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butchlilith · 3 years

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try again (and again and again); a niles/daphne fic

summary: niles has chance after chance to tell daphne how he feels, and he doesn’t keep his mouth shut. at least, not in every sense. three confessions that didn’t happen and probably shouldn’t have.

words: 7.5k

rating + warnings: pg-13. one of these is the obligatory “daphne hates sherry” alternate ending, so some discussion of sex is present.

notes: old draft of some experimentation with voice, c.a. early-mid 2019, cleaned up a little bit for publishing. possibly my first and only str*ight frasier fic? by which i mean "i don't actually know how straight people do anything, but niles is ostensibly a man in this one." also available (with better page breaks) on ao3.

part one. how it ends.

scenario 117. She leaves the next morning more shamefully than any fling’s apartment, leaves after breakfast and a real apology. Dr. Crane’s brother is a bit too eager to act as reference, and Daphne never does find out what he says that gets her placed as fast as she is. It’s not a live-in position, but the pay’s a bit better, and the patient’s wife gives Daphne a discount when she visits her shop, so she doesn’t mind. She finds an apartment on the Hill with a lenient policy on pets and swears off men for just over three years.

scenario 406. Niles doesn’t ask again, even after the divorce. He spends more time with Daphne than he’d ever hoped—he even joins her on a trip to some kind of outlet mall one day—and gets further from telling her with each hour. When he notices what they are now, Dad will give him too much sympathy, and Niles will insist that he prefers it this way, and Frasier will analyze all of it to death. There’s never a proper ending, not one that either of them can point to, but they know that something is over. They only half know what it is.

scenario 421. They’re horrible secret-keepers, and the secrecy was much of the appeal of their arrangement, whatever that arrangement was. Without it, they are Frasier’s pet project and the butt of their friends’—that is, Niles’s friends (few) and Daphne’s friends (many), separate entities, for they have no real friends in common—jokes. They last longer than the heat does, but they break just as suddenly. Eventually, they will confess to feeling the same relief, too.

part two. the “it” in question.

scenario 117. For the longest time, everything is comfortably quiet. Just the drum of the rain, the occasional crack of the fire. Dr. Crane running his fingertips along her arm. Dr. Crane kissing her. Dr. Crane kissing her more gently than she’s ever been kissed. And it’s strange, if not entirely unexpected, but it’s nice, too, in its way. Nice in the way he’s always been nice, sometimes maybe a bit too eager, and other times maybe a bit too reserved, but so impossibly aware that she can’t help but think there’s a kindness to it. But it’s really that—the awareness—before anything else. Daphne’s sure of it: She knows because he’s mirroring her. And he’s able to mirror her because she’s kissing him. And she’s kissing him because she likes it and probably because she’s a bit on the rebound at the moment but mostly that first one because Eric certainly didn’t ever do what he’s doing now, and it’s hard to call something a rebound when it’s that much better than the real thing. Hard to call something a rebound when you can hardly picture yourself wanting to stop getting closer to him. When your hands are doing everything they can to keep that from happening.

And that’s how she realizes: “This isn’t right.”

“Oh,” he says, and Daphne comes close to forgetting her morals because he’s moving his hand back to hers, as if she hadn’t appreciated (more than appreciated) what he’d chosen to do with his just before. “I can— I suppose I’m so used to—” He stops himself. He’s realized it, too. “Oh, that’s what you mean, isn’t it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Of course,” he says.“It was foolish of me to think…”

Daphne assumes, at least at first, that he plans on finishing this thought, but he stays quiet, well after the time it could take anyone to supply the right word. So, he’s staying quiet, and Daphne has just learned what becomes of the quiet between them. She knows that it can’t happen again. “Me too,” she says.

“You?” he asks. They’re not touching at all anymore. His choice this time, not Daphne’s. She wishes she weren’t keeping track.

“Yes,” she says, and her voice is certain even as he goes on over it, because if she doesn’t admit it, there’s really no way she can go on respecting herself.

“How were you—?”

“Well, thought you might’ve noticed in the moment, but I wasn’t exactly stopping you, was I?”

“Of course not,” he says, and it’s like she’s made it worse. “How could you have? You were in my home, in my— In her— And distraught and shocked and I—”

“You were, too,” she says because he was. Those last two, that is. More than she was, even. “Didn’t stop either of us.”

“But I—”

Daphne isn’t listening. She says, “Look at me.”

He doesn’t, but he tells her, “I have been.” And then, like it’s not the fault Daphne’s third-worst decision about an outfit to date, he adds, “If I hadn’t, we would never have had this problem.”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” she says. “I come into your house, and you’re a perfect gentleman to me, and when your wife’s clothes are too small for me, I find this. What else could you have thought?”

“Well, Maris has a very delicate build,” he says. This is a bit on the generous side to all three of them. Daphne can picture them laughing about it, if all of this were different.

“I could have borrowed something of yours if it were such a problem,” she says, already resenting the fact that she’s making excuses like this. “Nothing sexy about that, swimming in a man’s trousers, but I decided to try this on and—”

“No, no, I should have known—” He nearly touches her again when he says this, and Daphne nearly indulges herself in letting him, but he seems to remember what brought them to this point because he draws his hand away at the last possible moment.

“But you couldn’t have,” Daphne says. It’s too quiet. She’s supposed to be angry. At someone. Preferably Dr. Crane. “I didn’t even know until it happened, and it felt… I thought—” She sighs, and the anger’s here at last. “Well, I didn’t think, did I? I just put my—”

Daphne’s put a few too many things a few too many places, but Dr. Crane isn’t listening, so it hardly matters if she says hands or tongue or dignity because he just says, “I’m a psychiatrist,” before she can even decide which the worst of them is.

“Did you know, then?” Daphne asks.

And then he says, “I should have.”

“No, I mean…” It’s embarrassing now, knowing that he’s convinced that she’s the vulnerable one in all this, but she does need that answer. For some reason. A reason that is definitely rational. “Did you know that we…?”

“Oh, I…” He hums like he’s searching for a diplomatic answer to the question. “Only when you… and I…”

“So it was my fault.”

“Not at all. I was—”

“Didn’t think you were the type of man to… Then, suppose I did think, or I wouldn’t’ve…” She tilts her head back, resting it on the seat of the chair behind her, partly from exhaustion and partly from a fear of what would happen if she looked him in the eye.

“And now?” he asks.

“I’m not sure.”

“Of course.” He’s being too kind, maybe because he’s a gentleman or maybe (most likely, Daphne decides on the basis recent events) because he thinks she’s not as smart as he is, but he’s being kind, and Daphne wishes more than anything that he’d stop.

She says, “We really didn’t do anything.” Vaguely, Daphne recognizes his interruption (“Daphne, I—”), then goes on anyway. “You know, a kiss between friends. Bit more involved than I’m used to, but what else? Hands may’ve gotten a bit off track, but whose haven’t?”

“Mine haven’t.”

“Don’t know if you’d still want to say that, Dr. Crane.”

“Of course,” he says again. “They hadn’t. Past tense. And now they have, and my marriage is in shambles, and I certainly can’t tell Frasier or Dad or— I won’t be able to come to his apartment. How do I explain that? You spend one night in my home and suddenly— They’ll know in an instant.”

Daphne can’t help but look up. “This a pattern for you?” she asks, and she’s almost hoping the answer is yes. No, scratch almost. She’s really hoping the answer is yes. Because she can’t be interested in a man with a wandering eye. Not a wandering eye with a passport filled up faster than Mrs. Crane’s, anyhow. And she doesn’t want to be interested in Dr. Crane, no matter how much she liked kissing him.

“No, no, oh, God, no,” he says, because tonight clearly isn’t Daphne’s night. He seems ready to say more, which Daphne hopes will be something unforgivable. But tonight, again, is not Daphne’s night. He looks outside and takes off his jacket. “Would you wear this?” he asks, bringing up a number of unfortunate realities.

“And didn’t I say—”

“No, no, I didn’t—” Dr. Crane seems to regret this choice of words. “It’s cold here,” he revises, “in the house, um, particularly when it rains, and with you in so little...”

“Seems a bit like you’re implying something.”

“Oh. No, I— That was—”

“Just having some fun,” Daphne says, not entirely sure that she is. “Too fresh?”

“No, ah—Hm.” He pauses, and Daphne is forced to spend the intervening seconds guessing whether he’ll actually keep talking this time. He does: “No, I think we’ve passed the point of forwardness.”

“Soon, I mean.”

“Even better. Ten minutes?” A weak laugh. Hideously weak. “Lifetimes away.”

“All right, then,” she says. He hesitates. Daphne nods. And just like this, they are near each other again. He could lay the jacket over her shoulders. Could even hold it out for her, the way he’s done before, so that she could slip her arms inside. He doesn’t. Not this time. Daphne takes it by the collar and puts it on herself. Dr. Crane folds his hands.

It’s quiet, the way it was before, and Daphne refuses to be surprised again. She says, “I don’t have to keep working for your father.”

“Why wouldn’t you?”

“Well, you may remember where you—”

“I remember. I mean—“ He frowns. “No, that is what I mean. You know, you really should—”

And there’s plenty that Daphne knows she should do, but she doesn’t care to be reminded, so she says, “I suppose you’re right. But that’s just the point, isn’t it? I’m going to be walking around your brother’s place, and you’ll stop by, and we’ll say hello and all that, but then what? I—” She considers redirecting the thought, then decides against it. “I don’t mean to imply anything by this, Dr. Crane, but I was getting to appreciate your company.”

“Were you?”

“Wouldn’t have come here tonight if I wasn’t,” she says. Whispers, really, if she’s honest with herself, but she’d really rather not be because, being honest, she has to admit that it’s hard to take something like that platonically.

“Ah,” he says, and Daphne swears he heard it too, because he’s nearly smiling now. “I suppose that makes sense.”

“I just don’t think it would be wise to hang about where you’re likely to drop in, after something so…” There isn't a word she can use here that doesn't mean admitting that she knew what she was doing. She doesn't use any.

“Yes?” he asks, which feels a bit hypocritical given his history. She hadn’t asked him what he’d meant after all, and not for lack of wanting.

“It doesn’t matter. I just— You know I would never mean any offense, but you can be a bit sensitive sometimes.”

For a moment, he sounds like himself again, which means that he sounds like his brother, and Daphne thinks it's over. “I’d hardly—” he says, but he doesn't continue. “No, no, you’re right, of course. I can. But to think of you... giving up your life over one indiscretion…”

“I’d say it was more than one.”

“Of course, yes, I…” He hums again, and Daphne’s back to waiting for him to say something, even if it’s not honest. Maybe especially. He doesn’t.

She says, “You think I should keep working with your father, then?”

“I couldn’t say.”

“It sounded like you were trying to convince me—”

“Daphne?”

“What?”

“Do you plan on staying?”

“Tonight?” she asks, not sure if this is the question she’d like it to be. “I haven’t got much of a choice, have I?”

“No, no, I mean…”

“Forever,” Daphne suggests.

Dr. Crane presses his lips together. He looks painfully like himself like this. Then, he’s been himself the whole night, and Daphne knows that, she really knows that, but it’s harder like this. No way to maintain the illusion now. “That’s one way of putting it, I suppose.”

“I don’t know,” she says. “I don’t see how I could.”

“It would be difficult, wouldn’t it?”

“It’s not that I… I just think— With you…”

“With me, yes. Could I—?” He adjusts his posture so that it almost looks relaxed, except for the way it happens—almost spasmodically. “There’s been something on my mind recently.”

“Yes?”

“When I— When you came here, tonight, and you…” He frowns, like he doesn’t quite know what to say. “Daphne,” he decides. “You have a lovely name. Do you hear that often? Daphne. A naiad, wasn’t she? Daphne. Then, maybe I’ve been a bit on the Dionysian side tonight.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

“I’m sorry.” It’s the first time either of them have said it since. Daphne doesn’t know what it means. Doesn’t know if he’s apologizing for more than a misunderstanding. “I’m avoiding the point,” he says and runs a hand through his hair. The gesture lends a sort of exhaustion to his appearance, so that his exhale feels heavier than it is.”You really don’t suppose we’ll be able to forget this?” he asks.

“It’d be easier if we didn’t see each other as much, but…”

“You said, before I… Before we… This… You said that you wanted—” And, God, she finally knows where this is going, and she hates every bit of it, because she still feels so terribly close to him. Still wants someone to love her the way she thought he loved Mrs. Crane but can’t possibly love Mrs. Crane because if he did he wouldn’t have done what they’ve done, wouldn’t be saying what he’s saying. And the part of her that’s still crashing from the breakup believes him. Believes that it could be him. Wants it to be, even.

But Daphne isn’t stupid and certainly not as stupid as he must think she is, so she says, “You shouldn’t.”

“I know that, but I—” and she can feel him saying it now, and she can feel herself believing him even though she shouldn’t. And it’s not just the part of her that’s been broken up with, or the part of her that hasn’t had decent sex in six months, or the part of her that’s stuck in some childish romantic daydream. It’s just Daphne. Wanting him to tell her what he can’t possibly mean. He stops himself. He looks at her for too long, with the eyes she never noticed until tonight. He sighs. “You know,” he says, and Daphne knows the moment has passed, “you’re right. I shouldn’t. It’s late, and I’ve embarrassed myself quite enough, so… Our rooms aren’t the most comfortably furnished, I’m afraid, and, under present circumstance, I can hardly imagine… Where would you like to sleep?”

Daphne doesn’t let herself answer foolishly.

scenario 406. Here is everything that goes better than Niles predicted: Daphne is not horrified. She does not immediately flee the scene, does not reach for the phone to book the next flight back to Manchester, does not so much as flinch when he asks her. She just looks at him with the eyes about which Niles has sworn to himself he will no longer wax poetic, presses together the lips about which Niles has sworn to himself he will no longer fantasize, and nods. It could almost pass for assent.

And then she says, “You’re married.”

And this is technically true, but he says, “Separated,” because there isn’t much else he can say with the potential to right this minor detail.

“Still married,” she says, and, really, she’s right, but, really, there is very little Niles can do about this at the moment, and he doubts Daphne will still be available the next.

So he says,“I suppose I am, aren’t I?” and waits for what is probably not entirely enough time before continuing. “You haven’t answered my question.”

“You are.” She exhales in a way that almost sounds like a laugh.

“I know. I meant the other question.”

“I thought I did,” she says. There’s no way for Niles to convince himself that she’s laughing this time.

But he’s committed to his optimistic streak, even as he watches her settle onto the arm of the couch, back toward him, so he says, “Oh?”

“It doesn’t matter,” she says. Her voice is clear even though he can’t see her face. Insistent. “You’re married.”

“Separated,” he corrects.

“And married.”

“And married, yes But, if, hypothetically, I were no longer married—“

Daphne turns back to face him. “You’re going to divorce your wife?”

“It’s a possibility. That’s why we’re speaking hypothetically.”

“Right,” she says. She’s facing the kitchen again, meaning Dad’s chair is the logical place to sit if he hopes to conduct anything resembling a normal human conversation. He sits instead on the cushion nearest her, functionally eliminating the possibility, and Daphne says, “Well, you’d be divorced.”

“Yes, that’s typically how it works.”

“You think I’d date a man right after his divorce?”

“Well, perhaps if he—”

“He needs time,” she says, and this really is better than Niles predicted—not because it’s not a no, and not because it suggests that there is maybe, someday the possibility of a yes, but because she means that she loves him.

But Niles cannot say, “I love you, too,” because she hasn’t actually said that she loves him, and, even if she had, that may be moving at something of a brisk pace given circumstance. So he says, “Yes, I suppose he does,” because this is the nearest he can get. Daphne, evidently, appreciates the gesture, because she shifts properly this time, a full ninety degrees, so that neither of them has to contort to see the other.

“So,” Niles says, “and this is still hypothetical, of course—if we suppose that I—that he—were divorced, and he’d been divorced for some time, and he’s completely over Maris—his wife, I mean… Would you…?”

Daphne grins and it is, for a moment, as if nothing has changed between them. As if they’re still dancing, or talking about her brothers, or watching the last half The Shop Around the Corner. “You’re asking if I’d ever date a man who’s been married before?”

“Yes.”

“Any man?” she asks. In another, better world, the first half of their conversation has not happened at all, and Daphne is asking this hopefully, longing for Niles to at last say how he feels. But in this world, which naturally is worse, Niles has already said it, and Daphne has already declined. No, not declined. Something softer, enough to make Niles go on.

“Well,” he says, “hypothetically, say it were me.”

Daphne smiles again. “In this hypothetical,” she says, “did this man—did you—did you ask me, while you were married? Say, three hours after I’ve been dumped?”

“Yes,” Niles says, finally as ashamed as expected to be the moment he spoke. “He’s exactly the same person. Purely for the purposes of the hypothetical, of course.”

“Right.” There are roughly forty-three ways the old Niles could describe Daphne’s eyes in this moment before devolving to the shameful-if-accurate “sparkle” and its kind, but he remains set on avoiding this pattern. In any case, it doesn’t keep him from noticing.

“You can say no,” he says, pretending it does.

“I know.”

“It won’t be the first time I’ve been rejected,” he adds.

“I know.”

“I suppose I was asking for that, wasn’t I?”

“A bit,” Daphne says. Then, just as quickly, “You’re in my spot, you know.”

“Your…?”

“I always sit where you’re at now,” she says. “Then you’re the one over. Every time you’re here. Even half an hour ago. Right where you are.”

“You sat down first.”

“Well, I thought you’d be heading out soon. Getting late and all. Wasn’t going to settle back in just for you to leave, was I?”

“Oh, um…” Niles feels suddenly aware of how this all seems, suddenly aware of how out of practice he is. He’s in her home, after all. Looking at it most simply, he has her trapped here. The realization is less than romantic. “Should I?” he asks.

“Depends on whether you’ll be staying where you’re at,” she says, apparently unaware of the gravity of the question.

“You’re kidding.”

Daphne takes on a mock-serious expression. When she speaks, there seems to be a trace of Niles’s own voice in it: “You’re not telling me you’re unschooled in the high-stakes art of couch politics.”

“Couch politics?”

“Come on. You have a brother. You’re telling me you spent all those years in the same house and you didn’t have a spot on the couch?”

Niles considers this. He didn’t. “I had a nook,” he offers.

“A nook?”

“A nook,” he says. “I was never much of a couch child.”

“Oh. Suppose that adds up, really.” She waits—for what Niles is unclear—then seems to hit upon something. “Well, you’ve got a side of the bed, at least.”

“Have I?”

“Had one, then,” Daphne corrects—an insufficient amendment given the nature of Niles’s marriage. “Scoot.”

Niles complies, shifting so that he sits exactly at the center of the cushion. Daphne sits beside him, closer to him than strictly necessary. Niles attempts to dismiss this fact. He says, “We slept apart.”

“Come on,” she says. Her right shoulder bumps up against his left. The action itself is entirely dismissible. Becoming swept up in it is entirely inevitable. “I’m not married, but I’ve got a side.”

“Have you ever considered that you’re simply a particularly territorial person?” he asks.

Daphne laughs. “Coming from the man who’s got a whole separate bedroom from his wife,” she says, and Niles resolves to take the opportunity he’s been given to redirect. “That’s rich.”

“So, ah, if I didn’t have a wife,” he says, “and I hadn’t for some time, and I happened to ask you on a date…”

“Oh.” Her voice sounds as if she has genuinely forgotten. Niles isn’t sure what to make of this, whether there is perhaps some distant possibility of normalcy between them after all. “Right.”

“You could say no,” Niles says, casually if not for the slowness of it, as if it’s the first time he’s saying it.

“Right.”

“So,” he says, decidedly less casually.

“I could say no.”

It isn’t a question, but Niles answers it like one: “Easily.”

“Long time to wait for a rejection, though, isn’t it?”

“I’m sure he’s waited longer.” And then, because the possibility is so strangely beguiling, to think that this could be over—to think that perhaps everything could return to the way it was—he says, “But it would be a no?”

“It could be,” she says, which is consuming in another way.

“But not necessarily?”

Niles watches Daphne study him, withdraws into that world of imagining himself in her place. By the time she answers, she’s directed her gaze toward the television, the pair of them reflected in its black screen, where Margaret Sullavan and James Stewart had stood just before them. “I’d have to think.”

Niles says, “Of course.”

“I’ve known him for years,” she says. Her eyes are still on the television, unfocused now. “What would it be by then? Five?”

“Something like that, yes.”

Daphne hums. The sound of it is excruciatingly mellifluous. “You know,” she says, and this is all it takes to know that what follows will be worse still, “hypothetically, don’t think it’d be a bad idea for him to get divorced.”

“Oh?”

“You know,” she says again, and this time he knows nothing at all. “Deserves someone who cares about him.”

“Ah. And that’s why you wouldn’t…?”

“I might,” she says.

“Of course,” he says.

“If it felt right.”

“That is everything, isn’t it? Feeling right,” he says and, for the first time in recent memory, keeps himself from revising the thought. “The strangest thing. For years, I thought that meant feeling comfortable.”

Daphne finally looks back to him. “You’re still comfortable with her?”

“I would be,” he says, “if this all ended, and we were still married.”

“But you don’t want that.” Her tone is indecipherable, or else Niles is resisting his need to decipher it. He resists his need to decipher the disjunctive.

“Maris doesn’t.”

“Then you do,” she says.

“Maris doesn’t.”

“Well, then it’s like I said,” Daphne tells him. “You deserve someone who cares about you.”

“I suppose I should say, ‘Maris doesn’t,’” he says.

Daphne shrugs. “Be a nice symmetry.”

“It would. I’m afraid I can’t.”

“Dr. Crane”—this is a blow all its own, but Niles supposes he can hardly expect better—“I don’t mean to be rude, but, when you say all this, you have to understand why I said what I did.”

“Of course,” he says, and he does, though he’d easily prefer the alternative. “It would be foolish of us, wouldn’t it?”

“A bit. Doesn’t mean you can’t date other women, though.” And then, with a wink, “Or something other than date, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

“Oh, well, I suppose so,” he says before realizing that this, perhaps, is not the best of times to ignore a gesture’s possible implications. “Of course, not— That wasn’t why I was asking—“

“You asked me on a date because you didn’t want to have sex with me?” This is fair if unanticipated, and Niles wonders just how visibly warm he’s become. Too visibly, surely.

“Ah, I, well, not— I don’t mean to—“

“Oh, I understand,” Daphne says. “Just having fun. And, speaking of, there’s this bar Roz told me about, just off Pike. She said she’d go with me, but…”

“I wouldn’t want you to cancel your plans.”

Daphne waves away the thought. “Oh, no.” She takes up an exaggerated new expression. ”’Strangest thing,’” she says, now miming the presence of a phone in her hand, as if the point couldn’t have been made without it, “‘but before I even got the chance, someone’s already gone and asked me on a date. Oh, yes, he’s gorgeous.’” (Niles makes the gallant effort to take this for the joke that it is.) “‘Anyway, I told him I was free tomorrow night…’”

scenario 421. Like this, Niles finally has sex with Daphne. And it isn’t particularly good. It isn’t bad, because it couldn’t be bad, but it isn’t good because... Well, it’s Daphne, of course, but it’s also Daphne, and the Daphne that occupies Niles’s fantasies is not quite the Daphne that he knows, and he knew this already, because he willed it to be so, but this means that, for all the years of dreaming of a woman who was nearly her, Niles is entirely unprepared for the real thing.

