spots her, but whatever, she's literally here to do her job. She goes into autopilot, reporting the facts as she knows them--Simon Hoxley is here, he's researching Endicott, and there's caution tape preventing her crew from getting closer to this boat. When the camera operator turns as if to film the boat, she quickly gestures them back, hands low enough that it shouldn't be broadcasted. Can't he spot the body there? They'll get sued.

Also, she wants to be on camera. It's not like she got her degree in journalism because she dislikes attention.

They're able to chat with Hoxley for just a second, and he looks at her with a polite disinterest that is simultaneously heartening and discouraging. Pros: he doesn't suspect her. Cons: she's not even worth suspecting, the fuck? He's already glaring at Malcolm. Malcolm's everyone's focus.

At least, everyone but Dani, and she shouldn't feel so much vindictive little pride in that. Dani smiles at her when she passes by, rushing after the chaos that is her squad on a case. Ainsley grabs her hand and squeezes it quickly while the cameraman's busy catching Gil passing by. Dani beams at her, and Ainsley's heart thuds a little heavy in her chest.

She drops her hand, switches back to reporter mode, and concludes her broadcast with something about Hoxley getting to the bottom of this, and be sure to tune in for updates on the case.

The day drags by after that, giving bland check-ins to the camera while getting bizarre text updates about it all from Malcolm. Dani doesn't text at work unless it's important, and Ainsley finds herself hoping nothing comes up so that their dinner isn't postponed. She just wants to spend some time with her--whatever Dani is.

They should probably work that out.

Carr just grumbles when she checks in with him at the end of the day to see if there's anything else she needs to do, so she takes it as she's free and heads home. The taxi driver makes small talk with her about her broadcasts, and while he doesn't seem to understand that she is not involved in actually solving the murders, it's the most someone other than Dani or her brother has talked with her about the day-to-day of what she does in months. She tips like $600, because who the hell cares, it's her mom's money anyway.

Then she rushes around the apartment getting the few things ready that she couldn't do in the morning--actually lighting the candles, setting the table, restraining herself from setting more than one of each utensil on the table, getting the food where it's left outside her apartment when her phone dings to let her know, remembering to tip the driver right away, and getting the food on the table.

God, she hopes Dani gets here soon. The food smells good and her lunch with her mother wasn't exactly filling. One thing Dani's taught her is how ridiculous rich people portions are. (Dani's words, not hers.)

It's not ten minutes later when Ainsley hears Dani's hand on the handle, and realizes shit, she forgot to light the candles. She scrambles to get at least the one on the table. She turns to grab the lighter and hears Dani say, "Uh."

She whirls around. "Hi."

"Hi," Dani says with a soft smile. "What's all this?"

"You treated me to breakfast, so," Ainsley says.

"You didn't have to do this," Dani says, looking at the Thai on the table, smile not dropping or dimming in the slightest.

"I know," Ainsley says. "I wanted to."

"You're sweet," Dani says, and walks over to pull her into a kiss. "Do you really only have these long lighters?"

"I don't smoke and I don't like the small ones, I'm always worried I'm gonna burn myself," Ainsley says, and Dani laughs and lights the candle on the table for her.

The dinner's perfect, and Ainsley gets to vent about Carr not caring about her reporting beyond profits at all and Dani gets to talk about how ridiculous Hoxley and her brother were acting all day and Ainsley gets to bite down a joke about thumbs that she couldn't explain. Dani sneaks some of Ainsley's food off her plate, Ainsley smacks her hand away, and Dani shakes her hand as if it hurts while failing to suppress a smile.

Normally, this is the part of the night where Ainsley would pull Dani into bed, or into the shower while Dani gripes about the jeans being new. But the night feels warm and soft and Ainsley just wants to hold her.

"You've got me completely messed up," Ainsley says, and when Dani looks up at her, a bit of sauce on her lips, she can see she doesn't understand what she means. "I mean, like." She huffs. "I never felt like this in any of my, uh."

"Relationships?" Dani suggests.

"Are we? In one, I mean," Ainsley says, tapping her foot against the floor, an anxious tic she's had as long as she can remember.

"I'd like to be," Dani says slowly, and Ainsley knows what that cautious expression means. She's pretty sure she has it, too. "Do you?"

"Yeah," Ainsley says, and Dani relaxes. "Also, you've got some sauce on your lips." She wipes it off absent-mindedly, and Dani leans across the table to kiss her. The angle's awkward, but Ainsley's smiling into the kiss too much to mind.

The rest of the night is just idle, easy conversation. Ainsley feels light, giddy. Dani's arm around her shoulders, Ainsley's hand in Dani's, the dim mood of the candlelight. It's all perfect.

Still, at the end of the night Ainsley can't quite sleep, even as Dani snoozes peacefully next to her. She's not sure why. Everything's perfect. Dani's here, Dani's officially her girlfriend, she's getting to do her report on Hoxley, her and Malcolm got away with it. Every piece of her life is fitting together just fine.

"Babe?" Dani says, and Ainsley turns. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Ainsley says grumpily. "I just can't sleep. Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine," Dani says, already half-asleep again. "Sleep soon."

"I'll try," Ainsley whispers, staring at Dani. The easy acceptance, the give-and-take--it's new, but Ainsley loves it. She feels like she could tell her anything.

Oh. Dammit.

Seriously? she thinks to/at herself. You're upset we can't confess our murder? Fucking ridiculous. That's a normal thing to not tell someone. I mean, Dad--

Ainsley abruptly sits up, goes to take a shower. That's not--she can't think like that. There's unhealthy and there's self-sabotage, and that barrels over the line at lightspeed. Jesus.

Still, she turns back to look at Dani as she closes the bathroom door--slow, so as not to wake her again--and she can't help but think on it for far too long, staring at the tiles of her shower with a bitterness she wishes she could bite back.

She should text Malcolm. But he and Dani--that's still too fresh a wound. It's not like she can talk to her mom about it. And Dad...

The only reason she can think of not to is Dani would be disappointed. But that's enough.

Probably.

#my fics #renluthor #request #dansley #dani powell #ainsley whitly #prodigal son #daisy #fic: fresh as a daisy

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lyricalimerence · 4 years

Text

Enchanted - Rafe Cameron

summary: rafe meets reader at a party and she becomes entranced at the idea of him—at the idea of them.

word count: 1744

warnings: fluff mainly, it's pretty mild (edit: just remembered underage drinking lol)

a/n: based off the song enchanted my taylor swift,,, i dunno her old stuff is pretty good and i felt like writing fluff today. did i edit ? of course not :)

there i was again tonight forcing laughter, faking smiles

same old tired, lonely place

walls of insincerity

shifting eyes and vacancy vanished when i saw your face

all i can say is it was enchanting to meet you

the sun danced along the edge of the horizon, colors bursting from the seams into tie dyes of golds, reds, pinks, and purples in time to the music. cliche classical fugues and themes pulsed through speakers, carrying the chamber orchestra's melodies through the entirety of the country club. through the bathrooms, the kitchen, the dining room, and the back patio where teenagers were dancing and sneaking alcoholic beverages from the waiters.

in one corner of the laminate flooring, a girl stood, both hands wrapped around a glass of seltzer water, as she nodded her head to the girls surrounding her. a perfectly manicured set of nails rapped against the laminate wood tabletop as her gaze drifted around the patio. her forced smile caused her cheeks to ache in a falsely saccharine, model-esque bravado. her laughter didn't meet her eyes as she took social cues from the lightly giggling girls around her.

the tall brunette flocking at her immediate right side faux complimented her dress, the royal blue satin draped over her bronzed frame. flashing a tight lipped smile and a grateful nod, she returned the compliment in a way that mocked the girl's insincere and jealous commentary. throwing her head back to allow the staticky, carbonated seltzer to flow down her throat, she closed her eyes, imagining she was anywhere but there.

she sidestepped around the brunette and the table, searching for bar outside, looking to treat her body with something stronger. with her company for the night, she needed the extra boost of intoxication to get by. the rhythmic clack of her heels against the tiles created a harmony to accompany the music that took an upbeat turn for the teenage girls grinding against each other on the dance floor, parents having absconded their children hours before to reminisce themselves. there was no doubt in her mind that her mother was gossiping will her newfound wine drunk friends as her father was at the bar inside with other king pins of kildare.

as she coerced the bartender to mix a splash of rum into her coke as she was only nineteen, a shadow fell across her contoured face. the dip of her cheekbones deepening gauntly and the rouge plush of her lips darkening in the portable shade. the shifting eyes of the bartender paused at the sight of the teenager standing beside her—the creator of the shadow. she avoided eye contact as long as possible, she knew very few people on kildare, and she wasn't too keen on meeting more—from what she's seen, they're awful people. however, a menacing glare frightened the poor bartender into tipping his rum bottle filled hand into the glass of coke and sliding it across the bar towards her.

with a shy smile she looked up to thank the guy who aided her in her mission to inebriation. "thank you," she faltered as she looked up, the sparkle in his eyes, the curve of his smirk, he was perfectly chiseled. however oddly cliche it sounds, it was almost godlike how his presence enraptured her attention.

"anytime," he didn't break eye contact as he brought his glass, that had been refilled with what she was positive to be alcohol, to his lips. she passed along a brief, but genuine, smile as she made her way back to the corner, the fabric of her dress swaying around her legs as she walked. he couldn't look away from her. surface level, she was gorgeous, and as hormonal as he was, her body was capable of leaving the guy speechless, if he wasn't quite so eloquent.

your eyes whispered "have we met?"

across the room your silhouette starts to make it's way to me

the playful conversation starts

counter all your quick remarks, like passing notes in secrecy

and it was enchanting to meet you

all i can say is it was enchanted to meet you

she knocked her drink back gracefully, not showing any signs of the drink burning her throat on the way down. discarding her glass on a table somewhere, she rolled her shoulders back and slipped into the crowd of dancing teenagers, immediately finding the only girl she knew.

"hi, sarah!" she smiled toothily at the dirty blonde. sarah returned the grin, stepping towards her and grabbing her hands to pull her into the heart of the sea of moving bodies. sarah spun the girl around jokingly, laughter erupting between them as the taps of heels and lights of the country club threw a halt in the regularity of the outer banks suburbia.

somewhere between sillily slow dancing and dancing somewhat sensually, the alcohol kicking in, her eyes met with the boy from before. she knew his eyes were watching her the entire time, trying to answer a question that had toyed with his mind since they had their short exchange at the bar. she was thinking the same thing, had they met before? something was so familiar about him, but she couldn't put her mauve painted finger on it.

the definitely familiar smirk worked its way across his face as he worked his way across the dance floor. "hey," his voice greeted in her ear as she swayed her hips to the beat, gradually getting farther away from sarah as her intoxication grew stronger.

"hi!" her grin widened at the boy, her personality becoming bubbly as she grabbed his hand and tried to spin him but couldn't quite get her arm over his head due to his height. "i'm y/n, who are you?"

"rafe cameron. have i seen you before?" rafe replied, following with a question as he bent his knees so the girl in front of him could, in fact, twirl him around.

"yeah, we just saw each other at the bar, you silly goose." grabbing both his hands, she danced with him, completely informally, almost as if she was trying to give her parents a metaphorical middle finger. that is, until she realized what he said his last name was. "oh my god! my dad is closing a business deal with yours!"

"yeah, he is, and silly goose?" rafe's hands moved to the small of her back as the song changed to a slower melody. she wrapped her arms around his neck loosely and nodded. her eyes lit up from what he saw earlier, setting her face aglow. she was absolutely gorgeous under the moonlight and scattered lamps.

"would you prefer silly duck or silly chicken?" she quizzed, her brows quirking upwards. she felt content there, her conversation with rafe flowing through their quick remarks and quips.

whether it was the rum surging through her neurons or the heels pushing her up onto her tiptoes, she stumbled, stepping on rafe's toes on accident. he laughed it off, setting off fireworks in his turquoise eyes. "do you take constructive criticism on dancing?"

"oh, not with being emotionally wounded soon thereafter." she replied, nodding her head with a grin as she took a step back and stabilized herself. "so, what's it like being the son of the most important man on the island?"

rafe spun her around before letting her twirl, the song changing again, prompting the dancing crowd to shake their heads, ruining their perfectly styled hair and sway their hips, allowing dresses of satin to float through the air. "oh, y'know, lots of golfing and parties."

"you seem like the type to golf." y/n replied, bumping her hip into rafe's as they danced. "you don't seem like the type to dance, though."

"yeah, you're right." he dramatically conceded, taking her hand again and doing the wave. "so, cheer me on very loudly, i'm very insecure."

the conversation was tossed back and forth between the limited space between them due to forced proximity. he just seemed so different than the other people she's met in kildare. but dancing stopped and music paused when his father, and her father, walked out of the country club's building to celebrate their business deal.

"i've gotta go."

this night is sparkling, don't you let it go

i'm wonder struck, blushing all the way home

this night is flawless, don't you let it go

i'm wonder struck, dancing around all alone

i'll spend forever wondering if you knew

i was enchanted to meet you

y/n had her heels in her hand and held the hem of her dress in the other to keep it off the tarmac of her driveway. the stars adorned the night sky, sparkling fairy lights in a sea of tenebrosity. her mind replayed the nights events, casually skipping over her entertaining a conversation with girls she didn't know or like to dancing with rafe, a guy she just met but couldn't get out of her mind.

a blush peppered her cheeks in a dark pink, almost invisible in the dim light, but burning against her cheekbones. she walked with her mother, both still slightly tipsy and leaning on each other as they laughed, both for their own unspoken reasons. mr. y/l/n had bounded for the front door as soon as the car and been put in park, immediately wanting to get started on the deal he had just closed with rafe's father.

she fell against her soft mattress, like laying on a cloud as her mind was playing her hour with rafe that felt like a minute on repeat like a broken record. she was wonderstruck at the idea of him—maybe the people here weren't so bad.

she found a recording of the song the chamber orchestra was playing while she was slow dancing with rafe and played it on repeat as she changed into pajamas and washed off her makeup. her hips swaying off their own accord and her head moving side to side as she danced in her room all alone.

falling against her comforter once again, her eyes traced the glow-in-the-dark stickers she pasted to her ceiling the moment she entered her room in the new house. she followed the edges of each star, forming constellations—similarly to the flecks of gold and olive and in rafe's turquoise eyes.

as she drifted into a sleep, her mind stuck to rafe, wondering if he knew just how enchanted she was to meet him.

tags ( if you want to be added click here )

@insanitysparkles @anonymous0writer @prejudic3 @ilovejjmaybank @apoguecalledjj @calumbroutledge @rudys-pankow @bxllasanosa @xxxxxxxxxxxxxooooooooooooo @write-from-the-heart @thelocalpogue @fandomsinapile @starkeymarkey @jayjaymaebank @lovingxjj @drew-starkey

#obx #outer banks #outer banks fic #outer banks imagine #rafe cameron #drew starkey #rafe cameron fic #rafe cameron imagine #rafe cameron x reader #obx imagine #obx fanfiction #obx fic #rafe cameron fluff #fanfiction #rafe x y/n #rafe x you

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runefactorynonsense · 3 years

Text

[50 Followers Request 2 of 2] @twig---verginix suggested: Congrats on the follower benchmark!!!!!!! Could I request Lynette somehow getting to meet her grandkid(s) (building off the hc that Kyle's her son) 🥺🥺

This one is in writing! This is from... forever ago. I've sat on this, finished, for probably two months now, just too anxious to submit my writing online. Well. Today, I've decided, screw it. I've read and proofread and reread this, and today, I'm done. It's going up. I post my artwork all over. Why am I so anxious about sharing headcanons in writing? Not anymore.

♦~----------------------------~♦

♦ Eleven Years ♦

It’s been a decade since Kyle came to Alvarna, and a couple weeks since he was pulled from the Forest of Beginnings. His body is healing. Memories are trickling back to him, many from before he arrived... Including how he can now potentially reconnect with his mother. [Oneshot exploring the headcanon that Kyle is the son of RF1’s Commander Lynette.]

Word count: 10,746 words Rating: G Characters: Kyle, Lynette, Aaron & Aria, Rosalind, various others only mentioned

Read Below, or on A03! [ A03 link ]

♦~----------------------------~♦

"Kyle-"

A harsh breath. The sting of magic. The sound of water and wind tearing through the forest.

The rumble of the earth beneath his feet.

"Run!"

So many times, he'd had that dream. Darkness, somehow shaped into a tunnel, one he could never reach the end of, no matter how hard he tried. He was never fast enough. He was never lucky enough. And so on. And so forth. Countless times, he awoke after the darkness smothered him, awoke with his heart racing and his hands shaking, ready to grasp and claw at anything nearby... But there was no need- there was no crumbling earth or stone...

...yet he felt it. Every time.

Every time.

Except-

Lightning flashed, near, blazing, overwhelming, its presence bleaching the world before thunder arrived to complete the dance. Kyle’s eyes remained glued on the bedroom window. Droplets raced down, the grilles were shadowed, and he could only wait as another flash came- as another rumble rocked the world outside, rocked the home-

Yet he was the only one awake because of it. That was an assumption, but he didn't hear anything from the twins' room, he didn't feel anything from beside him. So far as he knew, or cared, he was alone. All he could do was stare forward, the window an unwitting focus as something at the back of his mind worked... As thoughts raced in that confusing, exhausted way they often did when one woke up after a dream that threatened to slip away, or after a night where one swore they would remember something in the morning... So close... So important... Within a metaphorical grasp, yet the idea of it slipping away created more terror than any lost dream ever did-

-and then, with the third strike of lightning, he knew.

He knew.

Lightning didn't touch down in town that time, but behind nearby mountain peaks, causing them to be silhouetted against the window from however far away. Those mountains- those trails- the country beyond-

The tunnel was real.

He knew where the tunnel was.

In no time at all, he was out of bed, dressed, grasping for his shortsword and for two thinner tomes. A coat was tossed around his shoulders without any care as to what type it was- a coat was a coat. There was no drowsiness, no leftover sluggishness in his limbs- no. Sleep had been chased away into irrelevance. He had to move. If only he had time to write something down, to explain- but he couldn’t. There would be too much to write. He had to get to the end of that tunnel. He had to dig. He had to find-

"Dad?"

One hand still on the doorknob, Kyle spun around, eyes wide, vision adjusting to the darkness. From the stairs, a soft light flickered, the sort created by a candle meant to be carried in a small dish. Aaron was the one who held the candle, while his sister lingered just in front of him, already at the bottom of the stairs, her hands on the stair rail. Aaron had to rub at his eyes while Aria's gaze, accented by two different colored eyes, found Kyle's, with the beginnings of the curiosity they had inherited from their mother--

"What are you-"

"Stay inside, please," Kyle said as the wind turned, as some rain came inside the front door before he put himself in front of the stream. He tugged his hood over his head, though it was already nearly soaked through. Didn't matter. Not in the least. "The storm is heavy, my two. Please-" A weight settled into his chest. As much as that need to go still pulled at him, as wild as the wind, he found himself frozen. As he looked at his two, at the twins he had helped raise, he felt dread. Helpless. He couldn't say anything. How could he explain?

He didn't know what was about to happen- but it wouldn't be simple.

"I'll be back," It was almost a lie and he knew it. "Go back to bed, please-" Another flash of lightning. "-or please, be quiet until you go back to sleep-"

"Why-?"

"I'll explain later," That wasn't a lie- if he could, he would. He just. Didn't know if. Or when. Or-

He had to just go.

So he did.

"Stay inside!" Kyle repeated, his voice half lost in the rain as he slipped out, as he shut the door, and as he followed lantern and lightning to the barn just up the hill. Cold and wet didn't bother him as he let himself inside, his boots creating dark prints on the floor below. Around, a few buffamoo raised their heads, a few woolies paid no attention, a few cluckadoodles snoozed away. Near the front, however, a set of golden eyes found him, more thoughtful, almost startlingly intelligent.

Kyle beckoned the silverwolf forward. After a short stretch, the wolf rose from their sleeping place - a haphazard collection of hay and blankets - and came to his side. Around her neck was a pink fabric, a scarf or shawl that resembled the sort Aaron had experimented with. Kyle's gaze lingered on it, on the patterns stitched within- but that was all. And not for long. No need to worry about a saddle. He had no time. No time. One swing of a leg later, Kyle was on the she-wolf's back, and out the swinging door. Claws tore through wet earth with more traction than hooves would have allowed. Through wind and rain, Kyle and the wolf rushed through the upper roads, then past the town border, into the wilderness that lay beyond, and then further. Untamed territory tried to fight back with thorns, branches, and stone, but it wasn't enough.

