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sparkliingcrown · 3 years

Text

— my worst nightmare.

Summary: You know the saying that goes 'Keep your friends close but your enemies closer?' How much closer can you get to your enemy than being roommates?

Request: Brownies + Dark Irish Coffee

Genre: Roommates AU, College AU, Enemies to Lovers

Words: 6.1k

Warnings: Lots of swearing. I didn’t hold back in that aspect. Uhm, mentions of drinking, yn kinda panics at one point... I think that should be all! If not, pls notify me ^^

Note: An Eishi Café special. Yes, this is because it was last minute requests and it took too long for me to get to and open up the café again. ALSO TO THE ANON THAT REQUESTED THIS, I’M SORRY I MISREAD THE ORDER AND WROTE IT AS A LIGHT REQUEST! I hope you still like it nonetheless... Sorry it took so long T^T Also, this is my first time writing something like this so I really hope that it fits.

You were hauling your bags and boxes up to your new dorm room by yourself. That wasn’t exactly the greatest way to start the day, considering you had to stay up packing the last of your stuff, rushing to the nearest train station, riding the train, and then driving all the way to your new dorm room for college yesterday. You didn’t even get to sleep a wink on the train and you sure as hell can’t sleep while on the road. So, in short, you were tired, hungry, and really fucking pissed.

You mocked your naive and excited self, making faces as you tugged your bags closer to your body, pulling the strap of your backpack higher up your shoulder to keep it from falling on the floor. Go to college, they said. You'll have the time of your life, they said. Who's they? The many, many movies you watched growing up. And where exactly were you now?

"Can you at least try to help me move my stuff inside?" You drop your bags at the door, stretching your arms out.

"Lemme think about it." He closes his eyes for a second, letting out a deep breath. "No."

That's right. You were stuck with him. Choi Seungcheol. The bane of your existence.

That motherfucker.

His majesty was sitting comfortably on the couch, a cup of boba in his hand. Oh, how you wish you could just reach out there and squeeze it to make it explode in his face. Instead, you huff. You turned away and stomped your way down to the elevator to get the rest of your luggage. Muttering to yourself, you hauled the last of your luggage in, just wanting to collapse onto your bed for the day having barely gotten any rest the previous day.

You were expecting your best friend, Jiwoo, to greet you at the door. You were expecting her to greet you with that enthusiastic squeal when she sees you. You were expecting her to give you a warm hug that would last probably longer than 5 minutes. Alas, the universe decided to be rude to you and give you your worst nightmare.

Seungcheol stares as you drag your bags and feet to the nearest room, raising an eyebrow when he thinks he heard you utter his name. He did not help whatsoever. Asshole. Once you get to your room, you don't even bother cleaning up and unpacking. You sank to the floor with a loud whine, not caring at all if Seungcheol could hear you from outside.

You were so excited to live out your college dream. Going to the library, going to parties you know Jiwoo would drag you to, midnight talks with your roommate, binging series you’ve been eyeing for a while. The universe just really had to ruin it for you by placing him as your roommate. You didn’t even know he was enrolled in Hybe University. It seemed like he didn’t know either. You recall the shocked look on his face when he opened the door.

“You’re my roommate?!” You both exclaim in unison.

You feel your lifespan shorten by 30 years when it fully sinks in that you’re stuck with him for a full school year. If it wasn’t enough that the bags you carried were heavy, the ones under your eyes felt even heavier. Seungcheol frowns.

“You look like shit,” he states, taking a long sip out of his cup.

You manage to send your iciest glare at him, chucking the heavy luggage inside to make him move. “No shit, Sherlock-”

“The name’s Seungcheol.”

You ignore him. “I just drove a fucking half hour just to get here.”

You kick the bag, moving it to a corner then go to get a smaller one waiting by the door. Seungcheol moves out of your way, walking back to the couch. “Don’t fucking test me, Choi.”

He puts one of his hands up in a surrendering gesture. You sigh, closing the door behind you to get the rest of your things.

You let out a groan, deciding to unpack your things a little later. Eyeing your bed, you get up to move to your bed. You easily drift off into sleep. You would’ve loved to say it was dreamless but you actually quite enjoyed the chaos of it all. You awoke at 2 in the morning, lost and confused. You frown at your waste of half the day yesterday, smacking random items in your room to figure out where you had placed your phone.

Once you located it, the screen lit up your face - blinding you a little in the process. Jiwoo had excitedly messaged you. Well, excited was an understatement when she sent you 102 messages in the span of one hour and 17 missed calls for the rest of the time you were unconscious on your bed.

Your stomach growls, shocking you. “Yeah, I should get some food then start unpacking. Probably message her back as well…” you mutter to the air, dusting off your jeans as you finish up the process of fully moving into your new home for the next school year.

You sigh, “Fuck, this is going to be a long year.”

You bury your head in the reference book that you picked out to help with your assignment. It wasn’t doing it’s job of helping. You shifted in your seat. With a groan, you lean back in your seat, not understanding any of the material so far. Jiwoo pats your back encouragingly, nuzzling her cheek on your shoulder.

"There, there," she says, running a hand through your hair. "Hold on, I'll just return this book because it didn't have what I was looking for."

With a solemn nod, Jiwoo rises from her seat. She skips away with the book in your hands leaving you suffering all alone. You mentally slap yourself for sulking when it's literally only the second month of college. Living in the dorms has not been any easier ever since you arrived. Seungcheol took any opportunity to get a rise out of you and you would bite back with just as much sass.

It was like a competition between you both. Over what exactly? No one could really tell. Jiwoo came over often so she's very much used to seeing the two of you bicker like little children out of the smallest things. This was the reason as to why she dragged you out of the dorm.

"Come on, ever since you've arrived, you're either staying in your room or going to that boba place!" Jiwoo was tugging you by your wrist while you used your other hand to cling onto your bedpost. "You need to live! To breathe!"

"I do that just fine over here!" you complain.

Then, it was just a competition of whining. Jiwoo won that one easily. Her bright, sparkling puppy eyes were too much to resist. You sighed. You were too soft for Jiwoo sometimes. You mumble, cursing the professors for giving a bunch of work already. It was to the point that you could barely keep track of any of your subjects anymore.

You stare at your laptop screen, a half blank essay staring back at you with a menacing aura. You turn your head. An open textbook sat atop several other books of the same subject stared at you too. You could hear it calling for you, yelling at you to study for the test next week. With a silent cry, you drop your head down onto the table. You hear a snicker from behind you. One that you've heard way too many times that you didn't even need to turn around to see who it was.

"Hello to you too, Choi." You let out a tired sigh, head rising from the table.

"You look pitiful like that," he comments, eyeing the multitude of books surrounding your laptop. "You need any help?"

You raise an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"

"Do you need help?"

"The Choi Seungcheol is offering me help?"

"Ah, good, so your ears can work," he gives you that shit eating grin that you just want to punch off his face. You can already feel the fire burning inside just ready to burst. You feel like a boiling kettle to say the least. It's his turn to raise an eyebrow now.

"Well?"

"No way," you huff like a child, turning your back on him.

He sat across from you. It really just had to be the only fucking unoccupied seat left. You mentally cursed all the students who came to the library. Then you felt bad and instead cursed Seungcheol who just had to come to the library when you were at the peak of the stress rollercoaster, just ready to dive into the depths of despair and bad grades.

Your eyes flutter back and forth between the laptop, the books and Seungcheol himself. With a defeated sigh, you turn the laptop so the screen could face him. "Please."

That same grin never left his face, he tauntingly cups a hand around his ear. "What's that? I can't hear you."

"Old man," you retort with a snicker. Just as he was going to open his mouth to protest, you repeat yourself a little louder. "Please help me with this damn assignment so I can finish it already."

"That's more like it." He pulls out the chair next to you, pushing away the books to help you.

You would never admit it out loud but you were actually grateful that Seungcheol had offered his help. With every small pointer he gave you, you were able to fly through all of your workload like a breeze. He even lent you his notes for that test you were so worried about. You leaned back, tipping your head back as the most relieved sigh anyone could muster slipped past your lips.

“What? No ‘Thank you’?” he asked, a small pout on his lips.

“I didn’t kill you. Is that enough?” He rolls his eyes at you, returning to his own seat. Guilt started to take form in the pit of your stomach. You sighed. “I gotta go. Thanks. I’ll see you at the dorm.”

You didn’t see it. He didn’t want you to see it. He didn’t even want to acknowledge it; the heat rising up and painting his cheeks pink from when you sent him that small smile before leaving. Seungcheol mentally slapped himself, shaking his head and trying to focus on his own essay he put off while helping you. Safe to say, he never really did finish that stupid essay.

"Joo, do I have to go?" you complained, tugging your shirt downwards. It's a little too much for your taste.

"You deserve it, babe," Jiwoo replied. "You got good grades after studying for so long! Loosen up a little! Please?"

You give her a skeptical look.

"Just this once?" She gives you her best puppy dog eyes that shimmered under the light of her dorm room. She puts up a finger and juts out her bottom lip in a pout, ultimately stealing your heart with how cute she is. "For me?"

"Ugh, fine. You're too cute not to."

"Yay!" she wraps her arms around you and gives you a light kiss on your cheek, dragging you out of her dorm and to her car.

She drove you to the party, that sweet smile never leaving her face. She talked about a blend of many topics she was interested in. You heard her mention something about talking to that girl in her class. You only stared out the window, humming in response as you dreaded arriving at the party.

Alcohol. It reeked of alcohol. You just arrived but there were already so many people that just smelled like sweat and whatever was served in the kitchen. Jiwoo took you to the dance floor, which was clearly just the living room of the house with the couches pushed to the side so there's space. She introduced you to a couple of her friends. You give them a small wave. It probably wasn't the best idea to try and have a conversation this close to the speakers.

After just a few minutes of walking in, you already lost Jiwoo. She was probably just with one of her friends. Come to think of it, she was clinging on to one of them really tightly and just being very clingy. But she was almost always like that with anyone. You brush it off your mind, heading to the kitchen to get something to drink.

"They look pretty," Seokmin stated, sipping from his cup and making a slight face at the bitterness. "Wait... Is that Y/n?"

Seungcheol's ears seem to perk up at the mention of your name. He turns to the direction his friend was staring at, seeing you hover over the kitchen island with a drink in your hand. You looked bored. A little lonely too. He deduced that your friend had left you to fend for yourself. He snickers to himself.

"Oh yeah, I think that is," Jeonghan was suddenly by his side, eyeing Seungcheol for his reaction. Seungcheol pulls a face.

"What are you looking at?" he sneers.

"Don't you think they're pretty, Cheollie?" Jeonghan giggled, obviously already a little tipsy. Seungcheol scowls. An old conversation flashed by his eyes.

"Where are you going?"

You raise an eyebrow. "And why do you care about where I'm going?"

"Because I'm your roommate? What if something happens to you?"

"Awh, does Seungcheollie actually care about me?" You jut your lip out in an exaggerated pout.

"No, I- Wait..." He takes in the outfit you decided to wear, and breathes in the scent of that perfume you always wear on special occasions. "Don't tell me... You're going out with that guy again, aren't you?"

You roll your eyes, adjusting the straps of your shoes with a groan. "So?"

"Are you that blind that I have to fucking tell you? He's not good for you!"

"Why do you give a damn about who I go out with? Why would I give a damn about who you think I should go out with?"

"That's not the point- Stop going out with him!"

"What are you? My dad? Fuck off, Cheol."

"That guy is not good for you." He crosses his arms against his chest. "Hell, even I would be better for you and I'm your enemy."

“Yeah, you’re my enemy. That doesn’t explain why you’re butting into my love life like this. Literally, just fuck off!” you exclaim, losing your cool with a stomp of your foot.

You fall silent. He falls silent. Seungcheol is worried for that second that passes. He didn’t know why. The silence was uncomfortable. It was like the chill of realizing there’s a spider in the shower with you. He felt chills run down his spine. He didn’t even know why.

You say nothing more, picking up your purse. The silence was odd. It was new. Especially to the both of you. Seungcheol was just about to speak up again, voicing his opposition to you going out with the sketchy guy you met when you walked out and slammed the door on him.

His mouth hung ajar, disbelief spread all over his features. He scoffs, “Ugh, whatever.”

He turns to look at you again. You were by the dance floor now, the neon lights surrounding you. He always thought you were pretty whenever you two wouldn't be bickering until the day's end. Seeing you next to the lights, seeing you like this, it made his heart race a little. He blames it on the alcohol.

Seungcheol ignores the way the rest of his friends start teasing him. It was mostly Joshua and Jeonghan ganging up on him but it was teasing nonetheless. He rolled his eyes, shoving them off him when Jeonghan started giggling a little too close to his face. Sure, he thinks you look pretty, and sure, he doesn't deny that he did find you attractive when he first met you after the summer. That doesn't matter, though, right? Right?

So, what was this feeling festering in his heart when he saw another guy walk up to you and ask you for a dance?

Seungcheol watches as the anonymous guy takes your hand and graciously leads you to the dance floor. His friends would be dramatic and say that he glared daggers at the dude. To be fair, he was. Seungcheol wasn't going to admit to that, however. He crushes his cup in his hand, startling the rest of his group but leading to only more teasing from all of them. With a roll of his eyes, he decides to shift his attention elsewhere.

Your weight shifts from one foot to the other. Maybe situating yourself near the dance floor wasn't the best idea you ever got but you needed to search for Jiwoo in the sea of sweaty, horny, drunk people. What better option than to sit right next to the speaker? You mentally facepalm yourself when the neon lights blinded you from identifying anyone. You blink once. Twice.

Who is this stranger in front of you?

Alarms blare in your head, telling you to get away. Your grip tightens on your cup, anxiety filling your stomach. He notices your worried expression and immediately flashes a smile. "You don't come here often, do you? I'm Eungwang."

He extends a hand out to you, asking you to join him on the dance floor. You shyly follow him, his hand never leaving yours. He twirls you around, telling you to smile a little bit and relax. You could feel all eyes on you, the blinding neon lights and booming music slowly becoming unbearable with each passing second.

"You okay?" You nearly didn't hear Eungwang calling out your name. "You look stressed. Are you okay?" You did your best to shake your head no, breath stuck in your throat.

A worried look passes his eyes, the corners of his lips turning downwards. It was becoming too much. You knew you shouldn't have come to this party. Jiwoo just had to bring you along. Jiwoo... You still haven't found her. The pounding in your heart and ears were getting worse, getting louder. You twist your head, trying your best to scan the crowd for a glimpse of your best friend.

"Get your hands off of her," a more familiar voice speaks up. With wide eyes, you see Seungcheol with his hand on Eungwang's shoulder.

Without an answer, Seungcheol rips him away from you and grabs your wrist to pull you into a more open space. It was weird. You always thought Seungcheol's hands would be rough, yet his touch felt so light. It felt like feathers. It was almost as if he was afraid to break you in your state. If you weren't too occupied with panicking, maybe you would've been trying to fight your way out of his grip.

You hadn't even noticed. Within minutes, the two of you were seated in the front lawn. The cool air brushed your cheeks, slowly pulling you out of your trance. Seungcheol tosses you a water bottle which you catch with trembling fingers. You take a sip and let out a breath. With pursed lips, you turn to look at him.

"Sorry.”

"What for?"

"I probably ruined the mood, right?"

He rolls his eyes, tucking his hands in his jacket pocket. "Whatever. The party was shit anyway. We should get you back to the dorm."

"But Jiwoo--"

"Your friend will be fine." He tosses his jacket to you. "Wear that. It's cold."

"I will not."

"Suits you." He snatches it out of your hands almost immediately. "Don't come crying to me when you get a cold."

Like a child, you stuck out your tongue.

You're sick.

You don't know if it's fate trying to trick you or something. Whatever it was, it definitely isn't funny. Thank goodness, it was still the weekend. You definitely would have lost it if you got sick in the middle of the week. Good news was Jiwoo got back to her own dorm safely because her roommates dragged her back. That made you feel a little better.

Swaddled in your blanket, you begin your travel to the faraway land of the living room where you met your roommate looking at you amusedly. You sent him the best glare you could muster with a bit of snot dripping down your face. He only snickered.

"I told you, you should've worn-"

"Shut it. I'd rather be sick than wear that sweaty jacket of yours."

"Oi!" He stands up, pointing at you who was rummaging through the fridge. "I'll have you know my jacket isn't at all sweaty and gross! I wash it often!"

You let out a snicker, taking some leftovers out of the fridge and shutting it close with your hips. Seungcheol drops his plate in the sink. He stares at you for a fleeting moment; your hair was a mess and there was a bit of snot running down your nose. Nonetheless, you were wrapped up tightly in your blanket that reached the floor. You peek your head to see what's playing on the TV when you see a familiar character.

"You watch...Link Clink?" You sniffle slightly, bringing your blanket back up to rest on your shoulders.

"Oh? You know this show?" Cute. He shakes the thought out of his head immediately.

"Yeah...It was on my watch list." You didn't think that he'd watch something like that. "Not like you need to know."

He rolls his eyes at you, ignoring your last comment. "You wanna watch it together sometime?"

What in the fuck? You don't know if it was your cold, if it was just the air conditioning or literal chills went down your spine at his offer. Maybe it was just the first option. Caught off guard, you stare at him. His eyebrow was raised at you while waiting for your response.

"Uhm...yeah, sure... why not?"

"Oh, yeah." He opens up a cabinet, your curious eyes following his form as he searches through the cupboard. He pulls out a green plastic and hands it over to you. "I figured you would get sick, so I bought some stuff this morning that could probably help."

"Oh, uh, thanks..."

"Don't mention it." You weren't too sure but you thought you saw him blush a little. Perhaps it was your brain playing tricks on you. Nonetheless, despite being your enemy, he was nice enough to buy you something. Though, it really was just a small cold.

He clears his throat, snapping you out of your trance. "Get some rest. Jiwoo will probably drop by here later."

"Yeah, okay."

“You’re telling me he took care of you while you were sick?”

“And you’re telling me you didn’t threaten him at all to take care of me while I was sick?”

Jiwoo takes a long sip of her bubble tea, taking her time to chew the pearls while you wait for an answer. She simply shakes her head no. You sigh.

“It’s not like he, like, took care of me. It was more of, like, he just made living together less of a living hell, I guess,” you state, taking your own sip of your tea.