Of course, the Daphne-who-was-not-Daphne never was quite the same even as herself. One evening, nervous and softer than anything. The next, certain and stopping for nothing. Most recently, for the third time in eight months, speaking to him. Telling him everything he was too afraid to tell her. Everything. So that when they finally did have sex (because that was, admittedly, always the reason for this not-quite-Daphne’s appearance), it was nearly an afterthought. A pleasant afterthought—an exceedingly pleasant afterthought—but an afterthought nonetheless.

Even in all of this, it was never quite so awkward. They were never unused to each other in the fantasies, never hesitated after each first touch (before, perhaps, but never after), never seemed to be three seconds out of sync. And Daphne never kissed him like the real Daphne does. It isn’t bad, necessarily, not first-kiss bad, or even two-too-many-drinks bad (though it is nearly as messy), or, really, bad at all, except that it is, just a bit, if Niles is completely honest with himself. But mostly, and this is really about ninety-five percent of it, it’s surprising. New.

“Daphne?” he asks, and saying her name is enough to convince him that the sex was not bad or mediocre or even merely good. It was, Niles is now certain, easily the best sex two people have ever had. Not two. Any number. The best sex ever had, period.

But Daphne isn’t looking at him. She isn’t touching him. (How strange for that to be noteworthy!) She seems entirely set on forgetting everything they’ve done—already back in that borrowed dressing gown, half-sitting in his bed since returning to it, head tilted toward the ceiling. She replies anyhow: “Yes?”

“How are you?” This is not necessarily the question Niles had intended to ask, is not necessarily suave or charming—is not necessarily much of anything but strangely melodic, which is not quite the impression Niles had had in mind. But he says it, in the spirit of the day, because he can’t help but to say it with Daphne there, in his bed, looking as she does. More directly, which is to say more honestly, he says it on an impulse.

“All right,” she says. Polite. Noncommittal. “And you?”

“Similarly,” he says. “But I’d really—“

“We’ve really made a choice with this one, haven’t we?” She laughs at this, just barely, and he does, too, allowing them both the diversion.

“Yes, it seems we have.”

“Have to admit I never really thought…” Daphne sighs, and this calls to mind several events Niles expects to sustain him for at least the next decade. “You know. Us.”

“And now that we have…”

“Bit funny, isn’t it?” she says.

Niles considers this. Of all the words he has prepared for this occasion, funny was never among them. Still, it’s preferable to many of the alternatives, particularly given how readily mistake springs to mind. “Yes.”

“Never thought you’d be—” Daphne wrinkles her nose, conveying an emotion Niles can’t quite interpret. “Well, I suppose that means I must’ve thought about how you’d actually be, but… What about you?”

“You’re asking me if I ever thought about—?”

At this, Daphne relaxes slightly and turns to her side, resting her head in her right hand. Relief at her apparent lack of repulsion aside, Niles wishes Daphne would have waited, this being quite easily the moment at which he would least like to face her. Nearly smiling now, she says, “Sex. With me.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh, come on,” she says, still painfully buoyant. (Niles thinks she will touch him again, but her arm stops short of his.) “No reason to be embarrassed now, if you have.”

“Isn’t there?” he asks, for he has come up with fifteen in the time since her asking.

“So you have?”

“Well,” Niles starts, but it’s obviously futile. “Oh, I suppose you’re right. Yes. I have.”

“You always have been a flatterer,” she says. “So, did I measure up?”

And he says, “Oh.”

Daphne echoes him, dropping her voice: “‘Oh.’” She laughs. “Suppose I spoke a bit soon there.”

The answer, most honestly, the thrill of saying her name aside, is no because four years of trying to substitute fantasies of someone for an actual sex life makes for somewhat unrealistic expectations. The answer, somewhat honestly, is that, yes, in terms of his actual sex life with actual women who existed for longer than thirty minutes at a time, Daphne was... Daphne was... “Oh, well, I—”

“It’s all right if I didn’t,” she says before he has the chance to further embarrass them both. “I mean, wouldn’t be the kindest thing for you to say to me after… Do you have any more of that pineapple?”

“Oh, um, let me— Did we finish it?”

“I’m not sure. Got a bit swept up in the moment, I suppose.”

“Right,” he says, but any grasp he had once had on his composure has vanished. “I’ll— Actually, I don’t know that it would still be particularly— You know, sitting out. I could make you something?”

Daphne laughs until it fades into a sigh. “With all due respect,” she says, “I’ve seen the kind of dinner you serve your dates.”

Because now seems an inappropriate time to confess that, in fact, he had never had any intention of inviting anyone else for dinner that night, Niles says nothing, and Daphne accepts the invitation to continue.

“It’s for the best, really. Can’t imagine sitting in this heat with an oven going as well.”

“It doesn’t have to be—“

Daphne stands. “I’m going to take a look,” she says.

“For what?”

“See whether we’ve left any pineapple. Is it all right if I bring it back here?”

Since his separation, Niles has adopted a stricter policy with regard to eating in the bedroom, figuring that, when living alone, such an allowance could only lead to his regression into the worst sort of bachelor. Also, he no longer pays someone to wash his sheets. Both of these points, however, feel increasingly trivial in the context of recent events. “Certainly.”

And with this, Daphne is past the doorway, and Niles is alone, and he supposes he’ll have to get used to that feeling again, once the awkwardness of their own situation outweighs the abrasiveness of the other. And just as quickly, she’s back, and Niles makes an effort to indulge in this more pleasant reality while it lasts.

“Anyway,” she says, settling into the bed with the platter a bit more precariously than Niles had hoped, “back to what I was saying. I wouldn’t be asking if I didn’t…”

“Oh.” This is an unfortunate redevelopment, as Niles had hoped that her own diversion had been sufficient in turning the topic of conversation elsewhere. “Are you still—?” he asks.

“Well, when you’re working that hard to keep from answering, can’t help wondering—“

Niles attempts a redirection of his own. “Drawing comparisons is…”

Daphne takes a bite of pineapple, and the silence between this moment and her reply does nothing to conceal the flaccidity of this attempt. “You did, anyway. More than.”

“Oh,” Niles says, deciding to overlook the less-than-complimentary implications of this formulation. This afternoon’s developments aside, he is not a man terribly accustomed to such good fortune; no other reactions are in his repertoire.

“It is all right if I say that, isn’t it?”

“Of course. I— Does that mean you—?” he asks. He means, Does that mean you intend to do this again? but saying it aloud seems to be crossing one too many a boundary, so he refrains.

“Do you?” she asks, presumably meaning the same.

“Well, we’d have to be more—” Careful, he thinks, but they were careful. Particularly him. Particularly in a way he would really rather he hadn’t been. “Today, we were—” Reckless, he thinks, but they weren’t reckless. They progressed in the smallest of steps, and they both knew it, well before it happened, and the real risk of recklessness is whatever he’s about to say knowing that he wants it to happen again. “We shouldn’t—” He reaches for a strawberry.

“But you’d like to,” Daphne says.

Thinking this is dangerous and saying it worse, but Niles does think it. He does want it, and more desperately than before, but more desperately still, he does not want to lose whatever they had that made her want to stay with him. “Only if you would.”

“You can say you’d like to without qualifying it, you know. If you would, that is.”

“I wouldn’t want to overstep,” Niles says, as if he could have reached this point by any other stride. (The strawberry in his hand is still uneaten. There are several versions of Niles that would choose to weave this into a less-than-artful metaphor.)

“All right,” Daphne says. Niles, at this moment, finally takes a bite from the strawberry, and he feels her eyes on her as he does. He hears the way her voice drops when she says, “I think I would.”

“You would?”

She laughs. “What, just being polite?”

“God, no.” This is too much. Niles knows it before he’s finished saying it, but the afternoon has already rewarded his imprudence; he has a streak going. “I— No. I— So… Hm. What would you like? From… this, I mean.”

“Oh, I’m an adult, I can handle—“

“I wouldn’t ask you to handle—”

“All right,” Daphne says. “Usually go on a few dates before sleeping with someone, but I suppose we’re past that, so the next best—“

Niles has imagined a few hundred too many ways of formulating the question to be beaten to asking it. He says, “Would you like to go on a date?”

“I wasn’t asking for that.“

“What were you asking?”

“I wasn’t asking anything.”

“What would you like?”

“Well, I’ve already told you, haven’t I?”

“Would you remind me?”

“I’d like you to stop asking me what I’d like,” she says, and Niles remembers suddenly that it was an argument that brought her here. “I’d like you to tell me what you’d like.”

“Well, if it isn’t overstepping…”

Daphne sounds almost annoyed, replying too soon and too briefly: “It isn’t.”

“I’m afraid my motivations today haven’t been entirely pure.”

“I noticed that when—”

“No, no, after that. I— This isn’t entirely how I planned to tell you…”

Daphne’s face softens. She speaks more slowly than she has in months: “You’ve been wanting to tell me something?”

“Yes. For some time. I just can’t seem to say it.”

“Yes?”

“You’ve been a wonderful friend to me lately.”

“If I was really that bad, you could just tell me.”

“No,” Niles says, the inappropriateness of his long-practiced admission only now occurring to him. “No. It’s— It isn’t that. I couldn’t say it, before, because you had been such a good friend, but we…”

“You can say that we’ve ruined it,” she says.

“We’ve taken a risk.”

“We don’t have to keep doing this.”

“I— Of course not, no. I was— I’d like to go on a date. With you.��

“You really don’t have to do that.”

“I’m not—“

“You know, you’ve always been such a gentleman to me.” Daphne licks the pineapple juice from her fingers, and Niles can imagine nothing further from the truth. Then, his imagination is otherwise occupied. “Even today. Especially, really. But it’s not the same, something like this. Don’t have to ask me just because we’ve had sex.”

“I’m not.”

“Dr. Crane—“

“Please, call me—“

Daphne doesn’t acknowledge his interruption. “I’ve seen the kind of women you date.”

“Who are you—?” Niles tries without success to work through the steps that led her here. “There’s Maris, Adelle…”

“That’s just what I mean, though.” She offers a wry smile and another strawberry. Niles accepts. “No one like me there, is there?”

“That’s certainly true.”

“So, you’re expecting me to believe that, after all that, you’re going to start dating me?”

“Not dating, necessarily,” Niles says, reasoning that it would be in bad taste to detail just why such a departure might be welcome. “We could start with one. You— I seem to remember you having a fondness for first dates.”

“I do,” she says. “You don’t.”

“I don’t. I was hoping that this one might be different.”

“And if it is?”

“A second, maybe.” With an intention that embarrasses him the moment he does it, Niles takes another strawberry as he continues. “A third. Fourth. Fifth…”

“Sounds like we’d be dating.”

“We could,” he says. “Eventually.”

“And until then, what?”

Cautiously (and probably too optimistically), Niles says, “We could keep…”

“We could.”

“Is that—?”

“Yes.”

“Are you—?”

“Yes.”

“Thank you.” At Daphne’s grin, Niles rushes to amend this. “I don’t usually say— Not that I’m frequently— Being recently separated— But you… I— I’m sorry.”

“I like that,” Daphne says. “’Thank you.’ It’s sweet.”

“Oh. Well. Thank you.”

“Second one’s not quite the same.”

“Ah. I don’t suppose it ever is.”

“Could always get it out of the way now.”

“Oh.” Niles knows he must say more than this, knows that Daphne is already rounding the corners of her mouth to imitate him if he doesn’t. He says the only thing he can both think and bear to say: “You called me Dr. Crane earlier.”

“I’m not doing that while we’re having sex,” Daphne says. “Last time I— Oh, well, never mind that, but—”

“I don’t want you to do that.”

“Too ethical for a bit of roleplay?” This feels like something of a turn, but Niles is still too dazed by Daphne’s earlier suggestion to voice it.

“As it happens,” Niles says instead, then considers this, too. Realistically, he concludes, this is a far more generous interpretation of the request than he deserves and certainly less pathetic than the reality. “Something like that, yes.”

“Well, don’t worry. It’s nothing I’m after.” When Daphne speaks again, her voice has lost its firmness: “Why’d you bring it up, anyway?”

“I— We’re— This isn’t just sex?”

“I think ‘just’ is a bit unfair.”

“No, I mean… No, it doesn’t… Would you call me Niles?”

“I don’t think I can.”

“I’m sorry?” Niles says.

“I mean, when we’re alone, that’s one thing, but if I start doing it then, I’m liable to start slipping it in other places, and, before you know it, it’ll be in front of your father. And how’d I explain that? I know we’ve been a bit friendlier as of late—”

“I think we may have passed by friendly sometime this afternoon.”

“Well, that’s just my point, isn’t it?” she says. “I spend a few evenings alone with you in four years, and all of a sudden I’m calling you by your first name.”

“And you don’t want to tell them?” Niles asks.

“Tell my boss I’ve been sleeping with his brother?”

“Ah,” Niles says, the general configuration of their relationship at last settling in. “I suppose not. Then, I believe your use of the present perfect continuous would imply something of a more extended arrangement, at which point it may be appropriate to use the word ‘dating.’”

“You know, I really don’t know that I’m sure about that.”

“Oh. Of course.” (And it really is what he had expected all along.) “I certainly wouldn’t want to rush— Of course, to some extent we already have, but—”

“It’s just—“ Daphne pauses. Niles watches the movement of her eyes until they meet his. She continues: “It all seems a bit strange, doesn’t it? The two of us. Dating, I mean. Not that I’d planned on this happening either, but I can’t even imagine where we’d go.”

“Where would you like to go?”

part three. how it starts.

scenario 117. Daphne puts on Mrs. Crane’s negligee because it fits and she’s never touched anything so soft and possibly also because she really needs the reminder that she’s worth something. Beside Dr. Crane, she feels it. Every time he speaks, she feels it more and she likes him more and she comes closer and closer to doing something reckless. He does it first.

scenario 406. It’s just them in the living room again, in spite of Frasier’s best efforts. Daphne had surprised them all, earlier in the evening, and asked if, so long as it’s not too much trouble, Niles might want to stay and chat a bit, and Niles had said no, of course not, it couldn’t possibly be any trouble at all. By the time Niles gets the courage, they are dancing again, the way they haven’t since last winter, not-quite-there but not-quite-drunk on Frasier’s most mediocre wine. Before he speaks, before Daphne can feel his hands shaking, Niles pulls them apart.

scenario 421. The heat wraps them up, and Niles is trying to remember that old letter about summer and lethargy and something else, trying to forget each look that Daphne gives him, but he can’t do either. It’s too much, with the two of them so close, her smelling of his soap, wearing his dressing gown. It’s inevitable. She’s the one who acts first, in the end, the one who finally says it. She says it like it’s something rational, like she’s the one who has to worry about being rejected: “You know, Dr. Crane, if we’re both feeling the same way, and there really is just the one solution…” He finishes the sentence for her.

#frasier #frasier fic #niles crane #daphne moon #niles x daphne #fic*#by ''ostensibly a man'' what i mean is i wrote a modified canon niles #but personally i have been known to promote a good he/him lesbian niles head canonin my day so.....#no one could stop you from reading this that way (although it may have looked a bit different had that been my intention)#ANYWAY. please enjoy this dinosaur

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fly-flower-fanfics · 5 years

Text

You Never Said

Spencer Reid x Male Reader

Warnings: Torture, dysphoria, blood, self harm tendencies, abuse, and rape mentioned, violating a body, deadnaming

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"I'm not hearing nothin'!" Jack yelled, twirling his knife around in his hand. He slammed his hands down on the table, making me jump in my chair. "I said, tell me something interesting."

I squeezed my eyes shut, curling my hands into fists. He wanted me to spill my guts out to Spencer, the man he knew I was in love with. Spencer, the man that was currently tied up on a chair in front of me.

The blade was pressed up against my neck, and I hissed as it bit into my skin.

"Did you fucking hear me?"

This was all apart of the unsub's game. He liked to tease and torture before slowly killing. Unfortunately, Spencer and I had gone in without backup. It was my idea, but we were blindsided because there was a second unsub — another man that was just in charge of taking people. Jack was the brains and power behind it.

"I used to wet the bed up until I was ten," I muttered through gritted teeth as I opened my eyes to face him.

Jack removed the knife and backed away. "Not very interesting, but I'll take it to start."

Jack had a personal vengeance for me. I'd killed his brother because his brother was about to shoot Spencer, and clearly, I wasn't going to let that happen. It was for the case and needed to be done, but Jack never got over the loss of him, of Adam. Now he wanted to make me suffer, and he knew that I'd end up with the case if only he killed enough people in the most sadistic ways he could imagine.

My eyes eventually fell onto Spencer once more. His hands were bound behind his back. His head was bloodied from being knocked out, and his hair was messy and knotted. Deep in my gut, I knew that this would be one of the last times I'd be able to make eye contact with him. Whether it ended in my death or the team saving us, I would never be able to look at Spencer the same way, and I knew he'd never look at me the same.

Jack swung a chair in front of me and sat in it, blocking my view of Spencer. "Now I know Pretty Boy over there ain't know nothin' 'bout you. You're too secretive. Ain't that a problem on your team? Thought y'all knew everything about one another." He glanced over his shoulder and sneered before looking back at me. "Guess he's gonna learn today, ain't he?"

Jack laughed as he got up and tossed the chair off to the side. It took everything I had in me not to curse him out because I knew that whenever I acted out, he would just take it out on Spencer. He had reassured me of that before Spencer had woken up. I dropped my head back down, letting my eyes stare at the buttons of my jeans.

"I'm bored. Tell me somethin' else. Make it better than the last time. Ooo! I know. Tell me about your brother; I wanna hear about that," Jack said, leaning on one of the walls with his knife. "I'm sure PB — can I call him that? — would love to hear about it."

I wasn't sure how he knew all this stuff about me, but it made me extremely uncomfortable.

"My brother's dead," I answered through gritted teeth.

Jack pouted. "Aww, c'mon. Don't be like that. I know your brother's dead. But I wanna hear what he did to you. And I'm sure little Spencey would just love to know, too."

I ground my teeth together and shut my eyes. He wanted to break me mentally. That was his endgame. Did he want me to be crying and pathetic when he killed me so he could make fun of me? I wouldn't give it to him. I vowed to myself that I wouldn't let a single tear drop from my eyes.

"He used to play his 'special little game' with me at night when I was six, and he was fifteen. As long as I was good and quiet while taking it, he wouldn't beat me." I raised my head and looked over at Jack. "You wanted me to talk about my brother raping me, that it?"

Jack smirked and twirled his knife. "Keep goin'. What happened after that? After you told your dad?"

I sighed and hung my head again, my eyes trailing over the threading in my pants. "I got the balls to tell him when I was thirteen. Dad just wanted to play the special little game, too."

I wasn't really sure why he wanted me to tell Spencer all of this stuff. Yes, it was humiliating, and I deeply wished it wasn't happening. Then it hit me. Spencer wouldn't forget. He'd never forget these things just like I never would. Though he wouldn't have to live through the experience, he'd have to hold the knowledge because of his damn memory.

Spencer and I were the closest members on the team, rivaling Penelope and Derek's relationship. We all had good laughs about that. So if Jack knew everything about me, he'd know that. He'd know more than just my stupid crush, and he would clearly know about Spencer's special mind. It was clear that Spencer cared a lot for me and forcing me to spill my life story would not only break me, but be permanent in his mind. It was a two-for-one kind of psychological torture.

"And how long did that go on for?" Jack asked, practically skipping over to me. It made me absolutely sick.

"Until I was eighteen," I replied. This time, I just spat in his face when he bent down to my level.

Jack paused, wiped his face slowly, and a wicked grin grew on his face. "Normally, I would slice open one if Pretty Boy's arms for you doing that. But this is his torture, too." Jack stood straight and walked out of the room. Fuck.

"Are you alright?" Spencer asked me. His voice was soft and filled with concern, and it made me want to cry more. He didn’t deserve this.

Hesitantly, I raised my eyes to his. "Yeah."

Jack entered the room with a little bottle and shook it at me before facing Spencer. "We didn't get to that part in the game, but Mister Secret-Keeper over there was a druggie," Jack said, speaking to Spencer. He pulled out a needle and inserted it into the small bottle before filling the syringe.

I had my run-in with drugs pretty much as soon as I left my house because I just wanted to forget. I did manage to get off of them, but it was still part of me that I wished to forget. It was also a part of me at I knew would always haunt me because addiction always came back stronger than ever.

"Way back when," he continued, kneeling down by the arm of the chair and yanking my arm out. "To...what was it? 'Member what it was called?" Jack tapped my arm until he found a vein and stuck the needle into it, filling my bloodstream with the drug. "Oh, that's right. Dilaudid."

I'd gotten addicted to the pain reliever because it helped my pain for one, and it also made me sleepy and relaxed. I ground my teeth together, wanting to spat more than just spit at him, but I couldn't risk Spencer getting hurt. Nothing in the world would make me forgive myself if Spencer got hurt; he was already in this situation because of me.

I closed my eyes and even though I knew it couldn't have taken effect immediately, I was relieved in some sort of way. Like I was going back to an old friend for a good time. A toxic friend...

"Leave him alone," Spencer blurted out. I opened my eyes to look at him, shocked that he would speak up. “I-I had my own run-in with that,” he continued which only made Jack light up like a damn Christmas tree.

“Oh? Would you like some?”

“No!” I shouted, curling my hands into fists. “No. No, don’t. I-I’ll...I’ll play your game more, just don’t give him the drug.”

Jack smirked before setting the items onto the table. “Okay then. If you’re so willing, then share. Tell me something else.”

“My mom...” I sighed and looked down at my arm. I swore I could physically see the drug filling my veins. “My mom thought I was lying to her. She didn’t want to believe that her husband and precious son could do something so awful. So she would hit me every time I tried to bring something up about it. My family was okay with abusing me. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what you want to know?!”

Jack hopped up onto the table and sat on it, spinning the knife on the tip of his thumb, completely ignoring my last two sentences. “That where you got all those scars?”

I sighed and shrugged silently. I got these scars from different reason. Reasons that I still preferred Spencer not knowing. I knew he would — there was not enough time for the team to get to us without information like this being spilled. But as long as it was just me, I could keep the attention away from Spencer, and that’s what I cared about.

“No, no. Keep going. Don’t make me do something you’ll regret,” Jack insisted.

I left out a heavy sigh. “Scars came from the raping and beatings as well as my own clumsiness and animals.”

“Aaaannnnd?” I wanted to kill him and his stupid gleeful voice.

“And myself. I scarred myself with knives and lighters. That good? Are we good now? Can we just fucking go away?”

Jack hopped off the table, shaking his head with a tsk. “Temper, temper, my dear.” He walked up to me, curling his fingers under my chin. “We’re not quite yet done.”

I sneered and spat in his face. “You son of a bitch. You absolute son of a bitch.”

Jack wiped his face slowly, glaring down at me with a new evil glinting in his eyes. He pushed the chair back, causing it to tilt over. I slammed against the ground and all the breath left my lungs. Jack hovered over me and spat back in my face. “You have no idea who you’re talking to,” he seethed, grabbing more of the drug and injecting it into me. I cried out as the needle pierced my skin. He hasn’t taken any time to try and find my vein, but I prayed he hit one anyway.

“Jack,” Spencer called out, and it made my blood freeze. “Jack, just-just let him go. Do something to me. Leave him alone.”

“Spencer, I swear to Christ,” I said through gritted teeth. “Jack, you leave him out of this. You know this is between you and I.”

Jack pulled my chair back up and say back on the table, an amused grin on his face. “Well, I can’t believe this.” He laughed, picking his knife back up from the table. “Look how the two of you defend one another. Like an old married couple. No, no, like a brand-new couple that doesn’t know anything about one another. What do they call it?” He turned and looked at Spencer. “Tell me. What is it called?”