Miles out of town were covered in minutes while the storm surged. Only when he spotted a few squared, colored stones sticking out of the earth did Kyle urge the wolf to slow. Those colors, that shape... Those were building materials taken back by the earth.

It was the lost end of a tunnel.

A tunnel lost years ago, an infrastructure not worth excavating or replacing due to the earthquakes.

On his feet, Kyle fingered those tomes he had grabbed. Earth magic. Some folks would be able to clear the mountainside in no time- he wasn't one of them. He could only encourage a wheelbarrow's worth of ground to the side at a time- but it was better than nothing. Back and forth, little by little, he dug at the hillside, working his way up, then in between those stone markers. Part of the way through, his wolf even lent her claws to the effort. The roof of their self-made cave began to loom and block the rain, but he had to keep going. He had to keep looking. This end of the tunnel, the one that had come down, the one that had blocked out the light, been the cause of those dreams, he knew what he was going to find-

-and finally, as another flash lit up the sky, he saw the softest shine of metal on tattered fabric.

The bag.

He used his hands to dig this time, and out of the wall he pulled an intricate tote that had seen better days. Dirt and discoloration had attacked once vibrant blue and white fabrics, brass buckles were all but destroyed, but- but- but it was in one piece. Undisturbed, save for a few small insects that he brushed away, uncaring. Inside, he found more books, journals and two more tomes, fragile and stained, but in one piece. Able to be read.

Thank goodness.

But he had no time to celebrate. He swapped the papers around until he had a file covered in Earth Script, the letters faint, but there. Still there. Still able to tell their stories.

He turned his attention back to the wolf, who had sat down not far behind him. For a moment, he was quiet, and looked at his companion, who stared back with a loyal, curious gaze. Panting. Filthy. Yet, despite this, she was ready to go. Despite being dragged out and soaked through, she was still ready to follow him. To do what he asked.

He couldn't bring her any further. She didn't deserve what was to come.

So he pulled some magic around one hand. "I need you to go back home," He told the wolf as a white glow filled with intent surrounded that palm. "Go home, keep an eye on everyone, keep everything safe until I come back-" If he came back. "-please." He put a palm between her ears.

"Go."

A whine and then a high-pitched hum later, he was alone. He let out a breath, steeled himself, frowned, and then turned back to the wall he had created.

He wasn't strong enough to do this- but there wasn't any time. No way to get help. Not before disaster. He could buy a little more time. A little more time for someone stronger to come.

So he followed the ancient instructions as they directed him toward a long ago buried temple, and prayed to Terrable and Ventuswill and whatever other gods there were, that he was doing the right thing.

♦~----------------------------~♦

A pen rolled around between his fingers, the smoothness of it, the weight, the tangibility, all so incredibly mesmerizing. After spending so long trapped in that plane, with nothing but that void and the voice of that dragon outside of his own awareness... He appreciated every little detail. In fact, everything was astounding. Color. Sound. Texture. He found himself staring at the pen as if it was a masterpiece- and though its craftsmanship was nothing to ignore, it coming from the desks of the Sainte-Coquilles, the writing implement was hardly a work of true art, such as the paintings on the wall, a well forged blade, one of the ships in the harbor, or one of the novels over on the shelves. It was just... a pen... And yet it meant so much more.

Kyle closed his eyes with a deep breath and forced himself to set the pen down. (Where it clacked softly against the table, which was cool under his fingers, and...) Pressure in his head made him lean back in his chair, though not too far back, not enough to lift its feet from the ground. His eyes were tired. His body was tired. If he had a soul - and, well, he was pretty damn sure he did, after all that had happened; magic alone couldn't have held that beast - it was worn out. Existing took up so much energy. Answering questions, to the best of his ability, took up more. Then recovering, for he could feel that he'd gone so long without food, water, proper sleep- All of that left him with a headache that had persisted for the past week-

Or was it two?

At least the pain had begun to fade. He could sit up and bear sunlight where it had previously burned his eyes and made his head pound. Not right then, however. Right then... Maybe he needed more water. That's all it felt like. A benign headache he never would have paid much attention to before. Water would make it go away. Or at least help. Couldn’t hurt. In fact, there was a cup on the table in front of him, near the hand that had previously held the pen. He took a few careful sips, then with the same hand, pressed fingers against his forehead.

"Do you need to take a break-?"

"No," Came his honest answer as he leaned forward again. Rosalind's voice pulled him back on track where his mind had wandered - again. He craned his neck in a stretch, and before he was done, her hand found his shoulder. He dropped his own hand to rest on hers. His heart in his throat, he murmured, "Where was I?"

"You... said you remembered why you were out here," She prompted, her voice now low. "Way back when."

Right.

"Did you still want to talk about this now...?" Curiosity pulled at her voice; he knew she couldn't help it. There was nothing that she didn't want to learn, no topic that she wouldn't read about, no end to the stream of facts that she could pull out about this, that, or another... And, well, now he had gone and vanished, and there were a host of answers that she not only wanted to know, but that she deserved to be told.

"We can stop, if you need," She continued, without missing a beat. "You've been up most of the morning and did some work, good work, and Natalie said not to stress yourself-"

"I can talk," He didn't so much as interrupt as slip the answer in, in a way he'd grown used to doing. All of that knowledge and all of her opinions could come out as lengthy, absentminded rambles when she got comfortable. After the time he'd spent with her, he'd learned how to mix his words in, how to redirect, how to ask about a new topic, a smooth verbal dance that those closest to her all seemed to learn. To be back in that pattern, as if he'd never left... Focus. Focus. Talk. He could talk. "I just... don't think I can take any more stairs." He'd probably take a nap on the couch in a little while. Not a bad idea. Not at all.

She hesitated, her brows furrowing, but let out a slow breath and relaxed, that hand still on his shoulder. After a few quiet ticks of the clock in the corner, she leaned forward enough to put her forehead on his shoulder. Not sure of his own balance, not yet, he merely tipped his own head to rest his cheek against her hair- the motion itself soothing him further.

His eyes open, he stared across the front room of his home, toward the windows, toward the cracked door that let in the late afternoon sun, though he didn't focus on any of those details. Why he was here, Rosalind had reminded him. Why he had been near Alvarna. "Do you remember that nightmare," He asked her, matching her previous volume. "The one I kept having?"

She nodded against his shoulder. After a short stretch of quiet, where branches scraped gently against a window, where one of the woolies brayed in the distance, she sat up. She moved not in a quick, rough motion, but in a way that said she was fully alert. He paid attention to her, to the way she tilted her head. "It was a memory, wasn't it?" The conviction in her voice was palpable.

"Yes." The half-dream, half-memory remained hazily confusing in his mind. Some days the dream felt more distant, more false- other days it was as if he'd never lost his memory to begin with. Everything had been real, the darkness, the running, the fall which led to him closer... "I had been a researcher," The words stuck in his throat when he finally spoke. A disconnect spanned across his mind, from memories that came before and after. Why did pulling from both sources at once make him feel so strange? And at the same time, he found himself hesitant to speak of what he had once known, especially to his wife of all people. Someone who hadn't been a part of that life before...

Dragons above, what a thought.

"You're serious?" Rosalind's voice helped close some of that distance. Or, at the very least, it helped fix his attention once more. He had to bridge the gap.

"Yes."

"...That makes sense, honestly," There was some amusement in Rosalind's tone. "You always were better at finding what I asked for than other people were, and you went more into detail than anyone else taking those requests..." It was her turn to mess with the pen. "What was your focus? Did you have one...?"

"Runes. Runeys. Though I wasn't- I'm not a strong enough Earthmate to do too much with them." He laughed a little bit, then. "I was an aide, most of the time- I catalogued or added supplemental magic. And made a lot of phone calls for the more powerful Earthmates." He missed those calls. Missed the paperwork. Missed his logs and his sketchbook....

He missed his small team.

Their faces came to him, clear as the day he had been separated from them. Fascination faded. Heart heavy, he leaned forward, just slightly, enough that Rosalind was quick to notice. One of her hands rubbed slow, careful circles near the top of his neck.

Part of him felt so alone.

"The thunder woke me up. I... Maybe it triggered something. But. I remembered where my partner and I had been, just before I wound up here." The sun may have been shining outside, but he swore he could hear the rain and feel the chill. He kept his eyes open and focused on a ray of sunlight on the floor. He whispered, and Rosalind leaned over to hear, "I went there. I found the landslide the earthquakes had caused." That Fiersome had caused. "The bags were still there- buried." He worked to open and close the fingers on one hand. "We hadn't told anyone we had changed course to go toward here. We planned to call once we got here- got to the Inn. Otherwise, we camped. We... had been camping. I don't think my partner survived, otherwise- they'd have looked for the notes. They would have looked for our wolves. They... "

"...They would have come looking for you."

And no one had. No one had come to Alvarna asking for someone who matched his description. Healing from a fall, a hit to the head, and memory lost, he had gone unmolested in the town for a decade. He had always wondered why that was- now, the possibilities were more grim than he had ever considered. No one who could have inferred where he had gone had survived.

Only him.

“Or they just assumed me dead, too.”

Rosalind didn’t let that thought linger in the air for long. "Enough about work," she said as her hand continued to move across the top of his neck. He was grateful for the contact, for the mild stimulation her fingers provided, for the way she gave him a brief hug before she settled her one arm across his back. "That's just one part of everything. How about..." It was her turn to hesitate. "How about family?"

Family...

"You've always been so good with mine," Rosalind continued. "It always made me wonder, you must have been used to dealing with so many different people... A big family, maybe? Or close family friends? Found family? Or..."

Family.

All that time in the clinic or resting, and he had simply... not thought about that word. He hadn’t connected those dots. No one had thought to ask him, either. (Not yet, perhaps?) As Kyle let out a breath, it dawned on him that family wasn't just Rosalind, Aaron and Aria- no. He had more. He had people out there he could reach out to, that he could pull into this new little corner of life-

-people who hadn't heard from him in a literal decade. People who it hadn’t occurred to him to think of, not until that question-

Oh my gods.

"Kyle? Are you-?"

"The seal," He said as he sat upright, a little too quickly. He closed his eyes as the headrush came and went, he shook his head gently. "I- the seal. Wax seal," Came his correction when he realized seal could mean something entirely different, and he didn't at all mean the damn dragon. Not this time. "Can you get me some paper? And your seal? The family seal?" The wax seal that belonged to the De Sainte-Coquilles.

"You... want to write to someone?" She may have been confused, but that didn’t stop her from getting up anyway.

"Yes!" That was what he wanted. "Yes," he repeated, more quietly as he reached for the pen that had slowly rolled away.

Muscle memory took Rosalind to the desk that lay at the back of the room so she could fetch the writing materials from a desk that lay just out of the sun. She returned with several sheets of parchment, a square of wax, and then the gaudy stamp used by the most powerful merchant family within the kingdom. Never before had Kyle used the seal for himself, even if Rosalind had given him her name at their wedding. He hadn’t felt it necessary- nothing he did warranted something that important. However... If there was ever a time to use the name as his own, it was now. But before he could touch pen to paper, the implication of reconnection came down on him, like endless, frigid water pressing from all sides... It threatened to overwhelm him after spending so long without the physical form to feel anything of the sort- and- It’s okay, he told himself. He breathed slow, then shook his head, the tiniest motion. He could do this...

"Who do you want to write to?"

"My mother.” His mother. The only direct family he had...or, she had been the only family, up until a few years ago... He had more now... “But I- I need the seal because...” Another pause. Rosalind didn’t rush him. Rather, her eyes were gentle as she urged him to continue, and he mentally thanked her. “If... she gets a letter claiming to be from her son, I don’t think she’ll believe it. Not after so long.” If his mother was anything like he remembered, she would rip the letter to bits without bothering to finish it. “But the seal- If the letter says it’s from a De Sainte-Coquille...” He trailed off, his mouth pulled into a thin line. “That...”

Beside him, Rosalind leaned closer, her shoulder against one of his. “That carries weight?”

Kyle nodded. “It... should make the letter feel more real. At least, I hope...”

From her place beside him, Rosalind raised a brow, and he could tell she was holding back, restraining herself from asking any number of questions. In the end, she simply mused, “Does your mother know of the family, or...?”

He laughed.

The sound came so loudly, so suddenly, that Rosalind leaned back in her chair while he quickly composed himself in order to mutter a quiet, sincere apology. That was it, though, that was just it. The fact came to him in a flash, as had so many other details had since he had returned. “She does. Know. Did. At least-” He collected himself. Collected his thoughts into a sensible sentence, not the scattered diction he had almost gone on. “We lived in Kardia for a short time when I was a kid...” A kid no older than Aaron or Aria- younger, maybe? Yes, likely younger...

“Kardia-?”

“Yeah.”

“Wait- she knew aunt Bianca?”

“Knew might be a stretch...” Once more, he was amazed at how he could actually retrieve memories. When he wasn’t comparing old to new, the past settled in his mind like an old friend, undisturbed by the paradigm shift that had happened when he’d lost his memory. There was less haze, less confusion as to what was real. Instead, he could see Kardia through a child’s eyes, see the steps, the lamp posts, the cherry trees, the sea shells, the farm fences... The homes at the top of the hills... “But my mother knew the family was there. She would know the name. Know it is important. She’s smart enough for that... But we moved to the Capitol before long...”

“And aunt Bianca took her estate to Trampoli,” Rosalind added, half to herself, because Kyle wasn’t quite sure if that was correct. (There were a lot of aunts in her family tree.)

“I doubt she ever knew my mom had a kid.” Bianca hadn’t been a name he’d really known as a child. He could remember the maid, Tabatha, and the spreads of food at a couple festivals... But other than that, other townsfolk had left more lasting impressions. Though he was close to getting lost in the old memories - and, honestly, almost did, recalling which homes he got the courage to spend time in... - he forced himself to listen to the ticking clock once more.

“Bianca does tend to have blinders on things that don’t directly interest her,” Rosalind didn’t miss a beat as she laughed softly and rolled her eyes, a motion reserved for when she playfully chided members of her own family. “So... That would make sense- but-” She tapped her fingers against the table. More thinking. Those fingers crept over to his own.

“That’s why... no one found me.” So close. One degree of separation. A family that spanned the entire kingdom - and more - had, at one point in time, met him, met his family. However, it hadn’t been enough. Not back then. He had been too hard to find. Now, though... Now the family knew him. “But...” Kyle stared down at the paper again as a rush of determination began to creep through his core, pushing away that despair. He’d gone to dinners and reunions and festivals, he’d talked with cousins and uncles and nieces and nephews and grandparents. They could confirm his identity. “If she reads it... She can contact the family, and they’ll know about me... If this works... It would...” But it was so much harder to put those thoughts into words. Possibilities were just that- possibilities. He could think about chances or hypotheses all he wanted. Was he confident enough in the idea to voice it? He wanted to write to his mother, that was an idea, a fact. But would this work...?

“It will.” There was such faith in Rosalind’s voice that he had to look at her again. A small, warm smile grew as she laughed softly again. “Kyle, if everything else worked out to bring you back, this- this letter will, too.” She squeezed his hand one last time before she removed her hand, and leaned forward to kiss his cheek. From there, she leaned so that her elbows were on the table, so she could watch the parchment as he wrote. A greeting came first, a rank accompanied by his mother’s name, before a comma and an opening paragraph that held as much tact any paper he had written before...

“I’ll get some tea going while you write,” Rosalind murmured after a pause, and the promise of leaf and citrus made Kyle nod approvingly. “And maybe you can tell me about your time in Kardia and the Capitol...?” She was out of her seat by then, her head tilted back, her eyes shifting as the gears in her mind began to turn. “Or what your mother was like?”

“...Want to know something?” It was the greatest rhetorical question he could ever ask, but it always got Rosalind’s attention in the right way. “She- we- aren’t from Norad.”

Wide eyes found his as Rosalind breathed, “Really?”

“No.” More writing. A pause. “She’s from the Empire.”

“Sechs?”

“It’s a long story.”

“I can get food, too. I want to hear it.”

♦~----------------------------~♦

“Two more coming!”

Luckily Aria was used to the game of ‘catch the apples Aaron was throwing down, and avoid getting hit on the head with them’. He may have been several branches higher, basically near the top of the dang fruit tree, but she could still see him, see as he reached behind him - without looking - to drop his bounty toward her. She had a sheet ready, and caught the two multicolored apples with expert care. Softly. Without the apples slamming into each other and bruising one another in that unappetizing way. After a glance to double check, Aria grinned and then lowered the sheet so the apples could roll into a basket down on the ground below. Said basket was near full with apples and oranges gathered throughout the day, and before long, it would become too heavy to carry. Not without the wolf there to help, but the wolf was at home. Normally, they took her with them essentially wherever they wound up, and the wolf was happy to follow- but ever since they had brought their father home, the wolf had wanted to remain by his side. Kyle had tamed her, so it made sense.

Even if it meant a basket of fruit would be a little more annoying to bring back.

Aria cupped her hands around her mouth and called “That’s enough!” up to her brother. Her twin stopped, looked down at her, stood on his branch, grabbed one more apple, and then bit into it, held it in his teeth. Only then did he begin to climb down; Aria cackled at him the rest of the way. “What are you, a chipsqueek waiting for winter?”

“Nuh!” His reply was muffled as he dropped to the ground beside her, then as he chewed the chunk he had taken from the fruit. “Jus’ wan’ed ‘un.”

“That’s a good idea,” Aria grinned, brows raised, and her amusement only grew as she saw Aaron narrow his eyes. She reached out, fingers moving in a demanding motion. “Gimmie.”

“No.”

“Why not?” She reached for the apple; Aaron held it away from her. “We share the same germs!”

“It’s mine!”

“Just one bite!”

“No!”

“C’mon!”

“I’ll bite your hand!”

“Not before I-”

Both children froze as they heard the call of a monster, equine in nature, followed by the sound of approaching hoofbeats. Equine monsters weren’t native in the wild to their area - they’d done enough prowling around the ruins to know - but they had seen travelers go through on their backs. Their relatives had some lovely horses and related beasts at the manor and then at events. Carriages or merchant carts came through every so often. Still, a whinny was a foreign sound, one that had both children silent and turning to stare at the nearest road. They may have been, what, fifty yards away from the edge of town? They had crossed the large, well used road, and gone a short distance more before they found the tiny orchard in between monster populated areas. Unwilling to go right to the road, Aria and Aaron shared a glance before they began to climb back up the tree they had just been in. Aaron’s apple fell, discarded in the grass as the two came to a high branch, thick enough to support them both, and without leaves that would normally block their view.

Aaron looked left, Aria looked right, and it was in her direction that she spotted something. She tapped her brother’s arm rapidly. She pointed toward a series of signs some distance from them, and it was near those signs that someone had stopped; a single someone, a traveler on a singular white unico.

Aaron was squinting, though, which made Aria look back toward the rider.

“They’ve got like a uniform, or something,” Murmured her brother. “I wish I had Roy’s spyglass.”

Aaron was right- now that Aria took a second glance, the cloth - from what she could see at that distance - had the sharpness and detail of some important uniform, along with a sheath tied around their back, half hidden by a cloak. Logos or emblems, however, were far too tiny, even to see their colors. “Maybe here to see Byron? Or Tanya? Or the Inn?”

“Tanya or the Inn, I’d bet.”

The traveler encouraged their unico to move once more. Soft hoofbeats came down the road, almost obscured by the wind at that distance.

Oooh, she couldn’t resist. “Wanna bet?”

Aaron returned her challenge with a small smirk, and none of the previous annoyance that had surrounded the apple. “I’d bet a week of helping dad clean the barn.”

“You’re on!”

Aaron dropped to his knees, grasped the tree branch, moved so he hung by his palms, then let himself fall toward the ground. Aria clambered down, herself, her path a sort of zig-zagging hop as she raced after her brother. Aaron reached the road sign, now vacant. He put a hand on the pole, which pointed into Alvarna in most directions, along with signs east and west which directed toward nearby smaller towns (which, at that moment, didn’t matter).

“I’m betting they’re going to the Inn because they’ve got some kind of meeting tomorrow.”

Aria caught up and tried to lean to the side to see which direction the unico had gone, however, all she could see was treeline, and the shine of the nearby bay beyond it. The hill was too tall, the vegetation beautiful, but too thick. “I think they’re some sort of representative, and they’ve got a message for Mayor Byron.”