“Less? What do you mean?”

“I mean, he still teased and taunted me. Like, he kept bringing his friends over. You know how loud all of them could get. Finished a bunch of my snacks even though they had my name on it. He broke my third favorite mug, too. One time, he placed my shit on top of the cabinet when he knew I couldn’t really reach it.”

You almost let out a laugh when you remember it.

“Awh, you need me in your life after all."

"Shut up, I can replace you with a step ladder."

"Too bad you won't. You love me too much."

You hadn’t even noticed the rosy pink that started to bloom on your cheeks and creep up to your ears. Jiwoo did, however, and would not let you live. Her eyes grew wide, dramatically placing her cup down. She shook you. A big grin was plastered on her face once you turned to look at her.

“Oh my goodness, it all makes sense now,” she cheered, enthusiastically shaking you around like a maraca. “You guys have been talking a lot lately… When I visited there was no sign of chaos anywhere.... And you were just giggling!”

“Giggling?”

“Giggling, Y/n, giggling! You!” she squeals. “Oh my god, you’re blushing! They’re blushing! Don’t tell me… you actually like him, do you?”

You let out a snort. “Me? Like him? Jiwoo, love, he makes my college life a lot less bearable. My petty ass won’t even let that go by, either. There’s no way I like that asshole.”

Okay, maybe you liked him a little bit.

It would be hard not to like a guy who stops in the middle of a walk just to pet some dogs he saw on the way. It would be hard to ignore the way he smiles whenever you see him with his friends. It was most definitely hard to pretend like your heart wasn’t racing at all when your drunk roommate, also known as your enemy, snuggled closer to you on your way to the couch.

“Seungcheol.” A groan. Try again.

“Seungcheol.” Same response. What is this bitch on?

“Choi Seungcheol.” A loud whine escapes his lips. “How much did you drink? You reek.”

“Just a lil’ bit,” he hiccuped, swaying back and forth on his feet. “We were having so much fun I didn’t even notice the time!”

You softly threw him onto the couch as he started to flail his arms. You rush to the kitchen to get him a glass of water. He throws his arms around the pillows and tightly squeezes them as he starts babbling nonsense you couldn’t quite make out. You hear something along the lines of peaches, weird foods they tried, and someone jumping into the pool. You smiled. They always were such a rowdy bunch. All 13 of them. You would know. They trashed your room once and ate your leftover ice cream.

“You look pretty.” You snorted, covering your mouth with your free hand. “You look just like my roomie, you know. They’re like-” A hiccup interrupts him. “They’re the prettiest person I’ve ever seen,” he slurred.

“Oh? Is that so?” You make him sit up properly and hand the cup over to him. “Here, drink some of this.”

He gulps down the water. “You're really kind, too! Ah, just like Y/n~ But they have a little- no, no- a huge temper.” Oh, wow. The audacity. He giggles and you suppress the urge to smile. Failing, you laugh along with him, shaking your head.

“Come on, let’s get you to your room, you ass,” you say, slinging an arm around him to try and get him up. “Why are you so damn heavy?”

“Because of my love~ for Y/n~!”

“Why are you cheesy when you’re drunk-”

You finally arrive at his room, which took a lot longer than expected because of dragging a very intoxicated Seungcheol around who would not stop trying to cuddle you. You struggle to open his door, ignoring the loud beating of your heart. Wanting to go back to sleep as quickly as possible, you let him crawl onto his own bed, turning around to leave.”

“Get some sleep.”

A hand wraps around your wrist, preventing you from leaving. He pulls you closer. You lose your balance. Oh look, now you're on top of him. You hold your breath. You try to push yourself away from him but to no avail. You were trapped.

“Where’s my goodnight kiss?” He croaked out, quickly leaning up to peck you on the lips.

“You kissed?!”

“Shh! Joo, not so loud!” Your eyes darted around the area, several heads turned to look your and Jiwoo’s way. “Everyone’s looking at us. I don’t even know what to say, Joo. I haven’t seen him at all for the past few days.” “You haven’t seen him or you’re avoiding him?” She raised a skeptical brow at you, popping some food in her mouth. She points one of her chopsticks at you with a big grin that makes you want to hide in a hole and never come out. “I think… you’re just avoiding him.”

“Well, what are you supposed to do when-” you lower your volume, casting your eyes to the ground. “I’m not finishing that sentence. Argh!” You hide your face in your hands, Jiwoo’s thrilled laughter coming from beside you.

You spent the following week trying to evade Seungcheol’s presence. You’ve been getting out of the dorm far earlier than you used to and he could never catch you anywhere. He seemed more than eager to talk to you nowadays, usually looking for you in the hallways or trying to spot a glimpse of you in your favorite spots. The library, the boba place, outside your classes. Nothing. It always seemed like you were one step faster than he was, one second too late for him.

He went around the campus grounds one last time. He even asked his friends if he’s seen you to which they replied with skeptical looks for fair reasons. He even tried to ask your friend, Jiwoo, to no avail. He retreats back to the dorm in defeat. His shoulders slumped over as he fished the keys out of his pocket. The door clicks and he becomes visibly confused. He still has his keys in his hand. The door opens wide and Seungcheol yelps, faced with none other than the roommate he was looking for.

Without thinking, he grabs a hold of your wrist as you go to shut the door on him. You snap yourself out of your thoughts from that night. "You're coming with me."

"What the fuck?" You tug your wrist back. His grip only tightens. "Yah! What the hell do you think you're doing?! I'm going to miss the next episode of-"

"Mmm, don't really care."

"Tch." You look down, suddenly ashamed of your get-up. He opens his car door for you. "Did Jiwoo put you up to this?"

Seungcheol smiles. Your heart... Did it skip a beat? Woah. Maybe he actually doesn't look too bad when he's not being a dick to you. Maybe he actually, dare you say it, looks cute when the two of you aren't at each other's throats every 5 seconds. You reluctantly get in, buckling your seatbelt while you wait for him to start up the car.

You look out the window, appreciating the beauty of the night. It's serene. It was still pretty bright with all the lights and buildings yet it looked beautiful. You opted not to speak to Seungcheol for the rest of the drive. You still didn't even know why he dragged you out of your room. You don't even know why you actually got in his car.

Realization hits you.

You're in his car. Seungcheol's car. You willingly got into Seungcheol's car. A small gasp leaves your lips, calling his attention.

"Is something wrong?"

You look at him. "Uh, no... No, I'm fine." The car suddenly holts, snapping you out of your daze. 7/11. Your eyebrows furrow. What?

"You dragged me out of my room... to go to 7/11? This late at night?" you asked, disbelief laced in your tone. He only chuckles at you, getting out of the car while leaving you bewildered and still strapped to your seat.

"Technically, it's like morning but sure." You unbuckle the seatbelt and step out, the cold breeze hitting your skin. Right, you still looked like a mess in the middle of a crisis. "I owe you ice cream since Soonyoung couldn't control himself the other day."

You narrow your eyes at him, suspicious of why he decided to be nice to you today. Before you could open your mouth to speak, he interrupts you, "This is just so you won't bitch about your lost ice cream."

"Hey!" you huff, crossing your arms over your chest. He picks up a few items and checks them out, you follow behind him like a lost puppy. "I thought we were just getting ice cream... why are you-"

"Can you just enjoy this quiet we have right now?" That made you shut up for the rest of the night. Not really. You started complaining about the cold a few minutes later while he laughed at your misery.

"Your fault for not bringing a coat, idiot."

"You fuckin- You dragged me out here!" you exclaimed, exasperated. "The audacity of this bitch, I swear."

Now sitting outside the 7/11, you rub your arms in a feeble attempt to warm yourself up. Not much luck. He slams a cup of instant ramen in front of you. You jumped slightly at the noise and he sent you a sheepish grin. "Enjoy, loser." You stick your tongue out at him yet pick up the cup nonetheless.

A sizzle breaks the silence between the both of you. He has a cheeky grin plastered all over his face as he teases you with the sight of the can of beer. He tosses one in your direction. You caught it, thankfully. You take a sip after opening it, letting out a content sigh. You searched your brain for something to say to fill the silence. It wasn't exactly everyday you get to sit quietly under the night sky on a school night with your worst enemy.

“I...uh... also wanted to apologize if I weirded you out while I was shit-faced drunk that one time. I didn’t- the words… they just slipped out,” he says.

“That’s it?” you ask. “You don’t remember anything else?”

Seungcheol shakes his head. “I don’t remember anything other than babbling nonsense. Why? Did I do something?” Your cheeks flare up, memories flooding back in that you’ve tried so hard to avoid. He stops and looks at you, noticing how you wouldn’t look him in the eye. Your eyes were trained on something else, your cheeks burning crimson. He blinks once, twice, trying to recollect the events of that night. All he remembers was you pissed and greeting him at the door, muttering some embarrassing shit, and being dropped onto his bed. Everything else was a blur.

“We should… Let’s get going. It’s getting really late,” you say, turning your head so you’d stop staring. The two of you finish up your ramen and drinks, heading back to Seungcheol’s car after discarding the trash.

On the way home, he recalls a few memories. The day you first met, the time you embarrassed him in front of the whole 8th grade, the time he gave you an oreo cookie filled with toothpaste. A good trip down memory lane later, the two of you were laughing obnoxiously in the wee hours of the morning. The laughter dies down as Seungcheol unlocks your dorm door.

“Come to think of it, why are we enemies again? We didn’t really do too much to hate each other,” you say, removing your shoes by the door.

“Do we hate each other?” You shrug. He laughs. “Why don’t we start over then? We’re not too different, apparently.”

“Yeah. Sure, why not?”

He sticks out his hand. “Hi, I’m Seungcheol.”

You gaze lingers on it for a few seconds. You never thought you’d be doing this ever. You look up at him and back at his hand. There’s a chance you’ll regret your next move but you doubt you will.

With a simple, soft kiss, everything felt like it changed yet stayed the same. The feeling of his lips on yours felt like a simple gift from the universe as a sorry for everything the two of you went through together. Seungcheol was frozen in his spot, eyes fluttering shut as he slowly pulled you closer. His memories start getting clearer. He slowly pieces together what happened that night. You pull away with a grin, completely red in the face.

“Hi, I’m Y/n. Seungcheol’s worst nightmare.”

“Is that what I get for making you suffer in silence when I couldn’t remember anything?”

“Oh, so you remember now? Damn, you really are old.”

“We’re the same age!”

“To answer your question, yes. Yes, it is.”

For the second time that night, you kissed.

#seventeen #seventeen fluff #seventeen imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #svt #svt fluff #svt imagines #svt scenarios #svt x reader #choi seungcheol #s.coups #scoups x reader #seungcheol x reader #scoups fluff #seungcheol fluff #eishi.cafe

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feathers-scales-and-tails · 5 years

Text

My ‘unhealthy’ chickens

My blog has a lot of cute chicken photos on it, and sometimes I get comments such as “wow I want a chicken like that!” Which is lovely! I’m glad to spread the chicken love! However I want to take a second to address this. Just like with dogs, there are many breeds of chicken which are unhealthy and have health consequences because of this. I have a couple of birds like this. I just want to make people aware that if they seriously want a bird like this, to take into account what health issues may come with them.

Sooty - Frizzle feathers

Sooty is a fan favourite, and one of my favourites too. I do admit that I love the frizzle feather gene, it just looks so cool! However frizzle feathering causes some issues and I didn’t intentionally get a frizzle, Sooty hatched from a mystery egg. Her Dad was the only frizzle in the flock, with 13 other roosters, so she was a surprise to say the least!

Weather intolerance: Due to the feathers sticking out like that, birds can’t warm up in the cold since their feathers don’t provide a protective barrier and body heat escapes. This also means they have no natural shelter from rain and wind. Sooty doesn’t have to worry about any of this, it’s never cold where I live and she lives inside. She really struggles in the heat, however that’s likely due to her leg and foot feathering which I’ll discuss later, rather than the frizzle feathering.

Flight: Birds can’t fly well, since their primary wing feathers are curled or brittle. This puts them at risk of leg and spinal injuries if they try to fly from too large a height. Sooty did severe nervous damage to her spine when she was 8 weeks old, causing her to become paralysed in the legs for 3 months. Thankfully, she fully recovered after 5 months of physiotherapy.

Sooty’s wings look like this. Not all frizzle feathered birds have flights this poor, however it is a potential consequence of the feather type.

Communication: Another issue frizzle feathers cause is communication within a flock. Sooty used to get pecked a lot by her top hen Kath, because Kath thinks Sooty is always challenging her to fight! Chickens use their neck feathers, called hackle feathers, to communicate a whole bunch of things. From fear, to aggression, to even asking another flock member to clean their feathers. Since frizzle feathers stick out like that, the bird struggles to move them into the positions used for communication so can’t talk to their flock very well. Sooty’s curled hackle feathers make it look like she’s always challenging another hen to a fight

You can see how those raised hackles kinda look like Sooty’s ‘mane’ of curled neck feathers! Thankfully, Sooty is second in command and her head hen, Kath, seems to have learnt that Sooty just looks like that! So she doesn’t get attacked very frequently anymore.

Unethical breeding: The gene which causes frizzle feathers in homozygous form (two copies of the gene) also causes serious issues. These birds are called Frazzles or ‘over frizzled’ and their feathers are very weak, often falling out and leaving the bird naked. It can be painful for them, and if they’re left outside, they certainly wouldn’t survive. Therefore frizzles should never be bred together. To breed frizzles you should use a frizzle feathered bird with a smooth feathered bird. However, this means you hatch only 50% frizzles, so some unethical breeders breed frizzle x frizzle to reduce the amount of smooth feathered birds they get.

A Frazzle chicken

Heart failure: These feathers have also been linked with enlarged hearts, increasing risk of heart failure. Since the feathers cause loss of body heat, it causes an increase in metabolism and other physiological functions to keep the body temperature at the appropriate level. This means the heart has to work harder, increasing its size and putting more strain on it. Sooty tires out easier, and when she used to be out ranging she’d frequently come inside to sleep on the couch while her flock was still outside having fun. I could see this putting them more at risk of predation, since if they’re already tired they don’t have the same stamina of another bird to flee a predator.

Solo - Heavy foot/leg feathering

Not the most flattering photo of her but the best one I have to show her foot feathering! As you can see she was quite cranky with me! She’s a Silkie X Pekin, which are both breeds known to have heavily feathered legs. There are many breeds with healthy foot feathering, such as Langshans

But some like the show-type Pekin bantam, have a number of issues associated with their foot feathering. Here’s a Pekin in comparison to the Langshan above

As you can see the feathering is much much heavier!

Mobility: Very heavy leg and foot feathering significantly reduces mobility. The large feathers make it harder to move toes, making perching more difficult, and are a tripping hazard. Solo is always tripping over, stumbling, and ‘shuffling’ when she walks since her feet impair her movement a significant amount. I’m probably going to cut her foot feathers off so she can move about easier. They’d never hindered her movement until now, this molt they grew in humongous for some reason. Obviously having a built in tripping hazard isn’t a good idea, since it predisposes the bird to a higher risk of leg injuries.

Thermotegulation: As mentioned above, legs and feet are very important in helping a bird regulate their temperature. Lightly feathered legs like the Langshan has don’t have this issue, since the bird has majority of its foot free to cool down with. Heavily feathered legs like the pekin provide little surface area to cool down with, so the birds can really struggle in hot weather. Solo is one of our least heat tolerant birds, and she thankfully has wattles and a comb unlike poor Silkies!

Cleanliness: Heavily feathered feet get disgusting! They’re more prone to getting dirty and are harder for the birds to keep clean. Solo always has poop, sticks, food, mud, and all sorts of other gunk crusted into her foot feathering. I have to clean them quite frequently so that she doesn’t get bacterial build up.

Other health ailments: In my experience, heavily feathered feet tend to be a beacon for related leg and foot health issues. We don’t have to worry about this where I live, but foot feathers can get wet in snow and heighten frostbite risk for toes. Although I don’t have to worry about the cold, sadly these foot feathers also have heat related issues! I live in a sub-tropical environment, so humidity levels get pretty high here. Bacteria loves humidity. Solo has had a bad case of Bumblefoot which was really hard to treat due to this humidity. Sweep, another bird with heavy foot feathering, has had 2 cases of bumblefoot now. I’ve never had a clean-legged bird get bumblefoot, so it’s definitely linked to trapping bacteria and humidity. I haven’t had to deal with this parasite myself, but apparently feather-legged breeds are more prone to Scaly-leg mite too.

Cujo - Heavy layer breeds

Cujo is a Hamburg, sometimes referrred to as ‘Everlayers’ since they have a reputation for reliably laying an egg every day. They rarely go broody, and if they do are very easy to dissuade. I am very against production breeds if they’re not within an agricultural industry, where they have a purpose, since it tragically shortens their lives so much. The Hamburgs lay on average 200 eggs annually, which isn’t too bad and makes them a healthier layer breed, but it’s certainly heavier laying than most of the other breeds I have. Cujo is actually very healthy, I took great care in picking a breeder to get her from and most of his birds are lighter layers than they ‘should’ be. Cujo was laying 3-4 eggs a week before her current molt, much better than the 5-7 her breed has a reputation for.

Heart failure: One of the most frequent ends to laying birds is heart failure. Their bodies are under so much stress to make an egg every day that their bodies eventually just give up, usually from heart failure.

They don’t go broody: A lot of people don’t like broody hens, since they stop laying and sit on their nest all day, however I really like them. A broody hen gets a much needed break from laying eggs! Some breeds continue to lay eggs over winter, and some birds don’t stop laying when they molt if it’s a light one. So broodies give the bird a choice to stop laying and sit on eggs when she wants, if she didn’t get a break over winter or molt. Breeding this behaviour out of production breeds contributes to their issues, since they can’t take that break.

Shortened life span: Due to the strain mass egg production puts on their bodies, average lifespan is 3-4 years compared to the 6-10+ of healthy heritage breeds. I had a utility leghorn as a pet many years ago, her heart tragically gave out on her one day while I wasn’t home. She was dirtbathing in her favourite spot when it happened, so I hope to think it was a peaceful end. She was only 2 years old.