“The honeymoon phase,” Spencer replied softly.

“The honeymoon phase!” Jack spun and looked back towards me. “Oh, you guys are just too cute! Too bad he won’t love you anymore after you tell him.”

I frowned. I wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about, but I suppose I had some sort of an idea because my stomach sunk.

Jack grabbed the bottom of my shirt and took his knife, slicing up through the whole thing. I squeezed my eyes shut. So that was his final blow. I opened my eyes to stare into Jack’s psychotic ones.

“You got the top done, I see,” Jack pointed out, tracing his knife over the scars on my chest. He wasn’t pressing hard enough to cut the skin, but I knew he would. “Have you got the bottom done?”

He unbottoned my jeans and pulled them open as far as he could. I struggled against him, but Jack pressed the knife against my neck. “You struggle, you die.” I fell still, letting my mind blank like I did when something was too much for me. Jack slipped his fingers into my boxers, and I squeezed my eyes shut. “You haven’t!”

I nearly screamed when he shoved two fingers inside of me, but it was over almost as soon as t started. The tears that had welled up in my eyes were for nothing. Well, not nothing, but not for what I had thought.

“Now go on,” Jack said, backing away from me. “Tell him.”

I glared at Jack as he allowed my line of vision to see Spencer. I refused to look at him, though; I only stared at Jack. “I’m trans. I was born female.”

“You still feel pretty female to me,” Jack answered, and I dropped my eyes from his.

The next word that reached my ears was a word I never wanted anyone to know. My deadname. It hurt worse than any knife Jack could cut me with. He said it again, then again, and again. Spencer would never forget it. He’d always know who I was...

Just then, the rest of the team burst in. There was a lot of shouting going on, but I wasn’t paying attention. I stared at the open button of my pants, grinding my teeth together. The bindings were untied, and I was helped up, but I was just really moving through the motions.

A week later, I was forced to take a mandatory leave. Hotch had noticed how I was and told me that I needed to take a break. I really didn’t want to, but I knew that I needed to. I had avoided Spencer as much as I could, and I hadn’t spoken to anyone since that day.

A knock came at the door, but I only looked towards it. I hadn’t felt a need to leave my house since my leave, either. I knew I should’ve been using this time to seekfir a therapist, but I was just too embarrassed.

“It’s me.”

Spencer... why does it have to be you? I sighed as I got up and walked over to the door. I peered through the peephole even though the voice had already confirmed who I knew it was. I opened the door.

“I-I wanted to visit you,” he said.

I forced a smile, but didn’t offer him to come inside. “You visited.”

“I want to talk.”

Of course there was more.

I side-stepped and let the lanky man inside, peering through the door before closing it.

“You haven’t sought out a therapist.”

“No,” I said in response. “Don’t need to.”

“Yes, you do. I was there; I saw what he did to you. You’re on mandatory leave. You need to talk to someone,” Spencer insisted, fiddling with the strap of his bag.

“I talked to Jack about it.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know.” I sat down on the couch. “Did Hotch set you up to this? Garcia, maybe? If that’s it, you can go.”

“Actually, I came here of my own accord,” he said.

I gestured to the chair in front of me. “Relax, take a seat.”

He’s here to say something about me being trans. Hotch knew because I talked to him about the leave I needed for top surgery before I got the job. He just waited and hired me after the recovery stage. Other than that, no one knew about me being trans. Except Spencer did now.

Spencer was clearly embarrassed, fumbling over what he had to say. Eventually, he got it out. “I was wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee with me.”

I raised an eyebrow at him. “Like... just for coffee?”

“Well... no. No, I was hoping it would be more like a date.”

I leaned my elbows on my knees, getting a closer look at the profiler. “With me?”

“Who else?” he replied with nervous laughter.

“You know what Jack said...” I ran my hands through my hair, closing my eyes. “You know what I am.”

“A wonderful man that I’m trying to take out on a date. Just because you never said doesn’t make you less of what you are. I-I never said I was bisexual. Doesn’t mean I’m not.”

I opened my eyes and smiled softly. “Thank you,” I breathed out softly. “Still... still want that coffee?”

Spencer smiled and stood up, offering me his hand which I gratefully took. We headed out the door, but I stopped to make sure I had my phone.

“Mind if I make a call in the car?” I asked. It was time I needed to make an appointment with a therapist.

Spencer seemed to realize this in some sort of way. “Not at all.”

#x male reader #gay #lgbt #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid #spencer reid x male reader #spencer reid x reader #ftm #spencer reid x ftm reader #spencer reid x trans male

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cathygeha · 3 years

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REVIEW

The Vineyard at Painted Moon by Susan Mallery

Emotion laden, deeply moving, intensely poignant, well crafted – this story grabbed me and didn’t let me go till I finished at 3am. I felt so much and at times wanted to jump into the pages to “fix” things knowing that the author would bring things right for at least some of the characters by the end of the book…or at least I hope she would! This is a story of love, loss, growth, endurance, values, goals and family. It is a keeper and one I would reread in the future.

What I liked:

* Mackenzie: dedicated, focused, interesting. She has been stymied for a while and may need to move on from the safe haven she has lived within for over a decade and a half. She has a rough time of it but comes through rather brilliantly in the end.

* Catherine: sister-in-law to Mackenzie, loving, kind, in tune with the earth, grounded, warm, creative…really liked her.

* Stephanie: sister-in-law to Mackenzie, divorced, mother of two teens, stuck in a rut and trying to move forward but it isn’t easy for her to do so. She is Mackenzie’s best friend and has been since college.

* Bruno: wealthy, attractive, investor, wine distributor, and intriguing. He is warm, a good friend, caring, communicates brilliantly and is perfect for the woman he ends up with.

* Kyle: a good father, professional, a bit selfish…divorced from Stephanie and father of her children

* Rhys: not a bad guy, married to Mackenzie, wants what is best for both of them, a bit heavy handed at times and sometimes rather clueless…and also selfish, perhaps.

* Georgio: a good man, loving, kind, generous, and perfect for the right woman – the boyfriend of Barbara (mother-in-law of Mackenzie)

* The close relationships that were friendly, warm, and caring.

* That there was growth in a number of characters.

* The dynamics between various individuals and groups.

* The way verbalization of feelings, thoughts, and insight into the characters

* Learning a bit more about the winemaking business.

* The setting – love that area of the world!

* All of it really except…

What I didn’t like:

* Barbara: I won’t give details but if you read the book you will probably feel the same

* Lori: daughter of Barbara and quite a bit like her, I fear.

* The sadness I felt as I empathized with Mackenzie.

Did I enjoy this book? Yes

Would I read more by this author? Definitely

Thank you to NetGalley and Harlequen (HQN) for the ARC – This is my honest review.

5 Stars

BLURB

MacKenzie Dienes's life isn't perfect, but it's as close as she could ever hope to get. Her marriage to Rhys, her best friend's brother, is more friendship than true love. But passion is highly overrated, right? And she loves her job as the winemaker at Bel Apres, her in-laws' vineyard. So what if it's a family business and, even after decades of marriage and incredible professional success, she's still barred from the family business meetings? It's all enough...until one last night spent together leads to an incredibly honest—and painful—conversation. Rhys suggests that they divorce. They haven't had a marriage in a long time and, while he wants her to keep her job at Bel Apres, he doesn't think they should be married any longer. Shocked, MacKenzie reels at the prospect of losing the only family she's ever really known...even though she knows deep in her heart that Rhys is right.

But when MacKenzie discovers she's pregnant, walking away to begin a new life isn't so easy. She never could have anticipated the changes it would bring to the relationships she cherishes most: her relationship with Barbara, her mother-in-law and partner at Bel Apres, Stephanie, her sister-in-law and best friend, and Bel Apres, the company she's worked so hard to put on the map.

MacKenzie has always dreamed of creating a vineyard of her own, a chance to leave a legacy for her unborn child. So when the opportunity arises, she jumps at it and builds the Vineyard at Painted Moon. But following her dreams will come at a high price—one that MacKenzie isn't so sure she's willing to pay…

EXTRACT

Chapter One

“Not that what you’re wearing isn’t great, but the party starts in an hour.”

Mackenzie Dienes looked up from the grapevine she’d been studying, her mind still on the tight clusters of small, hard grapes that would, come late September, be ripe and sweet and ready for harvest. Between now and then, she would monitor their progress, willing them to greatness and protecting them from danger, be it mold, weather or hungry deer.

She blinked at the man standing in front of her, tall and familiar, with an easy smile and broad, capable shoulders.

“Party?” she asked, letting her thoughts of the vineyards go and remembering that, yes, indeed, it was the evening of the annual Solstice Party, hosted by the Barcellona family. As she was a Barcellona, by marriage if not by name, she would be expected to attend.

Wanted to attend, she reminded herself. It was always a good time, and Stephanie, her sister-in-law, worked hard to make it a perfect night.

“The party,” she repeated, her voice slightly more panicked this time, then glanced down at herself. “Crap. What time is it?”

Rhys, her husband, shook his head. “You really don’t listen when I talk, do you? We have an hour. You’ll be fine.”

She pulled off her gloves and shoved them into the left front pocket of her coveralls, then stepped behind Rhys and gave him a little push toward the flatbed truck he’d driven out to the west vineyards.

“You say that because all you have to do is shower and get dressed. I have to do the girl thing.”

“Which takes you maybe ten minutes.” He put his arm around her as they hurried toward the truck. “Happy with the grapes?”

“I think so,” she said, glancing toward the healthy vines growing on either side of them. “We might have to do some thinning in a couple of weeks, but so far, so good.”

As they slid onto the bench seat of the old truck, he glanced at her. She smiled, knowing there was a fifty-fifty chance he would call her out on her thinning statement. He was, after all, the vineyard manager. Technically all the decisions about the vineyard were made by him with her input, but not her instruction. As winemaker, she managed the grapes from the moment they were picked until the wine was bottled.

But at Bel Après, areas of responsibility often overlapped. Theirs was a large, boisterous family in which everyone had opinions. Not that Mackenzie listened to a lot of other ideas when it came to her wines, although as Rhys often pointed out, she was very free offering hers when it came to his work.

He drove along the dirt path that circled the vineyard, stopping by her truck. She slid into the cab, then followed him back to the family compound. The main road leading into Walla Walla was thick with tourists who wanted to enjoy the longest day of the year. She merged into the slow-moving traffic, doing her best to keep from glancing at the clock on the truck’s dashboard as she inched along.

Vineyards stretched out on either side of the road, flat on the left and rising toward the hills on the right. Bright green leaves topped sturdy trunks that had been carefully trained to grow exactly as she wanted them to. The rows were long and neat, and the spaces between them were filled with native grasses that held in moisture and protected the roots from the heat.

Looking at her healthy crop kept her mind off the fact that she and Rhys were going to be desperately late.

Twenty minutes later, she followed him off the highway onto a less crowded secondary road—a back way home. Five minutes after that, they parked the trucks by the processing buildings behind the big tasting room. Rhys had already claimed one of the golf carts the family used to get around. She slid in next to him and they took off toward the center of the property.

Bel Après Winery and the surrounding land had been in the Barcellona family for nearly sixty years. Rhys and his siblings were third-generation. The original main house had been updated several times. When Rhys and Mackenzie had married, Barbara, Rhys’s mother, had suggested they build themselves a house close to hers, rather than commute from town. Eager to stay in the good graces of her new mother-in-law, Mackenzie had agreed.

A large two-story home had been built. Barbara and Mackenzie had decorated every room, the act of choosing everything from light fixtures to doorknobs cementing their affection for each other.

A few years later, Stephanie, the second of Barbara’s four children, had gotten a divorce and moved back home with her two kids, requiring another house to be constructed. When the youngest of the three girls had married, the last house had been added. Only Lori, the middle daughter, still lived in the original home.

All four houses faced a huge central courtyard. Mexican pavers were shaded by vine-covered pergolas. The extended family used the space for big dinners and as a kids’ play area. If one of the women baked cookies, a cookie flag was hung out the front door, inviting anyone to stop by. At Christmas, a large tree was brought in from Wishing Tree, and for the annual Summer Solstice Party, dozens of long tables were brought in to seat the two hundred or so guests.

Rhys swung the golf cart behind the large main house, circling counterclockwise. Normally he would cut across the courtyard, but with all the party preparations, he had to go the long way. He pulled up at the rear entrance to their house and they dashed inside.

Mackenzie paused to unlace her boots and left them in the mudroom. Rhys did the same. They raced up the stairs together, separating at the landing to head to their individual en suite bedrooms.

Once in her bathroom, she started the shower. Thankfully, she’d already picked out the dress she would wear. She raced through a shower. After she dried off, she wrapped her hair in a towel and dug out the scented body lotion Rhys had given her a couple of years ago. Why anyone would want to smell like coconut and vanilla was beyond her, but he liked it.

She walked into the large closet and opened her underwear drawer. To the right were all the sensible bikini panties she usually wore—to the left were the fancier ones for special occasions. She chose a black pair and slipped them on, then went to the second drawer and looked for the matching push-up bra. When it and the pads were in place and doing the best they could with her modest curves, she pulled on a robe and returned to the bathroom.

After plugging in her hot rollers, it took her only a few minutes to apply eyeliner and mascara. She was flushed from the day working outside, so she didn’t bother with any other makeup.

Her hair took a lot longer. First she had to dry the dark red shoulder-length waves, then she had to curl them. While the rollers were in place, she searched for a pair of black high-heel sandals that wouldn’t leave her crippled by the end of the night.

Those found, she opened her small jewelry box and pulled out her wedding set, sliding both the engagement ring and the wedding band into place on her left hand. Diamond stud earrings followed. She’d barely stepped into her sleeveless black dress when Rhys walked into the closet, fully dressed in black slacks and a dark gray shirt.

She sighed when she saw him. “See. You have it so much easier than me.”

“Yes, but in the end, you’re more beautiful. That should be worth something.”

“I’d rather have the extra time.”

She turned, presenting him with her back. He pulled up the zipper, then bent to collect her shoes. They retreated to her bathroom and together began removing the curlers.

“We’re late,” Mackenzie said, catching sight of his watch. “Your mom is going to be all snippy.”

“She’ll be too busy welcoming her guests.” The last of the curlers was flung onto the counter. Mackenzie fluffed her hair, then pointed to the bedroom.

“Retreat,” she said, reaching for the can of hair spray.

Rhys ducked to safety. She sprayed the curls into submission before running into the bedroom to escape the death cloud. Rhys was on the bench at the foot of the large bed. She sat next to him and quickly put on her shoes.

“Done,” she said, pausing to reacquaint herself with the seldom-used skill of walking in heels.

She grabbed her husband’s wrist. “Seven fifteen. Barbara’s going to kill us.”

“She’s not. I’m her only son and you’re just plain her favorite.”

“We weren’t ready exactly at seven. I can already hear the death-march music in my head. I want to be buried on Red Mountain.”

Rhys chuckled as he led the way downstairs. “In the vineyard? I’m not sure your decaying body is going to be considered organic.”

“Are you saying I’m toxic?” she asked with a laugh as they walked toward the front door.

“I’m saying you’re wonderful and I’d like us to have a good night.”

There was something in his tone, she thought, meeting his gaze. She’d known this man her entire adult life. They’d met over Christmas her freshman year of college. Her roommate, his sister Stephanie, had dragged Mackenzie home to meet the family. Grateful not to have to spend the holiday by herself, Mackenzie had gone willingly and had quickly found herself falling not only for her best friend’s hunky older brother but for the entire Barcellona family and the vineyards they owned. Barbara had been like a surrogate mother, and the vineyards, well, they had been just as magical as Rhys’s sexy kisses.

Now she studied her husband’s expression, seeing the hint of sadness lurking behind his easy smile. She saw it because she hid the same emotion deep inside herself. The days of stealing away for sexy kisses were long gone. There were no lingering looks, no intimacy. They had a routine and a life, but she was less sure about them still having a marriage.

“I’d like that, too,” she murmured, knowing he wasn’t asking them not to fight. They never did. Harsh words required a level of involvement they simply didn’t have anymore.

“Then let’s make that happen,” he said lightly, taking her hand in his and opening the front door.

AUTHOR BIO

#1 NYT bestselling author Susan Mallery writes heartwarming, humorous novels about the relationships that define our lives―family, friendship, romance. She's known for putting nuanced characters in emotional situations that surprise readers to laughter. Beloved by millions, her books have been translated into 28 languages. Susan lives in Washington with her husband, two cats, and a small poodle with delusions of grandeur. Visit her at SusanMallery.com.

Social Links:

Website: https://susanmallery.com/

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Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/authors/susan-mallery

Mailing List: https://susanmallery.com/join-mailing-list.php

Buy Links:

Amazon: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/1335912797/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_hsch_vamf_tkin_p1_i6

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Q and A with Susan Mallery on The Vineyard at Painted Moon

1. Where did inspiration for the book come from?

The Vineyard at Painted Moon was really inspired by the gorgeous wine country of Washington State. My readers have told me that they love when my books have wish-you-were-there settings, like the tulip farms in Secrets of the Tulip Sisters and the monastery-turned-mansion of The Summer of Sunshine and Margot. So I knew I wanted to set my next hardcover somewhere that would give readers a beautiful, scenic escape—and this was well before I knew the book would come out during a pandemic, when we’re all trapped at home a lot more than usual.

So I started daydreaming about beautiful settings, and I landed on Washington wine country. Breathtaking. Seriously, look it up.

Every evening before dinner, Mr. Mallery and I have a glass of wine together and tell one another about our day. This daily ritual makes us feel close and connected even when life gets hectic, and it has led us to learn more about how wine is made. I thought it could be really interesting to write about a female winemaker, because this is still very much a male-dominated field. I asked myself, “What is the worst thing that could happen to a winemaker?”

“What if,” I thought, “she lost the land she loved?”

And not because of fire or natural disaster, but because of an emotional earthquake—Mackenzie Dienes is the winemaker at a family winery. But it’s her husband’s family. . . and their marriage is in trouble. She could stay if she’s willing to be nothing more than an employee for the rest of her life. But if she wants something more, something of her own, she’ll have to be brave.

The Vineyard at Painted Moon is the story of Mackenzie’s search for happiness and self-fulfillment after divorce. With some pretty spectacular scenery thrown in. Oh, and wine. Lots and lots of wine.

2. What are your favourite scenes? Why?

This is a tricky question for me to answer without spoilers, because my favorite scenes are the emotional turning points of the story. I don’t really want to reveal them here, as I think readers will want to experience them on their own. I will answer, but it’s going to be vague and somewhat frustrating. Teasers, rather than spoilers.

I love the scene where Mackenzie and Rhys realize that their marriage is over. (That doesn’t count as a spoiler, since it’s revealed on the back cover of the book.) The way they come to the realization and move through the scene is completely unexpected and unlike any breakup scene I’ve ever written—or read, for that matter. It’s heartbreaking and poignant and beautiful and even a little funny. If you have a heart, it’ll make you cry. I think readers are going to fall in love with Rhys even as Mackenzie is accepting that she’s not in love with him anymore.

One of my other favorite scenes is one that I’m not sure will stand out as much in readers’ minds. It’s a scene in which Mackenzie finds out just how highly she is esteemed by her colleagues in the wine world. She never knew. She never thought of working anywhere but the family winery—she was just so grateful to have a family through her husband, since she had none of her own. In this scene, nothing really changes but her perception—of herself, and of how people perceive her—but perception is reality. Suddenly, Mackenzie realizes that she has options. She can dare to dream.

And that changes everything.

3. What was the hardest scene to write and why?

At the risk of repeating myself, that scene in which Mackenzie and Rhys finally acknowledge that their marriage is over was certainly one of the hardest to write. The emotional intricacies of the situation were incredibly nuanced. I had to get it exactly right. Rhys is not a point-of-view character, so the whole scene is told from Mackenzie’s perspective, but I wanted the reader to understand and empathize with Rhys, as well. It’s a deeply emotional scene, and I’m very curious to see how readers will respond to it.

4. Do you have advice for me wanting to write in the same genre?

Never give up. There are a lot of very talented writers who will never be published simply because they gave up trying. You never know if the next book will be the one. You have to want it enough to keep going.

5. Where did the idea for the title come from? It’s so original.

Thank you! I almost never come up with the titles for my own books. My file names are just the first name of the main character, so the working title on this book was Mackenzie. When it’s time to title the book, the whole team makes suggestions—my editor, agent, assistant, the marketing department. It’s trickier now than it’s ever been because I’ve written a lot of books, and we don’t want the titles to be too similar. And yet they have to appeal to the same audience.

All that said, I was the one to suggest The Vineyard at Painted Moon. I thought it would be appropriate to feature the beautiful setting in the title, since it plays such an important role in the book. I’m glad you like it!

6. Who is your favorite character and why?

I love Stephanie and Four, Rhys’s sisters and Mackenzie’s best friends. They’re the kind of friend that every woman should have—and that every woman should be. Close female friendships are a hallmark of my books. In The Vineyard at Painted Moon, the friendships were especially complex because they were also sisters-in-law. . . soon to be exes. But at the end of the day, this truly is Mackenzie's story, so she would be the favorite.

7. What is your favorite book genre to read?

For the most part, I read what I write—women’s fiction and romance. I’m not into thrillers or anything that involves violence and murder. I’m much more interested in emotional drama, in the inherent conflict between people who want different things.

#Susan Mallery #Harlequin #HQN #NetGalley #Fiction #Romance #Women's Fiction #Wine #Divorce #Family

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snowbellewells · 4 years

Text

“Saved From What Might Have Been”

(A bit of birthday whump for @hollyethecurious)

By: @snowbellewells

I’m honestly not sure if this is much good, or really worth giving as a gift, but I’ve tried something new here, and I’m hoping you may like it, Hollye. You’ve provided the fandom (and our pirate!) a lot of painfully delicious whump over the last few years. Particularly with “What Lies Beneath the Mask” - my personal favorite! You also wrote one of my favorite examples of KnightRook fic in your recent MC “We Make Our Own Fate”. I’m attempting to incorporate those things in this little drabble for you. I don’t really know where this came from otherwise; I had something else in mind, but then this is what I ended up with instead. Contains Season 7’s Wish!Hook/Old Hook and Rogers, KnightRook, and of course some whumpage, if those are things people aren’t interested in. Most of those are new things for me to try writing as well.

Enough of my rambling - here goes:

“Saved From What Might Have Been”

Rough hands grasp him harshly, grappling at him from all angles and lifting him bodily from his seat at the gaming tables. He brays out in displeasure, swatting at those forcing him to the tavern door, at first thinking it is a ill-timed and less-than-humorous jest. However, as raucous voices laugh and jeer in approval, hooting and hollering and stamping feet accompanying shouts of “Good riddance!” and “Bout time ye boys were takin’ out the trash!”, Jones begins to struggle in earnest. He jerks within the hold of many, bucking and swinging wildly, though his punches go wide, made effectual with too much drink and the number of opponents holding him back. His attempts to dig in his heels only lead to him tripping over the raised board at the tavern entrance when the group pauses to open the door. Their combined grip lessens slightly, but before Hook can gather himself to whirl and fight, he is tossed forward unceremoniously, hurled into the street face first.

Once he would have been on his feet in an instant, charging forward to take all comers, but the air is knocked from his aging lungs, and he feels the ache and disorientation throughout his aching joints as he pushes himself to scruffed hands and knees, glaring at those who mock him from the doorway, barring re-entry to the one place able to temporarily silence his demons.