“And if they go to Tanya, we both lose.”

“But anything else, nothing.”

Aaron stepped away from the signpost. Aria took up step alongside him. Her arms swung gently at her sides. “What if they go to multiple places?” She mused. “Like if they see Byron, but then go to the Inn? Or Byron then Tanya?”

“...I dunno,” Aaron rubbed his neck. “Maybe we just lose.”

By then, they both entered a dense line of shade, one which led south and toward the academy building. The academy would be to their right while their home would be somewhere left, a bit further down. Below that would be the turn into town. The walk was a comparatively short one, and an enjoyable one, especially since it was a holiday with no school in session. Floating leaves, lost from nearly every tree in the area, only added to the serenity. A soft crunch sound underfoot didn’t hurt, either. As the first glimpses of the school building crept through the trees, however, Aria couldn’t help but stare at it. Could the traveler be going there, too? Maybe they had more books or scrolls to donate to it, or the library? Important looking people carried important books, right? Hmm..

Aaron grabbed her arm. Her eyes flashed toward his gloves, then up. He stared back at her, wide eyed, before he looked away, and raised a hand to point. “Aria,” came his voice, a swift, hushed whisper, almost lost in the autumn sunshine that surrounded them. “They’re in front of our house.”

“Our...?” but she trailed off when she saw that Aaron was right. The twins inched to the edge of the road, and took advantage of familiar foliage in order to peer down the hill, toward the property their parents owned. There, on the slope that led from the main road to their front yard, stood the traveler, now dismounted, their unico obediently still beside them. Aria wasn’t quite sure what she felt right then; it wasn’t fear, not exactly, because they didn’t have any reason to fear someone who randomly came to town... Wariness, though? Absolutely. She eyed that unico, eyed the horn, and knew it could produce some high powered magic- on top of how unicos had terrible tempers, too. For someone to tame one... Then, there was that uniform... the striking navy blues, the white gloves and footwear, the eyepatch, the dagger that hung at their back, the glint of some sort of metal accessories...

Their bet was forgotten.

“Maybe... they’re looking for mom?” Aria posited, a hand on her chin. “They look official. Mom might need help with a project again? Or maybe it’s family business things.” ‘Business’ was always something that was going on, right-?

“That makes sense, actually,” Aaron shook his head to dislodge a couple leaves. “Should we go help them?”

Confidence was a more natural feeling than wariness. That, and, after all they had been through below ground, what was one stranger up here in plain daylight? While Aria did hesitate, it wasn’t long before she took a quick breath, put her hands together, and decided, “I think we should.”

“Before Roy and Cammy tell them the wrong way.”

“Let alone the others.”

“Let’s-”

The traveler moved before they did. Before either twin could pull themselves out of the familiar foliage, the traveler approached the home with a determined, maybe even angry stride. In one hand they held parchment, maybe a letter and its envelope. Before they got close to the home, they glanced down at the paper one more time, then up at its mailbox. Whatever they saw made them square their shoulders, and give the door a series of powerful, booming knocks.

Despite the effort, there was no yelling to go along with the sound. No complaining. No argument. In fact, the way the traveler had knocked, then stepped back, made the twins fall silent and reevaluate. Now the stranger stood away from the front door, down the stairs, but still in between them and their home. They could go around back, sure, easily, the hill wasn’t that steep- but. But. Had they been wrong? Was this actually someone they needed to be concerned about? Beside her, Aria could feel as Aaron pulled magic around one hand; he usually had the magic discs or pages with him, and had gotten quite good with them, but she, herself, was disarmed. What had she needed a sword for anymore? It was home, tucked away in a compartment, and Aaron’s more detailed magic books were in the same place. A small wind spell was useful to bring with when gathering fruit from trees... but what would such a low level spell do against someone who could potentially counteract it? The eyepatch had Aria’s full attention. Are they a soldier? Was that why they had the unico and the uniform and-?

“Hello?” Came their mother’s voice, soft only thanks to the distance. Rosalind sounded polite, yes, but both children could hear the edge in her voice. The front door was open, then, and their mother kept the knob in one hand while she stepped out onto the small porch. Behind her, in the home, hovered the wolf’s shape. “What seems to be the problem?”

“Is this a Sainte-Coquille residence?” came the woman’s voice in reply, to the point, authority laced through her words.

“In a manner of speaking,” Rosalind gestured toward the road, and up, somewhat toward the visible bay. “The actual manor and center of this area’s business, however, is near the southeastern portion of town. It’s just past the inn. My husband and I live here, but the property isn’t under the family name.”

“Then why does mail from here have the trade seal? Do you know of this?” They presented the letter, its contents turned it toward the front door. Their voice also became sharper, as if the letter itself made them angry. “I want to know who wrote this-”

Rosalind leaned back, upright and stiff, her eyes wide and mouth partially open. Honestly, the way the stranger spoke should have made their mother mad- Aria had heard embarrassing customers at the general store and restaurant before. She’d heard both her mother and uncle Max turn down “incompetent business wannabe-associates” before, after that sort of tone had been used. But her mother, right then, wasn’t angry, or bothered. Instead, she brought up one hand, fingers splayed. “Ma’am, I- I think I might have some answers. Just- give me a moment. Please. Wait right here?” Without closing the door, Rosalind took a step back and vanished from view. “I’ll be right back!”

♦~----------------------------~♦

Kyle was at the bottom of the stairs when Rosalind had turned and strode back into the home. He stood with one shoulder against the wall, and one palm covered the top of a newel post. For an instant, the wolf hovered at his side, before she wandered back toward the front, antsy for some reason. Sleep weighed down his own limbs, but his head didn’t hurt - not yet - and he was able to take himself down to the first floor. Though he had improved over the previous season, stairs took a lot out of him, and he was glad for the support walls offered. He had begun to will himself to walk once more when Rosalind noticed him. Her mouth turned down for a heartbeat before she put one foot on the lowest stair. She held out an arm, and he laced his arm in hers. That contact gave him the final bit of balance he needed.

“How much of that did you hear?”

“Not much,” Kyle admitted as he was guided toward the door. “Just... the knock. And a yell. It woke me up. Is there trouble?”

Rosalind stepped around a side table and drummed her fingers against his arm. “I don’t think so.”

Huh? She met his gaze, and he... for the life of him, he couldn’t read that expression. That meant she wanted to know what he thought... right? If she didn’t fully explain whatever was going on, she would get a better answer- and normally he would bother her until she said her opinion anyway. Right then, that didn’t feel like the right move. The feeling only grew as Rosalind allowed him to stand on his own, and as she allowed him to go to the door, first, her own hand now on the wolf’s back, encouraging it to stay still. He looked over his shoulder at her, brows raised, but didn’t wait.

If he hadn’t grasped the door frame, he would have fallen. Despite that, he came close- a wavering grip, leg muscles that suddenly felt weak, and not because of his recovery, no. He wasn’t that tired, not yet. It was all in his mind. Shock? Surprise? Because- Outside- On the path, the person he saw-

His mother had read the letter.

Her attire had changed, newer, bolder, with additional decorative medals on one shoulder, but there was no mistaking that deep blue motif, the white accents, the way her hair still had most of that color- and then the eyepatch which did nothing to lessen the strength of the one visible eye, still sharp after all that time-

Commander Lynette Laurent.

She had read the letter, she had tracked down the address, had followed the instructions.. And whatever she had thought of it all didn’t matter, right? In the end, she saw him, didn’t she? Him, in the door, her, just stairs and strides away... Undeniable proof. After a moment, Kyle smiled, the expression askew and completely nervous. No confrontation with a monster or spell or dragon god could compare to the way his heart raced right then. He gave a short, shuddering laugh, the sound all he could muster. As he lowered himself down so he sat on the first stair, he covered his face with one hand “I-” Another laugh. The hand fell into his lap. He shook his head, a tiny motion accompanied by glossy eyes. She was still there. This was no dream. He could feel warmth from the sun and then a small push from the breeze, and hear as the paper in his mother’s hands fell, softly, to the ground below.

He cleared his throat, then tried again, and managed the first words that came to him; “Mom.

“I’m sorry.”

If she had turned and left without a word, he would’ve understood. He would’ve waited. He would’ve written again, and hoped that one day, she would be able to reciprocate. He’d have hope. After all he’d seen, after where he’d been, having a bit hope wasn’t a stretch-

But she didn’t leave.

“You-” Anger had laced her words when she had first knocked on the door; he’d heard the muffled complaints from the upper floor. Right then, her tone had lost its edge. “You should be-” Her voice, normally so strong- did it waver? She closed her eye, she shook her head, she mouthed words no one could hear... She took one step backward- and stopped. Kyle was afraid to speak again, not too soon, not when he might ruin the moment, or push her away. Her turmoil filled the air, circulating like an oppressive cloud, powered by whatever was going on in her head. “It’s been...”

“Ten years...” He commented as she paused to breathe, his voice low, as if he was once again a child being lectured for some wrongdoing.

“Eleven,” She corrected, power and pain in her words as her volume returned. That tension, the atmosphere- they broke as she steeled herself. Sunlight and wind seemed to return to his senses as she stalked forward a few strides, close enough to kneel down, able to look him in the eyes. She lingered in that spot for a moment, her eye searching. He didn’t move, not down the stairs toward her, not back up toward his home, nor did he pull away when she reached out. One hand touched one of his knees. “Goddammit...” It was her turn to cover her face with one hand. “I thought you were dead.”

“I’m sorry,” he was repeating himself, but what else could he say? So much, honestly, but the words didn’t come to him. He’d never expected the letter to be answered, let alone... Let alone... Gods above, Rosalind had been right, hadn’t she? Things had worked out, hadn’t they? At least, so far. Yet, for all the good, a melancholy settled over him and put pressure behind his eyes. A decade. He had been gone- others had been gone- for all that time. How long had she searched for him? How lost had she been? How angry had she become? And what if she had been on the right trail? If she had found him sooner, would he have believed her? If he had sent her away, would she have ever come back?

Those were answers he didn’t want.

With a small sniff, he leaned forward, far enough to touch his forehead to her arm. Her other hand came up to rest on the top of his head. That hand on his head soon turned into an arm around his shoulders, and then a hug, and in that instant he really did feel like he was a boy, sitting on a kitchen chair after some stupid stunt that left him needing to be patched up. No bandage would be good enough. Not when he needed to talk to... to fix everything? To fill the gaps? To make up for time? Something like that, all three? Where to start? The day he vanished, and what had happened? Why he didn’t try to find her sooner, knowing his mother had dealt with folks with lost memories before? Why he had finally written out of the blue...?

“Come inside,” He said, at last. “Please.”

“I plan to.” There was a more familiar sternness to her words as she leaned back. She glowered at him - an expression he didn’t fear at all, he knew better - as she came to her feet with an outstretched hand. “You owe me that much.”

He did. He accepted the help up, only to let out a harsh breath when he realized just how much he needed it. Just the act of trying to stand made him waver, and Lynette had clearly not been expecting to support so much of his weight. An instant later, she had a hand under that same elbow so she could haul him upright. Once he was settled on both feet, she tilted her head, that false anger replaced by raised brows and a searching gaze. “Kyle? What’s wrong?”

“It’s a long story- but- I’m fine.” At her narrowed eyes, he amended, “I’m getting better. I promise.”

“The kitchen isn’t far inside the door,” It was the first time Rosalind had spoken since she had gone back inside. Both Kyle and Lynette turned their attention to her, and Kyle dipped his head in thanks.

“Inside and to the right,” He instructed. The stairs cooperated with him as he went up, though he was thankful for the way his mother kept that hand on his arm, just in case. Support like that helped him move more boldly, as bold as a man rebuilding muscle mass could manage. He gave Rosalind a glance and a small, thankful smile as he passed her. (Lynette’s gaze also lingered, though she said nothing.) Rosalind returned the smile with a slow nod at them both before she slipped out the front door. Part of Kyle wanted her to follow, she could help fill in so many blanks- but at the same time, he appreciated the space. That would mean even more answers for her later, more added to the pile of endless stream of questions he’d answered since he’d returned.

♦~----------------------------~♦

Once she closed the door behind her, as quietly as she could for how old the wood was, she heard small footsteps coming down the road. Sympathetic eyes found her children, cautious, quiet, in a way that made her let out a slow breath. Oh goodness. “Where were you two?” Her question was somewhat rhetorical; as Aaron neared, she was able to reach and remove two small leaves which were stuck in his hair, then another off of Aria’s shoulder. Small leaves, round, dark in color- they obviously came from one of the wild bushes scattered through the area...

Aaron paused beside her and leaned against her side, while Aria kept her distance so she could still see the front of the house. Rosalind let one hand rest on Aaron’s shoulder while she tried to pull Aria closer with the other. As usual, the girl didn’t let herself be caught.

“Mom...”

“Who was that?”

“Why did they go inside? But you’re out here?”

“And-”

“It’s alright, my dears,” She shushed. “Nothing is wrong. It’s just...” Oh, how to even begin to explain, especially when she didn’t fully understand, herself? For a moment, her attention went to the unico; it was still loose. The equine seemed harmless, however; it had wandered further into the property, into an area fenced on the other three sides, where it had found a patch of grass to work at. At least for right then, it wouldn’t need to be tied or put in the barn... So she didn’t need to think about it. Instead, she lifted the hand that had been on her son’s shoulder, and tapped him gently. That time, even Aira looked over, and when Rosalind had their attention, she asked, “Where is the basket?”

As expected, they were distracted by the sudden change in topic. Aria blinked up at her. Aaron turned his head, narrowed his brown eyes, then realized, “Oh- the fruit basket?”

“Yes- didn’t you all take it?”

“Up the road,” Aria pointed past the Academy. “We went to the orange trees, then the apple ones behind the signs.”

At least those groves were away from the monsters. (Not that monsters gave either of them trouble... but... that was something she preferred not to think about too much.) Rosalind stepped away from Aaron, then motioned with her head up the path. “Why don’t we pick it up, before the critters decide they want a bite?”

Neither child seemed particularly enthused about being guided away from home. They followed her anyway, though more slowly, their steps in time with her own, instead of yards and yards somewhere up ahead. For the most part, they were alone. Once, Rosalind gave a small wave to a small tourist group, but they quickly went on their way. Dirt and gravel then gave away to those well-kept grasses, and then beyond that, the taller, wilder foliage. Aaron split off then, tugged at the basket arm, brought it into the open. Rosalind murmured a thanks to him. On one knee, she turned over the fruits at the top of the pile; none of them seemed distured, damaged, or bitten into. Good.

Honestly, the sunlight felt pleasant, enough to make her sit down. For a moment, she mussed with an apple in her hands. As she put it back, she looked at one child, then the other. Aaron had taken a seat across from her, on the other side of the basket. Aria remained slightly more distant, on her feet, half turned away. Both of them shuffled their feet and tried to sneak peeks back the direction they had come. She smiled sadly at their discomfort. “You two- you... You know how your father has begun to remember details about his life?”

That brought Aria closer, though she remained standing. Aaron’s hand mindlessly fidgeted with a loose thread on the basket. “Yeah...”

“Well. That woman is someone he knew before.”

“Before?”

“Before he lost his memory and came to Alvarna.”

They had already dealt with the whirlwind of preliminary questions the previous season- When did he come to Alvarna? Where did he live before? Why live somewhere else? What happened? What was it like? Is he going to leave? -so none of those came pouring out. Instead, Aaron leaned forward and wondered, “Who is she?”

A good question.

“We thought she was going to go to see the Mayor- or Tanya.”

Why was she not surprised that they’d seen someone come into town?

“She...” Rosalind was glad to see both children ease, as their energy seemed to return, as they began to look more curious than wary. Answers were a powerful comfort, as limited as they could be. She let her own hand rest on the basket, across from Aaron’s. One finger tapped at the cross hatching. Part of her still felt stunned at the answer, part of her perhaps still didn’t believe it- but not in a bad way. In a good way, an incredible way. Everyone needed time to process-

Maybe Kyle and Lynette most of all.

“That’s his mother,” She said, at last. “He-”

“Wait wait wait-” Both children blurted out, almost at once, in that more chaotic, familiar way they often could. Aaron was on his knees and more upright, while Aria trotted close enough to lean down and put her hands on one of Rosalind’s shoulders. Rosalind glanced down at that shoulder, a brow raised, but it wasn’t enough to deter the girl, who rocked with excitement, her dual-colored eyes shining. “His mom?”

“That means we have a grandma?”

“Like Grandad, but, a cool lady-”

“That’s way different than Granddad Herman, Aaron!”

“You know what I mean!”

The fact that she understood what both of them meant made Rosalind laugh softly, quiet enough that she didn’t interrupt the small squabble. They carried on for a moment, their noise filling the surrounding area, as natural a sound as the birdsong or skittering that was drowned out. Well, that was good, right? Their immediate acceptance of the idea? She really shouldn’t have worried about anything different- the twins were resilient. But... she’d had reason to worry, right? What other families got to go through change like this? (Hopefully none.)

“You two,” Rosalind grabbed one handle of the basket, and dragged it forward slightly. The sound of wicker across grass silenced both children. “Why don’t we get this back to the house, and talk on the way? You’ve heard me say it before- ‘the sun is still going to set’.” Though, this time, the context was so very different, so much better than when she had used those words to console herself. “We still need fruit, Max still wants you to bring him some, and we can’t let the pomme pommes take the basket."

“We need to make a new one,” Aaron mused as he grabbed at one handle. “The handles are getting all ragged.”

As she hoisted the other side, Aria made a noise of agreement. “Or maybe we can buy a tough one.”

Rosalind walked off to the side, out of their way. “Talk to Mana, she’ll know what you can do.”

That started a small discussion about what she had meant by that- have Mana teach them how to make a new one? Go by the shop and see if one was in stock? Both? -which lasted most of the way back down the road. Once they could see the corner of the house’s roof, however, they stopped and shared a look.

“Keep going,” She encouraged, though she had to gently nudge their shoulders before they would walk again. “There’s no reason you can’t take that inside. It’s your home too, remember?”

“The sun’s still gonna set,” Aria said, and Aaron nodded at her. Rosalind walked ahead to open the door - which creaked in its charming way - and the twins lugged their bounty inside.

♦~----------------------------~♦

Aaron and Aria could feel the eyes on them once they had set everything down, as their mother drifted away, up to the second floor. A softly spoken conversation had carried on at the kitchen table, which was semi-separated from the rest of the home by a short half-wall. Words slowed the further into the home the twins went, until there was just quiet. They’d been noticed. Unlike when they encountered folks in town - folks who were generally glad to see them - they weren’t quite sure what to make of this. At the same time... if what their mother had said was true... That... was their grandmother, right? Lynette? They ran into the manor’s dining room and talked to their grandfather all the time. Talked to their grandfather, and uncle, and aunt, and cousins, and Cecilia-

Aaron tapped at Aria’s shoulder, and his expression said he felt the same way.

What was all this business being uncomfortable? Screw it. They’d go in there, and they’d talk, right now.

“Dad?” Aria asked as she went to the corner. Her hands on the frame, she leaned forward, enough to peer around. She could have stood on her toes and put her chin on top, and normally, she would have. Right then... well, she didn’t. And wasn’t quite sure why not. (Aaron, on the other hand, propped his chin up right away.) Either way, Aria could see her father and his mother at that table. On the tabletop sat a couple books and a bunch more papers, including that one that one letter, which sat up thanks to its folds. “We, ah... brought the stuff back.”

“Thank you.”

She smiled softly then turned toward... toward her grandmother instead. (Wow was that weird to get used to right away, as much as she liked the idea.) At the wall, Aaron did the same. They could see as her one brown eye flickered slowly between them both.

“Aaron and Aria,” Kyle said, which confused Aria- but then she realized that wasn’t a beckon, but an introduction.

“The two little Earthmates?”

Their father nodded. “More than I am.”

“Still don’t know how that happened.”

“...How what happened?” Aaron asked, which made Lynette tilt her head. She was a serious thinker, Aria noticed- sort of like how Barrett was, but even more, if that made any sense. Not the fun sort of thoughts like either of her parents. Then again, she had that soldier uniform, so of course she’d be serious-

“How any of you are Earthmates.”

“Why not?” Aria looked at one of her hands, then back up.

A pause. Lynette sat back in her chair. “...I never thought of it that way.” She turned her head away. “ ‘Why not.’ ”

“So, you’re not?”