Reproductive complications: Heavy layer breeds are more prone to experiencing issues with their reproductive tract. This includes cancers, tumours, prolapses, egg binding, and egg yolk peritonitis (infection). They’re also more prone to nutrient deficiencies, especially with calcium, since it takes so much out of them to lay eggs. This is easily preventable with a balanced diet, however if calcium deficiency does occur the hen can suffer from brittle bones.

Sweep - Aggressive breeds

Now Sweep isn’t nearly as bad as this title frames her to be, but it’s still worth a mention. We can only guess what her parentage is since she came from mystery eggs, but we think Sweep is an Old English Game cross Pekin. In Australia, Old English Game are a hyper aggressive breed. They were bred for the cruel sport of cockfighting, where two roosters are forced to fight to the death. Thankfully this sport is now criminalised, but nobody bred the aggressiveness out of this breed.

Injury risk: hyper aggressive breeds pose a greater risk of injury mainly to other flock mates, but also to themselves. These birds often antagonise others despite there not really being a reason to, resulting in more fighting, disharmony, and injury within a flock. If another bird is stronger than them and gets sick of their shit, they themselves could be seriously hurt since they often don’t know when to back down from a fight like non-aggressive birds do. Sweep has to be housed separate from my main flock with her mother, Solo for company. She has tried many times to outrank birds in my main flock but her fighting is very brutal compared to the normal pecking order fights. She aims for the eyes, and came close to blinding a bird once before, I can’t risk that sort of injury.

Mortality risk: continuing on from that first point, some individuals will take their aggressiveness too far and kill fellow flock mates. What might start out as a simple pecking order fight can turn very bloody and very brutal with these breeds fast. Roosters can kill hens and hens can kill hens. This obviously should never happen in well bred, good tempered birds. I do not say this jokingly when I say that Sweep and Sooty would kill each other if I let them. They’re both Pekin X Old English, and although Sooty is good with other birds, she’s terrible with Sweep. I’m hoping Sweep will mellow with age (she’s currently 2) and I can integrate her and Solo as part of Blossom’s flock.

Social interaction: I think this is something a lot of people don’t seem to consider, but having hyper aggressive birds which have to be housed seperate will obviously hugely impact upon their social needs. It doesn’t matter how aggressive the bird is, a chicken is, and always will be, a social animal. They need companionship, and while this can be provided by us, it’s easiest to provide it with other chickens. Keeping a social animal by itself, never letting it interact with others, and not providing that companionship yourself is incredibly inhumane in my opinion. It doesn’t matter if that bird is incapable of interacting without trying to kill the others, the fact is that this animal is still hardwired to live in a social group. By breeding such aggressive animals, it’s very cruel since it deprives them of such a basic need.

Now this post isn’t to say people can’t get a breed if they like it but it has health consequences, because something like those heavy foot feathers don’t cause the bird any harm or pain in itself, it’s just a consequence of poor management. So if you’re willing to do the work to ensure those features don’t hinder the animals quality of life, then excellent! Go ahead and get those basketball-shaped Pekin lads! This post was merely a reminder to think critically and research any animal/breed before you get them, and to make sure you’re prepared for any future consequences or adjustments for that animal/breed. Sooty and Solo need fans set up on their pens during the Summer, Sweep needs a seperate coop, and all three need adjusted perches and weekly foot health checks because of their heavily feathered feet. Once again, the importance of you screening for ethical, responsible breeders is crucial when deciding to bring a new family member home.

Thanks for reading!

#myposts #my posts #feathers #petblr #animalblr #chickenblr #birdblr #birblr #pet chicken #long post #info

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norcumii · 4 years

Text

The Alpha 17 Supplemental

We all deserve something a little nice. So here’s a rough draft preview of the Star to Steer By Alpha 17 supplemental. (Please note, this is unbetaed, subject to change, etc.)