A shaking, unsteady hand wipes away mud from the rain drenched streets and the coarse and unkempt gray hair hanging in his eyes as well. His voice is a hoarse growl when he warns, “You lot should know better than to cross a pirate!” He attempts to stand imposingly to his full height, hand tucked in his belt and hook in plain view, to inspire the sort of respect and fear he had once done and ignore the shooting pain in his knees and hip.

The mob of half a dozen or more look unimpressed, but still Jones moves forward, meaning to shoulder his way through them and back to his table indoors. However, upon nearing the group, he is shoved back harshly, sending his still unbalanced form staggering back again. Rage blinds him along with the dizziness of a half-drunken haze. Brandishing the hook, he makes to charge into the fray once more, when he is stopped cold by their leader’s words.

“Think carefully, ye doddering old fool,” the man’s deep tone orders. “Ye’ve cheated yer last at my tables, and used up the last of me goodwill. Payin’ customers’ve complained long enough. You’re no captain. Where’s yer ship? No sailor nor pirate; no more, at any rate. Yer a has been, a worthless old drunk. And this be yer warnin’ - stay out of my tavern or face the consequences!”

The words sink in just as deep, and perhaps even more painfully than the hard landing had moments before. The grizzled man seems to shrink, his shoulders slumping as he faces the small mob barring his way. Though his bravado does not leave him, he sees that it will not serve him victory and there is no swaying the men standing against him. There’s nothing for him here - no longer can he seek refuge, drown his sorrows and try to forget. He wants to wipe that hateful sneer from the taven keeper’s face; to carve his mark in the skin of all their thick hides with the sharp point of his hook and prove their insults wrong. And yet… defeated he knows those words have long since turned into ugly truth.

“I’m not sure he’s gotten the message yet, Ed,” one of the burly louts adds gruffly, stepping from the collective shadow of the pack and circling around behind the old sailor, hands balled into fists.

“Ye may be right, Connors,” another chortles cruelly. “Seems he might be half witted as well as one handed!”

Outmanned he might be, but Jones still isn’t one to take such abuse in silence, and is about to tell them so when a sharp kick to his legs from behind buckles both his knees and sends him to the ground once more. Before he can begin to get up or even roll away from the unseen onslaught, another heavy booted foot hurries forward to step down on the arm that had hit the ground hardest, causing a garbled yelp to escape his chapped lips. The thug’s full weight on the joint makes an audible crunch of bone and sinew and it is all the aging Jones can do to bite back the sting of tears at the pain.

Floodgates now open, the group falls on him completely. A broom handle cracks along his spine, ale is poured over his head, rocks pelt him over and over, and kicks rain across his abdomen until he feels one connect with his ribs. His breath is stolen by the blazing white hot agony, and for a second his consciousness wavers. All thought of fighting back ceases, and instead Hook merely curls in upon himself, trying desperately to shield his head and vital organs until their attack is over.

After what seems an eternity, the beating slows, the miscreants back away as they spit on him and issue final warnings not to enter the establishment again. One even mutters that he might as well curl up there in the gutter where he belongs and wait to meet his Maker. In that moment, Jones wonders if he may be about to do so as his breath comes in harsh, ragged pants around the fragments of at least one broken rib scraping torment against his lung.

The sky opens in a frigid downpour again as the other men leave him in a crumpled heap. They go back inside, flush with victory and high spirited in his defeat. The greying man shivers from the cold and shock, the agony of his wounds and the decimation of his pride almost pulling him under.

However, he cannot give in yet, there is something he must still do. He cannot die here in this alleyway, even if he does deserve just such an inauspicious end. No, there is someone who would miss him, who needs the few pilfered coins and the crust of bread he had managed to hide before they discovered his game. ‘Alice,’ he wheezes, the name barely more than a whisper in the rainy deluge and the crash of thunder.

Half limping and half dragging his sorry carcass from the outskirts of the village, through the storm to the foot of her tower, the old buccaneer collapses at the base of the high, impenetrable edifice holding his darling girl prisoner. Tugging on the rope attached to the basket where he has placed his hard-won treasures, he hopes that his Alice will hear the bell at the other end, letting her know he has something for her, over the tumult. Squinting against the pelting drops, the wavering of his vision and encroaching unconsciousness, he waits for even a glimpse of her at the window far above. He can no longer climb to her; his old bones and poisoned heart having separated them physically years ago.