“No.”

“Can you use magic anyway?”

“Yes, like many.”

“Are you going to stay for dinner?” Some guests did, some didn’t.

“Not right now.”

“Where do you live? Is it far away?” It had to be far away if they’d never seen her before... even on accident.

“...The Capitol.”

“What is-”

“Kyle?” The call came from the stairs, normal sounding, but enough to make them hush. Then, steps down the stairs. Rosalind wore an apologetic smile once she came close. “That’s Natalie, on the phone- I’m sorry, but she wanted to check on you. Should I tell her to call back...?”

Their father considered it, but he wound up shaking his head. “I slept through the call yesterday.” He had himself upright, which made Aaron and Aria admittedly a little nervous- but he took the rise rather well. “I’ll be right back.” Aria came around the half-wall so she was out of the way as Kyle took himself across the room and to the stairs without trouble; he seemed balanced and a bit stronger. Only half way up, when they were almost out of sight, did their mother reach out to one of his arms to help support him. Then came the distant, muffled sound of a phone conversation - a positive one; their father usually laughed while talking on the rotary phone - but... that was pretty much all.

Lynette looked away from the stairs first. Aria offered a small, nervous smile. “That’s the doctor... probably just making sure dad is still okay.” Out of habit, she went for the chair that was left unoccupied, left pushed where Kyle had left it. Aaron followed her, grabbed a third chair, and sat next to her. Normally, she’d tell him to scoot - and use a foot to push him away until her leg was straight - but... But she didn’t want to kick him into Lynette.

“He’s not sick, is he?” Lynette’s voice was quiet, and Aria couldn’t have shaken her head faster.

“Not sick!”

“Just tired.”

“Is that because of the dragon?”

She knew about that? The twins shared a nervous glance, and at that, Lynette narrowed her eye. Suddenly, they felt as though their uncle had caught them doing something stupid- except uncle Max didn’t have an eyepatch and a dagger draped over the edge of his chair. But no lecture came, and instead, their grandmother smirked.

“You two are terrible liars.”

“Hey-”

“Even if I hadn’t been told, I would have known the moment you two flinched.”

“Dad told you-?”

“The letter he wrote explained just about everything.” She tapped at the edge of the familiar parchment, whose body was covered in flowing handwriting. “As far as explanations go... It’s... a decent excuse.” Those words came with far less amusement, and she may have added something along the lines of though nothing involving those dragons is ever any good under her breath. (Honestly? Both kids agreed.)

“Is that how you lost your eye?” Aaron ventured. “A dragon?”

Oh, that would make sense-!

Except that Lynette faltered. She raised her brows, looked between them both, then shook her head. A combination of wind, the soft chimes and ticks of the clock, and crackling of a lantern chased away complete silence, and helped make the pause just that... a pause, a harmless gap in speaking, not an uncomfortable one. Some adults were nothing but uncomfortable or awkward to talk to, so this? This was preferred. Instead of being put off, Aria merely wanted to know more, wanted to wait until the talking started again-

“I didn’t lose my eye,” Lynette finally said. Both siblings made a startled noise, one what? and one huh?

“A story for another time.” Her eyes drifted toward the clock on the wall, and after a moment to study it, she let out a breath. “I need to be gone, for now.”

“Why?”

“I need to claim my room at the Inn,” Lynette was on her feet, ready to slip that weapon around her shoulders. “Before they give it to someone else.”

“Can we show you the way?” Aaron’s suggestion surprised Aria, but she loved the idea. Absolutely. Hadn’t they been standing on the road, not long ago, wanting to help what they thought was a normal traveler? The previous rush of excitement returned, and she found herself tapping her feet in her seat. “We know where it is- our friend lives there!”

“Would you mind if I came along?” That was their mother. She had once more slipped through the fog of their excitement, and reached the edge of the room before either of them noticed. To Lynette, she explained, “The family manor is next to the Inn, is all.”

Lynette quietly worked to put her holster back in place, and secure a cloak around her neck. Once that was done, however, she nodded, once. “I’ll come back to talk to Kyle later.”

“That’s fine,” Rosalind took a step back and opened the front door; the twins pushed themselves out of their seats at that, as if the light from outside was an unspoken cue. “He’ll like that.”

#Twig I am so so so sorry I sat on this for so long #I didn't forget I promise #I hope this gives some entertainment as I absolutely loved your ask- and realized that no one singular drawing would encompass #all that I wanted to show with that prompt in mind #So I turned to writing #And this is the result #And there's still SO MUCH I couldn't fit in because of context or the sheer length of this so far #I am gonna draw that 'you terrible liars' moment as soon as I'm not job hunting- or sooner because I just w a n t to #And just... this family in general #Favorite headcanon #Thank you for encouraging it and for being so nice in your interactions and tags #Have the best day♥♥#Margot Writes about Rune Factory #[First ACTUAL use of that tag]#Rune Factory 2 #RF2 #Rune Factory Kyle #RF Kyle #Rune Factory Lynette #RF Lynette #Rune Factory Aaron #RF Aaron #Rune Factory Aria #RF Aria #Kyle x Rosalind #[necessary for my headcanon and I just like it shh]#Margot's RF Headcanons

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ranboounlabeled · 4 years

Text

Incorrect Quotes

So I had the bright idea one day to make incorrect quotes based on a DnD campaign and the players. Why not post them here? If any of them find this and request this to be deleted, I won’t mind. Blu - DM, any other character you don’t see listed here Tuck - Alzora Autumn/Me - Aria Maria - Yeet Bard - Tad Whipple - Niyana ~ Aria at 3AM: Alzora wake up Alzora, annoyed: What is it? Aria: If butterflies fall in love, do they feel humans/mobians in their stomach? Alzora: The rest of Team Supernova: Niyana: aria what the fuck Yeet: No no, wait. She has a point. Yeet: What if they’re mobian butterflies? Snipe: What if they just feel really tiny butterflies in their stomachs? Niyana: That’s morbid. ~ Aria: is pink panther a lion Alzora: say that again but slower Aria: i don't get it? Alzora: he's the pink PANTHER Aria: okay? but is he a lion? Alzora: Aria. he's a panther Aria: is that a kind of lion??? Alzora: no it's a fucking panther Aria: I just googled it. Are they not pink? Alzora: AND LIONS ARE??? ~ Yeet: *gets shot* Shit. Alzora: Language! ~ Niyana: Is 4 alot? Aria/Alzora: Depends on the context. Aria/Alzora: Money? No. Aria/Alzora: Murders? Yes. ~ Yeet: Just a reminder that I'm non-binary so if you've got a crush on me, u gay bro ~

Alzora: if one of you says that stupid thing again I will not hesitate to give you frost bite Aria: aw that's so sad alexa play despacito Alzora: starting with you Alt idea from our DM (context, Alzora is an ice dragon and I compare her to Elsa alot): Aria: thats so sad, alexa play Let it Go. Alzora: you will die in 3 days ~ Niyana: THE FLOOR IS LAVA Yeet: *helps Snipe onto a chair* Alzora: *throws Aria off the table* revenge Niyana: There are two types of people ~ Alzora: If anyone says ‘mood’ ‘same’ or 'me’ in response to something I say ever again, I will throw you out the nearest window Yeet: Mood Aria: Same Niyana: Me Alzora calling tad: hello? Tad can you come here quickly? Tad: why what happened? Alzora: well lets just say there’s a gun in my hand, 3 dead bodies on the floor, blood on the walls floor and ceiling, and police on the way Tad: Tad: what Tad: The police are going to be there? Yeah, you're on your own ~ Aria: Mobius is a hot, molten core with a solid crust. Therefore, its a ravioli Alzora: Please stop Yeet, taking notes: No no let her finish ~ Aria: Comparing me and Alzora is like comparing apples to oranges. Aria: I mean, I like apples, and I really don't like oranges. Aria: Oranges are annoying. ~ nesta: fuck your cake! aria:

~ Niyana: I’ve been working on my evil laugh! ‘Cause everybody’s got an evil laugh, you know, like... Ha ha ha ha HA! Like that. Alzora: Okay, here’s the thing. You’re not ready... for the evil laugh, okay, you can do a chuckle? Like a mildly upset chuckle? After MY evil laugh. ~ Snipe: You're smiling. Did something good happen? Aria: Can't I smile just because I feel like it? Niyana: Alzora tripped and fell down the stairs. ~ Yeet: So, why is Aria mad at you? Alzora: They sneezed and I accidentally said "shut the fuck up" instead of "bless you". Yeet: Alzora: Yeet: How do you accidentally say "shut the fuck up"?! ~ Alzora: Anyone who says 'uwu' or 'owo' again is being arrested for crimes against humanity! Aria: Cwimes against huwumanity. Alzora: I'm going to break your fingers. ~ Yeet, while crying: LOVE IS DEAD AND NEVER EXISTED! ALL YOU DID WAS BETRAY ME AS I LAY SICK AND FESTERING! YOU ARE THE DEFINITION OF DREAD! Snipe: Are you ok??? Yeet, crying even more: NIYANA STOLE MY FUCKIGN WEAPONS! [This breakdown is immediately followed by Yeet trying to beat the shit out of a 15 year-old] ~ Alzora: Good Morning! Aria: Good Morning everyone Snipe: Good Morning. [ half of everyone else says their good mornings] Yeet: My god you all sound like robots! “good morning” this “good morning” that. Yeet: Spice it up!!! Niyana: HEY MOTHERFUCKERS ~ Alzora: *falls* Alzora: Alzora: I suppose I’ll have to add the force of gravity to my list of enemies. ~ Aria: Tall people are the enemy! Alzora: I'm sorry, I can't hear you from up here. Aria: I will tie your fucking shoelaces together and you won't even know it! ~ Niyana: But rules were made to be broken! Tad: They were made to be followed. Nothing is made to be broken. Nesta: Uh, pinatas. Alzora: Glow sticks. Yeet: Karate boards. Aria: Spaghetti when you have a small pot. Niyana: And rules! Snipe: Don’t forget bones. Yeet: Ye-Wait no- ~ Aria: Onion rings are just vegetable doughnuts. Alzora, used to Aria: Sure they are, Aria. Aria: Your stomach thinks all potatoes are mashed. Alzora: Okay. Aria: Lasagna is just spaghetti-flavored cake. Alzora: … Aria, oblivious: Lobsters are mermaids to scorpions. Alzora, crying: Aria, please stop. Yeet, fascinated: No, continue. ~ Yeet: Hey, Snipe, what are you doing here? Snipe: This is where I come to cry. Yeet: What. Snipe: I said this is where I come to be a cool guy. ~ [loud crashing comes from Team Supernova's room, Tad runs in to find the room completely trashed] Tad: What happened in here!? [The rest of the Team are on an elevated surface] Aria, on top of the bookshelf, shaking: We saw a spider... ~ Yeet: Isn’t it amazing what friends learn from each other? Aria: I learn a lot from Phin because he makes so many mistakes. ~ Aria: AVJDJAHDHSHS Tad: what is that? Aria: a keyboard smash Tad: how do I do it? Aria: just press anything Tad: 7 ~ Alzora: Bitch. Aria: Blocked. Alzora: Wait, unblock me, I need to tell you something. Aria: Unblocked. Alzora: Bitch. ~ Alzora: Don’t say a word. Aria: Aria: Fergalicious. Alzora: I said no words. Aria: Oh, I see. Two weeks ago playing Scrabble, it’s not a word. Now suddenly it is a word because it’s convenient for you. ~ Aria: Olli? Why are you outside? It's pouring! Olli, drenched: The aesthetic, Miss Aria. Aria: Olli, please. Olli: ThE aEsThEtIc, MiSs ArIa! ~ Niyana: There’s no “i” in happyness. Aria: There is if you fuckin’ spell it right. ~ Niyana: Do you care if I take the skin off the Furby? Niyana: I want to make him a God. Once he is free of his sinful flesh he can begin the path towards enlightenment. He will take care of Us. Niyana: Also I want to softhack his circuits. Yeet: I literally could not care less but never say anything as frightening as that sentence ever again. Tad, not looking up from his sketch book: I could design some long furby designs if you need me to. ~ Stella: I have a mafia! Yeet: We have a Niyana. ~ Yeet: Bro. Snipe: What bro? Yeet: Tell the whole world we’re bros. Snipe: *whispers* We’re bros. Yeet: Why’d you whisper bro? Snipe: Because you’re my whole world bro. Yeet: B R O. ~ Yeet: Your house is burning down! You can only save one thing. What do you save? Aria: My house?? ~ Aria: Yeet, do you ever want to talk about your emotions? Yeet: No. Alzora: I do. Aria: I know, Alzora. Alzora: I’m sad. Aria: I know, Alzora. ~ Stella: *looking around in closet* What should I change into? Snipe: A better person. ~ Whatever characters Yeet writes into fanfiction: *hugging and vibing* Yeet: Who would ever want to harm such a loving relationship? Yeet, brandishing a pen: I WOOOOULD! ~ Yeet: Chillax~ Alzora: That’s not a word. Yeet: Sometimes the ones who deny “chillax” are the ones who need to chillax the most. ~ Aria: 13 year old me would be both terrified and in awe at who I am now. Niyana: 13 year old me wouldn't think I'd get this far. Yeet: I would fight a 13 year old me. ~ Snipe: Yeet came into my room in the middle of the night, I pretended to be asleep, and they stroked my hair for a minute then left. Are they planning to kill me??? Aria: No they just care about you, idiot. ~ Yeet: Well, I guess you could say I’ve fallen for you. Snipe: You just fell down seven flights of stairs, how are you even alive? ~ Yeet: I wish I could block people in real life. Alzora: A restraining order. Niyana: Murder. ~ Alzora: What the frick is wrong with you? Snipe: Please be more specific and resubmit with the proper paperwork. ~ [on a city bus] Stranger: Are you traveling for business or pleasure? Alzora, in full armor: Combat. ~ Aria: Who ate my fries? Yeet? Yeet: I don’t like fries. Aria: Snipe? Snipe: I don’t need food. Aria: Niyana? Niyana: …It was Alzora. Alzora: Yeah it was. Aria: wh ~ Alzora: They are completely literal people. Metaphors go over their heads. Yeet: Nothing goes over my head... my reflexes are too fast! I would catch it. ~ Yeet: Live by the ass, die by the ass. Tad: S t o p ~ Niyana: Is there a word that is a mix between sad and mad? Tad: Malcontented, disgruntled, miserable, desolate. Yeet: Smad. ~ Tad: If someone is trying to rob a civilian, what is the correct course of action? Yeet: T-pose to assert dominance Tad: No. Niyana: Say "Thank you Chaos, for this meal I'm about to have" and then- Tad, interrupting: even worse Yeet, taking notes: Wait, let her finish ~ Aria: Hey Alzora, do you think Snipe feels regret? Because i just saw him choke down one of Tad’s pancakes in half a second. Alzora: Snipe has only one emotion and that’s hubris. ~ Yeet: *peeling a banana* May I take your jacket lol Snipe: Do you think other people can't hear you? ~ Aria: You have to pick your battles, Alzora. Alzora: I’m full of rage and I’m picking all of them. ~ Nesta, T-posing in the hallway: Good morning, parental figure. Tad, not looking up from his coffee: Hello, problem child. ~ Yeet, throwing his head in Snipe’s lap: Tell me I’m pretty. Snipe, lovingly stroking their hair: You’re pretty fucking annoying, that’s what you are. ~ Yeet, hoarsely: I think I'm losing my voice. Niyana: Ha! That means you can't yell at me anymore! [later that day] Niyana: Turns out, Yeet is scarier when they’re quiet. ~ Snipe: WE'RE SINKING IN DEEP WATER. Yeet: Don't worry. I learned this from a survival TV show. Yeet: OH TOOOOODLES-- ~ Niyana: Who else uses can openers to drink soft drinks? Yeet: This is extremely unhinged I must try it immediately. ~ Snipe: Boil up some mountain dew. It’s gonna be a long night. Aria: You could have said anything else. Yeet: fire burn and cauldron bubble, baja blast to fuel my trouble. ~ Aria: What do you want for dinner? Niyana: How about Sonic? Aria: *whispers* He's so fast how would we catch him-

#I can assure you there's much more but im tired #I'll reblog with more later #incorrect quotes #sonic incorrect quotes #sonic forces #dnd 5e #tad the duck #yeet #aria the jackal #alzora frost #niyana the cat #dnd incorrect quotes

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bangtanfancamp · 5 years

Text

Honey (PJM)

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

•masterlist

•jimin idol au! x reader

•7.6k words

•fluffy stuff, she gets a bit angsty though, but swiftly back to the fluffy stuff. like a cotton candy sandwhich...idk. I regret that metaphor. Immediately 🤭😂🙈. Lol.

•one shot

• (technically in the same universe as this drabble, but can be read totally independent of each other) happy birthday, baby boy

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

Jimin was positively glowing today. The buzz around him was always electric after a performance, but it was extra fantastic today. He’d been in his element all night and it showed- he carried himself differently then. He stood taller, shoulders back, chest and perfect chin lifted to the heavens. his skin glistened under the can lights like fresh dew in the morning sun and god, were you helplessly in love with him.

After you’d accepted his proposal, he was insistent that you be present on as much of the tour as possible. He’d said he couldn’t stand to be away from you so he’d swept you up and away into his breakneck pace with him. Which is precisely how you wound up here- half a world away, snacking on a bite sized lemon tart behind the set of a British late night talk show and trying your absolute hardest to keep up as the boys were herded away to take photos following their performance.

The press tour for their new comeback had found the boys in five cities in the past four days- it had been relentless- but Jimin was beaming. Your beautiful boy was doing exactly what he was made for. Laughing and smiling with every stranger he met, enticing a crowd as he danced, drinking in this big fantastic world with bright eyes at every opportunity. You- however- were exhausted.

Sure it was exhilarating to see his life but it was another thing entirely to live it. Especially since this wasn’t actually your job- so you were never entirely quite sure what to do with yourself. You cheered on every performance and celebrated at every dinner, but there was also a tremendous amount of time where you couldn’t really be with Jimin and didn’t actually have something to do. You felt like such a stranger all the time who didn’t know how to keep up the pace.

You’d never been around this many people and you were terrified of getting in the way. No matter how incredible this was, it was still his job. You were a nervous wreck fearing you’d accidentally mess something up. Your elegant eggshell dance was getting overwhelming- that is, until you’d see him. His eyes would find you across the room and crease into those perfect moons and in an instant, you knew you’d do anything for him. You knew you were right where you belonged. You swear, that smile was how he got you to do everything these days. You weren’t really complaining either.

The crowd pushed you into a room filled with giant light panels and sweeping white backdrops- a perfect space to capture the seven golden boys on film. Jimin was standing coifed and perfect along the far edge of the room. He was still in his structured yellow suit from his performance and his presence honestly filled the entire room. His hair had been newly tinted the most delicious shade of honey for this comeback and swept away from his elegant face. The way it shamelessly showed off his bone structure made him look so regal and highborn. You’d be clamoring in line to take his picture too.

As the boys were arranged in line across the backdrop, you noticed Jimin’s eyes searching for someone. You’d assumed he was probably looking for a stylist or staff member until his ethereal grey eyes settled on you, waving you over. Hesitantly, you wove through the cloud of people and settled beside him.

“Yes, love?” You whispered.

“There you are. You’ve been so far away all night!” He was directed to form a bit of a long conga line-esque shape with his boys, him forming the caboose, and twisted his back away from you. You tried to slip out of frame, but he slipped a hand back to grab you.

“Hey, no. Stay with me. I missed you all night.”

“Jimin, you’re working. I’ll get in the way. You can’t use a shot if I’m accidentally in it”

“Then they’ll crop you out.” He insisted.

“Baby, I’m serious. Let me go.” You pleaded, nervously glancing around the set.

“Stay.” He said firmly, his voice resolute but sweet. “I want you by me.” He peaked back over his shoulder with the most dazzling smile. Shoot. And just like that, you were lost all over again.

“Jimin, that’s not fair. How dare you trick me like that.” Your brows furrowed as your lower lip stuck out.