I hope y’all have a good day. <3

~~~~

Alpha 17 was a good soldier. He knew from a very early age that he was good at combat, loved it, and he pushed himself to be the best that the GAR could produce.

He knew some of his brothers thought that made him a bit simple, limited, unambitious.

He didn’t care.

The trainers worried, concerned that he didn’t seem to pick up outside hobbies or interests. He could practically hear ‘there’s more to life than fighting!’ every time he got that look, the doubt screaming in their eyes. He knew that meant another psych eval was in his near future, and it was frustrating because they didn’t get it.

He liked fighting. He liked the simple math, how goal plus obstacle equaled a straightforward picture. He could break that down, take it apart and rearrange the bits for more carnage, less causalities, different outcomes depending on the goal. Some brothers liked painting, or reading, or whatever. Alpha 17 liked taking a battlefield to pieces, and the addition of life’s chaos and unpredictability just made it exciting.

It got worse as he got older, signing up for the ARC program the literal minute he was able to. His batchmates only rolled their eyes a little – they at least didn’t poke at him about it – but everyone else? The whispers just got more annoying.

ARC training was serious business, was he sure he wanted to? ARC training meant learning the ropes for hosting - like that would ever matter - and that didn’t seem to be the kind of thing he’d like. ARC training had a ridiculous wash-out rate, required a steady temperament, often led to a much shorter lifespan, blah blah blah.

ARCs got into the middle of the most interesting shit, were given command and solo missions in equal measure. They didn’t stick to any one thing, historically they were the ones getting shit done, and if there was trouble, they were liable to be at ground zero.

Of course Alpha 17 wanted in on that. So he did something else he was very good at: he kept his head down and worked his shebs off.

Didn’t stop the occasional complaints. He brushed off the ones that he could, went through all the usual psych evals (and the bonus ones too), and kept learning what he could. He trained, he excelled, he fought.

The attitude didn’t stop coming either, but that was no surprise. He might be stubborn, but so was the rest of the GAR. Came with the job description. Not that he took more than he had to, of course. After one instructor complained about excessive casualties, the next exercise he took an absurdly round-about approach which resulted in record low casualties for the sim exercise.

The next day he handed in a complaint against himself about incompetence, excessive caution, and an evaluation about how taking that fucking long would have resulted in a campaign that was far too high in cost, time, and resources.

The instructor quit bitching after that.

Alpha 17 started his ARC training as the youngest in his class. ARC trooper Alpha 17 went into his cryo stint as top graduate of his class, having already had a successful and noteworthy acclimation stint all around the mid- to outer-rim.

*****

Three years after his thaw, Alpha 17 returned from a mission totally-not-exploding some wildly unpleasant slavers’ headquarters to find the usual stack of correspondence waiting for him. He kept his holo-mail down to a screaming minimum as much as possible, because everyone and their classified dog preferred to send secured intel via datapads or datasticks or whatever data-things they could secure to biometrics and ident scans. He grabbed the box for incoming shit and hauled it off to his quarters, because it’d been almost four months away and even he would admit to needing a real godsdamned shower in his own fucking apartment.

He might’ve ignored the pile long enough for a decent meal from the commissary and a few hours of rack time out of sheer spite. When 17 finally sat down to sort it, he wasn’t too surprised that almost a quarter of the pads had the glossy red endcaps indicating highest priority. It took a second glance to register that one of those had further detailing, the Jedi Order’s symbol embossed on the center of the red caps.

That was different. 17 set down the two pads he’d grabbed at random to pick it up instead. The metal shell wasn’t new, but it held few of the dings and scratches any correspondence gained traveling through the courier system. Recently made or rarely used.

“The hell?” he muttered, powering it up. Official Order business of some sort, but what kind of mission could –

17’s brain stalled out as he finally read the simple, clear message.

Simple, clear, and about as unlikely as him sprouting wings and flying to Corellia without a ship. “Potential host.” Nope, sounded even crazier out loud. “Like hell.” He tossed the pad down and slumped back in his chair, staring at the datapad in confusion. How the fuck was he a potential host? What kind of Jedi could he possibly have a match with?

In some kind of vain hope that the message would change to something that made sense given enough time, 17 mechanically went through the rest of his mail. Several innocuous messages regarding hazard pay; five potential missions, two of which had a time window long past; one message rescinding one of the other potential missions; one airworthiness directive and recall about a jetpack model he hated anyways; somehow even more questions about his deposition for the fucking Cato Neimoidia cluster because lawyers were never truly done.

All the usual bullshit, really.

Didn’t change the potential host message, though.

*****

Alpha 17 answered the call, of course. He sent a reply message off, confirmed the trip to Coruscant via the usual GAR channels, and then he tried to lose himself in post-mission paperwork.

It didn’t help that if anything was less likely to occupy his attention, it was paperwork. Even the usual joys of finding new and ridiculous euphemisms for ‘killed a bunch of assholes’ and ‘blew up a lot of shit’ were empty and useless.

The question of what kind of Jedi could possibly consider him a match dogged him all the way to Coruscant, and only got worse when he walked into the changing room with the other two candidates. One was a quiet, well-dressed Zeltron who was the most unassuming being 17 had ever laid eyes on. Short red hair, heading towards middle-age, and 100% unremarkable – he wouldn’t call them “bland,” but he wouldn’t argue the point if someone else did. The other one was an older Wookiee who sauntered in with all the trappings of an AgriCorp member, cheerfully growling observations about everything with an air of nervous excitement.

Sure, he knew the matching was probably on different quadrants, but what the hells could he have in common with these two?

The Jedi deposited on the fourth side of the table was a bit on the small side – maybe fully grown, maybe just younger but with their mature coloring. It was hard to tell with Jedi, even for someone who was good at that kind of thing.

That was not in 17’s skillset.

It was no help whatsoever that the Jedi turned towards 17 first. He felt ridiculous, stretching out his hand like he was inviting someone’s pet to take a whiff, but somehow this was worse than in training. Training meant everyone had to be there, and was going through the motions, but this –

This was the real deal. What the fuck was 17 doing, really applying to be a host?

The Jedi curled around his wrist, warmer than expected. He could feel the faint buzz in his mind of the Jedi’s mental probe – nothing that could be strong enough to read actual thoughts, but enough to give them a decent impression of 17. He had to stifle down a snicker, imagining what it might be like to feel his mind. I like fighting, blowing shit up, and doing my job. Sorry to waste your time, Jedi.

The pulse of amusement – real, and not his – was a bucket of ice down his spine. Shit. Shiiiit, he hoped that hadn’t been somehow broadcast. It probably hadn’t, but that was awkward. Meanwhile, the Jedi let out a quiet hiss, sharing some kind of emotional nudge to pass them along.

It was hard not rubbing at his wrist where the Jedi had been as the other two host-potentials went through the ritual. 17 was sure that some of the discomfort was due to being out of armor, but a quiet part of him wondered about the strange reaction anyways.

Hosting wasn’t a thing. He’d never given the faintest shit about hosting, he just wanted to be an ARC.

He was paying enough attention to do all the bowing and whatever that was called for, but it took the amused chuffing of a Wookiee to pull 17 all the way back to the matter at hand.

Literally at hand; the Jedi was back near his wrist, looking up at him with those four bright eyes and a body posture that might indicate concern.

Wait, WHAT? 17’s head jerked up, and he looked at the other two in the room. The Wookiee was grinning, while the Zeltron was hiding their amusement almost well enough that they just looked a little bored. He couldn’t help but feel that it was intentional that he could read the body language at all. 17 looked back down at the Jedi, who weh-ed at him.

“What are you doing?” 17 asked right back, because there was no way this could be happening. The Jedi scooted a little closer to him, making another hissing noise. With the continued sensation that this could not really be happening, 17 held his hand out to the Jedi.

They sauntered right onto his palm, still giving him that look. Another glance at the other host-potentials confirmed the impossible, but 17 was still slow enough lifting the Jedi that there was plenty of time for someone to declare that this was some ridiculous mistake, or prank, or something.

Nobody said anything as 17 opened his mouth and let the Jedi in. There was that feeling of movement that wasn’t (except it really was), then there was a new voice in 17’s mind.

#Hello there,# the Jedi declared. They sounded male, young, good natured. Not at all like what 17 would have expected. #I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi.#

#Well that’s a mouthful,# 17 couldn’t help but think, bemused and not quite sure what the hell was going on.

There was a sound of muffled laughter, accompanied by something not-really-a-flash to how that was a pun given how the Jedi – Kenobi – had just entered. #From a certain perspective, yes.#

17 smirked, enjoying the feel of a fellow sapient in spite of himself. #Alpha 17. ARC-17017.#

*****

It was always easy to tell the difference between Qui-Gon and Tahl. She moved with thoughtful purpose, feet planted solid on the ground and shoulders aggressively square. Jinn flowed more, confident and feline, certain of himself in a sometimes arrogant way that could piss off even the most serene being, let alone Alpha 17.

He liked and respected them both, more than he or Obi-Wan figured most people understood. He hadn’t expected that, when he’d first met the Jedi and host that were to be Obi-Wan’s – and his, in a sense – primary trainers. He’d resented that at first, not that he’d admit it. He was no youngling, for all that Obi-Wan was a shiny. Obi-Wan also had inherited memories, and since 17 was a well-trained and skilled soldier, they should be good to go in short order.

Then they had their first training session with Obi-Wan’s brand new lightsaber.

The less said about that fiasco, the better.

It took time to learn how everything fit together; 17’s blaster and fighting skills, Obi-Wan’s genuine talent for the lightsaber and acrobatics that thanks to the Force were well outside the normal bounds for a clone, and how the Force integrated with it all.

The first time 17 dodged away from a sparring partner only to reach and yank their legs out from under them, dumping them to the floor several meters away, he’d been stunned. It was one thing to know Jedi – and thus their hosts – could use the Force, it was totally another to see it in action, and it was a far different beast to do that impossibility himself.

He liked it, though. It was interesting to find there was a whole new area and styles of fighting he could apply himself to, and as always he did so with excessive diligence.

With the comforting glee inside his head of a Jedi just as eager to learn, and to fight, he no longer questioned why the hell he’d been the one to host Obi-Wan.

~end section

#star wars #our writing #star to steer by #star to steer by 2 #alpha 17 #Hugs #hugs for everyone

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johannstutt413 · 3 years

Text

(requested by anonymous)

The first time the Doctor saw Mudrock without her helmet wasn’t supposed to be the first time; the Sarkaz (or at least, the records said she was a Sarkaz) normally received her treatment from Operator Folinic, but since she was out on a mission, and he’d gotten to know the squad leader somewhat well by this point, he decided to take her place. Besides, there were rumors going around that Mudrock was actually a golem themselves, and he needed something to combat those rumors with if he was going to have any luck introducing her to RI on a broader basis…So, he volunteered to give her a physical, and after a bit of contemplating (and talking to one of her golems), the Sarkaz agreed.

“Is now a good time?” That was his second question, after “Would you be alright with me performing your check-up?”

She turned around to look at the clock, then turned back around to nod. “Now is fine.”

“Great. Follow me.” He pressed a button on the underside of his desk, and the shelf behind him opened up to reveal a hidden exam room.

“...Doctor,” Mudrock said as she joined him in the back room, a golem slipping out from her armor and taking up a post in the corner. “Why do you have this?”

The Doctor shook his head. “Honestly, I would just turn this into a game room, but I can’t without getting HR’s permission and locating a new office, and since everyone else needs the space more, I’m stuck with it. If it makes you uncomfortable, I can see if I can use one of the public rooms?”

“No, it’ll be fine for today. I trust you, and you explained.”

“Thank you.” With a sigh of relief, he turned on the ancient-feeling computer system, giving the tower a pat as it whirred to life. “Good girl. Mudrock, whenever...you’re...ready...”

The geomancer had already taken off her helmet by the time he’d looked over to ask her to do just that. “Yes, Doctor?”

“Um, nothing you’re not already doing.” Man, he should have worn a lighter mask today.

“Ah, alright then.” She looked back through the still-open shelf. “Can we close the door? I’m still not used to revealing myself so...openly.”

He hit a button to do that. “Thanks for giving me the hon- I mean, thanks for trusting me.”

“I’m not in a battle, and you need to see me to do the check-up.” As she stated the obvious for both their benefit, the Sarkaz finished undoing her suit before stepping out of it and sending it walking over to the sentry golem.

“Right, yes, check-up, uh-huh.” Mudrock wore a swimsuit under her armor. Good to know.

She could tell the Doctor was struggling as he waited for his computer to finish turning on. “Are you nervous? You seem nervous.”

“Do I?” Shit, it was that obvious? “Well, I um...Oh, I’m just making things more awkward, I should’ve asked someone else to do this. I’m sorry.”

“I thought you’d be less scared of me with my armor off.” There was a note in her voice he’d never heard before, but he didn’t have the processing power to resolve what it was.

And lacking that information, he simply replied to the words he heard. “No, it’s not like that! I mean, now that you’re working with us, you never scare me, but I just didn’t expect you to...to...be so cute...” Sealing his death warrant, he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and grabbed the first of several handheld devices he’d need to do the examination.

Thankfully, Mudrock was the most compliant patient the Doctor had ever worked with - even anticipating what he needed her to do before he’d asked her to do it - so for all his awkwardness, he was able to quickly make the determinations and measurements he needed to write up for her records. The prognosis was still rather grim, but they’d managed to increase her projected lifespan by several months from Folinic’s last determination, so the treatments were helping, at least. Although, frankly, at this point, the Doctor might need a blood pressure medication added to his prescription list…

“Alright, well, you seem to be doing better than your last check-up,” he reassured her as he finished putting in all the data. “I don’t have any recommendations other than to keep following the plan Operator Folinic set up for you. Um, anything I can do for you before I let you go?”

“Do you really think I’m cute, Doctor?” The geomancer hadn’t recalled her armor yet, and was instead reclining on the exam table.

Oh, where was this going to go now? He audibly swallowed. “I, um, yes, but uh...Please don’t report me to HR.”

“Report you?” She cocked her head. “For complimenting me?”

“That’s not why you were asking? Oh, thank God.”

For the first time since he’d met her, Mudrock chuckled, shaking her head. “Very few people see me without my equipment, and you’re the first person to say that to my face. I know some of my squad who have seen me talk about it, but they never told me what they thought. Thank you.”

“Oh, um, any time!” Too honest. “Well, I guess we should get back to…Actually, can I ask you something?”

“I’m at your disposal, Doctor.” The Sarkaz had her golems collect into her armor and start walking over to her.

Now or never; go big or go home. “Could I, um, have a hug?”

“Without my armor?” She stopped her armor in its tracks. “...Yes.”

“Sorry, I know it- yes?” This was nothing like the simulations.

Mudrock stood up from the table. “I don’t know when I’ll have a chance like this again.”

“Shouldn’t that be my line?” The Doctor timidly approached her. “You’re really okay with this?”

“I can’t remember the last time I hugged someone...I hope I remember how to do it.”

He stopped when he was within arm’s reach, focusing on her face despite the gravity of the rest of her. “Honestly, it’s the same for me. Ready?”

“Mhmm.” The Sarkaz’s voice had dropped to a whisper as her arms settled around him, pulling him closer as his did the same. “...You’re warmer than the earth I wrap myself in.”

“Uh-huh.” His brain had officially deactivated once her arms were around him; it was like being held by Mother Terra herself.

She rested her head on his shoulder - even without her armor, she was almost taller than him. “This is nice.”

“Uh-huh.” That was enough to get a few gears whirling properly again. “I should send that record to the office before I forget.”

“I’ll remember for you. A little longer?” One of Mudrock’s hands had crept up and pulled down his hood.

Instinct told him to take off his mask. “If you- Mudrock?”

“Your face...” She traced a scar that ran along the entire right side of his head, from forehead to jawline. “I don’t know what I expected, but...not this.”

“I thought about asking Orchid to teach me to cover them with makeup, but-”

The geomancer shook her head. “We all have scars to show and weights to bear, Doctor. There’s no need to hide them...Do you remember what they mean?”

“I don’t,” he admitted. “I don’t remember any of my battles from before Chernobog.”

“Mm.” That seemed to be enough, although it didn’t stop her from continuing to examine him, like a jewel appraiser evaluating a diamond inset in a ring.

The Doctor sighed. “I hate to break this up, Mudrock, but...I still have work I need to do.”

“Okay.” She reluctantly let him go. “Tonight, will you come see me and my friends? They miss you, and...I know I will, too.”

“Oh, um, yeah. Yeah, that sounds great.” He was blushing like an idiot; the Sarkaz was watching him with hope in her eyes. Time slowed down as they looked each other in the eye.

They went about their days as normal, but there was no denying it: there was something there that wasn’t there before.

#arknights #arknights fic #mudrock (arknights)#this was an ooooold request #so it got priority and hence i wrote it today #i have so many i want to write for myself #somewhat to commemorate the new arrivals #but also because not writing robs me of one of my major stress relief tools #so while daily writing is out of reach for now #as i promised #this blog is not dead yet

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jaskiersvalley · 4 years

Text

Forever Yours

@alwenarin You cannot leave this in the comments and not expect me to be inspired! This will also beautifully fill the ‘whump’ square on my bingo card for a discord server. So thank you!

CW: Witcher Trials

Winter was upon them and Eskel couldn’t leave Cahir behind. Over the last couple of months they’d quite grown on each other. Sure, it wasn’t always easy, the first time Cahir lost his temper at having to once again leave town without pay or rest, it hadn’t been pretty. He’d raged, Eskel had to all but bodily haul him away from the line of pitchforks. Looking back on it, the memory was quite bittersweet because Eskel hadn’t had someone so up in arms on his behalf before. Nobody defended a witcher. Well, Geralt’s bard did but he was a rarity. And now Eskel had his own bottled lightning in the form of Cahir.

“I know I’ve said it before-” Eskel sighed. They were in the last tavern before climbing the mountain to Kaer Morhen. “-but Kaer Morhen is a bit of a mixed bag.”

“I know,” Cahir echoed back and stole a parsnip from Eskel’s plate. “Lambert’s a dick, he may have Aiden with him who is an enabler of the worst kind. Geralt will grunt, Jaskier will sing, Ciri will challenge anyone to a fight and Vesemir is the long suffering father figure. We’re been over this a lot.”

At least Eskel’s jaw snapped shut and he looked down in embarrassment. He knew he was fussing but his family was a lot. More than most people could usually cope with. It took a couple of years before any of his guests ever felt comfortable.

They made the trek over a couple of days and dismounted as they rode into the courtyard.

“Eskel!” A voice greeted them and who was probably Lambert hopped down from a windowsill. “You picked up another one?”

“Shut up Lambert,” Eskel growled but gave his fellow wolf a hug despite his scowl.

“Another what?�� Cahir demanded, not quite sure what it could mean.

A voice from behind him almost purred. “Another pet project. I’ve heard about them over the years. I’m Aiden.” Shaking the offered hand, Cahir looked the man over. Witcher, no mistaking that but of a different ilk to the wolves. “Why don’t I show you around while Eskel catches up with his family?”

One solid, warm hand grabbed Cahir by the shoulder and Eskel looked looming next to him.

“He’ll come with me.”

“Oh I bet I will!” Aiden winked and Lambert brayed. The two of them took off, hollering for the whole keep to hear about the fact Eskel wasn’t alone.

Just like the warnings, Cahir found that Lambert was indeed an insufferable arse who was absolutely egged on by Lambert. Geralt had taken one look at him and grunted, Jaskier was chattier than all the witchers combined. However, the biggest surprise was Ciri. She had taken one look at Cahir, gasped and ran to him.

“I’ve seen you in my dreams!”

That wasn’t ominous at all. It also led to a long discussion where Geralt looked more constipated than ever before. They’d thought Ciri’s dreams had been under control but it turned out they changed to less distressing.

“He used to be covered in blood. Now he just has yellow eyes.”

The table erupted in murmurs and arguments then, whether the dreams were literal or if they were symbolic. After all, Cahir’s eyes were most definitely not yellow, not in any light.

A boon of the discussion that lasted for days was that the teasing had stopped. Cahir had been able to gather that he wasn’t the first companion Eskel had brought home. Not by a long shot. He always seemed to pick up strays, broken people scattered along his Path. And every single time he was helpless to resist. All he offered was a helping hand, to be a crutch until his newfound companion was ready to stand on their own feet. Or they died in his arms. No matter what, it always ended with Eskel’s already bruised heart shattering a little more. The others thought him foolish for putting his heart on the line so often. Lambert had found another witcher as a companion. Meanwhile, Geralt had a sorceress and a powerful child surprise who were both quite attached to their bard. There was no doubt that Jaskier would enjoy a lifespan longer than that of an average human. But Eskel? He had Cahir, a regular human and they didn’t have powerful friends. They all knew that this was borrowed happiness they were living with.

While the others were all hung up on Ciri and her dreams, trying to tease them into something meaningful, Cahir sat back and mulled things over. He’d found happiness. After everything that had happened, he found he wasn’t prepared to let it go. Cahir wanted more than a blink of an eye with Eskel. So he started trying to find a way, any way to extend that time. He trained with the witchers each morning, learning from them but also teaching them tricks that he’d picked up in the army. When he wasn’t dripping sweat and getting bruised to the point of looking like a dropped peach, he was in the library, studying. Two heads were better than one, Cahir was determined to be useful on the road with Eskel.