Minutes flow by, lengthening and playing tricks. Has she turned away from him too? “Alice!” he cries, his voice as broken as his body dying out on the howling wind. “Alice, my Lass! Are you there?” No answer comes, and her honeyed curls and beguiling smile never appear over the ledge. Even she has gone… he failed her too… just as he had feared…

~~~~***~~~~

Two delicate hands shake Rogers into wakefulness, his Alice’s concerned voice ending his nightmare anxiously. “Papa, wake up!” she pleads. “I’m here! You’re dreaming! Wake up!”

Blinking against the strangely wavering bluish light from the television still playing in the living room before him, he turns to see his grown daughter, restored to him just before they came here to Storybrooke in the United Realms, seated on the edge of the couch at his hip. Alice leans over him, where he had fallen asleep watching the nightly news, her hand still clutching his shoulder where she shook him awake. Her eyes are wide as she studies his face, sure that something real has disturbed her stoic and strong father.

He still feels a bit blearily fuzzy-headed, the dream having muddled him with the anguish and shame slow to fade from his brain. “Alice? Did I wake you? ‘M sorry, Love. You can go back to sleep.” He runs a hand haphazardly back through his dark hair, just beginning to show a few strands of silver, in an attempt to clear the cobwebs and offer her a tentative smile. Shaking his head, Rogers hopes the thin excuse will appease his grown child enough to drop her queries into what troubled him.

“You were calling my name, Papa,” Alice offers hesitantly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

He sighs, reaching out to cover her hand on his shoulder and twining her fingers with his to squeeze tightly in affection. “No, Lass, no need. It’s nothing to worry about. We’re both here safe and sound. All’s as it should be.”

Not one to be easily dissuaded, she leans forward, pressing her forehead to her father’s playfully but holding his gaze with her curious eyes. “Are you sure?” she presses.

“Aye,” he nods with certainty, a bit more of the usual twinkle returning to his eyes as he stands to meet the day and pulls Alice up beside him. “No use worrying your pretty little head about me. Let’s have some breakfast, shall we?”

A matching sparkle of mischief lights her eyes as well. “Is there marmalade for the toast?” she returns cheerily.

“Of course there is, what do you take me for?”

“Then, let’s do it!” she exclaims, looping her arm through her papa’s as they troop into the kitchen. He follows easily, a full-throated laugh bubbling from his chest, only too happy to let the last shadows of the dream fade with the light of day.

Tagging a few others who (may?) enjoy - not sure this will be all of my usual readers’ cup of tea?

@kmomof4 @jennjenn615 @sherlockianwhovian @killian-whump @artistic-writer @resident-of-storybrooke @teamhook @revanmeetra87

#birthday fic for @hollyethecurious #whump fic drabble #ouat s7 divergent #wish hook #old hook #rogers #knightrook feels

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remywrites5 · 5 years

Note

1. with spideypool or wolfstar, please? ❤️

Hi! I hope you meant number one for the Halloween prompts because that’s what I did. If it wasn’t just let me know and I’ll write you something else!

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

Wade could not believe he hadn’t realized it was Halloween. That’s what he got for being stuck in Monaco on a job for over a month. He’d been to three different stores and all of them only had black licorice and candy corn left. Wade wasn’t about to give those out. He’d get on the bad side of the children and who knew what they’d do then? Children were terrifying.

Wade went into a Walgreens and prayed for something that wasn’t shit. His prayers were apparently answered because standing by the register was none other than Peter Parker (aka Spider-man, aka Wade’s not so heterosexual man crush, aka dat ass). “Please tell me you have some candy left?” Peter asked, pushing his glasses up his nose. Wade wished he didn’t have such a thing for hot nerds because Peter was currently working it.

Wade quickly dashed towards the candy aisles and grabbed up the last few bags of stuff that were chocolate and not The Worst TM . He had just finished bundling them into his arms when Peter joined him. “Wade?” Peter called out, crossing his arms over his chest. “Please tell me you didn’t just take the last of the edible candy.”

“So what if I did?” Wade asked, hoarding it close to him. “Finders keepers, baby boy.”

Peter sighed. “Okay Wade, what do you want?”

Wade shifted uncomfortably. “What do you mean?”

“For the candy,” Peter said, flicking his chin towards the bag in Wade’s arms. “I promised my Aunt I’d get it and I completely forgot. So unless you want my sweet Aunt’s house to get egged, you will at least hand over one of those bags of candy. Just name your price.”

Wade looked down at the bags and then back up to Peter. “Come over tonight,” he said after weighing his options. Asking for a kiss felt a little to creepy, even for Wade, and he didn’t want to go too small with his request. He’d never have this kind of power over Peter again so he might as well take advantage.

Peter’s eyes widened behind his glasses. “That’s…not what I was expecting,” he told Wade honestly. He scratched his chin; a little bit of stubble growing there and Wade couldn’t help awing to himself that his baby boy was growing up. “Okay, fine. I promised I’d help my Aunt pass out candy for a while but I could come over around eight?”

It was Wade’s turn to be surprised. He had never thought in a million years Peter would actually go for it. “Really?”

“Sure,” Peter said, shrugging his shoulders. “Now hand some of that over, you candy hog, and don’t even think about just giving me the milk duds. I’m watching you.”

Wade laughed and handed over a bag of Snickers and a bag of Kit Kats. “You know where I live, right baby boy?”

Peter nodded. “Had to drag your ass there enough times,” he joked with a grin. He turned around and Wade absolutely took the opportunity to stare at Pete’s ass. “See you at eight!”

***

Wade was a nervous wreck. It had taken an hour arguing with himself about whether to wear his mask or not. Peter had seen his real face before but that didn’t mean he wanted his hideousness on full display. But Petey had mentioned other times he didn’t mind the face, whether he was just being a sweet kid or not. Finally Wade decided on no mask with the right to change his mind after Peter showed up.

He’d ordered a pizza for them and had eaten most of the candy himself to keep from eating the pizza. He wanted eight o’clock to come sooner but was also absolutely dreading it. It was his one opportunity to be super fucking cool and hang out with Spider-man. It wasn’t as if their studios played well together anyway.

Eight o’clock rolled around and Peter wasn’t there. Wade felt crushed that he’d gotten his hopes up. Of course Peter wasn’t going to come around to his shitty apartment and hang out with him. He’d just been saying that to get Wade to give up the candy.

Wade looked around his dingy apartment and thought about killing himself in front of some kids to give them a good Halloween scare. He was just about to go find his gun when there was a knock on the door. Wade grabbed the last few scraps of candy (milk duds of course because eww) ready to throw them at the kids at the door.

Instead he found Peter standing there looking soft and cute in a t-shirt with a pumpkin face on it. “Trick or treat,” he said with a small smile.

Wade held out his hand and offered Peter the candy. Peter’s nose wrinkled in distaste and Wade thought it was the cutest fucking thing he’d ever seen. “Sorry baby boy, it’s all that’s left. But I’ve got pizza if you’re interested.”

Peter slid his way into Wade’s apartment. “That sounds good,” he said, walking over to the kitchen counter and grabbing himself a slice.

“It would have been warmer if you’d been here on time,” Wade grumbled, shuffling his feet against the carpet.

“I don’t mind cold pizza,” Peter said around the bite in his mouth. “Besides I get held up with my Aunt. I tried to call you but the number I have is disconnected.”

“Oh yeah,” Wade said, scratching the back of his head. “I change numbers a lot.”

Peter hummed thoughtfully and continued to eat his pizza. Wade grabbed a slice and picked at it, having stuffed himself on candy with his nervous eating. He still couldn’t believe Peter Parker was in his apartment, willfully, eating pizza and carrying on a conversation like it was no big deal. “Wanna watch a scary movie or something?” Peter asked, breaking Wade out of the internal argument he had been having.

“Sure!” Wade said, bounding over to the sofa and sitting down. To his surprise, Peter came over and lay down sideways on the sofa, his feet dangling off the end and his head in Wade’s lap. “P-Petey?”

“I’m exhausted, Wade,” Peter informed him with a yawn, stretching his long lanky body like a cat. “You don’t mind, do you?”

“Nope,” Wade said, shaking his head emphatically. “Not a care in the world. Just, you know, don’t think less of me if I get an erection because your face is like right there.”

Peter laughed. “I won’t hold it against you, Wade. I know you think I’m sexy.”

Wade sputtered. “You’re not sexy, you’re cute.”

Peter raised a knowing eyebrow. “Is that why you were staring at my ass today in the store? Because you think I’m cute?”

“Damn your spidey-sense,” Wade said, curling his hand into a fist and shaking it as if cursing the heavens.

Peter laughed again and Wade took it as a personal victory. Most other heroes never laughed at his jokes. Most heroes never gave him the time of day. At least Peter was kind enough to tolerate Wade. “Comes in handy,” Peter murmured, sliding his hand up and cupping the back of Wade’s head. Before he knew what was happening, Wade was bending over, being led by Peter and their lips were touching and oh.

Wade broke the kiss and stared down at Peter incredulously. “What’d you do that for, Petey?”

Peter shrugged. “Been thinking about it since the store this morning,” he murmured softly. “Thought maybe you would ask me for a kiss in exchange for the candy.”

“Blackmailing heroes into sexual favors isn’t really my thing,” Wade said, shifting on the sofa because hello Mr. Erection nice of you to join us. “Or at least I would never do that to you. Wolverine, maybe.”

Peter grinned. “Does it count as blackmail if I really wanted to kiss you?”

“Had an inkling to make out with the outside of a cantaloupe, did you spidey?” Wade quipped, confused by what was going on. He hadn’t hit his head at some point had he? Maybe he really had killed himself and this was just a wonderful dream as his body mended itself.

Peter sighed and let his thumb graze over Wade’s cheek. “Maybe I like you more than I let on,” he said quietly, staring up at Wade. “Maybe over the past month I’ve missed the way you’re always interrupting my missions just to flirt with me.”

Wade tentatively reached out and brushed his hand over Peter’s stomach, feeling the muscles underneath his t-shirt. It sure felt real enough. Wade slipped his hand under Peter’s shirt and felt the warmth of his skin. Peter was biting his bottom lip and his cheeks had gone pink.

“I am aces at flirting,” Wade managed to joke, playing with the bit of hair on Peter’s stomach leading downwards into the danger zone.

Peter smiled. “Most of the time I’m glad I’m wearing a mask because you make me blush like crazy.”

“I like it when you blush,” Wade told him, cupping Peter’s cheek with his free hand. “It’s cute as fuck.” Peter pulled Wade down into another kiss and if this was just his mind playing tricks on him he would happily never take another treat in his life. “Please be real.”

Peter smiled against Wade’s lips. “I’m real,” he whispered softly.

“Yeah, well, this isn’t the first time I’ve hallucinated making out with you, Spidey.”

“And how long do those hallucinations usually last?”

“An hour, maybe two.”

“We spend that whole time just kissing?” Peter asked, looking skeptical.

Wade shook his head. “The you in my mind is filthy.”

Peter laughed. “You said an hour or two, right? Well put on a movie and when it’s done in an hour or two and I’m still here, you’ll know I’m not a hallucination.”

Wade beamed at him. “You’re so smart, Petey.” Wade flipped through Netflix and put on Scream. Wade continued to let his fingers dance over Peter’s skin, memorizing each scar that he could see.

“Wade,” Peter whined, wiggling when Wade accidentally touched a ticklish spot. “You’re not watching the movie.”

“I’d rather watch you, baby boy.”

Peter chuckled. “You can watch me later,” he said, lacing his fingers through Wade’s so they were holding hands.

“Promise, Petey?”

Peter nodded. “I promise. Now shh, this is the good part.”

Wade turned his attention to the screen for a moment before being distracted by Peter again. As the credits rolled, Peter was still there, on his sofa, real and soft and warm. Wade hadn’t woken up from some kind of dream. Peter was still holding his hand.

“Told you I was real,” Peter teased, giving Wade’s hand a squeeze.

“It’s a Halloween miracle!”

Peter laughed. “I don’t think that’s a thing.”

“Sure it is, baby boy,” Wade said, wiggling his eyebrows. “Now, trick of treat?”

“Treat,” Peter said, already meeting Wade halfway for another kiss.

If that wasn’t a fucking Halloween miracle, Wade didn’t know what was.

#spideypool #spiderman x deadpool #i write things #fluff #halloween prompt #suicidal thoughts tw

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taomega20writings · 4 years

Text

"Hi! I'm Gorlan Fortonen. You are really pretty!"

A boy, human, maybe ten years old, ran over to me. His family had built a home over the hill. Some knight who won a battle or saved a noble or some such reason. His family was given land and had a home made in it.

The boy saw me tending the trees in the forest around us, and decided to run over.

"Thank you little one. You are quite handsome yourself. You will be a good and artful man, I think." The boys build was too thin to be very strong. Not weak, but he won't be lifting wood beams and the like. No his build is one of a finer Craftsman.

The boy smiled at my words, bright and sweet.

I knelt down next to him, smiling kindly.

"You should head back, your parents might worry."

The boy smiled and nodded. As he turned and started to run I called again.

"Your family may have the hill, and the way to the road, but remember to be kind to the trees and their creatures. Do that and they will be kind to you."

The boy paused for a moment, looking thoughtful. Then he walked over to a tree and gave it a kiss.

I couldn't help the laugh that came to me. This boy is certainly interesting. I think I will like my neighbors. Maybe they won't mind a forest elf neighbor.

................

"Heara! Hearaaa!" The voice was masculine, but still a higher pitch than his father.

"I'm up here Gorlan! I was trying to sketch the foxes. But there was a loud noise that chased them off." I eyed him. Knowing he would blush. He was cute when he blushed. Still young though, barely fourteen.

"S-sorry Heara, I was just excited to see you." He shifted his feet as he was talking, embarrassed, but still eager.

"What has you so excited this early in the morning?" I asked, coming down from the branch I was sitting on.

"I'll always be amazed at how graceful you are." That brought a smile to my lips. He always looked in awe of me, even when I was doing mundane things.

"It is just me, I'm not even that talented among elves."

"And yet you embody grace and beauty in my mind." He had a soft smile as he said that, somewhere between endearment and fondness. I have yet to place it exactly.

"You only say that because you've been calling me pretty since we first met." I smiled as he got more embarrassed.

"Yeah, well, you still are really pretty." He mumbled it under his breath, but I still caught it.

"Well, you came down to tell me something. What is it?"

He perked up again, his bright smile back. "Oh yeah! My parents have noticed how you keep the trees healthy, and the animals well. They have invited you to dinner with them!"

That peaked my interest. "Really? They invited me?"

He faltered a bit. "Well, not specifically you, but they said they wanted to meet the forest keeper."

That sounds about right.

"So you want to introduce me?"

"Well, yeah. You have been my friend for years now, is it that odd?"

I take a moments pause.

"No, I guess not. Did you have a time in mind?"

"Yeah, tonight!"

................

"You know they wouldn't want you to loose yourself like this."

Gorlan had just gotten back to his home. It had grown since he was a kid. Leading a revolution required more than a wooden home, even if it was a rather large one.

"They can't want anything. They are gone."

I stormed over to him and stuck my finger in his face.

"Don't you dare spit on their memory like that. I have tended to their graves while you have been off trying your damnedest to get yourself killed! I know you are hurt, and I know you wish they were still here, but throwing yourself into fight after fight isn't going to help." I was shaking. Huh, I guess I had been bottling some things up too.

I heard a sniff and looked up. Tears were streaming from his eyes freely.

I wrapped my arms around him right as I started crying too.

They were amazing friends of mine, and their king had let them die. Gorlan had every right to be upset and angry. And from how his revolution is going it was past due the king was dethroned. But I don't want to loose Gorlan. He is the last friend I have.

I don't want to be alone anymore.

..................

They made him king.

He absolutely hated it, and he lets the council know every chance he gets. They say it lets them know he isn't corrupt.

I hate that it means we can't be together. At least publicly.

Elves and humans can't have kids together, and it is expected that a king and his queen have kids.

I suppose that means he should be getting a human wife.

I know he never will. Stubborn, lovable fool.

My stubborn, lovable fool.

.............

He is old now. So very old.

Sometimes he forgets the names of his friends. Or how long he has known them.

He never forgets me though, and I thank the gods for that. They have a new king, and this castle is left to my Gorlan.

It is still very small for a castle. Only two stories.

I know that soon I will have to bury him.

I don't know how I will live with him gone.

..................

The courtyard is quiet today. The birds heading away for winter.

I make sure there is still timber in the guest house. Then that the doors to the castle are still locked.

I head out to the graves behind the castle.

There is someone there. They are looking at the tombstones.

I walk next to them and kneel in front of the stones.

They startle a bit before calming themselves.

"Hello, sorry, I didn't see you there. I'm Jacqueline. I was just looking at these headstones. They don't look as old as the dates on them and I was wracking my brain to try and figure why."

I turn towards her and tilt my head. "I've had to replace them a few times. Sometimes a kid gets in and decides to break it, sometimes it's a bad year and one cracks. But most of the time it's just old age."

"Old age? But you can't be more than thirty years old."

I lift my hood and let my eyes glow with my inherited magic.

"Elves tend to live a while, you know."

I expected her to run. Most do when they come across a 'fey warrior' as we've come to be known. Stupid kids thinking fighting a war would be fun.

She didn't though. Run that is. She looked in awe.

"So you knew them?" She has a bright smile. So much like his was.

"Yes, I knew them well." I run my hand along the top of His headstone. "He was my love."

She sobered at that. "I appologise, I didn't mean to bring up anything painful-"

"You are fine. This was centuries ago. Long before people started calling me the Keeper. Silly title that, just because I tend the place doesn't mean I need a title."

"Well, they think you are a ghost."

"A ghost? Really?"

"Yeah, you do the same thing most days, and people are usually too scared to talk to you. Those that do only talk about weird feelings and glowing eyes."

"Well I'm not a ghost. And I'd like to think that I'm not that scary."

"You aren't, you just have a powerful aura about you."

"Interesting. But enough of me. What brought you to my home?"

"I was hoping to learn a bit about the history here. Not many books talk of it, but the ones that do say it was important for a time."

Have people really forgotten?

I look again to the girl. I see much of my Gorlan in her. Is this what a child of ours could have looked like?

"Would you like to know the story?"

...

#writing #love #angst #my writing #tao #taomega20 #tao writes #taomega20writes #fantasy #elf #elf girl #love story #sorrow #loss

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3starsquinn · 4 years

Text

Lessons Learned || Orion & Rebecca

(Backdate to 3/28/2020)

Location: Abandoned Scribe Headquarters

Summary: Rebecca comes to the Scribe headquarters looking for some information on spirits; Rio uwu’s over another Professor that he can grow attached to.

Time was running out. And Rebecca’s desperation had brought her to a place she thought she’d never stoop to. The Scribe headquarters. Though long abandoned, it still stood, hid behind lock and key, like the cooped up knowledge keepers they were. Pretending they were the master’s of the supernatural world, hoarding information behind steely eyes and pretentious attitudes. She’d never really gotten along with them, but after they’d throw her under the bus for their own, she’d found that loath rising up every time she thought about it. Though it would have been easy to blame them for what happened to Theo, she could never bring herself to fully do that. She knew Theo’s death was her own fault, but the sting of it was still there, as she pushed the doors open and found her way in, surprised they were unlocked. Then again, the place was hidden by magic. Rebecca was just lucky that it was still in the same place, from the last time she’d tracked the headquarters down with some help from a local ex-Scribe.

The inside of the place was just as she’d remembered it, as if it hadn’t aged a day in three years, or however long she’d been gone. Keeping track of time was still difficult. She had to often use Theo’s headstone as reference for how long ago things happened. Ignoring the thought, she went about her way, finding the section they’d been to ages ago on demons, ghosts, and ancient rituals. And got to work. She hardly noticed someone approaching her, she was so hyper focused on her work, jotting down notes left and right and stacking piles of books around her.

Orion had mostly gotten over his panic attacks from people intruding in his safe space. He had his fair share of people inside of the Scribe headquarters at this point. He returned to the abandoned building from the store, an optimistic attempt at purchasing some lights and candles to make the place a bit more visible considering the lack of electricity and never-ending darkness that seemed to have befallen the town. It hadn’t made doing his job, or rather his hobby easy. But he planned on persisting. He swung the door open and made his way down the hallway, grocery bags in hand. He didn’t notice the noise until he got closer to the library. He could hear someone rummaging through books on the shelves. At this point, he didn’t think much of it outside of the initial jump in his heart rate. It could have been one of a few people that Orion had already met here. Professor Drake, Professor Beck or even Winston. All three knew about the vast library and all had expressed interest in returning. So he casually made his way into the library, bags in one hand and flashlight in the other, a dim flash illuminating a small portion of the path in front of him. But much to his surprise, when he finally found the culprit inside the library it wasn’t anybody that he knew of. “Uh. Hi.” He squeaked, his mouth immediately dry. He definitely hadn’t been expecting to see a new person in here, though maybe he should by now. Though the face wasn’t completely unfamiliar, as the woman turned to face Orion he recognized her from the campus. Probably a professor that Orion hadn’t met. “You’re uh- I didn’t expect anyone to be here.” He was not suddenly very self-conscious of the boxes of snacks, pillows and his laptop that laid on one of the tables around the corner. Had she seen it when she came in? “What are you doing here?”

Rebecca, so engrossed in her work, didn’t even register the tiny light coming her way. Or the initial squeaked hello. It was only when the boy moved closer, his light reflecting off one of her books, did she look up, startled. “Oh, I’m--” squinted through the light at him. “I’m sorry. I thought this place was abandoned. The--” she glanced around, then looked back at him, closing her notebook. Whoever he was, he definitely didn’t need to be involved with her mess. “I apologize. I came here a few years back for information and thought I’d see myself in. I’m looking for some more books on certain...topics. I’m Rebecca Rothbard,” she said, finally standing and holding out her hand. The boy couldn’t be any older than 21. “And who are you?”

Well the woman didn’t seem like she intended to hurt or kill Orion, which made him a bit more comfortable, though he still had no idea why she was here. Clearly she was looking for some kind of information. Mostly likely supernatural considering she mentioned that she had been here before. Anyone who knew anything about the Scribes knew they were more than just historical record keepers. “Well it was abandoned. I mean it is abandoned. Besides me right now. Well, and you. What are you looking for?” He definitely remembered her from the college campus. “I’m Orion. Or Rio. Whichever. You work at the college, right? I feel like I’ve seen you on the campus. I uh- I’m a college student.”

“Oh!” Rebecca said, straightening out. She gave her best ‘new student looks too anxious, time to calm them down’ smile and nodded. “I do! I just started about a month ago. I’m the new Anthropology professor. It’s lovely to meet you, Orion. Named after the hunter or the stars?” She asked, looking at him, before glancing back at her stack of books. “It’s related to a more personal matter. I was shown the place by an old ex-Scribe a few years ago. I figured all this knowledge was going to waste just being so...hidden out here. I didn’t think anyone would mind.” Besides, the Scribes owed her. She closed the book to show Orion the title. “I’m an exorcist. Just doing my thorough research before getting in too deep. What is that you’re doing out here? And in all this nighttime mess? It’s dangerous to be out alone.”

So she was a Professor. And of Anthropology too, a subject near and dear to Orion’s own passion. Anthropology may have had more focus on people and how they lived, but it had its roots in history. Which meant at some point, Orion may end up in one of the Professor’s classes. It also meant that all the Professors at that college apparently knew about the supernatural. Orion supposed that he couldn’t be surprised. “Nice to meet you too, Professor…?” He realized that he hadn’t gotten her name. “I uh- both actually. But my parents definitely had the hunter in mind when they named me. My sister’s name is Athena. So a lot of Greek influence.” An ex-scribe showed her this place a few years ago? That meant that there had been at least one person that still knew of the building’s existence in town. Assuming that scribe was still alive, Orion wondered why they had never shown up again. Instead leaving the legacy to a whiny twenty year old. “Yeah, uh. Well it is abandoned, but not completely going to waste. I kind of.. watch over the place. Unofficially.” He shined his light at the book title that the Professor was showing off. “An exorcist?” Orion asked, immediately excited. He had never met a real exorcist before. “That is way cool. Uh.. I wish I was anything that exciting. I’m just a college kid. Who comes here to read sometimes.” Not the whole truth, but he wasn’t lying either which seemed to be Orion’s modus operandi these days.

“Oh,” Rebecca said, giving a little wave, “forgive my manners. Rothbard. Rebecca Rothbard.” She held out her hand for him to shake, scooting some books out of the way so that he could take a seat at the table with her if he wanted to. She settled back into her own chair and shuffled some more stuff around, tidying up her mess of papers and notes. “Well, they’re both good names. Strong names. Greek history always fascinated me, much more than other Western European history.” She looked over to him, motioning for him to sit. He seemed nervous almost, or perhaps she had just startled him. This place was supposed to be abandoned. “It’s quite noble of you to decide to look over this place, even unofficially. The old Scribes sure did seem to leave this place in a hurry, huh? It makes you wonder what really happened to them all…” not that she entirely cared, but this kid already seemed leagues better than any Scribe she’d met. Most of them would have either immediately shooed her out or accused her of trespassing on knowledge. She had to stop herself from rolling her eyes at the thought. “Oh, please, people don’t find shelving books exciting anymore? What has the world come to?” she half teased, giving a little grin. “So...how did you find this place? Because I doubt anyone who’s ‘just a college kid’ stumbled here on accident, hmm?”

“Really nice to meet you Professor Rothbard!” Orion shook the professor’s hand eagerly. “I really like anthropology. So uh, I will probably end up in one of your classes eventually. At least I hope so.” He grabbed a seat at one of the tables as the professor motioned and glanced at the stack of books and papers she had amassed. Did Orion need to say something? If she tried leaving with the books did he need to check them out, like some librarian? Professor Beck had taken a book when she came, but with the agreement that she would bring it back when she was done. Was that what Orion should be doing here? He had never considered the idea of people coming here to try to find books. “Same! I mean I love learning about any piece of history I can, but Greek mythology just has so much depth about it. And there’s so much we know about it to spread around, unlike some other civilizations that didn’t leave as much behind.” The Professor knew about the scribes and claimed to be an exorcist, and within the confines an abandoned building focused on the supernatural she didn’t seem to have much reason to lie. “There are uh- theories on what happened. I don’t know what exactly happened to this chapter though.” If they had, would journals have been left here to detail it? Or would the Scribe have taken it with them? “Guess not so much… It’s uh- just me.” Orion laughed nervously, moving back and forth on the chair that he was sitting in. He couldn’t seem to sit still. “My uncle was a Scribe,” Orion began explaining, happy to have something to focus in on, “He showed me this place when I was a kid. Before he left town. A few months ago I decided to come back and check the place out, see if any other Scribes had been here. Then I kept coming back I guess.” He trailed off, unsure where he was planning on taking that story. He didn’t like talking about his uncle much anyways. “What brings you here? Is there a specific.. uh demon that you’re searching for? Or something else?”

“I’ll look forward to having you in my class, then,” Rebecca said with a grin. She watched the boy sit, toddering back and forth in his seat anxiously. She could practically feel like waves of anxiety coming off of him. She hoped it wasn’t because of her. He almost reminded her of Blanche, just without the sass and the sarcasm. “It’s true. We’re lucky we have as much as we do on them. Though, if I’m being honest, my favorite ancient civilization is Sumerian. I’m a little biased, though.” Another soft grin, hoping to ease his worries. “Your uncle was a Scribe? Is he still around?” She leaned back in the chair, watching him closely. Maybe the questions about his uncle had been too much, but his voice trailed and his eyes sunk down to the table, a classic sign of discomfort. “Either way, I’m glad someone saw fit to come and take care of this place. All these books, all this knowledge, it shouldn’t go to waste. You’re doing a noble thing, Orion.” She let out a small breath, eyes suddenly more weary, as she looked down at her pile of notes. She was tired of lying, of keeping people at the edges of her boundaries, her life, but something like this was too dangerous for a simple kid. “I’m just looking up all the references I can for magical binding items to help with a particularly tough ghost. Sometimes exorcisms aren’t strong enough and binding rituals are needed to help...assuage the problem.”