“Like what?” He asked innocently. His giggle was infectious as he licked his lips to stifle a smile. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You know damn well how good you look right now. I don’t appreciate you using it against me” You pouted. He deftly slipped his hands behind him, tugging your wrists until they slipped around his waist. Curse this flirtatious boy. He knew exactly how to pull you in. Your eyes still danced around the room to make sure no one from BigHit was coming for your head, but when no one did, you felt your resolve crack as your cheeks happily pressed against his back with a smile he couldn’t see. The citrus swell of his cologne was warm and sweet, and God, it made you just want to take a bite out of him.

His head dipped forward as he laughed, showing off his beautiful neck. Forgetting yourself, you pressed forward on your toes, leaning into his back to come up and over to kiss the bare skin on his neck, a shudder running through him. God, he was so pretty. He’d gotten so much sun this year. First on vacation with the boys and then with you. The bright suit and dirty blonde hair just highlighted how beautiful his skin was these days. As the tip of your nose trailed across golden skin, You couldn’t help but sink a cloud of kisses into it as his airy giggle floated around your ears.

“See? You clearly missed me too. I don’t know why you’re complaining.” He winked back over his shoulder at you, wisps of blonde hair falling into his face. He tipped his chin down to give the camera heavy lidded eyes as his free hand snaked behind him to tangle with your fingers

“You’re a troll, you know that? Can’t stand you.” You sneared, nose scrunched but lips curled in a smile, tugging a hand free in defiance.

“What a shame. Cuz I can’t live without you.” He sing songed. “This tour is gonna get real uncomfortable with that kind of attitude, y/n. Just sayin.” He shrugged nonchalantly, a smug smile on his devilish lips. He hadn’t caught the way your heart sank at his words.

“It’s already hard for me.” You confessed to no one but yourself. Your words had been the smallest ghost of a whisper beneath your breath, but they pricked Jimin’s heart immediately.

“Hey. Wait….What?” Jimin shifted his weight back on his hip, his sculptured face softening in concern as you tried to slip your guilty hand away. Shoot. “Hey. No, don’t. I heard that, Jagi. What’s wrong?”

Your cheeks blushed softly, guilt tinting them pink at being caught. “Oh nothing. I’m sorry baby. Don’t worry about it. Forget that.”

“Y/n. How am I supposed to do that?” His free hand ruffled through his immaculately styled hair. It should have ruined it but only made it prettier. You sighed wistfully as you watched him spin his fingers through it. Taking a small step back, your shoulders dropped low, relieved to finally be fully out of frame as the tips of your right hand brushed his palm behind his back.

“Because I asked you to.” You said simply.

“Y/n. But you’re-God, I wish we could wrap this up so I could speak to you properly.” He sighed, displeasure clouding his features.

As the camera shifted to focus on an animated Hoseok, you took the moment to steal another kiss to the back of Jimin’s neck. He still smelled so clean and soft and so like him, but you could taste the salt lingering on his skin from his performance on your lips when you pulled back. He usually tasted so sweet, so like sunshine. The sharpness you tasted now reminded you that you weren’t just together in your own little world anymore.

“I’ll be fine, baby. Don’t worry about me.” You smiled into his skin again before slowly pulling away. Oh Jimin. You really did mean it. You loved him. You were so grateful to see his world and just be in the general stratosphere orbiting around him. How many people got an opportunity like this? You were fully aware of what a gift this was.

But at the same time, you felt so small in all this. What purpose did you serve here? How were you adding to the world? This was Jimin’s contribution- not yours. You felt lazy watching the entire room swarm to keep this machine going- stylists, directors, producers, performers. Jimin practiced and performed for hours a day just to fly overnight to start it all over again in a new city. You were barely keeping up, you hardly knew what was going on, and You just felt so…..small.

A stillness and displeasure had crept into Jimin’s features as the shoot progressed. His eyes were stony. His jaw set. He looked beautiful and furious and pissed.

You’d slipped back to the far edge of the room, your aura slowly collapsing in on itself as the night wore on, shrinking to hide yourself. You felt responsible for distracting him, like you’d just self fulfilled your own nervous prophecy that you’d accidentally eff something up on set, and you couldn’t bare to see the mess you’d made.

Jimin had immediately noticed the lack of your presence. The skin of his neck was cooling without the warmth of your lips pressed against it anymore, but he couldn’t move. And he couldn’t leave. Not yet. And It infuriated him. More than anything, he wanted to rush to your side. He didn’t know what was wrong, but he was willing to mold the whole world in his hands to fix whatever it was.

At this point, he was sweaty and tired and annoyed. He desperately wanted to take these damn contacts and all this stupid makeup off and just go hold his girl- but the shoot kept rolling on. His temper was beginning to flair with each new position they were shuffled into. He was ready to leave. When was this damn shoot gonna end?

Taehyung was the first to notice Jimin’s surly demeanor as he placed a loving hand on his friend’s shoulder.

“You look like you’re about to murder someone. What on earth is going on? Where’s y/n? I feel like I haven’t seen her all night.” He shook his shaggy bangs from his eyes, lifting his broad chin for the next shot.

“She was here earlier…..” Jimin sighed.

“Yeah, didn’t you see the lovebirds cuddling on the edge of the set?” Jin popped in, lips pouted and blowing hollow kisses out at the air. “Practicing for the honeymoon already, huh? I know you guys are gonna get married soon but calm down, bro.”

Ignoring Jin’s cheekiness, Jimin continued on. “Something’s bothering her. I just don’t know what. And for the love of god, this shoot will. not. end.” His words came garbled through gritted teeth.

“Do you think that’s part of it?” Taehyung queried.

“What do you mean?” Jimin asked.

“Well, I mean this is exhausting for us, but poor y/n just gets dragged around with us all day. She has to wait on us all the time. She probably misses her life back home.” Taehyung proposed calmly, shifting a hip to slip his hand in his pocket.

“She probably misses you. She came on a three week trip to spend time with someone who works eighteen hours a day and she just has to watch. She’s not at home in her studio or with her friends to pass the time. She’s probably lonely. And bored.” Jin added.

“Oh god, hyung. You’re probably right.” Jimin’s eyes found you across the room, leaned against the wall by the snack table before quickly starting out of the way as a stylist zipped by with a clothing rack. You didn’t seem like yourself. He felt like an idiot for not catching it sooner.

“Of course I’m right! Why do you sound so surprised??You should listen to me more often . I’ve got endless advice.” Jin said proudly. Taehyung rolled his eyes, fake gagging a little at his friend’s arrogance before being quickly being swatted in the shoulder. “Yah! I saw that. You’re lucky to know someone as wise and as handsome as me. Maybe if you listened, you would learn something.”

“Ow! I learned you hit like a girl.” Taehyung quipped, rubbing his arm.

“What?! Oh! Come here- I’ll show you how to fight!” Jin dropped into a boxing stance, crouched with his fists up, bouncing and darting around Taehyung. The shoot was quickly devolving into chaos as an enthusiastic Jungkook joined in the dance, happy to bounce and box and chirp around the other boys. Hoseok joined in, squealing out cartoon sound effects as Namjoon apologized to the photographer for their actions.

Jimin took it as his cue to slip away and find you.

“Hey, do you wanna get out of here?”

You jumped the second the crystalline whisper floated into your ears, gasping sharply only to be calmed by his gentle steady arms.

“Jimin? Where did you come from?” Your eyes wide with panic, looking back toward the chaos erupting on set, but Jimin slipped a ring laden hand against your cheek to pull you back to him.

“Wherever I had to to get to my favorite girl.” His smile was so sweet. “Hey, I’m starving and I really want to get out of here. Come with me?” How could you say no to eyes like those, so boyish and wide and full of hope.

“Okay,” you agreed, head bobbing your assent. He took his cue immediately, grabbing your hand and beginning to slip away. “But, wait! Jimin! Won’t you get in trouble? I don’t want to cause anything.”

Jimin turned over his shoulder to dismiss you, but stopped the second he saw your face. Worry was making you chew your bottom lip as your sweet eyes looked wide and startled up at him. He knew better. He knew that face. You were an anxious mess. He wasn’t gonna get you anywhere until he addressed this first, but before even bothering with his words, he dipped down to kiss you.

Nothing passionate or heated- just something soft and gentle, to get your attention. A simple kiss to bring you back to earth. God, you’d missed this. You melted pliant into his lips, wobbling a little when he pulled back, luminous smile glittering across his face. He laced his fingers into yours.

“We won’t get in trouble. Promise.I’d like to see them try. You’re with me….I got you. Do you really think they’d have the nerve to mess with the future Mrs. park Jimin? Please. C’mon.” He winked and your spine tingled.

Jimin called a driver to meet you both at the back entrance and take you back to the hotel. He wove you through hallways and rooms you hadn’t noticed before to grab his things and swept you toward the exit. Before he walked out, he stopped- snatching a jacket out of his bag.

“For you, my love.” He slipped the oversized cream hoodie over your head and pulled the hood up over your face, hiding your hair, sleeves spilling over your delicate fingertips. “God you look good in my clothes. I always forget.” He licked his lips, eyes warm as they danced over you. “C’mon. Let’s get you out of here.” He slipped a mask over his jawline, popped a pair of shades over his eyes and tugged you into the night, guiding you into the black suv.

The ride back to the hotel was quick, quiet, peaceful. It was the first bright splash of stillness either of you had gotten to indulge in all day, and talking would just shatter it too soon. Jimin leaned back against his seat, manspread in his tailored yellow suit with his elegant neck craned back against the headrest. He’d undone his top few shirt buttons, the smooth skin underneath kissed by the night air. His fingers were busy raking through his thick hair as his eyes danced over the city. His hair had taken on an ashy hue in the streetlights, and as you both slipped into the night, his sultry eyes finally closed- if just for a second.

Window rolled down, you pushed your hood back a bit to take in the sights of a city you may never be lucky enough to see again. The wind whipped fluttery tendrils of your hair out of place, but you didn’t mind at all. It was the first time all day that you’d finally let your guard begin to drop and it felt amazing…

Your fingers reached behind you to twirl loosely with his on the seat between you. He happily took your hand in both of his, making a proper profession of caressing your knuckles softly. He still had his rings on from his performance, the cool metal occasionally tapping against your skin. A smile tugged at the corner of your lips at the contact and finally- you decompress.

It was the first time in days that you both sat still with no other people around. You couldn’t imagine how he exists under that kind of press all day long. It’s ignited a new respect in you for him and all that’s asked of him. It’s an impressive feat indeed for any human, especially one as sensitive and sweet as Jimin.

You wonder- for the first time -why it had never occurred to you on this trip to ask how he was doing. He had just seemed so happy despite all the reasons he should be overwhelmed so you assumed he was fine…but maybe you should get out of your head enough to check on him. I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to-

“Hey baby, we’re here.” Jimin tugged at your fingers, snapping you back to the moment. “You floating off in space again?” He whispered soft as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. He was smiling like the midday sun at you again and there went your train of thought. “He’s gonna pull us around back so we don’t get spotted, but just in case..” he reached forward to tug your hood back up, this time swooping it so far it covered your eyes entirely . You felt like a fransican monk in stylish streetwear but you laughed and went along with it and Jimin loved you just a little bit more for it.

Once again, a simple task had taken longer than necessary for the both of you. They’d had to weave you through hallways and stairs and back rooms in an attempt to avoid the press and fans flocking in the lobby and valet parking. Jimin was sweet, whispering in your ear like this was a covert spy mission to distract you from how long this was all taking.

Forty minutes later, you were finally in your hotel rooms. Jimin had kissed your nose and told you he needed to get out of these clothes and clean up but he’d be right back with you. You took the opportunity to promptly collapse on your back on the luscious bed, limbs splayed like a high and dry starfish, and let all the tension of the day drain from you.

Your skirt, tights and heels were quickly replaced with soft pajama shorts, your bra and blouse immediately discarded, but found yourself crawling back into Jimin’s hoodie. It smelled like him, and the oversized cosiness of it made you feel lazy and warm-and you were 100% down for that. Dragging your bag over to your bedside, you dug around until you found your makeup wipes and began to scrub off the day. Legs crossed beneath you, you settled into your routine. You hair had been fortuitously flopped up into a bun, and your eyeliner was being gently smudged away as a happy tranquility descended over you.

Half an hour later, the door clicked as your Jimin made his way into the room. The press tour had been a lot- it had presented a lot of challenges you never expected, but that didn’t mean there were no rewards. One of your favorites was seeing Jimin like this- fresh from the shower, just a natural boy.

Your eyes danced over the clothes he’d snatched to throw on. Over how unfair it was that he somehow looked even better when he didn’t try- an oversized white T-shirt with a too wide collar showing off his pretty throat and chest, and soft black joggers- the epitome of comfort- that did nothing to hide his dancers stride or his perfect backside. Stupidly pretty boy.

So unfair.

“Hey, baby girl” he smiled, flopping on his belly beside you. His weight made you bounce a bit, giggling to yourself. His face was bare enough for his dusting of freckles to show, and all his pale honey hair flopped forward heavily into his eyes. As vain as he always seemed about his hair, by the end of the day on tour he was just perfectly too tired to style it and you adored it. It was so god dang boyish and cute, and You loved how you got to part it out of his eyes like a curtain every time you kissed him on the forehead like you did just now.

“Why do you still have all your jewelry on? I’ve never understood that” you reached forward to trace a finger lightly under the chain on his neck.

His smile is airy and light as he rolls over to face you.

“Do I? I honestly just forget it’s there.im so used to it all now” He’s so winsome and innocent as he scoops his hair out of his eyes to smile up at you. There’s really no reason to though- his grin is pressing his cheeks so high and tight that his crescent eyes shut anyway. You dip forward from your hips with a smile to blow at his bangs.

“You really are an old pro by now huh? How do you do this all the time? and how do I keep up with you?” You ask easily, shaking your head softly at the ethereal creature on your duvet.

“Do what? Get my hair played with by a pretty girl? It’s not that hard. They’re lining up around the block for it really. But None of them are ever as good at is as you though.....Plus, your services come much cheaper. Professional cuddlers really make you pay through the noise these days.” He settles back against your lap, the picture of contentment as you play with the strands.

“You punk,” you tease, popping him in the forehead. “For your sake, I will ignore the fact that you just called me easy.” A wicked eyebrow arched over your features as you stuck your tongue out at him.

“Not easy. You just don’t charge what your worth.” He said smugly, cuddling into your lap.

“Impossible, that’s what you are.” You sigh.

“Impossibly in love….with your heart.” He quips. Oh god that was corny. Unashamed, he presses on, beaming up at you with puckered lips, fingers crafted into two hearts.

“Ew! That was gross.” You pretend to wretch at his cheesiness, choosing to ignore the goofy swirl of warmth in your belly at his words.

“We both know you love it, y/n. You can’t fool me.” He says smugly.

“Oh can’t I? I could if I wanted to.” You defend.

“And why would you want to? Hmm? Why would you want to hide something from me?” His eyes flit up to you, suddenly a bit more serious. It’s the first time you notice he’s taken his contacts out- the beautiful chocolate eyes you fell in love with looking solemn up at you.

“Who says I am?” You shift beneath him, gaze suddenly infatuated with the rooms decor. God that orchid arrangement is ostentatious.

“Even Jin can tell. So you know it’s obvious.” He deadpans.

“All knowing Jin huh? Idk, I mean he’s pretty perceptive. I wouldn’t undercut him.” You ramble.

“Y/n….” he flips up, to see you at eye level. “You know if something’s bothering you, you can talk to me, right? If we can’t even talk to each other, we’re not gonna get very far. What is it, Jagi? Where have you been lately?” He taps your temple lightly, his face soft to show you every word is genuine.

“I don’t… um, I mean… there’s nothing wrong. Per say… I just…”

He pins you with a look that says spill and your facade begins to crumble. “Y/n… I didn’t give you this because I don’t know you.” His thumb brushes over the glittering detail of your ring. “You’re not telling me something.” At this, you melt. Just flop over and dissolve into a pile of mush as his honesty makes your heart squeeze. You hate when he’s sweet. You hate when he’s right. You thought you’d hid it better than this….

“Besides,” he continues, “Even if I didn’t know you, you’re a shit liar, babe. Those big eyes show everything. They just don’t give specifics- so spill.” His smile is kind but his eyes hold a challenge- he isn’t going to drop this. No way in heck is he letting this go. Brows furrowed, your resolve begins to crumple.

“Jimin….”

“Y/n…. Spill.”

With a heaving sigh, you acquiesce.

“Fine…” you huff. “I have no idea what I’m doing here! I’m an absolute disaster.” Your head hangs as you begin to pour heart out, hands flailing, downturned eyes completely unable to meet Jimin’s.

“I constantly feel like I’m in the way. I’m struggling to keep up with everything and I don’t- I don’t know what to do with myself. And all I can think of is - is this what my whole life is gonna be? Do I either have to go half the year without you or drop my whole life and feel lost and terrified to follow you around the world with no purpose of my own? I’m not part of the big hit machine, but everyone else here is. And everyone here is working so hard and I’m just… what? Here on vacation? Getting in the way and following my famous boyfriend around while he works? I feel like such a groupie… I feel like such a… a nuisance.”

“Stop.” Jimin clutches at your wildly flailing wrists. “Baby, stop. My groupie? Are you serious right now?”

“Yes! I am. Jimin, I love what you do. My God, you are so incredible when you sing and dance- the way you move- don’t make that sexual, you know what I mean- you…. you are the most amazing performer I’ve ever seen. You have worked so hard for this for so long. I remember when you were so stressed that you were barely eating or the nights I’d text you at 1am to tell you goodnight and find out you were still in the studio. And it’s paying off for you. Which is great because I don’t know anyone else who deserves this worldwide praise like you do- but baby, I’m a freelancer. I put in the effort but my work is never thriving. I can’t even begin to be in the same eschalon as you. I still have two roommates back home.”

“So? I have six,” his eyes are so warm but his brows are still knitted together, trying to follow what’s really underneath all this.

“Not because you have to. Not because you’d be on the street without two other people supporting your rent! I’ve got all these things I love to do, right? But they don’t pay the bills for me. My businesses have never turned into what I hope, but there are 14 year olds on Instagram who decide to sell something they make on whim and a month later it’s so successful that they’re verified…. and I’m… I’m just….”

“Baby?” Jimin dips forward to lift your chin. His eyes find yours and he smiles…. he simply smiles at you- warm and kind and lightfilled like nothing you’ve said has scared him the way it scares you. It helps you finish what you’ve started to say.

“I don’t want to hold you back!” It all rushes out in one clumsy exhale as you shut your eyes tightly, bracing for impact. “I want to be good enough for you. I don’t want to have to depend on you. I want to bring something to the table too. You’re Park Jimin. You’re already a legend. You deserve the whole world...you deserve a girl who works just as hard as you. Is just as successful as you. But I have so many dreams and hopes that just haven’t worked out. They’ve all failed so miserably compared to you and I…. I just… I want to be a wife you can be proud of.. I want … I want to be proud of me too.”

and that’s when the tears fell.

Silent. Unspectacular. Hidden but insistent as you fall in on yourself and Jimin’s heart breaks. He had no idea.

He’s always admired you so much.... He had no idea you thought so little of yourself and it makes him ache. He sees the whole universe when he looks at you. Surely you saw it too.

But right now, you didn’t. You’d been able to come on this tour because business had been that slow that you being gone for three weeks wouldn’t have made a difference. In his excitement to have you by his side, Jimin had offered to cover your share of rent for the month you’d be gone with him and that had been that. He was ecstatic to have you with him . He’d rattled off about it dreamily for weeks before you left. But as excited as you were to see his world with him, for the first time, it made you realize just how small your world was without him. It had bothered you ever since. This was Jimin’s first glimpse of it, and it wrecked him.

“Jagi…. baby, come here.” His airy voice is pleading as he scoops you into his chest. Your nose burrows into his neck, skin squeaky clean from the hotel soap, and you cry. Feeling hidden, unaccomplished and ashamed. You’ve never felt more exposed in your life- you never wanted to tell him any of this. You couldn’t bear the idea of how he’d look at you if he knew, but oh how wrong you were.

“Baby,.... I’ve always been proud of you.” His voice is gentle in your ear, almost a whisper. No one else exists in this moment besides the two of you. He presses his cheek to your forehead, his fingers lost in your hair as he holds you. “You were my best friend when I was a trainee. I felt like a wreck then- I was so stressed out I could barely breathe. But you always told me everything would be okay. Always. You’d remind me why I was special and that the world would see it one day.” You felt his cheek swell as he smiled. “But can I tell you something?”

“What?” You sniffled, a snotty mess beneath him.

“I never believed you.”