It was in the library that Jaskier found him, looking a little hesitant.

“Nilfgaard is still looking for you. They’ve doubled the price on your head.”

“And how would you know that when we’re all cut off from the world at large?” Not that Cahir had anything against Jaskier but he was dubious about how he could possibly hear about new information when so isolated.

He didn’t expect Jaskier to flop into a seat next to him with a scowl.

“As one intelligence officer to another, I won’t reveal my methods but I’ll share what’s relevant to you.”

A little irked, Cahir sniffed. “Ex-intelligence officer. My loyalties are to Eskel and his family, not Nilfgaard.”

If anything, it seemed to make Jaskier nod. “You’re just like them. A witcher in everything but body. You’re a good fit for Eskel.”

With that, he got up again, deciding he had had enough of sitting still. The damage had been done though and Cahir’s mind was working overtime. Jaskier had hit the nail on the head so to speak and an idea was blossoming in Cahir’s mind. He mulled it over until dinner. When everyone was quietly eating, he didn’t clear his throat, didn’t set his utensils aside with purpose. Instead, as if asking someone to pass the salt, he said, “I want to do the trials.”

Though it was quiet before, an absolute silence engulfed the room. The witchers all stared at him dumbfounded.

“No. Absolutely not.” Eskel looked as close to panic as a witcher could.

“We said we’ll never force the trials on anyone ever again,” Vesemir added, looked at Cahir gravely.

“Then it’s just as well I’m asking. You’re not forcing.”

It was Lambert who whistled and shook his head. “We knew you were batshit but this is a whole new level. You don’t want to do the trials, trust me.”

“Yeah, you really don’t.” It was the most sombre Aiden had even looked. If Cahir had to guess, he looked harrowed and haunted.

Nobody seemed keen on Cahir’s idea. Even as he outlined that he wanted to try, knew the outcomes and possibilities. But if he wanted to have a chance at Eskel’s side for more than a passing moment, he needed this.

It caused several heated arguments between him and Eskel. NIghts where Eskel held him close to his chest and buried his nose in Cahir’s hair. There were no tears but they both knew if Eskel could have, he would have sobbed.

“I can’t lose you. Not like this,” Eskel whispered.

“Would you rather lose me on the path? Watch me bleed out when we weren’t quick enough? Blame yourself for my death?” It was a low blow but Cahir could steep lower. “When Nilfgaard catches up with us, they won’t hesitate to take me. At least as a witcher I’ll have a fighting chance at defending myself.”

“But I can protect you!” Eskel wasn’t giving up on the notion. “You don’t have to do this.”

“No, but I want to.”

The battle was won. With Eskel on his side, it was a matter of time before Vesemir acquiesced. All the knowledge was still in the library, the parts that were destroyed, he still remembered. Fencing instructor or not, he was a Master at the keep and so knew the ins and outs as well as anyone else.

“We only ever did this to boys who were more resilient than adults. They didn’t bounce back. There’s no telling what this will do to you.” The warning was meant well but Cahir shrugged it off. He watched as the potions were brewed.

One last night before they administered the concoctions. Eskel didn’t sleep at all, neither did Cahir. They were wrapped around each other, wordlessly clinging. Both of them knew the risks, the likeliest outcome but Cahir was set. This was his choice and if he died, that would be on him. There was no way Eskel could take on the guilt of his death too.

There was no point in eating breakfast, Lambert had cheerily informed him he would only throw it up and choke so Cahir sat with the others while they ate. It was silent in a way it hadn’t been before, more like a wake than breakfast. Once everyone was done, Jaskier stayed behind with Ciri while the others walked down to the old laboratories. There was a bed set up with straps.

Nobody needed to prompt Cahir, he stripped out of his clothes until down to his underwear. He stepped forward and Eskel’s hand on his chest stopped him.

“Are you sure?” There was a silent pleading to in his voice, begging Cahir to reconsider. “It’s okay to change your mind.”

“I want this. I want the chance of a life with you. Your lifetime, not mine.”

It was Geralt who strapped him down, surprisingly gentle. Wrists, forearms, biceps, chest, hips, thigh, shins and ankles. Last but not least, a strap went around Cahir’s forehead.

“One more thing,” Lambert stepped up and he fed a strap under Cahir’s neck. “Open up.”

The thickest part of the leather was placed between Cahir’s teeth and buckled against his cheek. One last squeeze to his hand from Eskel and they all stepped back as Vesemir approached, needle in hand. The prick of it wasn’t pleasant but Cahir had had worse. He’d been tortured by Nilfgaard. This couldn’t be worse. Except he could feel the burn of the potion up his arm and he couldn’t jerk away from it. The straps held him tight as the burn consumed him, flowed through his veins. Everything around Cahir stopped existing except for the pain. It was unrelenting, melting his bones, deafening him. The bite of the straps into his skin paled in comparison. He didn’t know if his throat worked anymore or if he stopped being able to scream.

Unfortunately, the witchers bearing witness to it all knew Cahir could scream. They heard every cry, wretched moan, watched as the straps rubbed his skin raw, dug into the flesh. Eskel couldn’t bear it. He fled up the stairs, trying to block the sounds out. There was no escaping them though, just like as a child, each time the trials were administered, the whole keep echoed with screams.

“It’s okay.” A hand on his shoulder drew him back into the present and Jaskier offered him a wisp of a smile. “He’s a tough bastard.”

Tough or not, it didn’t prevent the screams from taking up residence as the soundtrack to Eskel’s newest nightmares. It was even worse when they bubbled off into pained groans and breathless gasps. The potions helped dance a fine line between life and death, reshaping its victim into something barely human.

It was a peak followed by a lull. If only one potion had been enough but it was multiple dosages of different poisons. One by one, the younger witchers rotated out of the lab, needing a break to deal with the memories it was all bringing back. Even Vesemir needed a break. Eskel couldn’t bring himself to go back down, too terrified to see the results of the potions on Cahir. He couldn’t bring himself to go down and see a broken, lifeless body. Already, Geralt had told him that Cahir had managed to dislocate joints despite the straps, that bruises littered his body along with everything else pain wrung from his body.

“It is done,” Vesemir announced. “The last potion has been administered.”

Which meant another six hours for it to burn through Cahir before they could start to hope that he had pulled through.

“I’ll sit with him,” Jaskier offered. “You all go relax. Let me deal with this.”

It gave the witchers an excuse not to have to deal with a body if Cahir didn’t make it. They didn’t need that kind of guilt on their conscience. Well, they’d know their trials killed Cahir but they wouldn’t have the physical memory of having to carry one more of theirs to a pyre. It was the least Jaskier could do.

He walked down into the lab and tried not the gag at the stench of urine, vomit and who knew what else. Cahir twitched and trembled on the bed, looking worn ragged. At least he was moving, his chest heaving breaths slowly and shuddering on each one. Settling in, Jaskier waited until the worse of it had passed before slowly undoing the straps. Cahir didn’t move once. It was getting a little unnerving and Jaskier had to really pay attention to see each breath, heartbeat slower than a human’s so the pulse he tried to feel in a wrist was thready and sparse.

Jaskier almost missed the way Cahir rolled to his side, panting softly. Dry heaving, he shivered and cried out weakly. Immediately, Jaskier was up.

“You’re okay. The worst is over.” He tried to reassure and pulled a light throw over Cahir. It got kicked off with a disoriented moan. Of course, Jaskier realised, witcher senses were heightened. So probably everything was too much for Cahir in that moment. Walking around to crouch by Cahir’s head, Jaskier swept sweaty, lanky hair from his face. “Was it worth it?”

Behind Jaskier, the air shifted and he knew Eskel stood behind him. It was confirmed when Cahir opened his eyes and fixed his newly yellow gaze on the figure behind Jaskier.

“Yes.

#eskhir #cahir mawr dyffryn aep ceallach #eskel #jaskier #geralt of rivia #lambert #aiden #cirilla fiona elen riannon #whump #witcher cahir #long post #tldr: cahir gets turned into a witcher

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trickster-4 · 4 years

Text

Here’s a continuation of What Belos Fears.. It’s much less Crackish.. Sorry it’s what came out..

Emperor Belos had long since lost much of his humanity. The sense of taste was off to him at times. But here and now.. It was absolutely delectable. The smell of the cooked meat and the fried rice. He could definitely smell the special frijoles his mother usually made for him.. Just a small taste couldn’t hurt right?

*SMACK*

Henrietta Noceda was lightning fast at striking with her cane. She was fifty two years old and had her husband has been gone for a very long time.

Eda laughed at the sight while his ex employee Lilith smirked. His daughter Luz giggled along with her girlfriend Amity.. Willow and Gus on the other hand couldn’t contain themselves and began to laugh. Kikimora on the other hand gave them all a glare before giving her boss and annoyed stare.. His mother spoke to him with a stern no nonsense tone.. After all it didn’t matter if her son was six feet tall or ten he was still her son thus it fell to her discipline him for lack of manners..

“¡Nadie toca la comida hasta que estamos todos en la mesa!”

“Yes.. ma’am..” Belos brooded silently he turned to Kikimora who turned her away in a huff.. “I’m sorry..” He whispered..

“You were acting like the last fifty years of our lives never happened Belos..”

“I know… I’ll tell her it’s just..” He slumped before leaning to his assistant leaning towards her. “I’m trying to figure out how to stay in a friendship with Camilla.. I haven’t been with Luz for years.. I want to have a good relationship with my daughter..” Belos looked to Luz his daughter who had barged into the kingdom and shook it too it’s foundations.. “I want her to live on the isle for at least four years..”

“I see..” Kikimora’s eyes widened she was aware of how long it took to develop a magical bile sac.. And once it happened it was a permanent process. Though witches and demons experienced a number of benefits long lifespans, extreme durability, and magic. Yet there was a price to be paid so to speak..

““You wish to play the long game my liege?”

“Yes..”

A low magical environment played havoc on the senses of magical beings and they became sluggish, sickly overtime, and took more time to recover from casting intense spells until they returned to the demon realm. Contrary to his fears Witches wouldn’t lose their magic and could in fact produce more bile it just simply took time.. Luz was already changing Kikimora noted the slight imperceptible edge developing in her ears and nodded. “Very well my lord..”

Luz Noceda his baby girl wanted to learn magic. He couldn’t convince her to like him but perhaps he could quietly support her dream… And if the result of her studying for her dream meant she became a permanent resident of the demon realm and thus became closer to his sphere of influence well that’s just pleasant luck.

“Heheheheh..”

Luz moaned in annoyance and exhaustion at her father’s antics. Although this was actually par for course even before he discovered actual magic he tended to laugh maniacally whenever he was plotting stupid schemes.. Like the time her father cut the antennas of her mother’s brand new television in an attempt to improve it’s reception… That month Belos Noceda had flinch every-time Camilla walked around in chanclas.. Amity patted Luz’s back while letting her lean into her shoulder.

“Hijo, deja esas estupideces ...”

“Sorry Mama..” Belos replied with apologetic tone.. He then saw that Camilla had arrived sitting opposite of him.. He looked at her once more old feelings stirred affection, fondness, and delight. But the depth there was once for those emotions were gone.. He had moved on it was fifty years ago for him..

“So magic is real.. I’m happy for you but can you take off the creepy mask hijo?

“I.. It’s not pleasant to look at but fine..” Belos slowly removed the mask letting his face be seen. His face had become a greenish gray his eye’s sclera had long become black with the amount of bile his body produced now.. He wore a very masculine and attractive mustache..

Luz looked with amazement at the face that was often in her childhood dreams.. A gentle smile holding onto her finger.. Her eyes began to water softly as the memories began to come.. A single large hand came across the table as a finger caught the tear. She smiled softly but gently pushed the hand away not used to the affection and conflicted about who was trying to give it..

With his long black flowing hair and handsome face he was the epitome of nobility. His ears had become the same as his subjects. In the middle of his face was a slash sideways across his face.. He had long since gotten used to hiding such scars to portray an invincible man who could not be broken.. Though throughout all his enemies, Belos laughed, it was his daughter who had nearly take his eye..

“Wow I did not expect evil to look handsome..” Eda observed the tyrant king.. “So you were an electrican.. What’s that..”

“The equivalent of ward repair..” Belos angrily muttered in frustration and annoyance.. He hated his job as an electrician and would choose world conqueror over that any day..

“Ha!! That’s a Dead-end job though that’s hard to believe. I would have expected someone as smart as you to have gone higher in the human world..”

“Belos was always such a passionate boy about his dream.. He never felt an attraction to the sciences unless it pertained to his pursuit of the existence of magic..” As Henrietta spoke Belos took one of the tamales and began to unwrap it.. “He was convinced that magic was real and was determined to find it..”

“Yeesh..”

“He was also a huge D&D nerd..” Camilla noted with a look of annoyance.. Her entire experience with that one game she played was so horrible it completely made her give up on trying it anymore..

“Oh that’s not so bad..” Luz noted with a smile..

“He was a horribly difficult DM… Seriously a level twenty guard in the town you began at?”

“It’s not my fault the entire party was made of murder hobos yourself included!!”

“I was trying to have fun!!”

“Well D&D is also about strategy!!”

The two stood up and began to argue with one another.. It was a familiar occurrence one that Luz was starting to remember when a sad look grew in her eyes..

“I didn’t miss this..”

“Luz..”

*SMACK*

Camilla and Belos were both smacked in the head with a chancla so hard they were knocked back into their seats..

Luz sighed before face palming Amity was shocked at the sight of Luz’s grandmother knocking both Camilla and Belos into their seats.. Eda smiled and took another sip of her drink.. Lilith also smirked and reached for more of the wine to watch her former boss’s humiliation.. Willow and Gus were watching with interest and relaxed smiles..

Kikimora took a long gulp of her wine.. It was surreal what was happening before her eyes, but she already had her fill of it..

Henrietta slowly put the chancla onto her feet and then glared at them hard.. Luz was right there and she didn’t need to be seeing her parents at each other’s throats. There was a look of shame and fear in both parent’s eyes.

“Los niños no es así !! ¡No voy a permitir que discutas frente a tus amigos y familiares!

“Huh, your grandma seems to have good head on her shoulders plus she keeps him in check.”

“She really is amazing..”

“So Belos what’s this I’ve been hearing about you being a dictator on an island?” Henrietta eyed her son making him flinch in fear of her..

“I’ll answer that..” Luz spoke up with boldness in her voice. “For the last fifty years Emperor Belos ruled the boiling isle with an iron fist. He throws those who practice the wild ways of magic into prisons and forces a caste system…”

“Luz why?!” Belos suddenly felt like a shadow was being casted over his body.. “¡¿madre?!”

“Get in the kitchen..”

Emperor Belos sullenly stood up and followed his Elderly mother into the kitchen.. Luz and Amity flinched at the sound of Belos crying as Grandma Noceda disciplined her son… Lilith and Eda had a look of fear at the sound of the chancla.. Guz lowered his head in fear and Willow joined him not too soon after… Camilla took a sip of her wine and looking across seeing Kikimora’s glass was empty filled it up.. Incidentally she noticed the ring on her finger one that looked a lot like the one on Belos’s finger..

“How long?”

“Thirty five years..”

“I see excuse me…” Camilla smiled serenely she turned to a confused Luz and various guests.. “Luz sweetie please escort our guests to the guest room at the edge of the house.. We’ll be back in a moment..”

Later…

Camilla stood next to Belos helping him wash the dishes.. They were silently fulfilling their punishment for fighting in front of Luz and the guests after being reunited.. Grandma Noceda had forced Belos to release all of the residents from the Boiling isles from the Coven systems..

After several hours of conversation Belos was able to negotiate irrevocable terms of surrender with Lilith and Eda as leaders of the rebellion.. Continuing the war would have been devastating to the population.. So a compromise was reached Covens were voluntary and not mandatory with the option to transition to others there would also be no more more Coven Branding… Palismans would have more rights and legal defenses..

Belos would remain Emperor of the Boiling isles for two reasons the first was his supporters were powerful wealthy witches who could fuel the war for a long time…. The second was due to the religious factions being rather ardent in their devotion.. Still he would no longer hold total power..

A council would be formed between the leaders of the rebellions and Belos’s supporters.. Two thirds of that council would be from the rebellion.. Together they would decide new policies and laws and keep each other in check.. It would be a different government they would be making but one that would keep Belos’s supporters and the rebellion from killing each other..

“… I’m not moving back..” Belos spoke softly as he scrubbed the dish..

“I know Belos.. It’s been fifty years for you.. Life is not a novella I didn’t expect you to be waiting on a sea shore for that long..”

“.. I want Luz to move to the Boiling Isles..”

“..I wanted to her to spend time with you.. She deserves to know her father.. That said I don’t trust you to leave her in your care she may stay with Edalyn.. And you may visit her in a neutral location…”

“I understan-“

“Let me finish!” Camilla spoke with with vehemence. “I will also be living with Edalyn for the foreseeable future..”

Belos shivered at the thought of Camilla living so close by. But his daughter Luz would be living closely as well. He sighed and nodded that he understood.

Meanwhile in one of Grandma Noceda’s guest rooms…

“I can’t believe I forgot to tell mom that we’re dating…” Luz slammed her head in frustration against the wall.. She sighed in annoyance before lying down in the bed with Amity.. “This is gonna be soooo confusing…”

“It was a pretty tense day Luz..” Amity agreed with her girlfriend. “We’ll tell her when she moves in with Eda..”

“Ugh..”

“Hey Luz you know we’re in this together right?” Amity asked with a small smile..

“Yeah..” Luz blushed goofily as her girlfriend hugged her..

#owl house #the owl house #lumity #eda the owl witch #emperor belos #toh belos #fanfic #not as a crackish as the last one #toh

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chibi-pix · 4 years

Note

Your Plance Portal AU pics inspired a small bit of fiction from me. Not sure what to do with it, so here you are. Apologies if it's a bit rough, first draft. Feel free to modify, share, whatever. I'm just anon. And sorry for the lack of formatting that will result in posting here. (part 1) "Why?" The fascinating specimen asked of me. His eyes darting over the form I had taken. Curiosity. Heightened heart rate. A curious combination of two of the three primal Fs. Fascinating as always.

Wow! Your story parts were amazing! While I admit, some sections were hard to read, conclude who was talking, but I did love it! Of course, you did call it a first/rough draft and stories start that way!

You had said I was free to modify and/or share. I took you up on that offer and applied your work to this. It was fun to work with and thank you for writing it and giving me an opportunity to work with it.

Hopefully it all shows; if not, I’ll reblog the answer with the full post/ficlet.

Pidge. It was a simple name she was referred to as. She. A humanized term to separate sexes and give identity. That was her understanding. It was a logical things to humans, but not to the likes of an android, program to see and comprehend numbers, not emotions and desires. So why? Why did she go by that word that could otherwise be called a pronoun?

“Why?” Her attention was brought to the latest of the subjects, a young man. Subject number 117-98-78. He insisted on being called Lance. Another human thing. But she supposed, to some extent, she could relate. She was given a name, too, along with her identity number. Her name, though, was shorter and easier to input by her creators when they wrote their notes.

Pidge examined Lance further, doing a scan of her own on the biological creature. His heart rate was increasing. An emotional response? Or perhaps it was the adrenaline humans felt when going through certain tasks that forces them to exert themselves physically and even emotionally. “You will need to reiterate your query for proper understanding so an appropriate answer can be provided.”

“Fine then. Why are you putting me through this?” Lance commanded. “Why do I need to go through these tests? What do you gain from all of this?!”

Pidge considered his questioned for a moment. To be honest, there was no complex reason for why she did it. It was her core imperative; it was her duty to test subjects and gather data. But would that response be enough for the latest subject? “You are a new variable.” she responded finally. “With the cloned and robotic test subjects being identical variables, testing and collecting data has grown stagnant and all data is outdated and irrelevant. You, however, come from outside the testing facility. You are a new variable and therefore present new data to study.”

“Dude! I could have died back there!” Lance snapped, his anger elevating. It was an illogical outburst from Pidge’s perspective, but, then again, humans were rather illogical. “Pit traps? Laser grids? And don’t get me started on that green goo you dare call sustenance. It’s freaking torture!”

“Incorrect.” Pidge responded, plain and simple. “This is testing. Testing is a necessary part of improving and moving forward. It is, after all, the core of my programming. To continue in my duty of gathering data. I test, therefore I am. I am, therefore...”

“Yeah, well, I don’t think Doctor and Professor Holt would have wanted testing to be this cruel.” Lance interrupted.

Pidge felt a stutter in her programming. Those names. Her creators. He knew their names. “Guessing their names correctly and knowing they created me specifically would be nearly impossible.” she commented. “Logic would point to you being aware of their classified research on redacted information. Despite this, mentioning them when in your current situation with the risks on your life tell me that you are not an intelligence operative of any enemy of my creators or their benefactors.” She performed another scan. “There are no indications in your biology to suggest any attempt of deceit. This is data that I did not anticipate. Explain. How do you know the names of my creators?”

“Huh? Well, everyone knows who the Holts are.” Lance stated, looking confused. “They changed everything. Botany, terraforming, space travel, they were the top minds of Altean Laboratories. Their work was groundbreaking.”

“Were. Changed. Was. These terms in how they are used are indication of past tense.” Pidge commented.

Lance was perplexed. “I mean… well… yeah, totally.” he said. “It was five centuries ago, give or take some months or single years.”