“Ooh that’s a great choice! Sumerian culture has some of the oldest surviving works pieces of written history. Obviously, the Epic of Gilgamesh came from it, which is one of the coolest pieces of literature ever. I mean it was found on the original clay tablets in cuneiform. How freaking cool is that?” Orion laughed incredulously, wondering what it would be like to find some piece of history like that. How the people that discovered it must have felt. Though he supposed he sat on his own little chunk of history now within this very building. He coughed, trying to regain his composure and straightened back up in his chair. “Sorry- I get a little excited. Uh- what makes you biased about that… If I can ask?” Understandably, she was curious about Orion’s uncle, the former scribe. He didn’t blame her, but he didn’t care much for talking about it. “He’s alive. But he doesn’t live in White Crest. He moved away like six or seven years ago.” Short and sweet. Luckily she seemed willing to move on just as quickly, which Orion welcomed. Even if it was to compliment him, something he definitely didn’t know how to take. “Oh uh- well thank you. It’s- Well I’m not really doing much. Besides reading.” He listened carefully as she explained what she had been looking for. He didn’t know much about exorcisms- his family didn’t really deal in the incorporeal business. They were strictly Fae and fangs. Which made learning about Professor Rothbard’s job even more intriguing. “Interesting. That sounds like it can get… dangerous. Do you usually do exorcisms alone or do others sit in with you? Do exorcisms have to be done by like a religious figure like in myths. Are you a religious figure?” He crossed his arms and asked the questions curiously, unsure if the professor would be willing to share the details.

“It’s very cool,” Rebecca said back, liking the way he smiled when he talked about history. She always wanted to encourage people to pursue things that made them happy like that. She gave a shrug. “I’m partial to any ancient civilization that helped with the creation of Israel, being Jewish myself. Though we come from ancient Egypt more so, you’ll excuse me for not enjoying the civilization that enslaved my ancestors.” She gave a short, dour chuckle before moving on. “I see. That checks out with when many of them began...scrambling away.” It was also around the time she’d first been asked to help exorcise the possessed boy. A memory she wished didn’t have to be so solid in her mind. When we first met. Rebecca stiffened but didn’t react. Her eyes went from Orion, to the table, back up again. She steeled herself. “Consuming knowledge is noble in itself, looking after it? Is definitely true. Don’t cut yourself short, Orion. We don’t have history because wars were fought, we have history because stories were told, right?” She could sense his uneasiness with the compliment, but she wasn’t about to not let him take it. “It can, but if you’re prepared and smart, it takes a lot of the risk away. Hence,” she reached out to pat the books next to her. “I myself am a religious person, but one doesn’t necessarily have to be religious, no. Power in exorcism comes from intent and from the strength of one's conviction. It’s about speaking words of power. The more meaning those words have to a person, the stronger they will be.”

Of course, Professor Rothgard was right. It was hard to be interested in a civilization directly responsible for the oppression of your own people. “Right. Yeah, of course. Sorry. That makes sense.” The professor had chuckled, implying that it was meant as a joke but Orion understood if she was being honest. Orion had a heritage that he wasn’t exactly proud of. He certainly wouldn’t enjoy hearing others telling the story of noble hunters, killing monsters. “Yeah. Definitely. I uh- thank you. I just like giving others the ability to learn if they want. It’s the quickest cure for ignorance.” That was more directed to his family, his kind than anything else. But he believed it to be true as well. “We have history because stories were told” Orion repeated, mostly to himself. “I really like that.” He brightened up just thinking about it. It was one of the more positive takes on learning about history. Strength of one’s conviction? Well, clearly Orion was never going to become an exorcist. He could barely order take out without his voice shaking. “Sounds really.. heroic. And cool. Uh- I’m way more comfortable behind a book. Not really an in the action kinda guy. But- anything I can help you search for?” It would be hard, hunting down specific things in this darkness, but Professor Rothgard seemed to have found some of the things she had been looking for.

“Oh, it’s fine,” Rebecca waved the apology off, “I was mostly being facetious.” A gentler smile, as she watched him a little more closely. Uncomfortable in his skin, but not when he talked about history. He had a true passion for the subject, it seemed. “Well, that’s another thing we have in common, then. Hence why I became a professor. Helping blossom someone’s want to learn and pursue their passion is one of the greatest feelings in the world.” Her smile grew as he repeated her words. “Well, feel free to use it anytime, it can be our phrase now.” She leaned in a little closer, as if she were going to whisper something to him, “don’t tell anyone I read it in a fortune cookie, though. It’ll make you sound smarter.” And winked before leaning away again. “Heroic isn’t...quite the word, I suppose. Others might disagree with you, as well. But it’s what I like doing and what I’m good at, and if my skills can help the world, then all the better.” She ran her hands over the books she had piled up next to her. She was hesitant to involve him, but turning him away might do more harm later. She held one of the books out to him. “I’m looking for any information on sealing magic and Dybbuks. A second set of eyes might catch something I’ve missed, if you’re up for it?”

It was nice, hearing that Orion and the Professor shared something in common. Of course, he had known that already, without anything being said. But coming from her, it felt especially nice. He enjoyed meeting others with similar interests as his own. Especially considering how his family was always eager to remind Orion just how useless the degree was. He had decided long ago to not put much thought into what they said or did to him, but he still had to live with them. “I imagine that it is- it uh, must be nice to be able to inspire someone like that. I know it’s nice to have someone to look up to like that.” He giggled at the woman when she admitted that she got the phrase from a fortune cookie and intentionally brought his voice down to a whisper, “Your secret is safe with me.” So some people didn’t agree with exorcisms? He supposed on some level that it was similar to Orion not agreeing with his family’s legacy. Though ghosts and demons were obviously different from real, tangible people. “Really? People don’t agree with exorcisms? Like people that don’t think that it’s real or people that don’t think that ghosts should be like... exorcised?” He was genuinely curious, a profession that he hadn’t had much research into. It was fascinating. Then the Professor was holding a book out to him and asking him about looking over her research. “Dybbuk? I’m familiar with the name” He wracked his brain for the information, “It comes from Jewish mythology. Some kind of spirit that can possess things. Its Hebrew for ‘cling to”. That didn’t help much with deal with a real life one. He couldn’t know how a real life one compared to what must have been a centuries old myth. “I’d love to help out however I can.” He grabbed onto the book and flipped it onto it’s first page, ready to skim.

Rebecca was glad that her words seemed to bring him some sense of ease or peace. If it was validation he was looking for, she was all too eager to give it. People with passion like him deserved to be validated. “It is,” she answered truthfully, “and I’m sure if you wanted to, one day you could do that as well. It just takes understanding and compassion, after all. Anyone who wants to could easily do it.” She nodded back at him. “Good. You seem trustworthy.” His questions were to be expected. Most people didn’t really know anything about the truths of exorcisms and what it meant to be an exorcist. But she was all the more happy to answer questions because of that, especially when it was from an inquisitive mind and not a skeptical one. She thought, for a moment, back to Javier, and if his inquisitive mind could be swayed as well. “Not everyone agrees with it, no. It’s dangerous and some people-- and some spirits-- become attached to being...around. And while not all ghosts are problems, most of them will become one, eventually. It is an inevitability, of the ether calling back what it gave so willingly. Souls need to be reborn, recycled, and renewed. Sticking around past that due date has consequences.” These, of course, were just her beliefs. But she held them thoroughly and hadn’t changed her mind on that since she’d first heard Rabbi Emmaneul speak them. “Correct. I’m a little surprised, they’re not a well known spirit. Very few of them, but they’re powerful--” and extremely dangerous, “--and not to be trifled with. But, if you’re up for some research, I’d love the help. I’ll can buy you dinner when we’re done, or maybe some flood lights for this place,” she smiled.

Orion had already decided that he liked Professor Rothgard. Between the shared passion for knowledge and their aligning hobbies, it seemed obvious that the two would get along. Though personality was a big factor too. Athena loved learning too, but Rio wouldn’t soon consider the twins to be close like they once were. But Rebecca seemed to be doing her best to help others, just like Orion wanted to. “I do! Someday. In some way.” Maybe his legacy wasn’t to rebuild the Scribes, but he could still find a way to make a difference, no matter how small. “Interesting…” Rio thought on her words, taking it all in and considering all sides. He supposed those that died before they were ready would want to stick around. Though he wasn’t sure how much fun being a ghost would be. But that was an interesting bit of information- ghosts became a problem eventually? What did that mean? “What do you mean when you say that they mostly become problems eventually?” He knew that Blanche saw ghosts. He wondered to what extent. Were ghosts visible to those they were close to? Or could only certain people, people like Blanche, see them? “Can all exorcists see ghosts? Or like- Do you also have to have the ability? Or is there some kind of spell or something that you can take to see them?” There were so many questions that were unanswered, and Orion was not a fan of feeling like he was in the dark. Knowledge was the only thing that kept his anxiety at bay most days. “Well-uh I know more about them from history than I do the actual spirit” He shrugged. Her certainly didn’t know much about them outside of the name. “Of course. Count me in. But uh- you don’t have to buy me anything. I’m happy to help.”

“Curious one, aren’t you?” Rebecca said, the words rhetorical. She closed the book she’d opened and leaned against the table, chin in her palm, as if contemplating. “Well...the thing is, when a spirit comes back, their soul needs to be attached to something in order to stay on this plane. And over time, most spirits learn how to interact with the world, even if it’s just in small ways. Like, some ghosts can move things with their energy, the typical chair out from under you type ability. Some can control electronics, or fire, or even wind. But...that ability comes with a price. Being torn between two planes would be hard on anyone, let alone someone who’s died and can only mourn what they once had. That power turns into anger and that anger turns them into...poltergeists. Spirits that only want to cause pain. They, for lack of a better term, go insane. They can’t often control themselves anymore. It’s a tragedy, if I’m being honest. And no ghost is immune, no matter what they say. If they don’t move on, that’s their fate.” She sighed. The thoughts saddened her. Souls were supposed to move on, not ligner, not mourn. “Most exorcists are born mediums, yes, but not all exorcists are mediums. Just like not all mediums are exorcists. It certainly makes the job easier, to be able to see them, but it’s not necessary. There’s no spell, really, but there are things one can take to help see them. Prolonged use, as with most drugs, can cause problems, though.” She flipped open the book again, running her hand down the page until she found the spot she was looking for. “It’s a drug called Vizion. You’d be hard pressed to find it at CVS, though.” She opened a different. “Well, history and current lore kind of go hand in hand, don’t they? We only know about things and how to properly defend ourselves because of the history that was recorded about them, right? Fine, no dinner. But at least a thank you donut at some point. Kids like donuts, right?”

Orion shrugged, “Guilty” He chuckled at the fairly common remark. Curiosity. An eagerness to learn. Those were two of Orion’s defining traits. It may have been the only thing that Orion excelled in. The only thing that he could beat his sister in. Studying, learning. It hadn’t done him much good apparently. It was sad, listening to the professor explain the fate that all ghosts were destined for. It made Orion wonder just how many ghosts he must have passed on a daily basis. On top of that, how many were poltergeists? Or on the brink of becoming one? The thought was terrifying. White Crest more than any town must have an astronomical number of ghosts, just based on number of deaths alone. Not to mention the number of deaths from unexplained or mysterious circumstances. “Fascinating stuff. I mean it’s terrifying and terribly sad but… it’s crazy that there is a whole world like that just beneath our noses - maybe literally - and nobody knows it.” He tapped a finger against his cheek, pondering this information, “I mean obviously the whole supernatural community is like that… but like at the end of the day even if someone doesn’t believe in the supernatural they can still see someone turning into a werewolf or something. This is completely invisible unless you’re born with some gift or you take drugs. I’m guessing you happen to be a medium then?” One more question, then he would focus on his studies. Vizion. He would have to look further into that. Not because he wanted to take it himself, but because he was simply curious what it was for besides ghost watching. Orion shook the thought from his head, opting to focus on the task at hand and dive into the book. “I’m not a kid” Orion muttered half heartedly as he flipped a page, “I’m twenty.” He didn’t put much stock into it anymore. He was too used to people calling him a child. After a long moment and another page turned, Orion finally admitted “But I do like donuts.”

“Terrifying is one word for it, I suppose,” Rebecca said, sighing a little. “But it’s also quite amazing, don’t you think? The world is just full of terrifyingly amazing things. Truly wondrous things. Fear is not meant to stop us, but drive us.” She paused at his explanation, his question. That was just it, wasn’t it? People could see someone turn into a werewolf or other, but denial was a strong antidote to the truth. “True. Some ghosts can become visible, however, and there are exorcisms that make them visible, as well.” She rubbed the side of her jaw a moment in thought, before answering, “I’m not, no. A medium. I can feel and hear ghosts, but not see them.” Usually. Lately, that had been changing. At the edges of sleep, out of the corner of her eye-- sometimes, a ghost. She’d convinced herself she was seeing things, but she couldn't be sure anymore. “I trained myself to be able to do it. It took several long years of dedication, but it seems to have paid off, no?” She smiled again. He seemed upset by her words. She often forgot people associated child and kid with immaturity and disrespect. But that wasn’t what it meant to her. Childlike youth and inquisitive minds were something to behold, to respect. “Oh, I didn’t mean it like that. Being young is a gift. Besides,” she said, giving a little bitter chuckle, “by the time you’re my age, you’ll think twenty-year olds are children, too.”

“I do think you’re right,” Orion agreed, mostly. He basically thought that the professor was right, but it was hard for him to latch onto the words himself. Probably because he was scared of literally everything. “I just- well I’m afraid of a lot of things so it’s easier said than done I guess? I prefer to face my fear from the safety of a textbook.” He laughed, trying to dispell the mood. He didn’t want to disappoint her by disagreeing with her philosophy. He didn’t disagree with her philosophy. He just found it hard to follow himself. Orion couldn’t imagine how difficult it must be to follow a career path that she inherently had a disadvantage in. The dedication and force of will it must have taken her to train herself to be at the point that she was… that was impressive. “Wow. That’s cool.” He finally managed to mutter, staring at the professor with a bit of awe apparent in his voice and eyes. Could he ever be someone like her? Probably not. That was reserved for people like Athena. She could be so impressive if she wasn’t so evil and conniving. “Right, right of course. Sorry. I just- people tend to tell me that to downplay me or make fun of my size or… I don’t know. It’s just a reflex. My bad.” He smiled again, then buried his face into the books, determined to find something. Anything that might help.

“Well, knowledge is the first weapon to fighting fear, isn’t it?” Rebecca proposed with a soft smile. She understood fear well. She’d seen it and felt it enough. Knew the emotion intricately. But she couldn’t let it stop her. Not anymore. “It’s alright to be afraid. Fear is healthy. But, like with all things, in modicum.” She gave a short sigh, flipping listlessly through the book she’d poured through a thousand times. And as with each time before, there was little to nothing about anything that could help her problem. “Thank you. Talent is overrated, in my books,” she said off-handedly, “it’s hard work that creates the real geniuses.” She looked up from her book, over at him. He did have a bit of a smaller frame for a twenty-year old boy, but it had never mattered to Rebecca. She wasn’t exactly big or strong or athletic. “Well, next time, you can tell them that youth and being a child comes with its own kind of wisdom,” she started out, a little smirk growing on her face, “like being able to see through adults’ bullshit.”

Despite his own concerns, Orion was pleasantly surprised that the professor seemed to choose validating him over chastising or judging. It was a pleasant change to what he was used to. Her suggestions came across as exactly that, suggestions. Mottos to live by, not instructions or demands that must be followed like so many other adults wanted from him. Okay, he knew exactly who he was talking about specifically. Family. He laughed at Rebecca’s comment, “I’ll make sure to add that to my list of comebacks for next time, thanks.” It could be queued below silence, and above awkwardly laughing and leaving.

He dug further into the book in exorcisms. Flipping through pages as he tried to find anything that stuck out to him. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he finally spotted the name. “Woah.” He said aloud, perking up from his slumped position on the chair and staring at the name again. Jacob Goldman. In this book, the author mentions him as the closest thing the Scribe’s had to an expert on exorcisms in White Crest. But Rio knew that name. He jumped up from the chair and darted off down an aisle, cutting corners until he finally got to the section on White Crest. He remembered seeing that name before, somewhere in this section. He ran his hands along spines as he searched through the books until he finally spotted the one that he was looking for and ran it back over to the table. “So, Jacob Goldman was a Scribe here. He kept a journal of everything that he documented and did while he was alive. He eventually died.” Orion swallowed hard. It probably wasn’t necessary to mention that by all accounts that he could find, the man died while searching for a demon to exorcise. Orion flipped towards the back of the book, scanning through books until he finally found something. “Right here!” He set the journal onto the table so both could say, “He was on the search for some spirit. According to what he knew about it, he was trying to search for it’s name when it was a human. To use as some kind of binding spell. It didn’t really mean anything to me when I first read it, but I don’t know much about exorcisms”

It was a few hours before either of them spoke again. Rebecca had been, admittedly, drawn into the text she’d been reading and forgotten that there was another person in the room with her until he’d let out a soft exclamation. She was oft to do that, something Theo had always bugged her about. You can get lost, she’d always say, as long as you come back to me. And she always had. Always. Orion had toddered off somewhere, but Rebecca’s curiosity got the best of her, as she set her book aside and listened to him shuffle his way through the big, empty library. He came back soon with a new book in his hands, an excited look on his face. A scribe. Of course a scribe had the answer, all locked up and tucked away in a vast labyrinth where only a dedicated and privileged mind could find it. Not that she blamed Orion for this, but anything scribe left a sour taste in her mouth. She licked her lips, glanced at what he was pointing at, listening to what he was saying. She’d heard Rabbi Emmanuel speak about something like this before. Demons whose names held all their power, buried where no one could find while they grew stronger, consuming souls. “Of course…” Rebecca muttered under her breath, scribbling all this information down into her journal, “how could I have not realized? Oh, Orion! You’re a genius!” she exclaimed, hopping up to grab his shoulders and give him a good pat. “Thank you! This is just what I needed.” Finally, finally, she had something to cling onto. A thread of hope.

Maybe Orion was eager - no - desperate to impress the professor. Was he a teacher’s pet? Maybe, though he didn’t feel that way towards all teachers. It was the ones that he held a shared interest with. Professor Drake, Professor Beck and now Professor Rothbard. Those that valued knowledge as much as he did. So when he found the book and brought it over for her to examine he held his breath in anticipation that this was what she was looking for. That this could help. Because more than anything else in the world, wasn’t that what he was the most desperate to do? “No- no not a genius at all. I just have a lot of free time on my hands.” It had been more luck than anything else that he recognized the name and knew where to look. “But I hope that this helps” He closed the book again and held it out towards her, “Do you want to take it? He could have something else that helps in here.” If she would be leaving soon then he should too. It was best to stick around people for now. “Can I- help with anything? To get rid of that evil spirit thing?”

Rebecca gave him one of those stern, quit being modest looks. “Don’t downplay your achievements. You could be using your free time for other stuff, but you chose to do this. And remembering an entire passage from reading it once is pretty amazing, if you ask me,” she said, beaming down at him. Not just because she was proud of him, but because she couldn’t help the excitement inside of her. She wanted to say yes, to take the book, but if he found it, all this progress would be ruined. For now, her coded notes would work. “No, no, that’s alright. I have all I need right here, now,” she said, patting her journal. “And you’ve done plenty to help, trust me. You can leave the rest to me, I’ll take care of it. But thank you, Orion. You really are a smart kid. Don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise.” And she would make sure the dybbuk never set foot in this place, because if he did, she wasn’t going to be the only one in danger anymore.

#c: rebecca #rebecca #chatzy: rebecca #chatzy #lessons learned

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silvertail-ffxiv · 4 years

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Get to know my muse; A to Z! >:D

@illia-ast - thank you! Also, oh my, going hardcore! Here we go!

ABCs of getting to know my muse(s)

A) Their full name. Jesah’ya Khutyajo of the Moonclaw Tribe was the name he was born with. He no longer uses Khutyajo and is considered an exile of the Moonclaws though (if any are still living other than himself and his children).

Currently, he normally goes by Jesah’ya Silvertail. Silvertail is a moniker given to him by the Beast Tribes from his distinctive, floofy tail.

B) Age. Around 28 years old. He’s not sure of his exact year of birth, but remembers enough ‘big events’ to give an idea that’s within a few years.

C) Height. 5′9″ (69 inches or 175 cm)

D) Pronouns. He/Him/His.

E) Species (if not human). Miqo’te, specifically Keeper of the Moon.

F) Favourite beverage and/or meal. Warm milk-tea is his favorite drink. His favorite meal is herb-roasted dodo.

G) Hobbies and favourite pastimes. Reading, learning languages, and he’s currently learning to carve.

H) Something they’re exceptionally good at. Tracking things, be it plants, animals, or people.

I) 2 things they really enjoy. Horseback riding (although he’s only gotten to do it occasionally) & reading books, especially those with mythologies and similar stories.

J) 2 things they’re not really fond of. Being up at noon (the sun is painful to his eyes) and very hot weather.

K) 1 of their pet peeves. Needless cruelty, especially toward something smaller or helpless.

L) Their favourite kind of weather. Cold, crisp, and clear. A little bit of snow is ideal.

M) A few interesting facts about them.

Jes is a low-level empath. He can’t do anything drastic like pick-up lines or instantly sense intent, but he’s good at reading feelings and moods. It works on people as well as animal.

He actually has a strong connection to the Aether and particularly the Elementals (potentially the Kami), but has no awareness or training. It results in him getting ‘feelings’ or seeing a brief vision of ‘something’ that might lead him away from danger or to something that needs help.

He has a lovely singing voice, but doesn’t know it since he only sings quietly to his children.

N) Favourite movie or music genre. Jes has a fondness for tribal music. His particular favorite is the flute.

O) What’s their dream profession? Jes doesn’t really have one? He’s never really thought of being anything but a hunter. If he thought about it, he’d probably enjoy something that let him be home and rest a bit more though.

P) Is there something or someone they cannot stand? Why? Jes has a strong dislike of Wood Wailers. He won’t (quite) attack on sight, but he doesn’t trust them, doesn’t want to be around them, and is far more openly aggressive toward them than most people. Wood Wailers were responsible for the death of many of his clan and have nearly killed him more than once. Their brutal treatment of anyone not conforming to what Gridania decides as well as their harsh treatment toward those not of the ‘proper’ race/species, such as Duskwights has made Jes despise them in general. His current sole exception is the retired Wood Wailer Buscarron, who is very different from the others in Jes’s opinion.

Q) Did they do something extremely dangerous at some point in their life? Honestly, Jes does dangerous things pretty much most of his life. He bounty-hunts large and dangerous animals, normally solo. He willingly makes contact with Beast Tribes to discover if they’re potentially friendly or Tempered in the effort to help them. He does a lot of dangerous stuff without even thinking about it.

R) Is there something they wish they could do/achieve but can’t? Jes would love to somehow give the Beast Tribes the equality they deserve. He hates the fact that they are treated like animals or vermin simply because they’re not classed as ‘Spoken’. They are just as intelligent, complex, and aware as any Spoken he’s ever met and he finds it disgusting so many cities do not treat them as such.

S) Is there something in their life they regret? Sometimes, Jes regrets having children. Not because of the children themselves. He adores his kids and would do anything for them. They’re the most precious things in his life. He regrets that he brought them into a situation where they suffered when they were younger and he worries he will do a poor job of giving them what they need to be safe and happy. So less he regrets the children and more regrets that he had them without more awareness to what he was bringing them into.

T) Do they have any siblings? Family? Loved ones? Jes technically has seven brothers, but only two are potentially still alive and he has never met them. He has no older family still alive to his knowledge, but he has his five young children. The three Miqo’te who he lives with and provide for that help him raise his children are family to him. Their names are Aurhi, Hauh’ti and Nya. For loved ones who aren’t necessarily blood or ‘family’ at the moment, he’s very fond of Helios and Latika’a. ( @redgentleman-ffxiv & @latikaa-renaz for mention)

U) Are they a morning or night person? Definitely a night person. Jes can function during the day, but it’s harder on him. His ‘normal’ hours are up at about two pm, working/hunting/etc. during the evening and night, and going to bed around nine or ten am.

V) Do they have a pet? What kind? If not, what kind of pet would they want? He doesn’t currently have any animal he would consider a ‘pet’. He has three chocobos for his work as a courier and transporter for the Sirens, or his work hunting. There is Ehva, whose older and semi-retired but his first chocobo. The other two are Runje, a fast but flightly bird he normally uses when he wants to get there quickly, and then Bosa, who is huge and not very fast, but enormously strong and stoic that he uses for pulling carts or hunting particuarly dangerous prey. While he is fond of them and treats them very well, he wouldn’t call them ‘pets’.

W) How would they describe themselves in 5 or less words? Jes stared for nearly a minute before clearing his throat. “Um...Pale Confused Miqo’te?”

X) Do they have a goal in life? What is it? Jes’s current goal in life is to find a way to make better money and find a larger, safer place to raise his children. He is often not home and very overworked trying to provide for three adults, five young children, and himself being the only one who currently has steady work and income.

Y) Is there anything in their life that’s stopping them from succeeding? Himself. Jes doesn’t tend to ask for help. He’s also someone who thinks this is his ‘place’ and life and doesn’t really know what to do to improve it, even when he wants to. He just toils figuring this is ‘the best he can hope for’, which really hurts him in the long run. If he was more willing to talk to people about his problems and ask for some guidance on how to improve it, he’d probably be in a better place.

Z) Do they have an item that means a lot to them? He has a necklace of carved bone arrowheads he wears. It was a gift from his great-aunt Cerah, one of the few in the tribe that seemed to want him to survive and be strong. She taught him more than more than most and when he left the tribe at sixteen, she gave it to him to help keep him safe. The arrowheads are carved with symbols to Oschon, the Elementals, and Menphina and often worn by hunters of his tribe for luck and protection.

#character: jes #answers #headcanons #illia ast

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nerdierholler · 4 years

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OC Interview Questions

I was tagged but @heraldofwho (thank you!) and I’m tagging @slothssassin, @katajanokka , @dickeybbqpit, and @bronzeagelove plus anyone else who just wants to! I’m going to go with post-Trespasser Ithlen, because I miss her.

In a camp, somewhere near the Teviner border with a small band of scouts from the former Inquisition.

name ➔ Ithlen Lavellan Mahariel are you single ➔ There’s a sad smile, “Yes, I am.” are you happy ➔ Happy as I can be, given the circumstances. When your work consumes your time and identity, happiness can be hard to define. Things are going well, plans are being made, and I still have the luxury of enjoying the small things in life. are you angry ➔ At the moment, no. In general, sometimes. It’s always there under the surface, anger about the way parts of my life have played out, the reasoning leading up to our current state of affairs, the fact that I have once more taken on another seemingly impossible task that few will fully comprehend or thank me for should I be successful. It’s too easy to be consumed by those thoughts, and there have been times in my life when that has been the case. I try to stay focused on the task at hand these days. are your parents still married ➔ Still? They never were. I wonder how much different my life would have been had they been allowed to. The world might be a very different place as a result.

More under the cut!

NINE FACTS

birthplace ➔ Brecilian Forest, Ferelden hair color ➔ black, with an increasing number of grays mixed in. eye color ➔ gray birthday ➔ late fall mood ➔ Tired, always tired. Other than that, content I suppose. gender ➔ female summer or winter ➔ Summer. It probably goes back to growing up in the forest. Summer was a time of plenty. Long days where you could get so much done and still have time to enjoy yourself after. Winter was a time of patience. Watching food stores, being even more careful stalking prey, cooped up crafting or weaving in the aravels to pass the time. I liked the soups and storytelling around the fires with warm mugs though.

morning or afternoon ➔ Morning. Get up, get going, hopefully get enough done to enjoy a little break for tea later.

EIGHT THINGS ABOUT YOUR LOVE LIFE