Your eyes shot up to meet his. “What?”

He chuckled softly, his thumb delicately brushing a tear from your cheek.

“Nope. Not a bit. I loved hearing your words when you built me up, but I didn’t believe you. Not even when you’d get all starry eyed when you saw me dance or I’d sing to you.” He confessed.

“I never got starry eyed over you.” You mumbled, sniffling and hiding against his skin. Smiling, he gently pinched your cheek and held it.

“Liar.” He kissed your pink face and scrunched his nose at you. “But I’m serious, back then, I wanted what you said to be true. I really did, but I didn’t feel it. Not here. Definitely not.” He brought a hand up to his chest and placed it over his heart.

“I wanted the band to be successful so badly. I knew I could dance and perform, I knew what I could bring. But I thought my singing held us back. People would post videos of me missing my notes or of me tripping and falling on stage. I was smaller than everybody. I’d get ranked least attractive...I felt like the weakest link all the time. And that's what I believed. That’s the voice I listened to. More than anything. Even more than you. Because that’s what felt true. Not the sweet things from my best friend or even the nice words from fans or the other members. We were working so hard, but we never knew if our dreams would happen. People try every day and it doesn’t come true. I didn’t want to be the reason it didn’t come true for everyone else.”

You gazed up at Jimin as he wandered through his memories. Brow pinched and beautiful mouth frowning at the edges as he remembered a time when doubt consumed his world.

“But then there was you. You were so talented and kind and everybody liked you. Everybody. I fought Taehyung to get to close to you. He still won’t let me forget that he saw you first. But I didn’t care, I had to get to know you. You were so incredible and so out of my league. This impossibly pretty girl who I’d had a crush on forever …. I didn’t even think you’d talk to me. Do you have any idea how long it took me to introduce myself to you?”

Curled against his body, you looked up him in awe. He - liked you then? Before you even knew him? How had he never told you any of this? You thought you knew him inside and out, but it seemed Jimin had his secrets too. Eyes wide and soft, you pressed against his chest as you listened.

“But once I did, once we were friends, you’d tell me how amazing I was- all the time! Me! I don’t think you ever understand how insane that was to me. How much much it mattered when you’d say how one day the whole world would see how special the band was- how special I was.

“You’d ask me to sing for your over the phone. You made me laugh when I hated everything. You’d get furious when anyone would criticize me, and you’d make the biggest deal out of all the small accomplishments I thought didn’t matter. You were so kind to me when I was a nobody, when I thought I was small and when the world finally figured out who we were, you already knew because you’d been the biggest fan all along.” He looked down at you, eyes shining with a pride so bright it was hard to look at directly.

“And even after all that, I was still shocked when you let me take you on a date. You were my best friend- but I still thought you could do way better than me. I was nuts about you, don’t get me wrong, but I mean, I was such was a mess, and I....I am talking so much. Like way too much. I know that, but it’s just….. y/n, I need you get this. You saw me when no one else did. That’s why you feel like home, y/n. That’s why I knew I didn’t want anyone else but you beside me for the rest of my life.” He kissed the back of your hand.

“So…. if your life doesn’t look how you want right now, that’s okay. We’re still young. You have so much time. Where you are is normal. I’m the exception, babe. You can’t compare yourself to that. What’s happened with the band is a one in a million fluke. It cant be your standard, baby. If that’s your measuring stick, it’ll destroy you.....But i know this-if anyone can achieve their dreams, it’s you. Without you, I would never have achieved mine. So, if I can help take care of you now, I’m gonna do it. I don’t even have to think twice.” He shrugged easily. A happy lazy smile on his lips. “But i know you. You want to earn your way too. I know you’ll get there. But….promise me, be nice to yourself now. Don’t throw yourself away- for me.”

Cradled in his arms, you looked at the hand Jimin extended to you, pinky crooked and ready to hold on forever. “Promise me,” he whispered, the sound warming your bones. Silently, trouble melting from your shoulders, you sighed. One heave, long and slow enough to process all the love he’s just showered upon you. How could you do anything less than give him your forever? Trust him with your now when he believed in you so much?

“Promise.” You breathed, eyes wide, still dotted with tears and you slipped your pinky around his, holding on for dear life. He melted when you did, scooping you in tighter and pressing his lips to your joined fingers.

“My Jagiya.” His smile beamed down at you, and you felt yourself grow warm in his light. “Hey. Listen, I know I’ve talked a lot, but I’m serious about taking care of yourself. It’ll make life so much easier on the way… I promise. For tour, you don’t have to prove your worth here. Everyone loves you and loves having you around. The stylists all think you’re so pretty. The boys on staff all blush whenever you’re nice to them. Everyone here thinks the world of you. Please let this be a vacation from you feeling like the world is on your shoulders. Just rest here. Or do your art here. We can pick up some art supplies in London and you brought your camera. Jungkook and Tae would love to help with that. And no, you wouldn’t be in the way. People love helping you, y/n. You just have to let them. God I’m talking so much.” He bugged his eyes playfully. Wiping your eyes, you giggled at his silliness.

“Ugh…. baby. I love you. I want you here. We’ll have a proper vacation soon, but while we’re on tour- talk to me. You’re not in the way. You can hang out with us and come to practice and take photos and make art. This is a good thing. We’ll figure out how our world will look when we get married. I’m not willing to give you up. So we’ll figure out how to make us both happy, yeah? It’s that simple” his eyes are starry with promise. It makes you believe him. It makes you realize you’ve been looking at this all wrong.

After several beats of silence, you finally ask, “I’ve been way in my head over this, haven’t I?

“Yes! Dear god, yes.” Jimin slumps exhausted against the headboard. Faking offense, you smack his chest and he rolls with laughter, trapping your hands again and pulling you into him. “You think too goddamn much, woman!” he bellows. “But honestly, it’s just cuz your brain’s so big.” He teases, poking you in the forehead. “Guess I can’t have the smartest girl in the room without her short circuiting and forgetting she’s the most magical thing in the world.”

Sniffling, you protest, “I don’t think anyone’s smarter than Namjoon. “

“And he thinks nothing of himself too. Honestly. A pair of fools, both of you.” His eyes roll.

“Not bad company then. Maybe I should go ask for his advice too.” You bounce your eyebrows teasingly, and Jimin’s jealous streak flairs gloriously as he tackles you on the bed.

“Hey!” He puffs his chest out, eyes squinting in mock fury. “I didn’t rebuild your ego for you to run to another man.” He growls playfully.

“Namjoonie! Come coach me out of my self doubt!” You call in a seductive, breathy tone. Jimin is having none of it.

“And I did not sneak you out of that photo shoot to pretend flirt with my friend. You’ll pay for this.” He challenges.

“Come and get meh” you tease, slipping out from under him just to have him lunge after you. A sharp squeal echoes through the room as you bounce across the bed with Jimin hot on your tail.

“Aaaaaagh!!!!” Jimin lets out a growl as he snatches you around the waist, flopping you both down into the mattress. “You’re gonna pay for that,” he snarls, eyes devilish as he bites at the outer edge of your ear.

“No, I won’t,” you giggle. “Didn’t you hear? Park Jimin has a soft spot for me.”

“Oh does he?” His nose drags across your throat.

“Yeah, I’m his favorite,” you stutter out, suddenly breathless at his touch.

“Hmm, we’ll see about that.” His eyes flick up to yours, and you think he’s come to repossess your soul. Dear god, his eyes. His breath is warm and swirling close, and you try to gather the last of your wits to ask a question before you’re lost beneath him altogether.

“Jimin… baby. Hey.” His attention has fully been lost as his mouth becomes preoccupied with the curve of your thoat. “Jim-oh.” Crap, why is he so good at that? Stuttering, you push through the haze his touch had created, attempting to regain your focus. “ S-stop that… Jimin, I’m trying to...I’ve been meaning to a…”

“Why do you talk so much?” He asks, the tip of his nose playful against yours.

“Jimin,... I’m serious. I need to ask you…”

“What, Jagi?” Letting out a huff, he rocks back to look at you. His voice is calm, teasing, but Whatever self control he’s got is about to snap- you can tell from the way he’s pulling his bottom lip into his teeth, the way his sweet eyes have become so satisfyingly predatory. He’s as hypnotic as a snake right now, fully ready to consume you, and your dumb butt is trying to talk about his feelings. Why are you doing this to yourself exactly?

Pushing your hands against his chest to get some breathing space, you pull back to ask,” I’m sorry my timing is so stupid. Truly, I am. Trust me. But…. I mean, I haven’t bothered to ask how you’re doing. It just feels so inconsiderate of me. I’ve been too wrapped up in my own problems.” You roll your eyes, annoyed at your own thickheadedness.

Jimin’s glassy giggle rings through the air as he dips his forehead to yours, his luscious hair brushing wispy against your skin.

“Me? Oh baby girl. That big heart of yours. I’m fine. This is nothing. Come find me when we’ve been on the same tour for a year and a half. Just a month in? It’s still just all the fun stuff.” His eyes are bright and judgment free, ignoring the fact that he’s flourishing where you’ve been drowning.

“Oh… well, if it ever does get overwhelming, you’ll tell me, right?” You ask, still concerned and trying to save face.

“Trust me- you’ll be able to tell.” He mimics his own angry eyes and you both fall into giggles. “But yes, Jagi.” He drops down to kiss your nose. “I promise I will tell you…. Pinky promise.” He reaches for your palm pressed against his chest and weaves your fingers together- wrapping your pinkies together and linking your thumbs, kissing them gently to lock in his vow. Your eyes flutter soft and loving up at him as he does.

“Good.” You whisper. “Now…. where were we?”

Jimin smiles, triumphant as he stalks close to his kill. “You were about to prove why you were my favorite.”

“Oh was I?”

“Absolutely.” Jimin grips the back of your leg, and in one quick snatch, yanks you to him. Your eyes blow wide as you you yelp helplessly. God, always forget how strong he is, and how much you like it when he shows it off. Satisfied with your submissive reaction, his grin grows impossibly cocky as slots himself on top of you, tongue wetting his impossibly full lips as he finally begins to lean in when...

“JIMIN!!!! Jimin!!!!! We’ve got to do an after show Vlive!!” It was Hoseok, banging a ruckus on jimin’s hotel door.

“Oh my god, are you serious? I’m gonna kill J-hope.” Jimin’s forehead crashes into your neck defeatedly.

“Come on, Jimin! Get off y/n already so we can get finished! ARMY’s waiting! Namjoon tweeted we were gonna start fifteen minutes ago!! Check your phone for once. We all texted you, bruh.” Hoseok blasted through the door.

“Yah!!! All right! All right!! I’m coming!....stupid Namjoon.” He muttered under his breath. “I haven’t properly kissed you in days. Not cool, bro. Not cool.” Jimin pouted. His deep set eyes lost under the furrow of his brows as he brushed his thumb along the curve of your lip, forlorn and pent up.

Teasingly, you caught his thumb with the tip of your tongue and pulled it into your mouth. Warm and soft, you let it go with a gentle pop as you broke the suction and jimin’s eyes blew wide. “Go… I’ll be here when you get back.” You whispered, eyes bright and enticing.

Jimin wove hasty hands into your hair, his breathing ragged. “ wow....How the hell am I supposed to leave you after that?”

“Because…. I said so. And there will be more when you come back.” You winked, loving being in control now. He wasn’t the only one who could play the seduction game.

“Oh my god.” Jimin, swallowed roughly, his eyes heavy lidded as he tried to regain his motor functions.

“Now go, I’ll order room service for you to Hobi’s room. You never had dinner. Go give army a treat, and I’ll treat you when you come back to me.” You kissed his palm as your voice took on the sultry edge that always made Jimin melt.

“Can we do the thing? You know the one where..”

“I know what you’re talking about, Jimin,... and the sooner you go, the sooner you find out if my answer is yes.” You winked, before mouthing “its yes” silently as you nodded at him.

“Yup! There it is! I’m gone!” Pressing a smacking kiss to your forehead, Jimin bounded up from the bed as you fell into a fit of laughter. As he turned back to smile at you from the doorway, your eyes raked over him one last time before snagging on something that made you howl with laughter.

“Jimin- Wait! seriously??? Already? You didn’t even kiss me yet! Put your hands in your pockets! Or only be on camera from chest up!” You cackled at him. Confused, he followed your eyeline to-

“Oh god, is it that… yup. No, it is. God, Jagi, you’re dangerous when I finally get you out of that head of yours.” He reaches down to adjust his joggers, laughing bashfully at the mess you’d made of him.

“Gotta make it up to you somehow,” you shrugged from the bed.

“Hey, no…. I’m serious though. I’m glad you’re feeling okay now. You trusted me to tell me your heart, and that means a lot to me. You sure you’ll be okay if I go?”

“I’m sure. I have a vacation to finally start enjoying.” You smiled, stretching out across the bed. As you shifted, your (Jimin’s) hoodie crept up, showing off a sliver of your stomach and Jimin licked his lips again.

“My god. Look at you. I’ll be gone thirty minutes tops.” He bolted back, planting a kiss that made something along your spine tingle. “Wait for me. I’ll be back” he smiled, peeling himself away to leave before jhope returned with his racket.

“You better…… hey,” you propped up on your elbows and called out to him.

“Yeah?” He looked back, eyes alight with love.

“I love you, park Jimin.”

He blushed, genuine and sappy, eyes crinkling soft along the edges. “I love you too, y/n l/n. And hey, We’ve got this. The whole world’s gonna be ours. We’ll figure it out. We’ve got time.”

Your felt warmth pool in your eyes. You threw a pillow at him so he wouldn’t see you cry. “God, you’re such a sap.” You smiled.

“You know you love it.” He winked. “Bye, baby girl.”

He was right. You did.

fin.

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fortheloveoflizards · 5 years

Text

Headcanons

Wings of Fire Dragon Culture - Myths and Legends

Darkstalker – Darkstalker has obviously become one of the most infamous legends in Pyrrhia, thanks to his actions both in the past and present. Being an Icewing/Nightwing hybrid gifted with prophecy, mind-reading and animus powers made him formidable and terrifying even to this day. So much so, in fact, that his story is still used as a cautionary tale for young Nightwings. The story goes that Darkstalker’s parents, Foeslayer of the Nightwings and Prince Arctic of the Icewings, fell in love and eloped, though for many years it was believed that the prince had been kidnapped as part of a Nightwing scheme. The most famous part of his story is when he used his magical artefact to force his father to kill himself in a way so gruesome that almost the entirety of the Nightwing tribe fled to a faraway, volcanic island. His downfall came about when his then girlfriend, Clearsight of the Nightwings, worked in secret with his mentor, Fathom of the Seawings, to trap Darkstalker under a mountain forever. Forever, of course, only lasting about 2000 years. The rest of the story is, I assume, pretty well known by the majority of the Wings of Fire fan-base, so details are unnecessary.

Spectre – Not much is known nowadays about the old Icewing legend of a ghostly dragon prowling the Frozen Coast, with piercing white eyes, accompanied by a single scavenger. The basic story tells of an Icewing dragonet disappearing during a particularly dark winter. The dragonet had hatched sickly and weak, and no one had been expecting it to survive. Nor had they been expecting for said dragonet to disappear mysteriously without a trace. It was quickly concluded that the dragonet had been killed, presumably by it’s mother. As the murder of any dragonet, even weak ones, is strictly taboo unless it’s the result of a challenge, the mother of the missing dragonet was promptly persecuted by the rest of the tribe, stripped of her rank in all but official terms, and eventually disappeared, herself. Things died down for an indeterminate amount of time, until rumours among the border guards began to spread inland of a strange, moon pale, translucent dragon appearing and disappearing out of the fog, sometimes even luring guards out to sea. For the most part, the tribe brushed off the stories as outlandish gossip amongst the low ranked in order to amuse themselves. It was only when, on a dark night, during the largest blizzard the tribe had ever seen, an entire platoon of guards went missing, without so much as a talon print or scale left in the snow the next morning. Many Icewings claimed it was a hoax, but enough believed that it was a spirit, come to reap justice upon those that it felt had offended it, for the story to rapidly gain infamy in the tribe. As for whether the spirit was of the missing dragonet, the mother, or something else entirely, well, that changes depending on who’s telling the story. The only things that remain constant throughout all versions, are the pale white eyes and scavenger bodyguard. Although uncommon, it is said that one could tell if Spectre was about to appear upon spotting it’s scavenger; often it would be standing stock still on an iceberg, or half submerged in the surf, but sightings were rarely reported without it’s inclusion.

Hydra – This is a myth that can be found consistently throughout the history and culture of almost every Pyrrhian tribe, as the Hydra was thought to be the creature from which every tribe originated. This belief was only very recently countered, as it was found that many of the tribes did not share common ancestors. Regardless, the story of the Hydra is a beloved one among scholars and students alike. The basic premise was a large dragon with seven head – one for each tribe – who constantly fought for control of the body. The story typically concludes with each of the heads being separated from the body in some way, with a single head being left to control the body. Which head is left, metaphorically, standing changes from tribe to tribe; as does the order in which the other heads were separated. The Hydra is a common sight during festivals of all kinds, and is still viewed mostly as proof that the tribes can’t coexist in peace. Although, since the founding of the Jade Mountain Academy, it’s use as an example of the similarities between the tribes has increased.

Amphithere – As Peril explained in her book, Skywings believe in a form of reincarnation. Through the act of leaving the body of the deceased in a chamber open to the sky, the belief is that the soul of the dragon will then be able to come back as a Skywing rather than any other dragon. The task of ferrying souls to their new life is that of Amphitheres. These are often portrayed as invisible dragon-like creatures lacking legs that are rumoured to guard the wind currents in and around the Sky Kingdom, using their massive wings to stir up gales and tornadoes. Amphitheres are another prominent character in Pyrrhian mythology, although their significance is pretty much completely lost on most other tribes.

Wail/Whalewings – These colossal Seawing monsters are believed to roam the deepest parts of the ocean, luring prey (including dragons) down to their doom by making distressed whale noises. Their description (and the spelling of the word, itself) varies from story to story. The most common draws from angler-fish and other deep sea creatures; translucent glowing white, with the undigested remains of previous meals still visible in it’s gut. The myth presumably originated as a way for Seawing parents to deter dragonets from venturing too deep without their protection. Of course, there is still much of the ocean that remains unexplored, so there’s a possibility of creatures larger than dragons existing. Wailwings aren’t as heavily featured in art as other creatures, as Seawings prefer to keep things bright and happy rather than mysterious. Dark water places scary.

Aura – Icewings don’t seem to have much imagination for the benevolent side of mythology, and tend to be pretty suspicious of just about everything. There are, however, a few exceptions. One such example being Aura; spirits of the Aurora Borealis that appear to worthy dragons in times of darkness to provide guidance and bestow gifts/knowledge. The tribe remains adamant that Aura bear no correlation with the Nightwing myth, Moon Sprites. Icewings will often leave tributes for Aura during coronation and wedding ceremonies. These consist of prey, animal skins, treasure and a special type of candle made from blubber. These candles are used exclusively for Aura tributes, and being found burning one outside of the ceremonies is punishable by exile and even death.

Moon Sprites – As with the Icewings, Nightwings insist that Moon Sprites are nothing like Aura, despite the similar mythology. Nightwings believe Moon Sprites are messengers sent by the moons to grant wishes and deliver prophecies, and supposedly gave Nightwings their powers. Similar tributes are left for Moon Sprites, typically just before times of harvest or the changing from autumn to winter. Nightwings believe that the moons themselves are cognisant, and have long worshipped them as what you might call Gods. As such, it would be fair to liken Moon Sprites to angels.

Dragonflies – Most tribes believe a dragon is either turned into a dragonfly or, in the case of the Skywings, reincarnated as one, as punishment for a varying list of crimes for each tribe (E.g Rainwings believe they are tasked to assist the changing of the seasons and once a certain number of springs has passed their debt is considered repaid, while Mudwings believe they are given a number of “deaths” as a dragonfly, meaning they must die as a dragonfly for that number of times before returning as a dragon, and Sandwings believe they mark when an oasis contains hidden treasure). Despite this mythology, dragonflies are often depicted as symbols of rebirth, justice and second chances.