Pidge couldn’t explain the dip in her cor performance. Had she been human, she would have described it as a weight in her stomach. Had it seriously been that long? She had lost connection to her internal clock several thousand test subjects ago. “That is impossible.” she stated. “The facility around you operates due to the power obtained from the plasma reactor. It had only an estimated lifespan of three to four centuries; due to the renewal of energy sources, I have managed to re-calibrate that and extend it for another half century or so. To continue getting power to keep the facility functioning would be impossible. My ability to function would have ceased.”

Lance sighed. He then decided to bring up a holographic display. Pidge found she could not interface with the hologram; she decided she could endure collecting data visually. As she looked at the hologram, she saw the schematics of the facility. But not all was the same. There was a new structure that she could not identify.

Lance picked up on where Pidge was looking. “You see it, too, huh?” he asked. He pointed to an area on the hologram. “Right here. We had reason to believe that a piece of what we refer to as the trans-reality comet has found its way here. And by we, I mean my superior officers. I’m just the field guy who goes in and investigates things; the others are the science guys who understand this stuff better. Anyway, long story short, but this thing is apparently radiating energy and with a copious amount still stored in it. There’s a problem, though.”

Pidge couldn’t interface with the hologram, but she knew the subject could. She went in close, finding her humanoid form to be convenient for times like this. She gently took Lance’s hand and moved it, prompting him to touch certain parts and bring up more data on the hologram.

“It appears to be unstable.” Pidge commented.

“Extremely.”

“The plasma from the facility’s reactor appears to be the cause of of the instability. However, I do not have sufficient data to fully determine how accurate this is.” Pidge glanced over to Lance, realizing he was staring at her, his mouth hung open a bit. “Does me not having the full answer cause this human emotion of bewilderment?” she inquired. “It should not; results cannot be properly determined without sufficient amounts of data. I have not collected enough data on the subject of this comet and its interactions with the reactor.”

“No it’s just...” Lance looked at Pidge’s hand, seeing it still around his own. “Your hand. It’s so warm. I didn’t expect that.” Pidge pulled her hand away quickly. “What are you? How are you so warm?”

“I am not; this is simply a byproduct of the cooling systems aboard this particular interface unit.” Pidge responded. “This unit is only a feature provided to me. I am, after all, the facility computer.”

Lance looked closely. “So… why do you look like a girl?”

Pidge blinked. So even he acknowledged that he seemed like a girl, at least in appearance. She looked ahead and away from the subject. “This interface unit was called the Physical Interface Data Gateway Exchange. To make data input easier, they formed it into the acronym PIDGE.” she explained. “It was designed with the intention of making interactions with subjects feel less… impersonal. It is for the benefit of my creators and the facility, not of my own. I have insufficient amounts of data to determine why they have given me this form.” She didn’t speak about it, but what little data she had about that, she had image files showing a member of the Holt family with a similar appearance. Perhaps it was meant to immortalize that member? She lacked the data to determine that.

“Pidge, huh?” Lance asked. “So it’s a name?”

“It is what they called me due to it being easier on the creators and less time consuming for their already limited lives.” Pidge commented. “Now then, since I have answered your queries and indulged your curiosities, it would be preferable to continue the testing.”

Lance gave a smile, but it did not look calm. It looked almost forced. “Sorry, but… this is where the testing ends, Pidge. Pidge did not understand. She then felt something in her, as though the numbers she lived by were changing.

“I do not comprehend.” she commented. She felt off balance, as though she could not properly control the unit meant for interfacing. But she couldn’t disconnect, either; she couldn’t return fully to the computer system. “What did you do to my systems? How did…”

Lance gave a bit of a guilty smile. He then brought up a new image for the hologram. “I had some help but… your entire core program? It’s gone. No more testing. No more of this… cruel torture. You’re in this device now, disconnected from everything else. Like an old game disk; one wrong move, you’re gone. Completely.”

“Impressive.” Pidge commented. “I did not anticipate your device having the necessary storage capacity for my system. Perhaps the claim of five centuries passing is not as far-fetched as I originally determined.” Around them, the corridors and testing chambers grew dark. What Lance could only assume to be the emergency lights turned on, illuminating the area in a bright red. “It does not appear that you or your outside help have considered another variable.”

“Um… what variable?”

“The default settings booting back up upon my removal.”

“Ah quiznak.” Pidge could only assume that Lance’s choice of word meant something profound. “Okay… so what do we get? Some five hundred year old security system about to hunt me down?”

“That would be accurate to the data.” Pidge confirmed. “Which would not be good for your condition.”

“My condition?”

“Of being alive.”

“Oh.”

“However, I do possess the necessary data to thwart the old program. The variable now stands at you being the only one who can interface with my core due to the technology you transferred to it. It would then be in my best interest to keep your status as alive.”

“I mean, how hard can this be? I’ve dealt with you so far.” Lance prompted. He jumped when a sound caught his attention. There was movement further in the corridor. Blades typically seen in tests, meant to be turned off or dodged. Past it? There was another figure, though harder to see.

“In subject terms? Bad. Very bad.” Pidge commented. “I suggest listening to what I say and following my instructions without fail.” She looked to Lance. “My first instruction-”

“I’m gonna take a guess and say run!” Lance grabbed Pidge by the hand and ran off in the opposite direction, pulling her along; it was a good thing that despite her data being put into the device around his arm, her body, as one could call it, was still functional and able to move.

Again, thank you so much for this opportunity!

#chibi answers #chibi writes #plance portal au #portal au #Pidge #Lance #VLD #Voltron legendary defender

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letterstothemidnightsociety · 4 years

Text

THURSDAY OCTOBER 8, one of the longest running television shows of our time begins airing the final episodes of it’s final season. Guys, Supernatural is 15. FIFTEEN. It can practically drive a car now. As one friend put it, “that show had a Quinceañera.” And if you don’t know how significant that is, think of the last show you know of that made it to season 10. Take your time, I’ll wait.

Whoever I stole this birthday invite from, they are probably older than this show.

I started watching Supernatural in 2008. I was 19, I had just begun my journey towards Over-Worked, Under-Slept Millennial, and my best friend recommended it. I can’t really remember how the conversation went, but I’m sure at some point it was “It’s scary, and it’s got these two brothers, I’ll send you a link!” cuz we were trash and we were broke and Netflix...existed? Hulu existed, but not in the way that either of those sites work now, so we watched by...ahem...other means. It is probably why my first laptop stopped working after 3 semesters of college.

And damn, I was hooked. I don’t do scary movies and honestly, I was legit creeped out by a lot of these episodes, but it had two hot dudes who took down a monster every week and then (the real kicker) had a bigger, season-long mystery they were trying to solve. And occasionally, they got punched in their big dumb beautiful faces. If I had known what a kink was at the time, I would have said that someone was reading my dream diary.

Over the next 12 years - Let me say that again for those of you in the back - TWELVE YEARS - I had an on-again-off-again relationship with the Winchesters. It was pretty hot and heavy in the beginning. I was jumping on the back of this 67 Chevy Impala 3 years in, so I had three seasons that I bought on DVD that I binged and was caught up with season 4 by the time the midseason started to air in late January of 2009. I was introducing all my friends to Supernatural, I made several people watch the entire first disc of season 1 with me, irregardless of whether they’d asked or not. Things started to cool down towards the end of season 4 as life started picking up and I know...I caught...the tail end of season 5? I think? I distinctly remember the final scene of the final episode, but honestly, I can’t remember how much of that season I actually watched.

At that point, I considered Supernatural to be a weird pseudoaddiction. I’d be clean for a while, years even, and then Netflix caught up with consumers and I could binge whole seasons in a weekend. It’d be, oh, I could just watch an episode. Just one episode. Maybe two. And then the weekend is gone in a blaze of classic rock and rock salt and I’m left with something like but not necessarily a hangover where my feelings live. I think I did this for seasons 6 through, like, 8? Eventually, Netflix stopped putting it at the top of my dashboard and it was easier to avoid. And I said to myself, well, when they finally get to the last season, THEN I’ll go on one last run, one last big score, and watch the whole series again in one go.

But the seasons kept coming?? And they?? Didn’t stop?? Guys, I don’t know how many of you care about this but, Friends, one of the most popular sitcoms of all time that defined an entire generation had ten seasons. TEN. Supernatural is ending with fifteen! For an industry where most shows don’t make it past a pilot, let alone a season 1, this is INSANE.

But now it’s ending. Even though a pandemic halted production just two episodes away from the finale, Supernatural is finally outta cassette tapes. The Wayward Sons may finally (??) be laying their wearied heads to rest (?? lol, I know).

And frankly, 2020’s been a real sh*tshow so I thought “Why not?”

And if I’m doing this and I’m not interacting with anyone on a human level, I might as well chronicle this epic dive into a time capsule of television because frankly, what the hell else am I doing?

Cuz that’s what this is guys. 15 years in TV time is multiple lifespans. Shows are born, grow into something Emmy-worthy, and die in less time than Supernatural has been on the air. You know what else aired their pilot episode in 2005? The American version of The Office. You know when The Office ended? 2013.

So let’s talk about pilots because that in and of itself may be a thing of the past not too far from now.

Guys, I love pilots. I will probably say this a lot over the next, uhhhh...many months, but I love pilots and I love season ones, especially for a sci-fi and fantasy shows because that’s where your characters are at their most vulnerable, their most unsure. The writers and producers are really digging around, trying to figure out what the groundwork for this world is and there’s something so exciting about exploring it with them, as an audience.

Pilot’s are great, pilots on spec are even better, and that’s a lot of what the Supernatural Pilot feels like. It’s got a real indie/guerilla-style horror movie vibe, like the crew scraped together just enough cash for that one special effect scene but had to skimp out on a lot of the other production stuff, and still managed to turn something around that is totally, 100% watchable and somehow more charming than if they’d had the budget to make something really polished? Go watch Night of the Living Dead (1968) and tell me that movie would have been better if they’d had a bigger budget. You could, but I won’t agree.

Ok so a quick break down of technical terms. A television pilot is basically the first episode of a TV show. Well, that’s not exactly true. A pilot is kind of like making a sample or a blueprint of your show that you hand over to the television networks and say, here! This is what my TV show will look like. Will you pay me money to continue making it? And the networks (think ABC, NBC, CBS, FOX and The CW - remember, this is Network, not cable) will spend January through April of every year reviewing pilots and deciding if they want to pay you money to make more episodes. Well, every year except 2020. See: sh*tshow. Sometimes the network comes to you with an idea, or maybe, you’ve pitched your script/show to some executives and they buy in for that first pilot episode to see where things will go. Neither of these scenarios are a sure thing, and pilot season is always rife with will-they-won’t-they tension. In fact, if you’re working on the show, there’s a real possibility that pilot will get re-shot after studio notes, you’ll lose your job to someone the studio liked better, and then the show still may not get picked up. A pilot shot on spec is in even more of a limbo scenario because nobody asked for this! And just to follow through on Pilot Season - after the networks decide to buy your pilot, they then air the pilot at Upfronts (usually in May) where their many ad companies decide if they will pay money to air their ads during those shows. This is where we get things like prime time and key demographics - if you thought TV was all about the art, you are very wrong. TV, like most other industries, is still a business that’s about making money.

Back to the Supernatural pilot. Now, from my research, series creator Eric Kripke had been working on the concept for 10 years. He was big into classic rock, big into urban legends and big into cowboys and all those things get married ever so neatly in this show. A lot of his initial ideas remain unchanged, at least for the first season - he wants two brothers, traveling across the country, facing off with America’s Spookiest Myths and legends. A lot of it did change. I honestly feel like I remember reading an early draft of the pilot where Sam and Dean are cowboys? But I’m also pretty sure I’m imaging that. What I’m not imagining is this ridiculous early draft where John’s been locked in an insane asylum, dies before the first episode starts, and Sam’s been living with an aunt and uncle his whole life and knows nothing. They still use something close enough to the La Llorona legend as the catalyst for the episode, but a lot of other things are changed. This is not the Sam and Dean we come to know and love. This is also a good example of when you SHOULD listen to notes, because this draft was rewritten after executive producer McG and his Wonderland Sound and Vision production company signed on, but before they actually shot the script.

Now from what I’ve read, the WB picked the show up for (4) episodes initially, and ultimately picked it up for a full season of (22) episodes. This was, at the time, a pretty standard season and a pretty standard way to get it. They had a better deal than The Office, anyway, which only got picked up for (6) episodes in their first season, then got picked up four episodes at a time for season 2.

Now let’s go over that paragraph one more time and talk about what a hecking DINOSAUR this show is -

FIRST off - Supernatural premiered on THE WB. It PREDATES The CW!!

Man guys, you remember they had a frog as a mascot? Oof, that would not work today.

Secondly, it got 22 EPISODES. We’ll get into this some more when we talk about that evil bugs filler ep, but think about how many episodes were in the last show that you binged on Netflix? 8? Maybe 10?

Welcome to the exciting world of GRAPHS brought to you buy https://www.theringer.com/tv/2017/8/4/16094348/inefficiency-week-mourning-the-lost-long-tv-season

OH! And SPEAKING of Netflix and streaming services like them, they’re kind of killing pilot season AND upfronts. They pick up shows when they want to. They “air” them when they feel like. There are no ads because you pay for that content on a monthly basis and also they don’t even have commercial breaks. I am slowly seeing the passage of time in one (1) episode of television and I think I’ve aged 100 years.

Here is just one of MANY articles about the death of Pilot Season

Finally, and most importantly, this show got a better deal than The Office. And that show was an NBC primetime show.

This show was nominated for 193 awards and won 50. And it ended when my nephew was still in kindergarten. He’s gonna be in high school next year.

So what about this Supernatural Pilot? Was it any good? Honestly, I’m gonna say yeah. This is some very solid Hero’s Journey here. I think the only weird thing about it is that Sam is our Hero, our point of contact character that gets us into this world. And I only say that because I’ll be real up front and say that I’m a Dean girl through and through. I don’t hate Sam, but because we live in a world where we have to choose, it’s Dean 4Eva.

From that early script draft, we learn the plan was for Sam to be in the dark and essentially be our audience stand in so that Dean can explain all the backstory. I think the decision to make John Winchester raise his kids as a weird fringe paramilitary outfit and establish Sam as the brother that tried to get away is a good one. It’s a very “Arrive Late” (or if you’re fancy, in media res,) sort of attitude and it works and you’ve already started building in the Atonement with the Father. There’s still some pretty excellent exposition dialogue, but what are ya gonna do. Sam, did you really need to explain to Dean that your collective father “raised you like warriors”? Or that you “kill everything we CAN find?” It’s fine. You’re beautiful and I love you. But also, he knows all that.

You have the Call to Adventure - Dean showing up and saying “Dad hasn’t been home in a few days.” You have the refusal of the call (“He’ll sleep it off”). You have your supernatural aid (hah!) giving Sam a push out the door - that’s Dean. You have your famous line that I quoted along with the TV - Dad’s on a hunting trip. And he hasn’t been home in a few days.

The dead mom backstory seems pretty on the nose, but the “burned on the ceiling” concept was new and unique enough that I was intrigued to find out more. Listen, I’ve already admitted I don’t watch a lot of horror so if this has been done before, don’t @ me.

La Llorona or Woman in White or Weeping Woman was a new trope to me at the time, so it too seemed fresh. I see that myth show up in a lot more Supernatural-type shows now, but in 2008, at 19, I was like, oh this is different. Not to mention - this definitely leaned in to the horror aspect. I know I’m a baby, but it aired at 9pm, which is the more adult side of Prime Time, so the WB thought it was too spooky for kids who had early bedtimes. So there.

I HATE when they do this cuz it freaks me out EVERY TIME and THAT’S NOT EVEN HOW THESE MIRRORS WORK??? SHE’S NOT EVEN IN THE BACK SEAT IN THIS SHOT!

And then at the END, when Sam STILL refuses the call to adventure, you have the real Crossing of the Threshold - Jess is ALSO stuck on the ceiling, dead, and on fire. Spoiler alert, but they had to fridge her early to make the rest of the season work and so it shouldn’t be a big surprise. Sam’s all in and we get 21 more episodes of him and Dean and that car.

Is it technically fridging if she’s lit on fire?

And let’s talk about Jess for a second cuz actress Adrianne Palicki is giving a LOT more in this performance than a fridged girlfriend should be required to. She’s likeable, she’s down to earth, she’s crushing it and and all this with only, like, two scenes of dialogue. I say this even though we meet her in a slutty nurse costume - COME on WB.

WB what the hell is this wardrobe. What the HELL is THIS.

In fact, all of the extras in this show are crushing it? Louis is instantly likeable and he disappears after his first scene, never to grace our TV’s again. And these extras in the town in Jericho, California - I kind of love them. As CW (or I guess, WB) as Jessica is, these extras look like they found them at the local highschool and I LOVE THEM FOR IT. They probably came to set already in makeup and wardrobe! They POSSIBLY brought their own jewelry! They’re weirdos and they are GREAT. I’m pretty sure this will NEVER happen again on this show because once the $$ came in, so did the more polished-looking one-off characters.

Lookit these magnificent goth weirdos! And great news, both these actresses have very full, non-goth careers after this.

Also, heckin’ Joseph Welch is just crushing it. This man has NOTHING CW about him and that’s maybe why I like him so much? Everything about the scene with him and Sam is pretty heartbreaking, from his rundown car graveyard to his rundown physique with his rundown accent to the fact that we never actually see his face. Seriously, really LOOK at this scene - WHAT is going on with this cinematography? Is this a reference to something? It’s SO bleached out and SO stark and WHAT is going on???

WHAT is this lighting? And also this guy was played by Steve Railsback was on X-Files!

You can’t talk about Supernatural without talking about the chemistry between Sam and Dean and that’s probably the real hook here? I mean a) very beautiful. I will probably talk about this a lot. Let’s call it what it is here, they’re beefcakes and they’re made for me and people like me. It is weird that this show is so macho but their primary audience was mostly there for the babes. And by babes I mean Jensen Ackles and Jared Padalecki. And b) they REALLY sell the whole brothers thing. They’re both from Austin, TX which feels like a weird coincidence. They were both already on WB shows before this one, also a weird coincidence. And they just click. They just do. It’s impressive, and occasionally creepy when we start to get into the Wincest of it all, but lets not talk about that.

Oh, and the MUSIC! The music just makes it. If you don’t believe me, watch the Netflix version of the first season and then find yourself a DVD version. See, TV shows need to acquire a license to play popular music during the show. Nowadays, the CW actually tags their songs in the episode so you can find and presumably buy it later, but they still have to pay royalties for using those pop songs. When Netflix acquired Supernatural, they did NOT acquire the licensing to use the classic rock songs from ACDC, Metallica, etc. and so you’re left with some pretty bland and generic production music that’s something like but not necessarily Back in Black. More like, Back in...Grey? This pun didn't work how I wanted it to.

And the show just...doesn’t work? Like, who knew BACKINBLAAAAACK! Was so instrumental to whether I thought this was quality programming or not. Side note - it ruins my favorite piece of dialogue of maybe the entire series -

Sam: I swear, man, you gotta update your cassette tape collection.

Dean: Why?

Sam: Well, for one, they're cassette tapes.

Do the young people even know what a cassette tape is? I AM the CRYPTKEEPER.

So yeah, you got a lot of ingredients to make something pretty great. Did we know then that it would launch a juggernaut of a television program that would still be on the air in the Year of Our Reckoning, 2020? I was a big fan of Firefly, so I was 99.99% sure this show was gonna get canceled at any second. In fact, I was thrilled, in 2008, to find there were two more seasons after the one I was currently watching. Of course, season 3 aired around the time of the great Writer’s Strike of ‘07, where nothing looked good and few programs survived, but we’ll get there.

In a final, kind of spooky, almost premonition-type decision the WB actually decided to air this pilot episode a whole week early on Yahoo!. Yeah, you remember Yahoo!, right? The search engine that briefly tried to have its own original streaming content and then we all abandoned it in favor of the monster that is Google? Yeah. This episode premiered online. I haven’t done enough research, but I’m gonna go out on a limb here and say this was probably one of the first ever TV shows to start on the internet? Weird to think that was a novel and innovative concept at one time.

So this is it. This is the end of the era. Are we gonna get any more shows that last as long as this one did? Who knows. Are we as a culture gonna care at that point? I don’t know. Our TV habits have changed so much in the last few years that it’s hard to say how we’ll watch TV in the future. But credit where it’s due, boys. Nice huntin’.

#Supernatural #season 1 #pilot #season 15 #Sam #Dean #Winchester #Television #Quarantine Binging #CW #WB

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gingerpeachtae · 5 years

Text

Concentric [8.1]

masterlist

Words: 2.6k

Genres: fantasy!AU, angst, fluff, enemies to lovers, eventual smut (?)

Warnings: some sad boi times ✊