are you in love ➔ I...don’t know. ‘It’s complicated’ would be the understatement of the age. But there is someone out there I care very much about and who weighs heavily on my mind. I’m not sure I’d call it love, but it’s something. do you believe in love at first sight ➔ For myself, no. I’m much too practical for that. I’m also so focused on my work that it’s usually the last thing I would ever think of when meeting someone new. who ended your last relationship ➔ We both did, him maybe more than me. We were heading down different paths, though at the time I had no idea just how different they really were. have you ever broken someone’s heart ➔ *She sighs* Probably, when I was very young. I didn’t mean to and we both thought I might change my mind some day. I loved Tamlen, just not in that way, and I’m not exactly sure how he felt about that. It wasn’t something we discussed. I know we were expected to marry and he was more at home with that than I was. are you afraid of commitments ➔ Not at all, although some may look at the patterns of my life and say otherwise.

have you hugged someone within the last week? ➔ This week? No. But it depends on the week and who I’m with. There are times where I may hug several people in a day quite happily. have you ever had a secret admirer ➔ It’s very likely, though no one has ever approached me or sent me mysterious notes and gifts if that’s what you’re asking. have you ever broken your own heart? ➔ Yes. *the word is barely a whisper*

SIX CHOICES

love or lust ➔ I don’t see why it can’t be both, but if I have to pick one, love. Even if we aren’t in a romantic relationship, we still need love, and there are so many kinds of love. Love is important. lemonade or iced tea ➔ Neither. Hot tea is my preference year round. cats or dogs ➔ I’ve had wonderful companions of both over the years. My current situation prevents me from having either with me, but I always stop to visit with the friendly ones when I’m on my travels.

a few best friends or many regular friends ➔ A few best friends. Apparently I have a long standing reputation for being distant. It’s not entirely untrue, but I have my reasons for keeping most people at an arm’s length. wild night out or romantic night in ➔ I can probably count the wild nights out I’ve had my whole life on one hand and haven’t had one in well over a decade. Romantic night in is my choice. day or night ➔ I don’t quite understand what I’m choosing here, but day I suppose if only because sometimes unpleasant things lurk in the quiet dark, especially when we’re alone.

FIVE HAVE YOU EVERS

been caught sneaking out ➔ Caught leaving to go do something I wasn’t supposed to be doing, not that I can recall. Gotten caught after the fact? Frequently when I was growing up.

fallen down/up the stairs ➔ Are there people out there who haven’t? Not to mention, I lived in a keep for 10 years, anyone who says no is lying.

wanted something/someone so badly it hurt? ➔ So many things. And I’ve learned that sometimes that hurt never fully goes away. wanted to disappear ➔ Many times, sometimes just to avoid getting in trouble with the Keeper, but there are still times where I want to wander away and stop being the person everyone is depending on. If I really wanted to, I probably could, but I’d never be able to look at my reflection again.

FOUR PREFERENCES

smile or eyes ➔ Both. shorter or taller ➔ Most people are taller than me so this one’s not that difficult. But to tell the truth, it doesn’t matter much to me.

intelligence or attraction ➔ A pretty face can only take one so far if there’s nothing to talk about and all you end up doing is staring at each other for hours. hook-up or relationship ➔ Relationship. Hook-ups are not in the best interest of a person in my position, but that’s also just not who I am. I’ve always been too serious about things like that.

FAMILY

do you and your family get along ➔ I've never had a family in the traditional sense. Growing up I got along well with the clan and those in it. Then the wardens were my family and it’s always a good idea to get alone with one’s commander. Seriously though, I was proud to oversee those men and women. The Inquisition was a messier family, I think that’s usually the case when politics get involved. There were good people there, but it was a huge organization and it’s probably best that most have a little more space now. would you say you have a “messed up life” ➔ Surprisingly, no. If you list the many turns my life has taken, I suspect most would say it is, but it’s just life to me, and the only kind I’ve known for a very long time. I wouldn’t wish it on anyone else though. have you ever ran away from home ➔ No. In fact the Keeper practically had to throw me out to get me to go with Duncan. I’ve had to leave homes since then, but I’ve never run away from them.

have you ever gotten kicked out ➔ I wouldn’t say she kicked me out, but the Keeper was very firm in her insistence that I join the Grey Wardens. In fairness, I would have died, or worse, if I hadn’t.

FRIENDS

do you secretly hate one of your friends ➔ No? Is that a thing? do you consider all of your friends good friends ➔ Yes. I keep a small circle of friends and they are all close. who is your best friend ➔ Leliana and Nate. Though now I’m usually out of contact with both for longer periods. I miss them terribly.

who knows everything about you ➔ See my previous answer, though Leliana probably edges out Nate just because she’s Leliana. It’s to be expected when you choose to have one of the best spymasters in the world as your best friend.

#dragon age #ithlen lavellan mahariel

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vecna · 4 years

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For fandom meme-swtor?

Send me a fandom!

This one isn’t as spicy as the Dragon Age one, but I still got Wordy.

Also there’s lots of KOTFE/KOTET/etc spoilers in here, so don’t read if you don’t want to see em. (Looking at you, Chignon.)

The character(s) I first fell in love with:

My own OCs haha.

But more seriously: It was actually Darth Malgus! I was always going to play a Star Wars MMO, let’s be real. But when they started posting promo videos and cinematics for the game, my Sith-loving ass immediately gravitated to that guy haha. And then, it turned out he had the same VA as The Architect from Dragon Age, and that was it for me.

If we’re talking about companions, then it was probably Malavai Quinn. Sith Warrior was the first class I got to 50, and Quinn was the first companion that I really got overly attached to haha.

The character(s) I never expected to love as much as I do now:

Most (not all, but most) of the “new” companions that came in with KOTFE and beyond. I was initially really sour when I realized we were losing all our class storyline companions, and they were being replaced with a new crew of Lana, Theron, Koth, my mother-in-law Senya, etc. Especially when they – at the time – said we’d eventually get our class companions back, but it would be a while. So I started KOTFE sure that I would hate the new crew because I would rather have the old one…. and ended up liking them quite a lot! Mostly, lol.

The character(s) everyone else loves that I don’t:

Doc is the main one, jesus christ. If you didn’t read my last post, I just really really really do not mesh well with overly sexual and Adult Humor-y characters who scold you with a “You’re no fun.” if your OC isn’t into it. Doc is the worst example of it that I’ve ever encountered. I always play a male JK, and the fact nearly all of his convos amount to, “Boy, you and me are going to be up to our eyeballs in vagina when this war ends, amirite?” “You don’t want that? Come on, the Jedi Code doesn’t say you can’t FUCK, live a little.” “You’re no fun. Well, more for me.” drives me NUTS. This combined with how he interacts with Kira just does me in. Shoves him out an airlock.

Dark Side Jaesa is another big one, albeit mainly for OOC reasons. I just hate the fact that she even exists, really. I get the appeal of a story where a Sith corrupts a Jedi to the Dark Side, but the way she does a total 180 into gross hedonism while Serving You always just makes me cringe. Plus there’s the fact that straight dudebro gamers are really nasty with her, and she’s the main companion I always see men put into the slave bikini outfit, and just yikes.

Also just a lot of one-off NPCs that everyone goes crazy for and ships their OCs with, but I constantly forget who they even are lol. Attros Finn comes to mind. I don’t hate them! Just don’t get the appeal I guess.

The character(s) I love that everyone else hates:

Lord Scourge, although I’m not sure he’s really hated as much anymore. I just remember at launch, when all of the overly invested Revan stans absolutely HATED him because of what he did in the Revan novel, and then flooded the tags with vitriol over being “stuck” with him as a Knight, and having to hear about Revan in his companion convos. It was really, really tiresome! Maybe it’s because I never really cared that deeply about Revan as my personal character, but I could not understand the backlash.

Anyway, Lord Scourge is my favorite companion in the game by a long shot. I love the conversations you can have with him about the Jedi vs Sith, and I love the mutually respectful tone those conversations take. (Where other Bioware companions who disagree with you have a tendency to just go, “You’re wrong.” and shut you down.) The fact that he’s so tied in with the plot just makes me love him more, really.

The character(s) I used to love but don’t any longer:

Cytharat, Koth and Theron mostly. Although this takes a bit of explaining, and is a bit Discourse-y – because I really appreciate them as characters, but their role and Bioware’s decisions with them is what made me no longer love them.Here’s the thing: Bioware has a bad habit of introducing male characters that are bisexual, and then having them betray you, leading to situations where they either get murdered or vanish from the narrative entirely. Meanwhile, bisexual women like Lana are untouched and around forever.

I was overjoyed when I first saw Cytharat. Y'all know I’m a ho for purebloods, and the fact that he was Malgus’ apprentice was fascinating to me – and then he turned out to be a bi romance. I got very hyped for him, only to find out he dies like 5 minutes later – or if you save him, he’s never seen again. Huge letdown.

Koth was the first character I fell in love with of the new KOTFE crew – I even initiated a romance with him! – but it quickly became obvious there’s no way to play the expansion without him turning on you judgementally at some point or another. And then, hey big surprise, you can kill him or else he’s never seen again.

Theron I’ve loved since we first got to know him in the Forged Alliances content, but that whole storyline where he seemingly betrays you out of nowhere, only to later reveal he didn’t actually, idk. And then, once again, you either kill him or he disappears from the story. It felt like a weirdly shoehorned in plot for shock value, and robbed us of a second bi MOC character.

You see the trend here? I want to love these characters, but Bioware continually electing to do this shit with bi dudes is tiresome and makes me unwilling to invest any interest in the characters anymore.

The character(s) I would totally smooch:

None.

The character(s) I’d want to be like:

None really come to mind? I just want to be a Jedi, come on.

The character(s) I’d slap:

Hunter all day every day.

The pairing(s) that I love:

Haha, this question is hard, because most of the SWTOR ships I’m invested in are between my OCs and my friends’ OCs.

However.

SCOURGE / KNIGHT IS THE BIG ONE, THE ULTIMATE, THE ALL-TIME FAVORITE. It’s really hard to describe just how much I love this ship, and just how much time and energy I’ve invested into it over the past… 8 years wow……….. To the point of being almost territorial. And it’s also near impossible for me to talk about why I love it, because the version I ship is so personalized with my specific Jedi Knight, especially since it had to live exclusively in headcanon land for so long. Scourge is, more or less, my Knight’s support pillar and the thing that grounds him and keeps him humble, in a world where my Knight is surrounded by people who expect him to be a pure flawless messiah. But, I mean. How can you have a man look at your character and say, “I’ve waited 300 years to see your face.” and not immediately ship it. And then I finally got vindicated after all these years when it was made canon!

I really love Arcann / Knight for a lot of the same reasons as the above, but I just really adore his one (1) romance convo haha. Granted, yes he did a lot of fucked up things, but I was so grateful when he had like… a Zuko-esque redemption. Where he comes to your character and firmly believes he doesn’t deserve forgiveness, and especially doesn’t deserve affection, and is instead met with acceptance and a chance to grow and heal. That’s the good shit.

Others:

Lana / Warrior and Lana / Inquisitor are my particular jam. I endlessly enjoy the mutual respect between Lana and those particular PCs.

Malavai Quinn / Sith Warrior is a longtime fave, and although I DO love him with a female Warrior, I really do with he’d been an option for dudes as well. And I feel the same in reverse about Vette / Warrior – I do like her with a male Warrior, and it’s so sweet and wholesome and endearing, but man I wish she’d been an option for female Warriors.

I ship Risha with every woman – especially Vette and Sumalee – and will be salty until my grave that Risha / f!Smuggler isn’t possible, because I love Risha with the Smuggler but she gives me powerful WLW vibes.

Agent / Watcher Two is also a lowkey favorite, but I ALSO wish it could be done with a female Agent instead. Same with Agent / Raina Temple.

Agent / Vector is very sweet, but again, I will be salty until my grave that it couldn’t be done with a male Agent.

Can you guys sense a running theme here?

Finally: NGL I love Valkorion / Senya, even though that ended in pure disaster.

And people around here used to ship Keeper / Lokin, and tbh, I still kinda love it lol.

The pairing(s) that I despise:

In general terms, I fucking hate every single romance that involves the male PC romancing his padawan or underling, especially since most of them seem like very young girls. I don’t know why this is so pervasive in the game, but yikes Bioware. Consular/Nadia is the worst offender, but they’re all just cringe central for me.

But the big one is Agent / Hunter. This would have gotten me run off Tumblr back in the day, but god I hate this pairing. I mentioned in the last post that I just will never enjoy ships where the two characters actively want to murder each other, but. This just gets magnified for me with Agent/Hunter, where all the mind control and blatant abuse comes into play – and people have a tendency to write noncon rape fic of the two and present it as ~sexy rivalmance~, which is awful. Add to this the “no homo” reveal where Hunter turns out to be a woman, after getting everyone hyped about a dude flirting with their male character the whole game, and it’s just a huge No Thanks from me all around.

And for largely personal reasons I just don’t like seeing female Knights with Scourge. Listen, for YEARS I was treated like a pariah for shipping Scourge with my male Knight, while being unable to find Scourge content that didn’t have a female Knight plastered all over him. Even though he wasn’t even a romance option one way or another, the way the fandom treated m!Knight/Scourge with disdain while ardently shipping f!Knight/Scourge was offputting as shit. And then, after years, he was made a romance option for women AND men, and all these awful people acted like they were robbed, the way people reacted when Kaidan and Jaal were made bi in Mass Effect. I’m so tired. I never want to see Scourge with a female Knight again.

#misc: text #misc: meme #series: star wars #vg: the old republic #long post #scorpio-dw

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grimelords · 5 years

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My April playlist is finished! Please allow me to take you on a journey from the heaven of THP Orchestra to the hell of Inter Arma over three action packed hours. Specially sequenced for maximum enjoyment, there’ll be at least one thing in here you’ll love - I guarantee it. Listen here.

Good To Me - THP Orchestra: I've said it before and I'll say it again, the number one way to find good songs is to go through the whosampled page for Duck Sauce's 2013 album Quack because every single thing they put into that album is a bonafide classic.

I'm Your Boogie Man - KC & The Sunshine Band: I saw Jungle last week and they were absolutely amazing, and the venue started playing this song as soon as the house lights went up after the show which is an extremely good way to get people to not leave your venue and boogie instead. My favourite part of this is near the end of the second verse where he gets even lazier than normal with the lyrics and just says "I want to love you.. ah.. from sundown.. sunup".

Work It Out - A-Trak: I love this new A-Trak song that sounds like a secret lost bonus track from Discovery right down to that specific wah sound on the guitar.

Starlight - The Supermen Lovers: There was all this news last year that Music Sounds Better With You by Stardust was getting remastered and rereleased for its 20th anniversary and was going to finally be on streaming services that seems to have just.. not happened. It never materialized so now I'm stuck listening to the 2nd rate but still extremely good Music Sounds Better With You knockoff, Starlight by the worst named band ever The Supermen Lovers. The songs aren't even that similar particularly but that's just my personal feelings.

Girlsrock - Siriusmo: A friend of mine is a sort of expert on the whole Ed Banger mid-late 2000s electro scene and it's extremely good because he'll just send me songs like this every now and then that are totally sick and make it feel like there was somehow thousands of hours of this kind of music produced at that time and only the tip of the iceberg made it to public consumption.

11:17 - Danger: Somehow I didn't even notice that Danger had a new album in January but I'm finally listening now and it's a proper return to form and really, really good. This song sounds like if the haunted VHS tape from the The Ring was taped over an 80s workout video.

Ultrasonic Sound - Hive: I went to a 20th anniversary screening of The Matrix at The Astor and great news: that movie still kicks ass and rocks completely and has possibly gotten better in the two decades since its release. Someone had curated a really good mix that they were playing in the foyer after the movie and this song was in it. A heady mix of drum and bass and nu-metal guitar crunch that feels like a 1999 calendar picked up by a strong wind and slapping you in the face.

Homo Deus VII - Deantoni Parks: STILL loving and finding new things to love about this Deantoni Parks album for the third month in a row. I'm repeating myself but this music is just so good and feels so completely original to me. It's a great mix of complete technical mastery and the self imposed limitations of a restricted sample palette. Forcing himself to do absolutely everything he can with the sound and fairly well exhausting it over the course of 9 minutes.

Catacomb Kids - Aesop Rock: There's a good line to trace between this and Acid King by Malibu Ken where Aesop Rock's been thinking about Ricky Kasso for like ten years now which is interesting. There's lots of just very nice sounding lines in this like "Crispy the godsender who thunk over a quarter plunk to local Mortal Kom vendor". Just good weird word combos painting a very impressionistic picture of growing up. "deplanting cadavers" "zoo-keeper facelift". Very nice.

Mask Off - Future: I've never listened to Future much which is weird because he's very good but this is a song that just comes into my head pretty often. Metro Boomin's brain is huge and the vibe he created on this is just amazing. Wringing this sort of atmosphere out of the sample without sacrificing any of the trap beat at the center of it is such an achievement.

Old Town Road (Remix) - Lil Nas X and Billy Ray Cyrus: Everything that could ever be said about Old Town Road has probably already been written by now but my favourite part is finding out that the sample is from Ghosts by Nine Inch Nails which means it's also Trent Reznor's first writing credit on a #1 song. Absolutely praying for Trent and Atticus to join Lil Nas X and Billy Ray Cyrus on stage at the Grammys to perform this.

Claudia Lewis - M83: Every so often I remember just how good Hurry Up We're Dreaming is and listen to it on repeat for a while. It's absolutely amazing. Start to finish (except for Raconte-Moi Une Historie which SUCKS) it's just fantastic. I looked up why this song is called Claudia Lewis and it turns out that has an extremely good answer "I was surfing the web & found this website with space poems – Claudia Lewis had 3-4 space poems on this site. They were pretty bad space poems but I found it super moving, there was something very innocent about it. She’s probably super young like 12 or 14 but I don’t know her or how she looks or anything about her. I just know that she writes cheesy space poems."

OK Pal - M83: Every single musical element of this song is just perfect. I love the huge broad chords, the synth bends, the massive drums, the inverted Dead Flag Blues monologue. It's just beautiful.Little Secrets - Passion Pit: Passion Pit is currently on a 10th anniversary tour for Manners and I feel age 100 which is no good. But this song is good and it contains in my opinion one of the all time greatest drum fills after the first chorus. Huge, super air-drummable, and very functional: perfect.

Blood - City Calm Down: I think "I'm the one who wants your blood" is just such a great an evocative refrain and I wish he said it one million times more in this song.

Television - City Calm Down: Absolutely love the idea of writing a song about how bloody TV is the bloody opiate of the masses that sounds like a Clash cover in 2019 and sounding so deliberately out of the zeitgeist and doing it so well and with such conviction that it’s absolutely great.

I Am The Resurrection - The Stone Roses: We went to Andrew McLelland's Finishing School and he played this as his last song in honour of Easter Sunday and described it as the greatest piece of acoustic dance music he's ever heard which is honestly not a bad description - it's an absolute jam.

Daisy - Pond: It's very cool that there's like an evil, mirror version of Tame Impala that exists in Pond. I think every band should have that.

Crying Lighting - Arctic Monkeys: Basically the reason this song is on this list is because I got stuck in a loop of saying "your pastimes, consisted of the strange and twisted and deranged and I hate that little game you had called "crying lightning" in a Werner Herzog voice to myself and I thought it was funny.

Keeping Time - Angie McMahon: Angie McMahon is so damn good at songs and I cannot believe it! She's only got like 5 and they're all incredible. She’s gonna be huge!

The House That Heaven Built - Japandroids: Sterogum had a really good writeup the other day about Post-Nothing turning 10 years old that turned into a wrap up of why Japandroids are such a good band and why Celebration Rock is a perfect album and it really crystallized a lot of my feelings about them. They're number one on my list of Bands That Make You Want To Start A Band for a good reason and this article really nails the whole young men figuring it all out feeling of Japandroids' music. I really think both Japandroids albums should be called Youth And Young Manhood but Kings Of Leon already took that name. I remember when my friend first turned me on to Post-Nothing he said he didn't want to tell anyone else except me because it was so good and it was Best Friends Music and I really believe that. It’s best friends music through and through. When I saw them a couple of years ago it was as part of a sort of impromptu road trip with my best friend and I think that was the best context I could have given it. It's absolutely one of the best shows I've been to in my life and also Osher Gunsberg was in the crowd behind me but that's not part of the story. https://www.stereogum.com/2041439/japandroids-post-nothing-turns-10/franchises/the-anniversary/

Motor Runnin - Pist Idiots: The pub rock revival just keeps getting better and better. At the minute it's basically just Bad//Dreems, West Thebarton and these guys but I'm sure there's a million other bands bubbling under that are just about to break as well. I love this song, it's just straight up old fashioned pissed off rock and roll that somehow doesn't feel old fashioned at all.

Chains - As Cities Burn: As Cities Burn have reunited and have a new album coming out and I'm extremely wary of it because they're potentially ruining their previously discussed perfect streak. This is the first single and it's.. good I guess. It's kind of just normal and sort of outdated, a little bit of a step backward into safety for a band that was always changing and moving forward. I think I have a worm living in my brain though because I keep listening to it just because I really love the drum sound. They're very nicely mixed. Some very nice sounding drums.

Whacko Jacko Steals The Elephant Man's Bones - The Fall Of Troy: I was talking with some friends about young musicians because of Billie Eilish, and so we were talking about how Alanis Morrisette won a grammy when she was 21 and Taylor Swift won a grammy when she was 20 and Lorde made Royals when she was 17 and all that but what people don't realise is Thomas Erak wrote Doppelganger when he was 20 and it was his second album. He's 34 now and his music sucks badly. That's insane. What will happen to me when I'm 34? Chilling to think about.

A New Uniform / Patagonia - Tera Melos: I think Patagonian Rats is still my favourite Tera Melos album. Toss up between that and Untitled actually. But I love this one for how cohesive it feels. For a band whose whole ethos is chaos it's amazing how well it all comes together as a complete work tied up with a bow by the Skin Surf reprise near the end. I love this song because it's two sketches of songs tied together into one little chaotic lump and the big Primary! Secondary! finale is just so satisfying.

Talking Heads - Black Midi: Black Midi finally have actually proper recorded songs on spotify! The way Black Midi is getting talked about at the moment really feels like the days of blog buzz are back, it's crazy. If you haven't seen it yet here's the KEXP session that's rightfully getting them so much attention https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TMn1UuEIVvA I've watched it so many times and it's really something. The best part is the comments are full of music dudes just naming every band ever. "this sounds like if slint, polvo and hella did crack and had a gangbang" yuck "imagine them opening for Swans and/or Daughters" yuck "they're like if Minute Men and Frank Zappa had a baby and that baby dated the child of Talking Heads and Can but then got dumped for their best friend who was adopted and raised by their single parent Voivod but they were cool and stayed friends and listened to Tortoise and Thelonious Monk and got stoned and started a band and conquered the world." yuck "Slint meets Sonic youth meets Pere Ubu meets drive like jehu meets Beefheart...these guys took all that is deranged and twisted in rock and made one big soup of it!" yuck. Anyway the point is they rock completely and here's my addition to the band names: the way he sings sounds like Sting lol.

Walking On The Moon - The Police: This song makes you dumb I think. It's like the dumbest song in the world and listening to it makes your brain mushier, which makes you dumb and stupid. It's very good.

Rubber Bullies - Tropical Fuck Storm: I saw Tropical Fuck Storm opening for Kurt Vile the other day and it was absolutely incredible. My first time seeing them properly, not counting the live soundtrack they did for No Country For Old Men which was was a whole different kind of amazing. It feels like Gaz has finally put together a band that can keep up with is ferocious energy and the result is scary - they basically tore the place apart which makes them a funny opener for Kurt Vile who was as chilled out, relaxed and fun as you'd expect. They played this song near the end of their set and somehow I hadn't really noticed it when I listened to the album but now I can't stop listening to it. It's so good. I love the increasing paranoia of the backing vocals, especially in the last verse as it builds and builds.

Taman Shud - The Drones: This might be the best Drones song. It's a list that's constantly being revised in my head but it's top 5 definitely. It's nice listening to Feeling Kinda Free now knowing what he was going to do with Tropical Fuck Storm because it's all here. Fighting against the constraints of his regular sound and regular songwriting and eventually finding the solution in forming a whole new band. I love this song for a million reasons but the escalation of the disregard is very good. “I don't care about Andrew Bolt or Ned Kelly or the southern cross or the union jack” and you're nodding and then he says ‘I don't really care if you're a pedophile’ and you're nodding but slower. I get what he means in terms of media hype and whatever but it's still a very funny line. Anyway "why'd I give a rats about your tribal tats? You came here on a boat you fucking cunt" is grade A.

Dawn Patrol - Megadeth: The best thing about Megadeth is the sort of half baked politics. Dave Mustaine is the best kind of moron, he engages with everything at a gut level but believes he's being very cerebral about it at the same time. This little intro song about a nuclear post-apocalypse is so good because it's a legitimate warning and a response to legitimate worries but it's also like.. wouldn't that be sick if we had to wear gas masks and carry assault rifles around because all the nukes exploded and everyone was dead. What if there was zombies.

Rust In Peace... Polaris - Megadeth: The story behind Holy Wars... The Punishment Due is so good. "Mustaine has said that at a show in Antrim, Northern Ireland, he discovered bootlegged Megadeth T-shirts were on sale. He was dissuaded from taking action to have them removed on the basis that they were part of fund raising activities for "The Cause", explained as something to bring equality to Catholics and Protestants in the region. Liking how "The Cause" sounded as was explained to him, Mustaine dedicated a performance of "Anarchy In The UK" to it, causing the audience to riot. The band were forced to travel in a bulletproof bus after the show" I just love him. I'd like to share a Dave Mustain quotes about this song also. "I was driving home from Lake Elsanon. I was tailgating somebody, racing down the freeway, and I saw this bumper sticker on their car and it said, you know, this tongue in cheek stuff like, ‘One nuclear bomb could ruin your whole day,’ and then I looked on the other side and it said, ‘May all your nuclear weapons rust in peace,’ and I’m going, ‘'Rust in Peace.’ Damn, that’s a good title.‘ And I’m thinking like, 'What do they mean, rust in peace?’ I could just see it now – all these warheads sitting there, stockpiled somewhere like seal beach, you know, all covered with rust and stuff with kids out there spray-painting the stuff, you know." Goes ahead and writes a kick ass song from the perspective of a nuclear warhead containing the line "rotten egg air of death wrestles your nostrils".

Planet B - King Gizzard & The Lizard Wizard: King Gizz are Megadeth now and I love it! The cold war is global warming now and we desperately need new thrash metal about it to save us!

Primodial Wound - Inter Arma: If you can't tell by me including three of their songs on this playlist I'm still having an absolute time with Inter Arma. Something I really love about this band is their ability to sit in a vibe for so long and expand on it. They're not songs with narrative arcs and multiple contrasting sections, they're songs that just kind of dig deeper on themselves. This one starts deep and then by thinning out entirely at around 6 minutes in only gets darker.

Howling Lands - Inter Arma: This song made me dream of a Dark Souls game where Inter Arma does the soundtrack. It's a peabrained thought but it's one that really got me thinking. This is boss music of the highest order: a song seemingly about itself and the hellbound denizens cursed to perform it in the arena of hell.

Sulphur English - Inter Arma: It's extremely funny to listen to this song a bunch of times and be completely blown away by the total power and ethereal majesty of it and then look up the lyrics to find out that it's about Trump in that very good way of putting normal thoughts through a metal lyrics filter "The charlatan sets his eyes towards the throne / tongue adrip in revolting ecstasy" "Sever the corrupt tongue of the imperious fool / silence the gangrenous root of his abhorrent voice"

Peepin' Tom - Courtney Barnett: When I saw Kurt Vile he brought out Courtney Barnett to play Over Everything as an encore and it was so good to see just how much a hometown crowd loves her. Everyone lost their shit! We love our good friend Courtney! I think I've written about this before but Peeping Tom is one of my favourite Kurt Vile songs and I think Courtney's version is even better. Her voice is perfect for it and she really has to show off her range to do it which I love. The super deep 'peeping' to the high cascading 'tom' is a perfect musical moment to me.