SeaDragonets(Seahorses) – Seawings believe these creatures embody the spirits of dragonets taken by the sea. Many Seawings believe they watch over dragonets to protect them from meeting the same fate, as SeaDragonets are drawn to the warm water of Seawing hatcheries. Hatchery guards are also in charge of tending to the SeaDragonets, as they give a reliable warning regarding sharks and intruders – swimming around in flurries, causing mini bubble whirlpools. There are two common varieties of SeaDragonets in the ocean surrounding Pyrrhia; the most common, smaller species, which can also be referred to as “Seahorses”, which come in a range of browns, creams and generally more “bland” colours, and the rarer Reef Dwelling SeaDragonets, which are larger and typically white, pink or blue. These Reef Dwelling SeaDragonets are revered among aristocratic Seawings, and kept mostly in the palace gardens and Royal Hatchery.

WyndWyrms – Sandwings and Skywings believe these serpent-like creatures push the sun across the sky, anchored to it by great chains of stars, while Seawing myths say they control the tides. WyndWyrms heavily feature in Sandwing tapestries and Seawing murals. Skywings have a lot of songs about them, and they typically work in tandem with Amphitheres. While not inherently dragon-like, WyndWyrms are usually described as having dragon faces and snake bodies, sometimes even with fur, like legless otters.

The Grand Nightwing – The legend of a massive Nightwing that holds the sky within her wings has long since been written out of almost every history scroll, as it was found to be a story spread by the Nightwings themselves in order to appear more powerful. She was said to have three eyes (the moons) in order to watch over all of dragon-kind. Thunderstorms were her announcement that crimes had been committed, with lightning being her fire, aimed at the offender. Murals of her still endure, mostly on the walls of the old Night Kingdom, though some murals have been uncovered in the desert. While a widely disapproved of story, Nightwings and Sandwings still share the myth with their dragonets.

Pre-Scorching Stories – These are mostly about the foundations of modern dragon society and the early wars that determined the longstanding tribe borders, however there are more than a few stories heavily featuring scavengers. These cast a rather grim light on the many strange metal things found on the ocean floor, in the rainforest and in the desert, covered in strange markings and numbers. Most of these artefacts are all twisted and warped by time and fire, but scholars believe they hint to the existence of advanced scavenger societies, all but exterminated by the Scorching.

Honeysuckle – A Rainwing animus from before the Scorching who supposedly gave the Rainwings their venom. Paintings of her can be found in the old rainforest caves that appear to have been used as shelter. Her most commonly depicted appearance is lavender purple with gold and lime green accents. It is believed that her descendants survive to this day within the tribe.

Cliffhanger – A legendary Skywing warrior said to have successfully fought off 30 enemy squadrons by himself while simultaneously protecting his Queen and wounded comrades. He features heavily in Skywing art, and occasionally in Sandwing tapestries as well (presumably the battle that made him famous was between Sandwings and Skywings), with large, dark red wings and long black horns. The spear that he supposedly stopped from killing the Queen with his own body is kept in the Skywing treasury.

Bullroarer – During the infamous battle between the Mudwings and Seawings over control of Crescent Bay*, the Seawings planned a surprise attack by infiltrating the Mud Kingdom border under cover of darkness. This plan would have worked had it not been for the lowly border guard, Bullroarer, who’s dying roar alerted the entire Mud Kingdom in time for the army to organise. While Bullroarer did perish, his sibs were lorded and moved to the rich inner Kingdom to be part of the Queen’s official guard.

*The bay between the Mud Kingdom and the Kingdom of the Sea on the map of Pyrrhia

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eternal-bangtan · 5 years

Text

BTS game

hello i was tagged by @fictionbunny @kimsouthjoon @hobis-glasses @kookie-off-his-kookie to do this one of the most complicated tags to me cuz i really dont like to choose amongst these things -_- just wanna say that i appreciate every era every hair colour they pull them off like crazy every song every mv every moment etc so i wanna punch the air and eat my fist rn but lets try im gonna break every rule i can tho dont fucking @ me fuck this shit expect a lot of words keep reading fucked up all the mentions im sorry ;( just scroll to the bottom

1. First BTS song? DNA but yo when i was in my active yt phase (2015-) i think i watched fine bros ent and they showed kpop mvs to random ppl and i think (i only realized it months later) they showed bst mv and at those times i was wow those kpop dudes r so extra with mvs like this dlfsjkljkfdhf also i think somewhere on 9gag i saw a lil clip of fire mv and i remembered joons verse just visuals and the rythm or melody or idk this is how i didnt know who r bts but i remembered that dudes (joon) face so yeah idk how to feel

2. First bias? as i just whined in the tags in previous posts it was taehyung

3. Current bias? ot7 biased i had sth clicking in me with every member but ofc sometimes i have moods related to a certain member :)

4. Put the members in order of your bias list: nO idk how am i supposed to choose

5. Favorite BTS song? well fuck u too let me know rain serendipity pied piper dimple gogo trivia love singularity fake love tear anpanman love maze so what black swan ugh jamais vu interlude shadow my time louder than bombs on 00:00 home mikrokosmos intro the most beautiful moment in life hold me tight autumn leaves run silver spoon save me epilogue young forever butterfly house of cards love is not over converse high outro propose where you from intro skool luv affair blood swear and tears lie mama awake lost begin cypher 4 intro boy meets evil spring day outro wings we are bulletproof pt 2 like outro circle room cypher dream glow who feat lauv no more dream ddaeng chicken noodle soup sea should i continue???????

6. Favorite underrated BTS song? i dont even know overrated songs?? if u can put it like this

7. Favorite song of Wings? ................. no one is going to read all of this anyway but i mentioned some in 5th question fhahaha

8. Favorite songs of each LY Her, Tear, Answer? same here lmao yes im doing this on purpose who cares

9. Favorite music video? ON Kinetic Manifesto Film : Come Prima i think cuz bruh the choreo this is what i love the most about mvs sdfhsdlkhsf

10. Favorite dancer? out of dance line? uh THEY ALL DANCE IN SUCH DIFFERENT STYLES WTF ok so im a fan of hip hop so i really love hobis style but oh my god the way jungkook moves or does whatever??? im losing my shit?? jimin hello he made me love contemporary with black swan even tho i wasnt a fan of it taehyung BITCH SHOULD I EVEN START HE APPEARS ON STAGE AND U FEEL IT RIGHT AFTER

11. Favorite vocalist? should i reply like i did previously :/ ngl tho i prefer lower voices irl cuz they make me feels things but bro nah no way i can reply to this properly i keep listening to them i feeling their voices differently even in some new ways and im blown away fuck u

12. Favorite rapper? f u c k u one thing im gonna say tho idk how but a lot of times whenever i hear hobis verses in majority of songs im like YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO :OOOOOOOOOOOO IM LOVING THIS NOT NORMAL AMOUNT but should i start about their different flows or how much they experiment with it and how cool is that??? and how they feel themselves and how good they r at this??? nah fr fuck u -_- metaphorical ‘u’

13. Favorite hair color on each member? uh plz dont forget about my disclaimer namjoon-grape peachy platinum blonde, jin-blonde purple pink, yoongi-mint black blonde fake love era hair, hoseok-blonde fake love era hair chicken noodle soup hair longish hair esp during tear performances -_-, jimin-blonde black silver pink blue and honesly all those colours he had during lys tour????, taehyung-dna hair perm he has rn mint red peachy blue and also all that ly tour hair, jungkook-long hair blonde cherry all kinds of ombre he has rn dna era hair too and fake love hair and bst hair and i think there r more but i dont remember ;(

14. Favorite choreography? on black swan fake love bst boy with luv dionysus save me etc shOULD I MENTION THOSE DANCE BREAKS THEY HAD DURING AWARD SHOWS LOL

15. Favorite (bromance) ship? GOD I LOVE ALL THEIR BONDS SO MUCH ITS SO PRECIOUS AND SPECIAL my ults tho r taekook yoonminseok and namjin cuz i prefer it this way in fanfics but irl or how do i say it from all the content we get i love every bromance thingy they have tho????? LIKEEEE THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND CARE FOR EACH OTHER SO MUCH I CAN TALK ABOUT IT FOR HOURS HOW MUCH ALL OF THEM MEAN TO EACH OTHER AND HOW MANY TAEJINYOONKOOKMINJOONVHOPEYOONSEOKJIHOPENAMGI2SEOKEVRYTHINGEVERPOSSIBLEETC THREADS I RETWEETED they melt my heart they really show how u r supposed to treat ur closest ppl u kno? they accepted each other and all those personal traits that seemed so weird and unfamiliar at first and they know each other so well and r so caring and loving and supportive but how do we do shit irl? bitch u piss me off real bad u better fuckk off or else- ofc im exaggerating but shit like this happens and its really time to rethink some shit and well i really learnt a lot

thank u for u patience

im tagging @darlingjoon @starry-tae @stargazingjin @crytaeby @cyphertaehyungie @brightlytae @vjimin @monojoons @jungkpop @jungkooksmoon @itseokjins @flowerbangtann @lucid-jjin @yoonshadow @agu5td @hosnack @jjkguk @hwagaemkt @utopiajeon @nemjyoon @sunshineggukie @mapofugh or whoever else wants or well sorry if u were tagged or did this already also u may read its pointless anyways so yeah i hope u r having a good time day night week mood etc or if u dont plz do

#tag game #m:text #yeah it fr took me around a week or more to decide that is shoudl do this and ofc there is a reason why i finally decided lmao sdkgfkdfgli #OH MY GOD I FORGOT SEA HOW COULD I FORGOT SEA DUMBASS

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badmcuposts · 4 years

Text

Seven-Pointed Star

For @avenging-criminal-bones by @badmcuposts [OR READ HERE on AO3]

@friendly-neighborhood-exchange

Rating: T for language

Relationships: minor Peter/MJ, Peter & Tony, minor Tony/Pepper, Peter & May, Tony & May

Warnings: angst, suicidal thoughts

Summary:

He frantically ran out of the room, ignoring Obadiah’s calls behind him. The burning began to fade, before only a mild sting was left behind.

Tony peeled back his jacket sleeve, then his dress shirt.

There, in broad daylight was the shape of a seven-pointed star. It glowed in a magnificent baby blue, lightly shimmering in the fluorescent lights. In the center, there was a diamond, or a rhombus as the linguists would prefer, matching in hue.

It was beautiful.

One shape.

One goddamn shape was all Tony Stark had ever wanted.

By the time he was six, everyone he knew had already gotten both of their soulmate tattoos. One on the left wrist for romantic, and one on the right wrist for platonic.

He got his left tattoo when he was four, a square with pink and green chevron lining the inside, accompanied by a blue circle in the upper right hand corner.

He remembered frantically dropping his pencil, running to his mother with glee in his eyes. For such a little boy, he really could hold a lot of energy inside of him. Maria thought it was cute, how happy Tony had been about something so common. Like loosing your first tooth.

She’d told him: “Soon, baby, you’ll get your right marking as well. Then we can celebrate all night long after Daddy goes to bed, hm?”

She hadn’t lived to see that happen, though.

At age 31 he still hadn’t gotten his right tattoo. Maybe he was just... unlovable. Not in romance, clearly, but in friendship.

Rhodey had a red and gold triangle, the colors slipping and mixing as they lined to form the hollow shape. Tony liked the colors. They were stylish.

But Happy had the matching tattoo. Not him.

And they always seemed so fucking happy about it, too. Like they were just trying to rub it in Tony’s face. They weren’t- he knew that. God, he wasn’t a toddler. He understood that two people could be friends without it being a personal thing. But... it still hurt, you know?

On sleepless nights, when Tony couldn’t be bothered to drown his sorrows in the lab, he thought about how much better off he would be if he didn’t have to look at that stupid bare skin, each pore taunting him with its nudity.

The assumption stood that, perhaps, if he wasn’t so hell bent on sticking it out for his left wrist’s sake, he would have given in to the right and left a long time ago.

He normally wore long sleeves, to cover his shame behind cloth. He didn’t want people being reminded that Tony Fucking Stark still lacked a platonic soulmate. Like an ingrate. Some kind of mistake of god that nobody could ever match to.

The cloth was it itchy today, though. Maybe he hadn’t washed the blazer properly last night, or it was just his skin being unbearbly sensitive, but it felt... itchy. All morning it had. Like something was going on with him.

“Tony?” Obie asked him. “Can you sign this?”

The man didn’t hesitate to grab the pen, too busy focusing on the itch along his appendage to worry about whatever the hell he was signing. Obie would never lead him astray, anyhow.

As he reached forward to place his John Hancock, he felt a the itch quickly escalate and grow in mere milleseconds, before turning into a horrible burning sensation.

Hot.

Hotter, hotter, hotter it grew. The man grabbed at the skin in pain, hunching over as he screamed. It felt like... the way his left wrist had felt, back when he got his romantic mark.

What the hell?

Could... could it be...? No- was it...

He frantically ran out of the room, ignoring Obadiah’s calls behind him. The burning began to fade, before only a mild sting was left behind.

Tony peeled back his jacket sleeve, then his dress shirt.

It was beautiful.

His own platonic tattoo. All his. It stood for something. It meant so much- it meant that his being was truly meant to be loved.

It was then that he realized just how odd the timing was. Soulmate tattoos appeared on the eldest’s skin when the younger was born, so why had his come now?

What the hell was he supposed to do with a newborn baby?

Peter Benjamin Parker was born with both of his soulmate tattoos already present.

His parents had taken so many photos that day, their shining faces proudly showing off their baby boy’s little markings.

On his left hand, the shape of a black dahlia flower, all done up in blood red. On his right, a beautiful baby blue seven-pointed star with a diamond in the center.

He opened his eyes after a few minutes, crosseyed as most little ones were for the first few months. Peter smiled when his Daddy held his little wrists out, proudly showing them off to the boy.

He spoke of their history, the way that fate had assigned Peter to two people already, people that would love him more than anything in the world. That somewhere in the world- another person shared his special markings. His soulmates at birth, star-crossed partners in love or in friendship.

Of course, at less than a day old, Peter had absolutely no idea what his father was saying, but seemed to appreciate it nonetheless.

The infant was absolutely adorable- and had continued in that stride for the years after. He met Michelle in freshman year at Midtown, and they started dating not long after, their matching wrists promising a lifetime of love.

He often wondered, though, as many children would, who had his other matching tattoo.

Tony scanned the files he may or may not have stolen from the government.

Each teenage boy had been verified by FRIDAY, a perfect candidate for the little spiderling that had been meander around Queens for the last few months.

There wasn’t much of a reason to it, just some primal instinct he had. No big fight coming up or coup he had to instigate.

The kid had skill, and a lot of untapped potential. He could be great, if only he was trained. Which he wouldn’t be, unless Tony got to him before some rag tag group of thugs did.

God, that would be a mess.

He flipped through the pages, slowly weening out the boy’s that lacked a motive, a concept too human for FRIDAY to understand. Yet.

One file caught his attention, though. The face of a prepubescent boy with messy hair and bright eyes. He was adorable, really. But that’s not what snatched Tony’s eye.

It was the birthdate.

August 10th, 2001 had been the day he got his right tattoo. One of the best days of his life.

There was always the chance that it was a fluke, a coincidence of the ages. Never meant to be, simply crashed in place and left to rest.

But the pictures on the next page of the file sent those thoughts straight underground.

As any other social security file would, this one came with pictures of either soulmate tattoos, accompanied by a description of them for paperwork sake. The images were clearly taken of a newborn baby, likely at the hospital not long after birth.

Peter Parker’s right tattoo was a match.

“Hey, May!” Peter called, stepping into the old apartment as he returned from school, his mind still a little bleary over the fact that Cindy Moon had really just chugged 12 diet cokes in one sitting at lunch.

“Oh, hey!” The woman returned, her voice fading in as the boy slowly removed his earbuds and grunted as he sat his backpack down on the chair by the kitchen table. “How was school today?”

He smiled in fond admiration. “Okay.” He responded, “There’s this crazy car parked outside...” he began, before pausing suddenly.

Holy shit.

Was his hair okay? What about his teeth? Was there anything in his teeth? God, there was probably something in his teeth. Were his glasses smudged? Wait- no, no glasses. How about his clothes?

“Oh, Mr. Parker.” The man sitting on his couch acknowledged.

Peter stuttered, his voice leaving him as his face went numb under pressure. The boy had never been used to the spotlight. “I- wha- what? What are you doi- hey, I- I’m- I’m- I’m Peter. Wai-”

“Tony.” The billionaire greeted. His hair was less shiny in person, and he had a few more wrinkles than he did on TV, Peter noticed.

Tony, he had said, like they were... friends or something. Miss Janelle always said that you shouldn’t refer to public figures by their first names, because they aren’t your friends- they’re sources.

That was weird. This was weird. Everything was weird.

The boy stammered. “What are you- what are you- what are you doing here?” Mr. Stark chuckled. “It’s about time we met.”

In his peripheral vision, Peter could just make out his Aunt frantically mouthing “What The Fuck” as her eyes blew up wider than a hornet nest. At least he wasn’t the only shocked one here.

“You’ve been getting my emails, right?” Mr. Stark asked him. Suddenly, the man winked his eyes, smirking a little.

What the fuck?

The boy played along. After all, when Tony Stark is signaling for you to follow his lead and do as he says, you listen. “Yeah, yeah, regarding the...”

“You didn’t tell me about the grant.” May chirped..

Peter took the lead. “About the grant.” He nodded. Wait... what grant?

“The September Foundation.” Mr. Stark allotted, waving his hand as though metaphorically giving Peter the next bit of information for whatever crazy scheme he had just been pulled into.

The boy shrugged and smiled. “Right.” He agreed. “Yeah. Remember when you applied?” Tony asked.

No, Peter thought, I never fucking applied for anything. What the hell is going on, Mr. Iron Man?

But he didn’t say that, did he?

“Yeah.” Peter smiled. The man gleamed. “I approved! So, now, we’re in business.”

May shifted in her seat, seemingly compromised by whatever bullshit story it was that the older male had told her. Seriously, what was their story here? “You didn’t tell me anything, what’s up with that? You keeping secrets from me now?” She asked.

“Well, I just- I just know how much you love surprises.” Peter offered, sending an experimental glance towards the other, testing that he was sticking to the plan he had yet to be informed of.

“Anyway, what did I apply for?” The teen hurriedly asked.

Mr. Stark bluntly blinked, a sign that Peter was definitely not as good of an actor as he liked to hope. Maybe he should start doing drama with MJ, that could help...

“That’s what I’m here to hash out.” The man claimed. “Okay, hash it- hash it out. Okay.” Peter agreed stupidly. He had no idea what he was doing.

As if trained in the art of lying, the richest one in the room drew attention away crom Peter’s misstep. “It’s so hard for me to believe that she’s someone’s aunt.” “Yeah, well we come in all shapes and sizes, you know?” “This walnut date loaf is exceptional.”

“I’m gonna just stop you there.” Peter interjected. God, Tony Stark was hitting on his Aunt.

So. Weird.

Mr. Stark chuckled a little. “Yeah?” He asked.

Suddenly, some distant part of Peter’s mind clicked. His Aunt’s face glowed in his mind, like when a character in a movie saw a hot girl and everything slowed down. Not that he thought May was hot, because, ew.

No, he was focusing on the word: Grant.

“Does this grant, like, got money involved or whatever? No?” He asked.

Mr. Stark slowed, seemingly confused by the question. “Yeah...” He began. “Yeah?” Peter echoed. “Well, it’s- it’s pretty well funded.” Oh. Not as exciting- but, still, being in the presence of money like that...

Peter remembered when he was little, when his still-living father would take him to New Rochelle on the weekends, just to see it.

“Look at these fellas long and hard, Pete.”

“They’re just rich people houses, Daddy!”

“Don’t you wanna live in one of ‘em?”

“Can’t. We’re not rich people.”

“Well? Here’s your inspiration, kiddo. Use that inspiration for your whole life. All you need for success is to be nearby what you want, to remind yourself that it is real and attainable. Then you really will work as hard as you can. This is the goal, so you don’t give up until you’ve got it.”

Peter’s mind wandered back to the present, Mr. Stark’s face still moving with his words. “Wow.” He gasped.

“I mean, look who you’re talking to.” The man joked. He turned to May. “Can I have five minutes with him?” He asked, pointing towards the bedroom off to the side with PETER clearly emblazoned across the door.

May smiled politely, of course, though Peter was pretty sure she was still uncomfortable with a grown man entering Peter’s bedroom. “Sure.”

They piled into Peter’s small bedroom, his twin bed thankfully having been made that morning. It was still a total mess. Mr. Stark really should have given a warning.