Summary: You had been ready for the end of the semester. You had been ready to spend time away from your best friend, Jimin, and finally move on from the feelings you harbored. Yet, after your friend was forced to reveal a secret, you found yourself in a new world that was chock full of magic, war, and wonder. So, here you were, basically thrown into your own fantasy novel, with your best friend on one side, and six male warriors on the other.

A/N: A BIG THANK YOU TO EVERYONE FOR BEING SO PATIENT AND SENDING IN THE BEST MESSAGES TO REASSURE ME. I WUV YOU. 💜

You sat on the counter and swung your legs as you took another bite out of your apple. You happily munched on the green fruit, savoring the slightly tart flavor as juice dribbled down your fingers onto your wrist. You glanced at Tae out of the corner of your eye. He, too, was eating an apple, although his was deep red in color. “The green ones are too sour for me” he had told you, declining the one you had held out to him. You smiled softly at how he was also swinging his legs. It looked as though he hadn’t got a care in the world. Before today, you might’ve believed that. The thought made your smile falter slightly.

Just don’t ask about it. It might upset him again.

You took a final bite and set the core down next to your thigh, wiping your juicy hands off on your pants. “So, what’s this whole ‘trainee fighting seminar’ thingy gonna be about?”

Tae took a moment to swallow the food in his mouth before replying. “Well, I would assume that it will be a seminar… about fighting… for the trainees.” His blue eyes glinted teasingly.

Thank you, Captain Obvious.

You reached up to tug on his feather earring. “What I meant was what do you think we will be doing?”

“Not my fault you didn’t specify that to begin with!”

“Geez, why do I bother putting up with you?” You chuckled and rolled your eyes while giving the Saeni next to you a nudge, not noticing how he flinched at your words.

“You… you really shouldn’t. I’m not worth it.”

You looked at the Saeni in shock, your chuckle instantly transforming into a choking sound of disbelief. How could he just… say something like that?

Like before, he was avoiding your eyes and began fiddling with his hands. His legs no longer swinging.

Way to go, you dumb bitch. You mentally smacked the hell out of yourself.

“Tae…” you hesitantly began, not wanting to make him feel any worse. “Please don’t say that.”

He clenched his hands into fists and blinked rapidly as if he was trying to keep a handle on his emotions. “Why not? It’s true.”

Your jaw dropped at his absurd statement, but you only paused for a second before you shook your head and pried his closest fist open so that you could thread your fingers through his.

“You don’t have to explain if you don’t want to, but I will not let you think that about yourself. You’re sweet, caring, funny, loyal, and honestly one of the best people I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. You are the person who made me feel comfortable in this new world. You are the person who always keeps me company. You are the person who makes me smile the most these days. You’ve become one of my best friends. Never think that you aren’t worthwhile because you truly, truly are.”

“But I-”

“And if you don’t believe me, I’ll just keep repeating myself in various ways until you do!”

He let out a sad laugh and looked at you, allowing you to view the tears tracking down his unsure face. “You might not have the time to do that. The training semin-”

“Fuck the seminar. This is more important. You’re more important.”

“But-“

“Taehyung is the best! He is so fucking amazing!”

“S-stop!” He stammered out, heat rushing to his face as you screamed about everything that made him so wonderful.

“TAE IS THE BEST ARCHER! HIS SKILLS ARE UNMATCHED! AND HIS FACE!? HANDSOME AS FUCK! THE MOST GORGEOUS MALE IN HIS ENTIRE KEILA! HE-”

He slapped a hand over your mouth with wide eyes, muffling the remainder of your declarations. “Do you want Jin hyung to kill you!?”

You winked at him, happy to see that despite the pain and insecurities still floating behind his eyes, he was at least smiling a bit now. As he removed his hand, you sighed and gently moved the hair that flopped over his headband and into his eyes to the side.

“I’m serious, though, Tae.”

He leaned into your touch and you watched as his bottom lip trembled slightly. Before you could attempt to reassure him again, he closed his eyes and took several deep breaths.

After a few moments, he reopened his lids and in a small voice, said, “You should know. About what they said.”

You didn’t respond verbally, you only nodded to let him know that he had your full attention.

He averted his gaze from you again as he whispered, “‘Rootless.’ ‘Stump.’ They’re slang terms, discriminatory terms, for Saeni who’s draeva have… died.”

With a jolt, you suddenly remembered how silent Tae had gotten when you were learning about draeva marks and how Jungkook had come and put his arm around the older Saeni.

Fucking hell, Tae. I’m so sorry we talked about that in front of you.

“My draeva was a juniper tree…” He smiled faintly at the memory, but it quickly turned melancholic. “It got caught in a forest fire an-” The sobs starting to erupt from deep within him made his throat too chocked up to finish.

“Oh, Tae…” You enclosed the now crying Saeni in your arms and held him as tightly as you could as he clung to you.

The two of you stayed that way for several minutes, providing Tae with as much time as he needed to get the tears out of his system. Finally, he lightened his hold on you and you gave him one more squeeze before leaning back to wipe at his damp cheeks while he cleared his throat.

“Two years ago, there was a really big fire and my draeva didn’t survive.” He took a deep breath to further settle himself. “My connection to the forest was severed and my draeva mark disappeared. I literally felt it being pulled out of my soul. Like it was being uprooted. It hurt… it hurt so much.”

Afterwards, he said that he just went numb. To everything. He could no longer feel the forest and he lost his sense of self. He didn’t know what to do. He said he had felt utterly empty and it only got worse once others found out what had happened. Without his brothers, he didn’t think that he would have been strong enough to overcome the animosity that stemmed from others at his situation. They blamed him for what had happened, stating that he should have protected his draeva as if there was a way to do so against a freaking forest fire.

You heart stung for your friend as he continued, describing how there’s a rune that allows a Saeni to share part of his draeva connection with another, but with a catch. It shortens the giver’s lifespan and decreases their connection to the forest by transferring what is taken to the receiver. All of the boys in the kiela tried to give Tae the rune, but he wouldn’t let them. He said he couldn’t bear the thought of them losing their connections too, even if it was only a little bit. Eventually, after months of begging, Tae was finally convinced to let his dad give him the rune.

You didn’t say anything for a minute, fully digesting everything he had told you while wishing you could go back in time to deck every one of those fuckers from earlier in their nether regions.

At your silence, his breathing began to quicken, thinking that it meant you thought less of him.

Realizing he was about to become undone again, you quickly, but genuinely, said, “Tae, I don’t care if you have a draeva mark, a rune, or a damn Cheeto tattoo. Whatever happened isn’t going to make me care for you any less.”

“Even… even though I’m not whole anymore?” His voice held a sliver of hope as he awaited your response.

You gave him a warm smile and began prodding and inspecting around his body before starting to tickle him, causing giggles to escape past his lips. “Hmmmm? I don’t see anything missing? What is this ‘not being whole’ blasphemy which you speak of? You look perfect to me.”

His giggles grew louder and louder as he tried to wiggle his body away from you. “Q-quit it! I… c-can’t… breath!” He choked out between his laughter.

You eventually relented and gave the poor boy some relieve. While he steadied his breathing, you located a clean cup from a shelf and filled it up with water from the hollowed-out branch that acted as a faucet. You really weren’t sure where or how the water came out since there didn’t appear to be any plumbing, but you shrugged it off as a magic user’s doing.

You walked back to Tae and handed him the full cup, instructing him to drink at least half. Satisfied when he did as you said, you settled yourself on top of the counter beside him again.

“Thank you, Y/N. For everything… and you’re one of my best friends now too.”

You hummed in acknowledgment and contentment while raising your hands and placing them on his cheeks. Turning his head to face yours, you then proceeded to squish his cheeks together, pulling them upward so that he was grinning chubbily.

“There’s that adorable, boxy smile!”

“Ya!” He swatted your hands away, but you didn’t care because he was smiling for real now. “Just because I did that to you doesn’t mean that you can do it to me, little scorja!”

“I’m pretty sure it does.” You pursed your lips. “Plus, I just like squishing your cheeks. It’s cute.”

“Oh, so you think I’m cute?” He slyly, but in an over-the-top way, inquired.

Good lord, I’m going to get whiplash from how many times his mood shifts today. Not that it isn’t justified, though.

You chortled as you sighed and gave him a pat on his chest. “Honey, you’re literally one of the most attractive people I’ve ever seen. So… yeah, you’re cute.”

He made a joyful noise and started swinging his legs again. The endearing action brought an interesting thought to your mind.

“You know, I might’ve started crushing on you if I didn’t already li-” You snapped your mouth shut mid-sentence while your eyes widened in horror as you realized what you’d said.

Of course, you’d let it slip that you liked someone to the biggest gossip head in the kiela. Shit. Shit. Shit! You scrambled to divert the topic, stuttering and completely failing to do so successfully.

Meanwhile as alarms were blasting off in your brain, Tae gasped in shock and observed your panicking form before shrieking, “YOU… YOU LIKE SOMEONE!? WHO!? PLEASE, PRETTY PLEASE TELL ME IT’S KOOKIE. I’VE DREAMT ABOUT YOU TWO TOGETHER, I SWEAR TO ILLAI YOU WOULD BE THE CUTEST COUP-”

It was your turn to smash a hand over a mouth. “It is not that asshat! Also, in regards to your last sentence… what, and I cannot stress this enough, the fuck!?”

The Saeni wiggled his dark eyebrows at you and did his best to speak around your hand. “O, com oon, Y/N! Yu don haf ta lie ta mee!”

You groaned in frustration and pulled your hand back. “For the second, and last, time, it is not Jungkook! And please stop dreaming about us. That’s so weird!”

“Ah! You said ‘us!’”

You went to fake throttle the Saeni. “Why you little-”

A sudden outburst of giggles caused you and Tae to spin around. Peeking out from behind the door that led to and from the kitchen was the lilac head of the princess of Illain.

“Sorry to interrupt! I just needed to grab a few things…”

You hastily lowered your hands and stepped away from Tae in an effort to appear somewhat normal. “Oh, um, you’re fine. That conversation was over anyways.” You made a point to glare at the male who only shook his head stubbornly at you.

Jiae laughed at Tae’s reaction, hiding her mouth behind a hand as she moved around the kitchen to place various items into the basket looped around her forearm.

You went to open your mouth but hesitated and closed it. Only to do it yet again. Finally, you just mentally screamed at yourself to just ask already.

“Hey, Jiae? Er, Princecss Jaie?”

“Jiae is fine!”

“Jiae, okay. Um… is Jimin alright? Have you seen him this morning?”

“Jimin?” Her hand paused briefly in its course to grab a loaf of bread. “Oh! You mean Chim! He… he was very upset yesterday. After a while, I was able to calm him down a bit and then we just talked and caught up with each other. He seemed to be in a better mood when he left to go to sleep.”

She hummed to herself and stuffed the bread into the basket. “As for this morning, I’m actually getting all this for a picnic with him!”

Oh…

You hoped she missed the slight wince on your face before you morphed it into a smile. “Well, it’s a beautiful morning. I hope you two have a good time.”

And you did. You really did. Just as Jimin wasn’t your keeper and couldn’t decide things for you, you weren’t his. He was free to do what he wanted. With whom he wanted.

Can’t say it didn’t hurt, though. Knowing that you would never be the one he would want to go on cute picnics with in the early hours of the day. Knowing that you were never going to be person he wanted more with.

But yet, while it hurt to hear, you were almost… glad? It was a reminder that your best friend didn’t return your feelings, and while it wasn’t the most pleasant thought, it was one you probably needed. You had subconsciously gotten hopeful ever since you learnt Jimin’s secret, thinking that you knowing the truth might spark some romantic feelings in your friend. But it hadn’t. And it was time to come to terms with the fact that he will never see you in that way.

You couldn’t even resent Jiae for whatever was going on between her and Jimin. She seemed like a sweet girl and you weren’t going to wrongfully hate her because she may end up “stealing” the guy who wasn’t even yours to begin with. Maybe this, whatever it was between them, was the push you needed to finally and fully accept your forever friend-zoned status.

You saw Tae give you a questioning look as you gnawed on your lower lip with your teeth, lost in thought. Only when Jiae exclaimed her goodbyes did you snap out of it. You muttered a “bye” and waved as she closed the kitchen door behind her.

“Hmm.” You heard Tae muse beside you.

“Oh, what is it now, you dream creep?”

“Hey! Also, I think I know who it is.” His eyes flickered with pride at his deduction.

You let out a long sigh since it wasn’t exactly hard to pick up what he was referring to. “Yeah, well, it’s time I move on and forget about it. About him in that way. And so should you.” You pointed a finger at the grey-haired Saeni and narrowed your eyes.

He crossed his arms and looked at you defiantly, not intimidated in the slightest. A far cry from how he had been previously this morning.

“Only if that means I can still picture you and Kook together.”

You slowly inhaled and trailed a hand down your face. “Ugh, fine, whatever. Just keep your weird shipping dreams to yourself. Also, when was that training thing starting? We’ve been in here for a while.”

Tae cursed and grabbed your wrist, yanking you down from the counter and making a beeline for the door.

“Aish! Kookie is gonna be so mad if you’re late!”

As you and Tae hurried over to where you needed to be, you wondered what that asshat was doing. You were still curious as to why he had acted so strange before Tae dragged you away to get food. Maybe you would ask him about it later. Regardless, you just prayed that whatever he had signed you up for wouldn’t be the death of you. Both physically and figuratively.

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d3-iseefire · 5 years

Text

Princess of Shadow

Note: So apparently I can’t do a writing prompt without it turning into a full fledged story SO I decided to just give in and write a full fledged story! Yay! Here is Chapter One! :D

Summary: Bilba Baggins, Crown Princess of Erebor, knew the stories well. How her wandering ancestors, desiring a home, had tricked the King of Erebor and stolen his throne. It wasn’t a particularly nice story but, according to the legends, the old king had been a brute anyway so Bilba never particularly minded.

King Durin had reportedly vowed to one day return and reclaim the mountain but, as the years passed the threat became little more than legend.

Legend, until the day they weren’t.

Now declared a threat to the stability of the throne and the new king who sits upon it, BIlba is given an ultimatum. She can marry her sworn enemy and bear him heirs to strengthen the Durin line, or be executed to remove the threat she presents by simply existing.

The choice is hers.

Extra Note: For the purposes of this story hobbits and dwarves have the same lifespan, cause it’s my story and I say so. :P :D :D

Princess of Shadow Master Chapter List: https://d3-iseefire.tumblr.com/post/187613581372/princess-of-shadow-master-list

Link to my other works on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ISeeFire/works

Bilba Baggins’ life as she knew it was turned upside down on a bright, sunny morning in late fall. Usually, Bilba longed for such mornings. Winters were frigid in Erebor and often left her, and the rest of the mountain’s inhabitants snowbound for months on end. It often made her wonder just what had possessed her ancestors to target the land for their own, especially when those hobbits who’d chosen to continue wandering had sent word of the Shire’s discovery less than two years later. Deep down, she had a suspicion that the decision to stay came more from stubbornness and pride than any genuine love for the mountain’s bruising stone or its constant, biting cold. Better to suffer in a stolen mountain than admit they might have been wrong to take it in the first place. In any event, Bilba loved those rare, sunny days that arrived less and less as the year ticked on toward winter. They were a reminder of what she’d enjoyed during the summer, and a promise of what awaited her on the far side of the harsh months that lay ahead. On such days she always did her best to stay outside as long as possible, visiting her best friend in Dale or simply wandering the hills around the mountain. There was no chance of her doing either activity today.

She’d been trapped inside for weeks now, so long that the urge to leave had slowly shriveled into apathy edged with despair.

She stayed in bed for several long minutes after awakening, perfectly still and with her eyes fixed on the underside of her canopy. She had nowhere to be anymore, and nothing to do so the impetus to get up in the morning had long since fled. As the days had crawled by she’d begun to crave sleep. It allowed her to forget, if ever so briefly, the way her stomach was perpetually tied into knots, or the increasingly dead look in the eyes of those wandering the halls of the mountain.

They all knew what was coming. It was no longer a question of if, but when.

She found the will to move finally and forced herself to sit up, She pushed the blankets back, shivered at the bite in the air, and carefully stood. Her feet slid into the plush rug her bed sat on and she took a second to dig her toes in and relish the warmth under her soles.

Her thin nightgown swirled about her legs and she snagged the matching robe off a nearby chair. As she slid it on and cinched the belt she reflected on the fact that it had been intended as part of her wedding trousseau and, had things gone differently, she’d be wearing it for her husband now instead of an empty room.

A shudder not born from the cold washed over her and acid churned uncomfortably in her gut at that particular thought.

Her intended, Lord Grima, was a nobleman of some note in Gondor, and loosely related to the throne. He was also at least four decades older than her. Despite her pleas, Bilba’s grandfather had accepted his offer of marriage in return for a promise that Grima would try to bend the king of Gondor toward an alliance with Erebor.

It was an alliance her grandfather had long desired, but which had long been denied for reason Bilba didn’t entirely understand. Gerontius Took firmly believed politics and the like to be the realm of men and it was rare Bilba had any idea of what was going on with her grandfather or his councilors.

Not that any of that stopped her grandfather from attempting to sell her off like a trinket at market. Grima had visited a few times to view his purchase, and his leering gaze and wandering hands had made her physically ill.

She was supposed if there were any silver lining to be found in their current circumstances, it was that at least she no longer had to worry about him. Still, had it come down to her marrying Grima, or watching her people suffer as they now were...she’d have chosen the marriage. As awful and miserable as she knew it would have been, if her marriage could have spared her people she’d have gone to it, and gladly.

Well, maybe not gladly, but she’d have gone.

A light knock came on her door and, at her quiet word, it opened to admit her maid, one of the few women in the mountain with a smaller stature than Bilba, which was saying something. In the past, Josie had always dressed more like a Lady in Waiting than a maid, with her blonde hair curled and piled high and her gowns bright and eye-catching.

She’d had a dream, she’d confided once, of catching the eye of a nobleman willing to overlook her class and marry her. A fairy-tale come true she’d said, eyes sparkling with excitement, and hands clasped before her. Bilba had quite agreed and had done her best to steer the other women toward the kinder noblemen, while simultaneously extolling her virtues to them every chance she got.

None of that excited, hopeful girl was evident now in the quiet woman who entered the room. Josie’s hair was in a knot at the back of her head and her gown was homespun and simple. The bounce that was normally present in her step was gone, and her eyes were dull and lifeless.

As if the sight triggered something deep inside, Bilba’s feet began to move almost on their own toward the two large doors that led onto her balcony. Dawn tinted sunlight streamed through the large panes of glass set in the wood frame, casting a reddish orange hue over her room. In the past she’d loved it when it looked like this.

Now all she could think of when she saw it was blood.

“Your Highness,” Josie said, hesitant, from behind her. “Perhaps it’d be best if you didn’t go out there. It’s not safe.”

Bilba’s heart began to hammer in her chest as she curled her hand around the handle of the door and, in one smooth motion, yanked it open before she could talk herself out of it.

It was deceptively quiet, just the rush of air about the mountain and the faint, raucous sound of ravens that like to roost among the rocks. Her balcony was enormous, dug from the side of the mountain itself and sporting a rock ledge that rose from the edges to nearly her waist.

It was a masterwork of engineering, and one of the few still usable in the mountain. Hobbits were not gifted in the art of stonework, and lacked the necessary skills or knowledge to learn. There were entire sections of Erebor now that were considered unstable and were closed off to the public.

It was quite possible that, had things been allowed to progress naturally, they would have had to leave Erebor in another hundred years or so as it would have simply become to dangerous to continue living there.

Not that any of that mattered now.

Bilba shuffled out slowly onto the balcony, shivering as the cold air bit through her clothes. Now that she was out she could hear it, the faintest clamor from far below, of voices, tack and equipment as bodies awakened and readied themselves for the day.

She let out a slow breath and then, resigned, made her way to the edge. She already knew what she’d see, but held out the irrational hope that once, just once, she’d look down and be wrong.

That her eyes would look out over an empty plain, stretching back serenely toward Dale and farther still until it reached the borders of Mirkwood. That the only movement would be a light breeze dancing through the grass and rustling the branches of trees. That, in the distance, she’d catch sight of the Men of Dale ratcheting open the gates as they readied for a day of brisk trade between their merchants and those of Erebor.

It was a sight that had greeted her daily for most of her twenty years. It was a sight that she’d often considered boring, her restless soul yearning for adventure and excitement beyond the daily, repetitive grind.

It was a sight she’d given anything to see again.

The gates of Dale were shut, as they had been for over a month now, and if there was a breeze dancing in the grass she couldn’t see it.

Instead all she could see was an army. It filled the plain below, swelled against the walls of Dale and muddled the borders of Mirkwood. Row upon row of soldiers, horses, and siege weapons. From the height she was at, they looked like little more than ants milling about the landscape, but Bilba knew they were anything but.

The dwarves, as it turned out, were not willing to wait another hundred years to reclaim Erebor. They wanted it back now and, given how things had been going of late, they would soon get it.

Bilba’s eyes drifted toward the largest tents in the center of the camp, and her heart twisted at the sight of the banners proudly proclaiming their owners. She would never understand. Lady Sigrid was her best friend. She’d spent hours in their home, considered Lord Bard as a surrogate father of sorts. Mirkwood she’d spent less time in but, even so, she was still on a first name basis with Legolas, had attended dances and banquets in both their honor and her own.