listen here

#playlists

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creampuffqueen · 5 years

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Worlds of Fire and Darkness | Chapter Seven (Asceline)

Read this on AO3! (Here) I love comments and asks, feel free to ask me anything!

Asceline Ashryver is in Orynth, at last, and stirring up trouble as she goes.

I hated to admit it, but dinner in Orynth was always more fun than dinner in Caraverre. Dinner in my land was a quiet affair, and sometimes I felt like I was intruding on my parents' date. Especially ever since Evangeline left to permanently live in Arran. At home I ate my food and made small talk, and then went to bed. My parents would ask what I had done during the day, but they already knew.

In Orynth, my cousins were always there at the very least. Lyria and Sam were like siblings to me, and the other four Galathyniuses were a riot, to say the least. I could entertain them for hours with my shifting. We usually came to Orynth, though, when events like this were happening. The Peace Ball was a week away, and for the whole week I would be spending time with both my cousins and my friends.

The Lochans were something else. There were just as many of them as there were Galathyniuses, but they always felt more intense. Though that was mostly Marion being Marion. The little girl was a demon.

Miran Owen was here, sitting quietly and eating, likely monitoring the conversations around him. Nox Owen's son, he and his family were always invited because of Nox's accomplishments in the war. The Allsbrooks, too, were here. Which meant Leo.

I was staring. Leo looked away from his sister, Rose, and caught my eye. My cheeks heated up and I averted my gaze back to Sam, who had gone very still beside me.

"Sam?" I asked softly, reaching to touch his arm. My older cousin shifted suddenly, turning so fast away from me it was startling. Confused, I turned as well to see what had gotten his attention. It was Lyria, her face resting in her hands as she gazed at Folas Lochan. Her pine green eyes were far away from here and she had some sappy smile glued to her face, the same way her own gaze seemed attached to the Lochan boy.

Oh. That's why Sam was looking the way he was. Confusion danced his eyes, mostly, but there was a small bit of betrayal. I held back my snort. Did he not know about Lyria and Folas? Well, this was more interesting that Caraverre, and we'd barely sat down.

"You're so funny." Lyria giggled, almost girlishly, making me hide my cringe. If Folas noticed, he didn't care, because he just kept talking. Even though we were seated fairly close, the sheer amount of people at the long table made it hard for me to hear, and I wished I had Fae hearing. I could have shifted my ears, but that would cause too much distraction. And I was here for the drama.

Lyria had told me of her massive crush on Folas several months earlier, on a visit. She'd spent the whole day going on and on about him, and if I didn't know him personally I would have thought he was a god. But of course, I'd grown up with the Lochans and was not fooled by some love-struck princess. The thought had me making extra sure I wasn't looking at Leo again. Love-struck princess indeed.

"And he said, 'think you can beat me that easily, little half-breed? Well think again!' and then he tried to grab me, but I was too fast-" Folas was animatedly telling a tale of how he'd gotten one of the guards fired from the estate. Lyria looked entranced, and Sam looked like he wanted to disappear into the plush seats and beat up his sister at the same time.

"That's not what happened!" From beside her brother, little Marion piped up, stabbing a few green beans on her fork and shoving them in her mouth.

"You weren't there," Folas protested. "And chew with your mouth closed or Mom will have a fit." In response Marion smacked her food loudly, showing off the green mush in her mouth. I nearly gagged. Sam looked slightly green at my side.

"I saw him after, he wasn't beat up." Marion pointed her fork at Folas accusingly before scooping a lump of mashed potatoes and smacking on those. "You're a liar!" She squealed around her food. Marion abandoned her utensils at this point and simply picked up her cut of roast chicken between her fingers. Now even Folas looked nauseous.

"Well maybe I exaggerated a bit-"

"Liar liar pants on fire. Lyria should light your pants on fire for being a liar." Marion nodded decisively, flicking her dark hair out of the way. Somehow, in her rampage on the food, it had come undone from the braid it was in.

"I'm not lighting anyone's pants on fire, Marion." Lyria's voice was normal again, thank gods, not in the stupid high pitch it was whenever Folas so much as looked at her.

"Maybe I will. You should watch out tonight, big brother." Folas had the good sense to shudder only after his little sister turned away. Sabron, the next oldest Lochan boy, seemed inclined to take the little one away and deposit her back to her parents, which I thought was a good idea. To spare my stomach from looking at the way Marion was eating, I glanced the other way, down the long table.

I wondered if Leo could sense when people were looking at him. Because he seemed deep in conversation with my sister, Evangeline, but the moment I turned my gaze his way he stopped talking and looked back at me. I didn't even have time to feel a pang of jealousy at him talking to my sister (Even though she was nearly twice his age) because I was too busy trying not to combust under his eyes.

I don't know what it was about Leo. In all honesty most would expect me to be attracted to his sister, Rose. She was as perfect as perfect could be. Maybe it was the way Leo seemed different than all the others I'd liked in the past. He was different, I was sure. And normally had no problem expressing my feelings, but with Leo I turned into a stuttering mess. As I was now. My whole face was probably red. I looked away, deciding to risk Marion's food massacre instead of... whatever was happening.

I had missed a large chunk of conversation while staring at Leo, and was completely confused. Lyria was back to her stupid girly grin, fluttering her lashes at Folas told another undoubtedly false tale. I'd fought him before, and he was strong, but not strong enough to take down Vaughan, as he was describing. It was good that he'd at least decided to tell falsehoods about someone who wasn't present tonight to prove him wrong.

"Liar liar." Marion chanted, mouth full of food. She'd gotten soup on the tips of her hair. "Liar liar."

"Hush, you." Folas demanded finally, scowling at his sister. "And for gods' sake, chew with your mouth closed. Nobody wants to see that shit."

"That's a bad word!" Marion cried. She looked inclined to stand on her chair, but Sabron quickly grabbed her and pulled her to his side. Marion kicked, but didn't scream, instead aiming her little five-year-old fists at his jaw. Sabron didn't even flinch.

Folas rolled his eyes with a sigh, letting his younger brother deal with his sister while he continued to try and woo my cousin. Gods, they were dumb. Could neither realize the other was interested in them? Sam hadn't touched any food on his plate, and a near predatory gaze filled his eyes.

Groaning, I shoved Sam back to the present, pulling him down to my level so I could whisper in his ear, "Let Lyr do what she wants. She's a grown female, for gods' sake, and you're her brother, not her keeper." Sam pouted, but said nothing. He picked up his fork and knife and ate his food slowly.

Marion, who'd had enough by now of her brother holding her down, squirmed out of his grip and dashed under the table. Before Sabron could duck down there to grab her, I felt her scramble against my legs and out the other side, where she proceeded to make a beeline for her father. Lord Lorcan Lochan picked up his daughter and set her on his lap with a kiss to her soup-stained hair. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. Marion had her father at her beck and call.

"And that's why I'm glad to be an only child." I muttered. Folas practically pricked his ears at my words, and abandoned his larger-than-life story to glare at me.

"You have a sister, Ashryver."

"But I'm the youngest." I argued. "So if anyone in my family was like your sister, it was me. But I don't remember any of it. Maybe I was just an angel child."

"Doubt it." Folas snorted.

"Folas is right. I remember you as a baby, and you were a demon." Lyria chuckled.

"Now you're all ganging up on me!" I protested. "I feel hurt! Lyr, I trusted you!" I dramatically threw my head back and fake-wailed softly, which earned a few giggles from further down the table. Probably Evalin.

"Well anyway-" Folas attempted to start another story, no doubt to impress Lyria, but I quickly interrupted him.

"And you too Folas! I thought you were my friend! And now you're calling me as bad as your sister!"

As if on cue, every single Lochan boy snarled at the same time, and I grinned. One sure way to get a Lochan fired up was to insult their siblings. Especially Marion. The little girl could be a joy, but she was usually worse than her brothers, proven by the fact her plate looked like a war-zone and the small bruise welling on Sabron's jaw. She didn't mean to hurt him, I was sure, but she was incredibly used to getting her way.

"Don't talk about Marion like that." Folas growled. Lyria just raised her golden brows at me, as if saying I deserved the tongue-lashing that was sure to follow in moments. Sam flashed me a pitying look.

"Our sister is not bad, Asceline." Amias glared at me as he spoke, venom spewing from his mouth.

"Coulda fooled me." I purred, effectively signing my death warrant. I saw Lyria roll her eyes at me, and I flashed her a feral grin. I could stand to burn off some energy by throwing the Lochans on their asses. Granted, they'd hand me my own ass in a few moments if they worked together, but I had been itching for a fight all afternoon in the wagon.

Before they could all lunge at me, my Aunt Aelin called from the head of the table, "Is everyone enjoying dinner? Emrys has been perfecting this meal for weeks!"

All the dark haired boys sat down again, at least the ones who had stood. A chorus of "yes!" and "it's delicious!" followed my aunt's question. Aelin beamed from her seat, promising to tell her cook he did well. The meal was delicious, but after Marion I'd rather lost my appetite. At least for food.

The rest of the meal passed quietly, with me trying not to scoff too hard at Folas and Sam trying to reign in his murderous gaze. I was right, and he knew it. Territorial Fae bastard. When everyone was finished, Aunt Aelin and Uncle Rowan led the procession into the drawing room for socializing. Lyria all but perched on the arm of Folas's seat, but instead came to her senses slightly and sat on a chair next to him. Sam and I were on a couch across from them, Sabron and Amias in other chairs. Folas attempted to start another story, but his brothers must have gotten sick of his bullshit, because they roped us all into a conversation instead.

"How have you all been?" Amias asked casually. A good conversation starter, but one that Folas couldn't bring back to himself easily.

"I've been very well." Lyria said, smiling softly. Ever the princess. Sam echoed her, mentioning that his training was going well. I could have sworn Lyria grimaced at the words, but it was so quick I couldn't say for sure.

"And how about you, Ashy?" Amias turned his attentions to me.

I snorted, "Don't call me that."

"Yes, but if I gave you a nickname based off your real name I would end up just calling you Ass, which I don't think you'd appreciate." That was true. I blamed my parents for my very un-nicknamable name.

"If I gave you a nickname I would call you Amy, so how about that?" I shot back. "Just call me by my real name."

But Amias, or Amy, as I would be calling him from now on, didn't have time to speak before someone sat down on the arm of the couch, right next to me. I looked up to see Rose, with Leo standing next to her. Rose gave her perfect little grin and brushed the hair out of her face. And I certainly didn't miss Leo dragging his own fingers through his dark hair. He and his sister looked nothing alike, which was baffling to me. With Lyria and Sam you could at least tell they were related, but with Leo and Rose you honestly couldn't.

"What have you been up to, Asceline dear?" Rose practically purred. Her beauty could put the Fae to shame. And that was coming from someone who's cousin was one of the most gorgeous Fae I'd ever met. Though, to be fair, I hadn't met many Fae.

"Not much. Lady training, battle training, weapon training. Training in general." Rose nodded at my words, blue eyes sparkling.

"Us too," She said simply, gesturing to her younger brother. Leo nodded, not meeting anyone's eyes. His gaze was on the picture hanging above the fireplace, the picture of the whole royal family, right after the twins were born.

"Leooooo," Lyria trilled, "The real royals are right here." The Allsbrook boy snapped back to reality, turning to fully face us.

"Yes, how have you all been?" He asked.

"I'm sick of that question. I've been fine, thank you, but ask me something different." Lyria's lips curved upwards in a smirk, and Leo just shook his head. Most people would be terrified of upsetting their princess, especially one who wielded fire and ice as easily as she could talk, but we'd all grown up together. Lyria was joking, and Leo knew it.

"Fine. Ashy, how are your dogs?" Lyria opened her mouth, obviously going to protest no longer being the center of attention, but Sabron cut her off with a grin.

"She doesn't like to be called Ashy, you know."

"I don't mind-"

"Not from him you don't." Sabron cackled, and I contemplated tackling him, but quickly decided I didn't need to be stuck in extra manners lessons as punishment.

"Whatever. My dogs are fine, thanks for asking, Leo." I could hardly meet his eyes, but I did anyway, hoping it would put Sabron off from what he undoubtedly knew now and would use against me. My heart skipped a beat as I locked eyes with Leo Allsbrook.

"Ashy's got a-" This time it was Lyria who shut up the Lochan. I turned, ready to kick Sabron in the balls, and found Lyria half-dragging him away to go get a drink. Leo looked midly startled, and I prayed he hadn't heard him. Rose gave me a knowing look before standing up from her perch and placing a perfect hand on her brother's arm, and then they were gone as quickly as they'd come, and I was sitting on the couch, still reeling from the beauty that was Leo Allsbrook.

#throne of glass #a court of thorns and roses #tog #acotar #rowaelin #lysaedion #elorcan #generation 2 #legacies #children

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afterthelastreset · 5 years

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Rules of one’s soul

(this was partially inspired by @lykillofasgard ‘s Nosuit fic Opposites Attract. Please go check out their writing and support this writer! I apologize if anything comes off too ooc or drawn out. It’s my first time trying to write something for Deltarune. All mentioned characters belongs to Toby Fox and co.)

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He shouldn't have done that. He shouldn't be doing ANY of this. What would one think if they knew that the King's appointed Duke of Puzzles, caretaker of the prince, and master of law and order would be feeling absolutely weak in the presence of an insolent clown?! NO! He wasn't weak! Rouxls Kaard was anything but weak. He was just....uh..a little unprepared for the absolute madness of the knave when they first encountered. Yes. That's it! Not even the great Duke of Puzzles could get all first impressions right. He wasn't sure of the strange feeling in his gut whenever his mind revolved around back to THAT night. The strength of those ghastly hands latching onto him and slamming him into the cold steel, near those sickly glowing eyes. The very thought of those things made him shudder and get a sick feeling in his stomach. In a way, he was more terrorfying than thy king. At least with him you could tell when the Spade was displeased in anyway, but there's no feeling behind a mad man's smile. So. The answer to recovery was to just avoid the place and do his best to push those thoughts deep down and try to distract himself. And for a while. It actually worked. He managed to busy himself by making an actual working piece of his work the king seemed pleased with. He called it, A Control Crown. Though it still could use some work as it only worked on more...um. Less smart beings of the realm. And the King's annoying worm(but much better company keeper) of a son had gotten himself into plenty of shenanigans the Duke had to fix or pull him out of. It had been maybe a few months since the incident and he rarely thought of any of that encounter. So all was well with the Duke of Puzzle. Thou the duke did experience a strange tugging or nagging feeling like he was missing something. Oh well. None of it mattered. At least. Not until that night. A storm had decided to make itself present that night much to the annoyance and fear of the guards. For it was tonight that the prisoner better who some had called Jevil -odd name if you asked him- once again decided now would be the right time to act up and strike fear into the poor guards in charge of the food supply to him. Which also meant none wanted to go down there. Which ultimately meant the duty would fall on the next upper person in charge. .....Which meant it was up to him. To settle things. And go down there. With that THING! He honestly almost threw up the mac and cheese Lancer and himself ate for lunch when he found out. But he was the Duke of Puzzles, appointed by the King himself. Law keeping was one of his best assets, which was why he was put in charge of these guards. So, with a heavy stomach and light head, he assured any listening he'd once again take care of the 'little worm' and put a stop to this all. Oh,if only he could have seen the familiar frozen grin plastered on his face at the moment. It only got worse when he stepped into the elevator and pushed the button to the unknown level. Once the doors closed, the Duke let out a breath he didn't know he was holding and immediately reached to clutch at the tufts of shiny snow white hair on his head. "What the f*cketh have I done?!" He breathed between gasping breaths. He wasn't even sure how stupid he was at this point! Why didn't he just tell them to let the stupid prisoner go hungry just for tonight and not bother!? This was absolute madness. Like kicking a live bee nest to anger the pathetic insects- Bing! "HA!" The Duke let out a short high pitched squeak of fright from the doors reopening to reveal the beginnings of a staircase and darkness below. He hoped no one heard him. A high pitched series of laughter ruined that hope. "Oh, how fun,fun! A Duke of no suit has come once again, again to seek what he thinks he rules over!" He flinched when he faintly saw two glowing pinpricks from down below. "How interesting, interesting.~ Have you come to finally play, play?~" He stood there frozen at the sight of yellow eyes waiting for his answer. The feeling of that insolent's slimey tongue grazing his cheek and the feeling of complete helplessness came rushing back to him in a heart beat. Gathering what pride and dignity he had left, the Duke casually stood straight up and gave an annoyed look. He tried to invision himself talking to a rookie guard or Lancer whenever he had to explain something. He just had to remember. HE was the one in charge. Not some bumbling knave that couldn't even harm him from his prison all the way down below. "I-It has cometh to mine attention that thou art scaring the very guards that feed you!" He shouted down and waited for a response. But none came. The eyes didn't even blink. So he nervously licked his lips and continued. "If thou wishes to keep getting proper treatment from them in the future then thou needs to follow the rules set in place." Felling a little more confident. He decided to yell louder. He was in charge. Not him. He had no control over the situation. He made the rules. "Thou art getting on mine nerves and I do not wish to heareth about thine useless chatters or antics! I haveth no time to deal with thee any longer! I have more important matters to deal with than the rambles of an absolute mad man!! So keepest thine voice down and cease your useless shenanigans at once!!" His voice echoed throughout the silent prison as the yellow eyes continued their silent watching. Rouxls stared down at the lowlife a little longer before smiling. That was until the pinpricks disappeared as the crazy fool threw his head back in laughter at the stupid show he just witnessed. Rouxls felt his ears press to his sides and his stomach drop hard. This wasn't the reaction he had hoped. All too soon the eyes were back along with a mocking voice. "What a shame! What a shame! Thinking he could order the only one free, free in the whole kingdom!~ How amusing!~ How fun!! FUN!!~" Rouxls didn't like the change in tone of the deranged jester's voice. It almost sounded intrigued. And that's what scared him most. "I never had so much fun,fun with another pawn before! BWAHAHAHAHAHA!! Tell me Rouxls Kaard. If you are in charge, charge then why are you too afraid to play this little game, game of yours?~ Hmm." The Duke didn't say anything at first. The heavy scent of fear consuming him and making his head spin. "I.....I shan't need to e-explain myself to the likes of you! I prefer not to waste mine valuable time on dealing with your insolent empty words. Thou can pretend with thine mind games all thee wishes but Rouxls Kaard is nay fool!" He pointed a hand at him. " For you see, I have thought of the possibility of thou using these games to trickest me into coming in range of your dastardly grip! But I shan't be fooled again so easily! For by me staying far from thine's hold then thou shall not have a open point to strike! Who's winning who's game now if thou never even got a chance to make his first move?!" "Yet, yet I'm not the one who's playing dirty.~ What fun is a game if one wins just because, because he cheats out of fear?~" "Hark thee little knave!!" He bellowed in absolute anger like he just threw dirt on his new suit. "What rules are laid down is followed and I shan't listen to you any longer!" He turned back towards the entrance to the elevator with a huff. The voice cooed in amusement. "BWAHAHA! A shame that the rules card is running like a defeated child,child at a game of checkers.~ My next visitor will be pleased, pleased to hear about the cowardly leader of a Duke that masters, masters over them!~" He froze. Did he just-...? No. He couldn't have just....But he did! Taking a breath, the duke world around to face the yellow eyes with anger. "Thou insolent, foolish WORM!!" He bellowed at the top of his lungs. Making the jester laugh again as the duke began to march towards the stairs in complete anger that his authority would be tested by a common criminal. As he stomped his way down, he remembered to keep his distance with time when he reached the bottom. Now face to face with the clown behind the bars. Even with his limited vision, he could make out the jester's pleased smile on his face. "You DARE to threaten me with useless rumors of mine reputation?!" "Hehehe. Not a threat and not, not a rumor.~ Just facts straight and simple.~ But now that you're her, here-" The bells on him errily chimed as he tilted his head. "I find you're more fun, fun to play with.~ Tell me, tell me. Did you figure out the game, game we started last visit?" Rouxls huffed. "You mean that useless asult on mine person? BAH! I refused to even think about such things to do with the likes of thou, Jevil!" A sudden spark seemed to light up in the jester as his attention became a bit more...focused. "Ooh!~ So you learnt my name, name?~ BWAHAHA! Tell me, oh Duke of rules and puzzles. Have you any idea of what YOU have started with this game, game of ours you triggered? Are not the feelings and tugs at your very, very core not clues to this puzzle you can't seem to solve?~" The duke gave the madman a confused look at the nonsense he was spouting out of his mouth. Was this a battle of wits or riddles? If so he won either way. He didn't intend on ever coming back or giving this creature any more of his precious time after this. What was the point if he never made sense anyhow? "Was does thou even mean? This is nay puzzle! Tis a riddle of a mad fool that shan't ever be solved!" "Hmm. Perhaps. Perhaps. But tell me this Duke, and tell me true. True." A hand stuck itself out of the bars to point at him, making him flinch. "Did you not have a feeling of need,need or incompletion when you first left this place, place!? Is it now gone?! Replaced with the need to prove yourself! To, to the very person you can never win or lose against in this corrupted. CORRUPTED EMPIRE YOU CALL HOME, HOME!!" It felt like the walls and darkness themselves were vibrating with the booming voice of the smaller floating man. Rouxls couldn't even bring himself to speak and Jevil's smile suddenly became knowing instead of amused. "THE ONLY ONE WHO CAN REALLY PLAY A GAME!! GAME!! THAT MATCHES YOUR VERY OWN!! ROUXLS KAARD!! OUR FIRST MEETING, MEETING WAS NEVER OUR LAST!! THE VERY MOMENT WE MADE CONTACT, CONTACT IT SEALED US AND FATE INTERTWINED WITHIN MY FREEDOM, FREEDOM AND YOUR IMPRISONMENT!! THE BEING OF PERFECT ORDER AGAINST THE TRUE EMBODYMENT OF RAW CHAOS!! CHAOS!!" The last word felt like a wave of sound hit him and sent the duke stumbling forward a few steps almost falling to his face before he looked up at the absolute monster clutching the bars in absolute raw horror. "You....You're absolutely mad!!" Jevil chuckled again. "Maybe that's true. Maybe I am insane. Insane. But I am truly the only free, free person....But you know. It's gotten rather boring,boring and dare I saw lonely in my little freedom. Duke of puzzles. I haven't really, really felt like anyone but my old friend Seam could begin to make me this amused, amused." Maybe his insanity was rubbing off onto Rouxls but he could've sworn he saw Jevil's smile slipping a little. "I will always regret happened between us, us. But, it seems fate has directed you towards me, hmm?" "What?....I-I...I still haven't the faintest idea thou is sputtering out!" "Heh. You still don't get, get it do you, Rouxls?" He gave a hum and might have sounded like a disapproved parent if he wasn't still smiling though me. "Interesting, interesting. Tell me. Do you know the concept of soulmates?~" Silence. The frozen duke stared at the floating creature inside the cage as his brain tried to process this. Yes. He knew what a soulmate was. What an absolutely stupid question. Everyone knows a soulmate is the one person in life you feel compelled towards. Like finally putting the final missing piece of a puzzle together-.....Wait. Wait a minute. The realization must've reflected in his eyes because Jevil's smile became more soft if that was even possible for a mad man. ".....No...NO! Nononononononono! NO!!" He hands flew up to clutch his head. The floor felt like it was consuming him with how much his body fell forward to it's knees. "NO! NO! THOU TIS LYING!! MORE MIND GAMES!!" He shouted desperately at the jester who just smiled warmly back, like he was a dear old friend stopping by to grab a chat. His eyes searched for any indicators of mind games or a sick joke. "I...I can't anything to you but a toy for your amusement! Let alone thou's s-soul....IT"S NOT TRUE! I SHAN'T HEAR OF IT!! LIES!! ALL OF IT LIES-AH!!" The same strength pressed him against the same bars. And the once proud duke whimpered like a dog when facing the same eyes from his nightmares. "Naïve, naïve little duke." His voice was like he was trying to comfort a child and Rouxls let out a whimper when a clawed hand cupped his chin. His face was closer now. Why wasn't his body reacting!? He could feel the hot breath of the jester before he spoke next. "One cannot deny the rules, rules set down by fate now. Can you?~ We balance and do our dance, dance like chest pieces on a bourd. One never belonging to a suit, suit or getting the upper hand. But...we never lose, lose either.~" The contact was warm, heated and made the duke feel a sudden rush of strange belonging filled with another stronger feeling of throwing up. Both feelings intensified when the crazy jester slightly loosened his grip on the frozen man's shoulder when something that felt strangely similar to a rope wrapped around his torso. Jevil didn't notice the white shiny liquid beginning to sting the duke's eyes or the sudden swing until something came impacting into his face. The force sending the smaller man a few feet away to the ground with a loud "OH!". Instantly when the contact was broken the duke threw himself back onto his rear and shuffled back towards the stairs. Gagging and clutching at his chest. Trying his dammed hardest not to give in to the urge to puke. A slight pain throbbed in his hand from where it struck the jester. He coughed and sputtered while taking gulps of air through his mouth to help control himself. A small silence went by before the duke shakily looked at the direction of the man who had once again violated his personal being. At first he thought he was imagining it through the tears or the rushed feelings spiked through him, but no. Jevil was standing there instead of floating. One hand clutching the bars while the other cupped the cheek he guess he must've hit. A look of pure shock on the jester's face. Of the ounce proud man now reduced to a shaking crying mess. Neither said anything for a moment before jevil spoke. "You're....crying. Crying?" He blinked and removed the hand from his cheek to inspect it. Like the answers were written on his palm. "You...hit me, me?" "WELL WHAT DID THOU EXPECT YOU GOD DAMMED FOOL!?!?" Both flinched at the sudden raged tone that seemed to rush out of him. Jevil more than him. But the angry feelings overtook any other rational thoughts. "DID THOU SERIOUSLY THINK UP THIS WHOLE CRAZY DELUSIONAL F-FANTASY OF ROMANCE TO GO ALONG WITH YOUR PATHETIC TRAGETY STORY LIKEST SOME SICK NOVEL WRITTEN BY A COMMONER!?!?" Jevil stared long and hard before an annoyed expression came over him. "Fantasy, fantasy?.....DELUSIONAL TO MY OWN FEELINGS!?" He growled and gripped the bars of his caged prison. "YOU DARE SIT THERE, THERE AND CALL ME, ME A FOOL FOR RECONGNIZING THE PLAIN TRUTH WHEN NO ONE ELSE DOES, DOES?!" This time it was the duke's turn to give a dry laugh. "HA! YOU CALL WHAT JUST HAPPENED A TRUEST EVENT!? AND YOU ACTUALLY EXPECT ME TO BELIEVE THOU'S GESTURE LIKE A NORMAL DARKNER'S?!" Jevil's face immediately dropped. Rouxls sat there as both heavily breathed from the events. Before the duke slowly stood up onto wobbly legs. "E-Even...if I did think thou's affections were true, what reason would I have t-to accept or believe when the person who gives it is a prisoner? Seam was in his righteth mind to exit this madness when he did-" A low growl directed him back to the now angry jester. Anger was a new expression for him but right now he didn't care. Rouxls felt sick, covered in sweaty slime and tears, and equally angry. ''Don't bring Seam, Seam into this." "Or what!? Thou'll attack me with more unwanted affection! This isn't exactly a splendid walk in the dungeon foreth me!" The imp let out another growl before pointing another clawed hand at him. "You cannot, cannot tell me you can't feel-" "I DON'T!!" The loud voice of the duke echoed throughout the entirety of the prison cell. Silencing anymore rambling from either end. "I tire of these useless antics a-and....AND I HAVETH ENOUGTH ON MINE PLATE AS TIS IS!!" He pointed a hand at him. "I SHAN'T EVER RETURN TO DEAL WITH THOU'S ANTICS AND I WILL NEVER SEE YOU AS MORE THAN THE ONE WHO TOILS WITH MINE EMOTIONS!! GOOD MORROW, WORM!!" He turned and began stomping his way back up the stairs towards the open doors of the elevator. Ignoring the sudden expression on the imp's face. "W-What?....ROUXLS!! You can't leave a game unfinished once you start to play, play!! It hasn't even finished!...R-Rouxls? Y-You can't forfit this game, game.....Not when I-...COME BACK, BACK!!" He paid the creature no mind while he continued climbing up the stairs-...Which was a mistake. An animalistic shriek pierced the air louder than anything he ever heard from the king. A shudder ran up his spine and only one thought shot through his head. RUN! He sprinted towards the exit up ahead. Almost tripping over his own two feet a couple times in his panicked haste to get out. Something whizzed by his head and embeaded itself into the wall above his form as more began whizzing past him. The animalistic screaming still present. One of the thing grazed his shoulder causing him to yelp in pain as a cut instantly formed. He ran into the elevator and practically spammed the up button as more of those sharp objects continued to fly around him. The doors slowly closed. Muffling the shrieking and little metallic thuds. Slowly, the elevator began to steadily rise leaving the noise behind him. Unable to withstand the wild roller coaster of emotions moving through him, Rouxls collapsed against the side of the elevator as it continued to rise. His body shook uncontrollably as he was finally able to take a look at the things that were flung at him.....Hearts. These things were all hearts. He choked. The once proud Duke of Puzzles reduced himself to a sobbing crying mess as the elevator continued to rise.

#Nosit #writing #deltarune #Jevil #rouxls kaard

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