Tony was just happy that the kid hadn’t spent too long claiming not to be Spider-Man. He was relatively easy to quell, for a 14-year-old. Not that much teen spirit or whatever the kids called it nowadays. One mention of good pay and a spot on the team and the boy was all for the arrangement.

Peter would be working under Tony until he was old enough to join the Avengers Initiative- that is, if Tony says he’s ready then. Just some mentoring, getting the kid some decent field experience. And a better suit, because... yeesh.

That onesie across the room was an insult to all of superhero suit kind.

“Next order of business,” The man continued, “Roll up your sleeve.”

Peter spluttered. “What?” He remarked.

Tony sighed, before doing so on his own account, revealing that ever familiar design to Peter’s eyes.

The boy began to shake, his whole face going pale as he whispered “Is that...”

“A match? One can only be sure in person, kid.”

Peter gingerly removed his jacket and pulled up the right sleeve of his pullover, revealing his own seven-pointed star, made in a perfect baby blue, with a diamond encased in the center.

The man smiled, happily looking down at the little details, all familiar to him.

His own platonic soulmate. Right next to him.

He didn’t understand how or why, but one thing was for certain. This kid? This adorable, dopey-eyed kid with a onesie in his celling. He would protect this kid at all costs.

#my fics #marvel #mcu #avengers #marvel cinematic universe #avengers endgame #tony stark #peter parker #and i wanted queue to be better #tom holland

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aria-i-adagio · 5 years

Text

If the World Exploded Out Behind Us, I Never Noticed If It Done

Fandom: The Arcana

Chapter rating: Pg-13/Teen/Lime

Wordcount: 4000

Previous Chapter Masterpost

Asra tidies up the remains of our lunch efficiently, putting aside the few things that remained uneaten on one of the shelves. I get another towel from one of the shelves and soak it in water before starting to clean the remaining dried blood off of Julian’s arms and his side. Asra looks back over his shoulder at Julian and me, brow furrowed with worry. He runs his hand through his hair and bites his lip. “Maybe you two should stay here. Rest some. Muri and I can handle this.”

I glance over at him and shake my head. “No. I want to come.”

“Are you sure?” Julian touches my face. “Whatever we saw is still out there.”

“It would be safer if you just stayed here.” Asra echoes him.

Between the two of them, the only way real danger I’m in is being smothered. “Oh, for god’s sake, I -”

Muriel pauses from gathering materials from the shelves and clears his throat. “She comes, if she wants.”

“Thank you. I do.”

“It probably is time you met my master. We’ll just be careful.” Asra sighs and looks from me to Julian. "Ilya, are you feeling well enough?

Julian stands and stretches, rolling his shoulders. “I’m good. Right as rain.”

The non metaphorical rain has stopped, but Asra wraps me up in a heavy blanket before we follow Muriel further into the forest and to the ancient oak tree that houses the last of his wards in the top branches. He wraps his hands in leather and scales the tree with more agility than I would have expected from someone his size. Inanna sits down at the base of the tree, tracking his progress carefully.

Asra waits until Muriel’s out of earshot, then beckons Julian and me to him.

“Ilya, I’m happy for you.”

“Couldn’t you have just told me?”

“No, I couldn’t. I’ve forgotten parts of that night, too. Not as much as you, or Nadi, but some. And Muriel - it’s hard for him to talk about it - so I never pushed him. Not before today. There are a lot of things Muriel finds it hard to talk about. The way we grew up, things he did to protect me, the things Lucio made him do . . .” Asra’s voice trails off then picks back up. “But -” Eyes soft, he beams at Julian and takes his hand, looking - for the briefest of moments - shy. “You’re innocent. That's the important thing. No don’t go doing something stupid like dieing for a crime you didn’t commit.”

Julian’s expression is a mixture of wonder and disbelief - and longing. His fingers fold around Asra’s. They’ve bickered all day, but right now, they’re old lovers caught between fondness and pain.

With an abrupt thud, Muriel descends from the tree, terminating the moment.

“It’s still out there.”

Asra looks away from Julian. “You saw it.”

Muriel rubs his temples. His features are contorted in disgust and possibly a little fear. “Yes. I can’t describe it. But I saw it.” Inanna noses his leg, and he pets her, I think, to reassure the both of them. “Something is off about it. More than off. Monstrous.”

***

Asra and Muriel’s preferred place for whatever they have planned is the treeless peak of what could be described either as a short mountain or a tall hill. Night has fallen, and I'm exhausted by the time we reach the top. I'm used to walking but not to inclines. With the exception of the palace, Vesuvia is flat city, built largely on land reclaimed from the sea.

Perhaps a view is required this process, for the one at the top of the mountain is spectacular. The waning moon peeks through the veil of the remaining clouds. If you look out, you can see the spires of the palace, limned by moonlight and beyond that the dim lights of the city.

Muriel circles the clearing, replacing small stones in patterns, and adding pinches of herbs to what I assume are wards that protect the area. He unfolds a rectangle of white fabric from one of his bags and spreads it out on the ground in front of him. With a huff, he sits down with Inanna curled beside him. He takes a smaller bag from his belt and pours the contents into his hand checking over them carefully, before closing his eyes and breathing deeply. Asra leaves Faust with them, coiled up in Inanna’s warm fur and touches Muriel on the shoulder once again before walking away.

Asra pulls Julian and I far enough away that we won’t bother Muriel. Julian looks around the bare mountain top, clearly confused. “Where’s this master of yours?”

“One of the magical realms,” Asra says as it’s perfectly normal to have a teacher in another dimension. He unwraps the blanket from around my shoulders and shakes it out. It seems to expand as he does, easily covering enough space for all three of us to sit together once laid out on the ground. “Dema, you and I will need to travel together in a trance.” Asra settles on the ground in a meditative posture, legs crossed in front of him. “Ilya, keep watch and try not to bother Muriel.”

Julian doesn't look very happy about the vague instructions and mutters something about magicians and magicky things. I grip his hand reassuringly. “We may learn something important.” I settle down across from Asra mirroring his posture, knees touching his. Julian crouches next to me.

“Is this safe, Asra?”

“Dema will be safe with me.” There's a note of irritation in his voice. I groan inwardly, hoping that they don't start sniping at each other again.

“Julian, please, I'm doing this.” I take Asra's hand in mine.

His eyes twinkle as he smiles at me. Whatever reservations he had about bringing me seem to have passed. He pulls out his tarot deck and searches through it before laying the Magician down between us. “Good. Now close your eyes and let your mind clear.” He takes my hands in his, twining our fingers together. “Like you’re doing a reading.”

I close my eyes and focus my attention on my breath, letting my consciousness drift into the dark. Slowly the dark is replaced by a sort of forest glade, saturated with jewel tones. The meadow surrounds a pond of gently glowing aquamarine water that is slowly shrinking and increasing in size, lapping around my toes. Asra sits, cross-legged, on the surface of the water, smiling beatifically.

“Dema, you made it.”

A tiny bird, lime green and magenta, flits past my nose. “What is this place?”

“It’s a gate, a constructed halfway point between the world we know and the numinous. Most magicians make their own at some point.” He looks about and blushes slightly. “I made this one when I was pretty young. It might be a bit juvenile.”

“It’s beautiful!” The sky is caught in a sunset, or perhaps a sunrise, or some other word that describes when the rose and gold tones surround all the edges of the horizon, filtering into the deeper violet directly above their head.

Asra smiles. “I wonder what your gate looks like.”

“Do I have one?”

“I know you did.” He looks away from me and reaches out a hand for a tiny golden butterfly to land on. “I don’t know if it will be the same once you find it again.”

“When are you going to tell me what happened?”

Suddenly he’s sitting on the ground next to me instead of on the surface of the water. He reaches up, takes my hand and pulls me down beside him. “Do you trust me that what I have told you is the truth? Just not all of it.”

“I think so.” Frustrating as he is, Asra has never really given me a reason to think that his motives where I am concerned are anything other than beneficent. Complicated, but at least, his intentions are good. I don’t take my hand away from him. He holds it in his lap tracing lightly over the lines in my palm, lingering on my broken lifeline.

“When I’ve tried to tell you more, or even when something happens that hits too close to your past . . . Your headaches are the least of it. That first time was the worst, but still you’d dissociate completely, sometimes for days at a time when you stumbled over a reminder. So, I stopped trying to tell you anything, and started trying to keep you from running into hints from your past.” He looks back up at me, eyes glassy. “It wasn’t a decision I wanted to make for you, but I had to keep you safe. It’s impossible to balance with not making decisions for you.”

“Asra, I need to know.”

“I can’t bear to lose you again.”

“If I don’t know who I am, can you even say that you have me?”

“I’m scared of what could happen.”

I wrap my arms around him and lean my head against his shoulder. “Have more faith in me.”

“I’ll try.” He kisses the top of my head and stands up, wading out into the water. “Are you ready to meet my master?”

“Why not?” I walk out to him and take his extended hand. The water is pleasantly warm and peppers my legs with effervescent bubbles. Asra continues, the pond slopes down steeply, and I realize we're going to submerge entirely.

“Don't worry, you'll be able to breathe if you want, but there's not necessarily any need. Not here.” Hand still holding mine, he sinks himself into the water, pulling me after him.

The next thing I'm aware of is the crashing noise of a wave washing us into a wide, sandy beach. Like Asra's gate, the colors here are vibrant and other worldly. Pink sand, a deep purple sky, a sea that glitters as the waves crash - but while I can see and hear, I feel disconnected. Neither the grit if the sand beneath my feet nor Asra's hand in mine feels quite right. If this is a deeper plane of reality it's a subtle and disconcerting one.

“Are you alright, Dema?” In the shifting light it looks like Asra's aura is blending into the sky itself - being siphoned away into the stuff of this realm. It’s perplexing and unsettling, and I don’t think I like it at all.

“Let's find this mentor of yours and ask the questions we came to.”

Asra looks down the beach. I follow his gaze to a curving palm. Indigo footprints spiral around the tree, leading down to the beach, where a figure manifests before us. The Magician - he appears just as he is painted on Asra's card - a fox headed, humanoid figure with violet eyes.

“Ah, Asra, you have returned.” The Magician's uncanny gaze falls on me. “And Dema is with you. Do you recognize my voice, little one?”

Much to my surprise, I do. I've heard the Magician speak, just never in words.

“Master.” Once Asra starts the words pour out of him, like those of a child seeking reassurance from a parent. “There’s an entity in the forest. And Lucio’s ghost is haunting the palace. And the plague beetles. I saw them. I don’t know.”

The Magician regards us in silence, then with a flick of his wrist bends reality around him. The light behind him settles itself into a tent. He throws back the entrance flap and enters gesturing for us to follow him.

I follow Asra into the dark interior, still clutching at a hand that doesn’t feel quite there. Familiar shapes resolve around me, a rickety table covered by a fringed shawl, mismatched chairs, and the glow of magically lit lamps. It's the backroom of our shop. But it isn't. There are no homey scents of dried herbs and incense and when I run my fingers across the cloth spread over the table, I can't find the darned places where the shawl has been mended in the past.

I settle uneasily into one of the chairs, forming a triangle around the table with the Magician and Asra. The Magician shuffles a deck of cards.

“An entity in the forest. Vague even for you, Asra? What is this entity?”

“I don’t know. What glimpses we got don’t make any sense.”

“Certainly you know better than to trust appearances. It is a small matter to look like something else.” He offers Asra the deck to cut, then deals three cards on the table. “Turn them, Dema. What do you see?”

I hesitate, then Asra touches my arm in reassurance, and I flip cards over. The Seven of Swords and the Five of Swords flank Death Reversed. “What should be natural - more natural than anything - perverted.” The words come to me, almost automatically, but there meaning isn’t immediately clear. “Power that was stolen, both by trickery and by force.”

The Magician traces around the edge of Death with a single sharply pointed finger. “That’s the nature of your entity.” He gathers the cards back up and reshuffles the deck. Asra doesn’t seem surprised by the answer that isn’t quite one. But it seems to match the nature of this place well enough.

“What about Lucio?”

“What about him?” The Magician places two cards in front of Asra and nods for him to turn them. Asra flips them over without waiting. The Knight of Swords, the card that I had seen recently for both Lucio and Asra. Recklessness. Followed by the Chariot, reversed. The Magician raises his eyebrows and just barely shakes his head at Asra. “Things got a bit out of control, didn’t they, my young one?”

Asra stares at the cards in front of him. His reply is a shaky gasp. “Yes.”

The Magician leaves the two cards face up in front of Asra and deals from the deck into a three by three spread in the center of the table. “There are multiple forces in play.” He turns the left and right columns. The Magician, the High Priestess, the Hermit, the Hierophant, the Hanged Man, and the Devil. With the exception of the Devil, all are reversed from where I’m sitting. “And in the center of them -” He turns the middle card and lays it horizontally across the others. The Fool, neither reversed nor upright. “Someone who is beginning to come into their own power. Yet.” He pauses and flips over the two cards above and below. The Two of Swords, reversed and the Eight of Swords. Both blindfolded. One trying to balance two swords in her hands, and the other bound within a ring of swords. The Magician looks to me without saying anything further. If the cards before refer to Asra, or Lucio, or both, these are my cards. A hollow feeling grows in my stomach, and my ears start ringing as I reach for the Fool in the center. Asra grabs my hand, stopping me before I can touch it.

The Magician chuckles and collects his deck once more. “We major Arcana are archetypes, manifestations of ancient powers. You don't know me well, Dema, but we talk often enough. As you do with my siblings. And the more you speak with us, the more familiar you’ll become. You'll know me, or one of the others, from an imposter in our place.”

What does he mean?

“I wonder, Dema, how well do you know your master?”

The mock up of the back room twists and folds on itself; for an awful moment, I lose all sense of direction. There's no up or down, right or left, just gut churning motion. Then the room settles back into place. For a moment, I think my vision may have doubled from the vertigo, but no, the Magician no longer appears as a fox, but instead appears as Asra.

“So, little apprentice, who is who?” The room shifts around me again before I can isolate the speaker. Asra would never call me that.

When the room stops moving again, I step toward the two figures, reaching out with both my hands and my own magic, and hoping that neither one decides to turn into an actual fox and bite me. Their auras, shades of violet both, blur together one into the other but remain subtly different. They're standing close enough that I can reach out and touch their cheeks simultaneously. For a second both lean into my hand, before the one on the left tilts his head back, as if he's not sure he's entitled the affection he so clearly wants. Asra.

I pull my hand away from the Magician and move to stand directly in front of Asra, cupping his face in my hands. He gives me a slight smile, but his eyes are sad. I turn my attention back to the auras. My first impression had not been accurate. They weren't blurring. Asra's aura, ever so slightly warmer in tone, was being slowly replaced by the darker violet of the Magician.

I slide my hands to Asra's shoulders and clutch him against me. Slowly he returns the embrace, wrapping his arms around my back. I turn my face to the Magician - once again a fox. Rage builds inside me, tightening in my chest and throat. I curl my upper lip into a snarl. “You can't have him.”

“So you figured it out.” The Magician smiles, but this time there is no kindness, just a menacing craftiness. “When any two beings become familiar enough the line between them can seem to disappear. To connect with one of the Arcana on a personal level can awaken a wellspring of power. But if the connection is too deep you run the risk of losing your individuality. Becoming your archetype.”

I tighten my arms around Asra. Despite the apparate warmth that pervades this facsimile of our home, he’s shivering. Maybe the heat in the air is being pulled from Asra as the line between him and the Magician dissolves. I don't care what power Asra could gain or why he thinks he needs it; I'm not losing him.

The Magician’s gaze shifts to Asra and his expression changes again into something like pity. “You were warned, Asra.” He tilts his head looking closely at each of us and rubs his chin. “Fascinating. I do like you, little one. Here’s part of what you came for: Lucio tried to become one of the Arcana and failed.”

“Lucio tried to become . . . How?”

“Why don't you ask him yourself?” The Magician raises one black claw and with a flick of his wrist sets the room spinning again.

When the motion stops, Asra and I are back beside the undulating lake that anchors his gateway. My head is tucked between his shoulder and his chin, arms still tight around him. He rubs my shoulders. “Hey, it's okay, Dema, you can let go.”

“No, if I let you go, you'll go away again, and this time, you won't come back and you'll become that thing. And I'll be alone again. I'll have lost you.” I'm aware that I'm probably not making much sense, but once the half coherent stream of words is leaving my mouth, I can't stop it. “Everytime you leave, I don't know when or if you'll be back, or if you've finally decided that you're done with me.”

“Dema.” His hand pushes my hair back from my face. “I'll never abandon you. Not again.” His voice breaks and we stand in silence for a moment, wrapped in each other's arms. “I love you too much to do that. Even if you don’t -”

“I do love you.” I pull far enough away from him to look up at his face. “I don't want to lose you. I want to trust you.”

“Dema-”

“And every moment in that - that other place - there was less and less of you and more of him. Like he was feeding off of you - gnawing away at your being.”

Asra sinks down heavily, like his knees have given out beneath him. He pulls me down with him and into his lap. Wordlessly, he presses my head to his chest, over his heart and holds me there. His breath shakes and while I can hear his heart beating strongly, there's a stutter in the cadence, as if it's running on a poorly healed limb.

“Asra, something isn't right.”

“No.” He lifts my face to him. His eyes are wide with wonder, and pain, and something else. “But I have you, so it's okay.”

I lean in to kiss him, pushing him back so that he's laying on the ground. There's desperation in his kiss, and I'm not on top for long before we've changed places and his hands and mouth, gentle but insistent, are running over every part of my body, caressing each of my fingers and even my toes individually, as if to make sure that I am all there. I wonder at how long he must have wanted this and I almost feel guilty about the past three years of casual friendly affection and snuggling. Almost, but not quite, because that's kept me together more than once when it's felt like my brain is spinning out of control.

He stops, almost abruptly, as though, he only wanted to touch me and check that I was all there. He kisses my mouth and strokes my cheek. “We'll finish this later, beloved.”

“Is that a promise?”

He pushed aside my blouse and kisses the spot over my heart. “It is.” He lingers there, cheek pressed to my skin, before disentangling himself from me with a sigh and rolling over onto his back. “We’ve got a lot to do. If we can stop the red plague from returning, or if Ilya can actually find a cure -” He roles forward and up to his feet, then leans back over to offer me a hand. I take it, and he pulls me up, presses a quick kiss to my lips, then steps back into the water.

***

I wake up sprawled on my side, facing Asra with one hand still clasped in his. I roll over on my back. Julian, asleep, is one the other side of me, nearby, but not quite touching. Reaching out, I take one of his hands without letting go of Asra and lay still, looking up at the stars and planets spinning above me. Part of me remembers that there is something not right with the world, but I’m able - for once - to shut that part down, and simply be content.

“Dema,” Asra’s voice is a low whisper. I turn my face to him. “You and Julian should head back to the palace and decide how you’re going to find that dungeon. I’m going to stay with Muriel tonight. And I’ll join you tomorrow. I have an idea. I’ll just need to get Nadi to go along with it.”

I nod in agreement. He pushes himself to his knees, then picks my hand back up, bringing my wrist to his mouth and presses the lightest of kisses to the inside of it. Somehow that touch is more intimate than a dozen kisses to my mouth could have been.

“Just be careful, my love. If your memories start coming back, I don’t know what will happen.”

“I’m not as fragile as you think I am. And I’m not afraid.”

“I am afraid.” He looks off into the distance caught in some memory that I both do and do not want to know about. “Wake Ilya. Muriel and I will get you back to the main road to the palace. And, Dema -” He returns his gaze to me. “Not that you need my permission, but it's okay to love two people at once. You loved him. Deeply. I hope you both remember, and I swear, I won’t take that from you.” He kisses my fingers again, then stands and walks to where Muriel is curled on his side next to Inanna.

I roll back over and push myself up, stretching my back and arms. Leaning over Julian, I trace the lines of his face and lightly kiss each of his eyelids, still a little amazed at having access to both. “Hey, Julian, you shouldn’t sleep outside. You’ll get sick.” His eyes flutter, then he wakes with a start.

“Oh, you’re back.” With a yawn, he pushes himself up on his elbows. “Did you learn anything?”

“Yes. I’ll fill you in on the way back.”

A/N: Chapter title from Queens of the Stone Age, “Like You Used to Do”

#the arcana fanfic #asra alnazar #julian devorak #muriel the arcana #julian x apprentice #asra x apprentice #my writing #whatever I've done

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