She’d thought they were friends, and yet here were the banners of both fluttering alongside that of the dwarves, proudly announcing their allegiance.

The pain of the betrayal cut deep, and even now blurred her vision. Apparently, they hadn’t been as close as she’d once believed. All the while they’d laughed and smiled, invited her into their homes and lives, they’d been plotting behind her and her grandfather’s back. Planning, smiling to her face while simultaneously sneaking around to drive a blade into her back.

It hurt, and it was humiliating. She’d believed them. She’d really, honestly, thought they were her friends. She could just imagine how they must have laughed at her behind her back, mocked her...

Bilba drew in a sharp breath. Her nose burned and she scowled as tears began to track down her face. She needed to get that under control. The writing was on the wall, and the last thing she wanted was to break down in front of them later. It was bad enough that they’d hurt her. She didn’t want to let them see it, and hear their mocking laughter in return.

“Your Highness?” Josie’s voice came from right over her shoulder. “Perhaps we should go back inside. You’ll catch a cold standing out here.”

Bilba set her shoulders back, and nodded stiffly. “You’re right of course.” She pasted a shaky smile on her face, and turned to face the other girl. “Let’s go.”

Josie nodded and turned to go back in. As she did, Bilba couldn’t help a final look over her shoulder, down to what had become a battlefield far below. Her eyes caught on one tent in particular, the largest in the dead center of the camp.

There she knew she would find the source of all of Erebor’s problems. A bloodline her grandfather believed gone, died out and lost generations ago. A line descended from the evil brute her ancestors had described, and undoubtedly still just as brutish.

A pox on them, Bilba thought bitterly, as anger overcame her. If it weren’t for them none of this would be happening. She clenched her jaw and, with an angry motion, jerked around to follow Josie inside.

As she slammed the doors shut with slightly more force than necessary she found herself wishing fervently and passionately that the Valar would send a bolt of lightning and strike the entire line dead where they stood.

Damn the line of Durin, and all those who supported them.

***

Frerin shoved back the flap of his tent and strode out into the open. Brisk, cool air wrapped around him and he relaxed into it. He raised his arms over his head and stretched, nearly groaning in pleasure as his various joints and vertebrae popped and snapped themselves back into position.

There was just nothing positive about sleeping in a tent, regardless of the furs and food and whatever else put in to try and convince him otherwise. The cots were always too small and too hard, and the air quickly became stuffy and overbearing.

He always woke up stiff, sore and drenched in sweat, and with a renewed gratitude for his quarters in Ered Luin. Small and cramped they might be but, compared to a tent, they might as well have been the lap of luxury.

Giggling drew his attention to a pair of human, female archers passing by. He hadn’t thought much about seeing women when he’d chosen to walk out in nothing but his trousers. Females in dwarven society weren’t allowed to fight. They were so rare as it was that risking what few there were in battle would be idiotic.

He raised his eyebrows suggestively at the two archers, and smirked. The women immediately went beet red and scurried off, laughter ringing out behind them.

Frerin chuckled. He could get used to having women on the battlefield he decied as he ducked back inside his tent. When he emerged a few minutes later he was properly dressed and had pulled his boots on. He’d opted for a leather cuirass instead of full armor, and had simply belted on his sword rather than spend time arming himself with the various blades he liked to carry.

He made his way toward the large pavilion set up several tents away. He wasn’t the least bit surprised to see Thorin already there, pouring over a map laid out on the table before him as if it held all the answers in the world.

“Planning our next battle plan?” he asked in amusement.

Thorin paused long enough to glare at him before resuming his study of the map. They both knew there wouldn’t be another battle plan. The last fight had been over a week earlier, and it had been the last. The hobbits had barely been able to muster a force of thirty, and less than half of them had made it back inside the mountain.

The hobbits had shut and barred the gates behind them, while the forces outside had surrounded the mountain.

It was no longer a fight. It was a siege, the outcome all but guaranteed. The only thing question now was --

“How much longer?” he asked as he approached the table.

Thorin raised his head, eyes directed toward the mountain that loomed over their encampment. He’d been hesitant to use the trebuchets and, in the end, the decision had proven to be a good one. The hobbits seemed to have no siege weapons of their own and, in Thorin refusing to use the ones at his disposal, they’d avoided unnecessary damage to their future home.

The last thing anyone wanted was to destroy the very thing they’d spent blood trying to reclaim.

“There are natural springs inside the mountain,” Thorin’s voice broke into his thoughts, “so they’ll have no fear over water. The biggest question is if they’ve stored food for the winter and, if so, how much.”

If they had stored food, the hobbits could conceivably last months, assuming they were careful and rationed it.

Frerin chewed on his lower lip as he followed his brother’s gaze to the mountain. If this siege did last months, it could soon erase their advantage. The snows would come, leaving the hobbits safely ensconced inside the mountain, while they would be trapped outside in the elements.

Planning a war with winter fast approaching wasn’t what any of them had wanted, or would have chosen had it been solely up to them. If they could have, they’d have spent time carefully planning before marching in early spring with months of warm weather ahead of them within which to outlast the hobbits.

It hadn’t been up to them, however, not entirely. The previous winter in Ered Luin had been brutal. So bad that it had managed to upset the delicate line they had long walked between extreme poverty, and outright starvation.

He’d lost count of how many had died that winter. Of how many times he’d stood silently alongside his brother and sister as flames had flickered and snapped over the wood of pyres, sending yet one more soul to the Halls of Mandos to await the rebuilding of the world.

Not only had the winter itself been brutal, but it had lasted far longer than normal. The optimal time for planting was long past by the time the frost finally loosened its grip, and many crops that were planted failed to produce. Those few that did were destroyed in a series of spring storms that plagued the mountains.

They had tried reaching out to surrounding areas for help but the grip of winter had spread far and there were none who could spare the resources.

Motion caught his eye and Frerin saw Gandalf emerge from his tent. The man looked grave, as he had from the day the war started. He knew the wizard deeply regretted every life lost on both sides, an irony in some ways as he’d been the one to start this entire mess. Gandalf had arrived just as all hope had seemed lost, bearing tales of the tyranny of the false king of Erebor. Dale and Mirkwood were ripe for alliance he’d claimed, and he’d been right. And now here they were, locked in a battle they had to win. If they failed those they’d left behind would starve, might still starve if they didn’t receive word to begin their journey to Erebor soon. Bard appeared, face grave and worn in spite of the night he’d spent in Dale checking on his family and people. “Are you all right?” Frerin asked with a frown. “Your family?” “Fine,” the dark haired man said shortly. “My daughter is angry with me, but she’ll recover.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced, but Frerin knew better than to press. Lord Bard had been reluctant to ally with them. He detested war, regardless of its justification, and had only agreed in the end when it became clear war was inevitable. All that mattered was whose side he wished to be on. In the distance, Frerin could hear Thranduil barking orders and he turned just in time to catch a glimpse of Legolas vanishing around a corner in that direction. The elven prince had proven to be a peacemaker, often tempering his father’s more aggressive temperaments. Said temperament had been on display more and more of late, and not just with him. No one enjoyed the waiting game they were currently engaged in, and less so every day they grew nearer to winter. Frerin’s eyes were drawn back to the mountain and his stomach twisted uncomfortably inside him. He preferred being in control of his own fate, able to take up sword and fight for his life and that of his loved ones. Now all he could do was wait, and hope, that fate would play out in their favor. That the Hobbits’ food would run out and they would surrender before the snow hit. The bite in the air registered and Frerin raised his eyes toward the sky where heavy, dark clouds looked over them. Time would tell on whose side the Valar stood, and soon. He could only pray it was theirs.

#Fanfic #Fanfiction #Hobbit #The Hobbit #Romance #Action #Adventure #Frerin #Female Bilbo #FemBilbo #Thorin #Fili #Kili #Erebor Never Fell (to Smaug anyway)#AU #Alternate Universe #Fantasy #Writing #My Writing

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ialwayscomewhenyoucall · 5 years

Text

After All This Time (1/2)

twelve x rose - reunion!

~2.3k

The Doctor closes his eyes behind his dark glasses, enjoying the feel of guitar strings under his fingers and the sounds of rising and falling notes in his ears. He’d spent two days that had felt like a month chasing down an alien intent on wrecking havoc in London, so when the trouble was taken care of he’d needed to relax. He knows the guy who owns this pub, provides a little live music from time to time, because playing in the TARDIS isn’t the same as playing for people; even a small crowd gives something in return that can’t be found in an empty room. It’s not applause, it’s not even attention. It’s just energy, some inexplicable necessity that performers need along with food and water and air.

But there is a smattering of applause; his set is finished and he waves to the crowd. Someone actually shouts “Encore!” but he waves this off, a “maybe later” sort of wave.

Unhooking the strap of his guitar he settles it into the stand on the small stage then steps down to pick his way through the maze of tables to the bar itself. Pulling off his sunglasses he settles onto the only empty stool, next to a small blond woman wearing a long leather duster. It’s far too big for her; the sleeves are rolled several times to allow her hands access to the drink she’s staring into.

He fiddles with the sunglasses, unsure where to begin. Finally he says lightly, “What’s a girl like you doing in a place like this?”

Her head whips around, hair flying in all directions. Her look is one of pure shock--eyes wide, mouth hanging open. Finally she whispers, “Doctor?”

She looks like she’s about to throw her arms around him, then she stops, a look somewhere near anger darkening her features. “Really, Doctor? All this time separatin’ us, and that’s all you’ve got? A cheesy little line like that? I’ve half a mind to--”

His palm gently cupping her cheek, thumb ghosting across her skin, stops her words. He looks at Rose--truly looks at her--and his breath catches in his throat. It’s not just the tears threatening to trace down her cheeks at any moment. It’s the depth he sees in her eyes. It’s something near to what he sees on rare occasions he looks into a mirror. All this time, she’d said. Suddenly the significance of the coat she’s wearing hits home. It’s not the blue leather jacket she’d worn when hopping through dimensions, looking for his former self. It’s the coat he himself had worn back then.

Or a fairly good copy, he tells himself. Probably the metacrisis found it in Pete’s World.

And then everything crashes down on him all at once.

He clutches at the bar, then at his hair, thankful that he’s sitting on a stool and not standing up, for surely he’d have fallen otherwise. Distantly he hears Rose saying, “Easy, Doctor. Easy,” reaching out to steady him. He manages to slip his sunglasses on, looks at Rose through them, and there it is, clear as day.

“Rose, you…” he starts, but for maybe the first time in his many lives his mind goes completely blank. He has no idea what to say to her.

“We didn’t notice at first,” Rose begins. She’s talking to him, but she’s somewhere else too, staring off into another universe. “We were happy, the human Doctor an’ me. John, he was called. John Noble. He wanted to be his own self, and he--well, he thought Donna would like that.”

“She would have done,” the Doctor says, a faint smile on his lips.

“It was a bit rocky, in the beginning. We had to learn how to live with each other again, and he had to learn how to be human, and we didn’t have other planets or times to escape to. We had to find adventure in the little things. But we always knew we fit together, and it was worth getting past the tough bits.” She smiles, remembering.

“And then, after a little more than three years, we had our own TARDIS. She looked almost just like yours, on the outside at least. Apparently she liked the police box look too.”

“It’s a good look,” interjects the Doctor, and Rose laughs.

“So we had human lives to live, but we could live them everywhere and everywhen. And even though we were growin’ older, you know how the TARDIS is. Filters out viruses and bacteria, heals broken bones, that sort of thing. Healthy as horses, we two. We’d galavant for a time, then go home and visit Tony and Mum and Pete, then go out into the universe again. Only one time Mum looked at us and said, ‘What’s goin’ on, Rose! You an’ Tony look like you could be twins, and John over there’s got bits of silver in his hair!’ I think my heart nearly stopped. I’d honestly never noticed. I laughed it off to Mum but later John and I started talkin’ about it. About what lookin’ into the heart of the TARDIS can do to a person. About how maybe she’d fundamentally changed me even though you took the brunt of it into yourself…”

“Oh Rose,” he whispers. He can’t help it. But he doesn’t think she even notices.

“And then,” she says, taking a deep breath, “I died.”

He goes completely still. Obviously she survived this death, but the thought of anything happening to his Rose makes his blood run cold.

“It was such a stupid thing. We were just playin’! We were runnin’ on a beach, chasin’ each other, just plain bein’ silly. I slipped in the sand, and there was a rock, and it hit me just so…” She points at the side of her head. There is no scar. “There was no time to get me back to the TARDIS, I died right there in the sand. But I didn’t really die, of course. I regenerated. John was cryin’, and I felt like my whole body was on fire, every cell screamin’ to just stop so I could rest. And then John carried me back to the TARDIS and I slept for two days and then…” She shrugs. “But I look just like I always did. It’s not fair, that crazy energy stuff could have at least made me a little taller.”

He laughs, but his laugh is tinged with pain, and a tiny bit of regret. His lovely Rose, what had he done to her?

As if reading his thoughts, she puts a hand over his and says, “It’s not your fault, Doctor. I don’t regret what I did. And I don’t regret becomin’...whatever it is I am now.”

He looks into her eyes, eyes filled with time and sadness. “Time Lady,” he says. “Or near as makes no nevermind.”

She nods, slow and even. “I thought as much. John never said the words, but I thought he probably knew, same as me. It seems so strange to hear it said out loud though, to really know.”

And then she grabs at the hand she’d been only gently touching. “He lived a long, happy life, Doctor. I didn’t leave him, I swear I didn’t. I couldn’t, I never--” The sobs overcome her body, and he pulls her into his arms, breathing in the sweetness he’s never forgotten. He’s been wanting this ever since he saw her walk into the bar; it had been a sweet torture to play the rest of the set knowing she was there, her back to him, staring into a glass of something golden and firey. But this--her tears wash hot against his skin, and his strong Rose feels like she could shatter apart at any moment.

His murmurs are almost incoherent, just comforting sounds really. But he means every word, even if she isn’t really hearing him. “Of course you couldn’t, love. I know. I know.”

And he does. He hates saying goodbye, hates watching short-lived humans die. Just a blink and they’re gone, really. But oh, what lives they live. And he loves every moment he has with them. Two hearts, too much love to give.

But it’s impossible to put into words, so he just holds her, allows her to cry.

It’s long minutes before she takes a few deep breaths and says, “Thank you. I…” For a breath he thinks she’s lost in her memories, but finally she finishes by saying again, “Thank you.”

Anything for you, my Rose, the Doctor doesn’t say. “Of course,” he says instead, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

“John lived over a hundred years after we landed on Bad Wolf Bay. Near a hundred and two! Must have been the Time Lord half, giving him an extended lifespan. Not as long as a Time Lord, mind, but so, so long for a human, since we figure he was somewhere in his mid-30s when he was...well, born, I guess. Anyway, it was about ten years before that we stumbled upon the crack in the universe. John wouldn’t even call it a crack, said it was a micro fissure. Only molecules wide, he said, but he and the TARDIS worked for years on a way to get me through. Made me promise to go after, after…” A fresh tear trails down her already wet cheek.

“After he died,” says the Doctor, saying the words she cannot.

She nods, biting her lower lip.

“I didn’t do it right away. I wasn’t afraid,” her eyes flash defensively as she says this, “I just had to say a proper goodbye first. I never did get to say a proper goodbye to you; the first time I fell through the void, and then you disappeared before you could say you love me--and yes, I know that’s what you were sayin’, you can’t deny it now!--and then you just left me on the beach with John. I loved him so much, Doctor, and our life together was an incredible adventure, but you shouldn’t have done that.”

“Of course I love you, my Rose. Then and always.” His voice breaks when he says always. He doesn’t apologize for leaving her. He cannot. More than his voice would break.

She nods, just once, as if to say, “As it should be.”

“I buried him near Mum and Pete, and then I toured the universe. Visited all our favorite places. I didn’t even have to tell the TARDIS where to take me, she always knew the right place at the right time. She may've been young, but she knew me quite well. Even made me tea an’ biscuits when I was feelin’ blue.”

The Doctor found himself feeling inexplicably jealous.

“But after a few months of that, it was time. The TARDIS and I, we followed John’s instructions to the letter. It was a bumpy ride, and I’m honestly not sure how we survi--Doctor!”

She squeaks out his name because he’s suddenly holding her so tight; the logical part of his brain knows she clearly made it from the other universe to this one with no lasting harm, that the metacrisis--John, he corrects himself--would hardly put her in a truly dangerous situation--would he?--but thinking of her taking such a risk…

She’s stiff in his arms at first, clearly startled, but soon he feels her relax into his embrace. “I’m alright, Doctor. Truly. All here.” After a moment she threads her fingers into his hair and he decides that this is the best place in the universe and he’s never going to move again.

“Doctor,” Rose says, “quite a few people are lookin’ at us. Maybe we can go for a walk?” She smiles up at him through her lashes.

He starts. “I can’t! I’ve got to play again in…” He closes his eyes, thinking. His eyes snap open. “Three minutes! I didn’t even get a drink!” He gestures at the bartender. “Cliff! Could I get some water please?”

Rose is staring at him, eyes wide. Finally she says, “The guitar! That...that was you! I heard it from outside, and something about it called me in. But I couldn’t see the stage through the crowd, so I just sat down to listen…” She trails off, and they just smile at each other. He can feel how ridiculous his own smile looks, but it hardly matters. Rose is here, right in front of him. She’s real and she wants to go for a walk with him. And she came in to listen to him play his guitar, even when she didn’t know it was him.

It doesn’t happen often, but sometimes the universe gives him a gift.

“I know the owner, he lets me play sometimes. Always holds a table for me down front, in case I have any guests, which I never do.” The Doctor winks at Rose, then eases her forward with a hand on the small of her back. “Until tonight.”

She gives a soft giggle. “I’ll be your groupie!”

He takes a needed gulp of his water; even a Time Lord’s brain can go in too many directions at once, and Rose laughing can derail his thoughts any time.

Even after all these years.

She sits at the small table and he steps up onto the stage, trying to calm his jittery mind into performance mode for the next half hour or so. As he settles onto the waiting stool with his guitar resting on his thigh he looks at her again, looks at her eyes, and everything falls into place. The almost too long pauses, the heaviness in her gaze, the way she whispered his name when she first saw him. It’s right there, all of it.

“After my set we’ll go for that walk,” he says, his voice pitched low so only Rose can hear. “And you can tell me what you’ve been holding back.”

. + . + . + .

@doctorroseprompts

my doctor who tag list:

@keplarrrr @sunniebelle

(if you’d like to be added to or removed from the tag list please just let me know!)

#lirael writes #doctorroseprompts #twelve x rose #reunion fic #dw fic #tentoo #cw character death #(tentoo after a long and happy life!)#immortal rose tyler #emotional hurt/comfort #light angst #a wee bit of fluff #(more will be coming in the next chapter!)#doctor who

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winterisakillerwrites · 4 years

Text

Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Two

Chapter: 2/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: M

Author’s Notes/Warnings: This is part nine of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for listening to me ramble incessantly about this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

CHAPTER TWO

“So, how was it?” Jules fired as Rosemary pushed her way into Stories Untold the next morning.

She shot the tall redhead a glare which softened upon seeing the mug of coffee that had been thrust in her direction. She grabbed it and took a grateful sip. Caffeine, she mused. Heaven.

Seeing Rosemary’s shoulders relax, Jules plowed onward. “Details. I need details. Did you have fun? How much did we raise? Did you talk to anyone famous?” Her eyes had taken on the manic gleam that Rosemary customarily saw only during the run up to a major holiday sales run or anticipated date nights. There was little that could be done to soften the fervor, but it might be postponed…

Rosemary threw her free hand up in plaintive surrender. “One question at a time, Jules, please. My blood caffeine level is not up to your rapid fire demands just yet. Take pity on me.”

A sigh was Jules only answer and Rosemary took the welcome reprieve as a chance to finish her coffee and actually place her belongings in the office. And once her coffee had been finished and her purse and coat secured, she’d surrendered wholly to Jules’ excited frenzy.

Yes, it had been a rather nice time. And yes, she had in fact rubbed elbows with more than a few well knowns. Jules had been particularly interested in her chat with Colin Firth. And yes, they’d managed to raise a great deal more readies than either of them had anticipated. Jules beamed, demanding as many details as Rosemary could remember. She’d indulged as best she could while they filled the register and readied the store for opening.

Rosemary did not, however, once mention her encounter with Tom. While Jules had cooled in her dislike over the years, Rosemary hadn’t felt the need to rock the boat. Besides, the chances of another run in were slight. They, after all, had managed to avoid one another over the last three years; bringing up him at this juncture would be foolish.

The sales through lunch were stronger than she’d expected. And once Evan had come in, Rosemary had retired to the back to wage war on the seemingly never-ending paperwork in the back office. Orders in particular had become her pet project of the week. She’d managed to get a quarter of the way through the next months’ proposed work up for both stores when distraction reared its head.

“Have you seen the pictures?” Jules voice carried from the hallway. “From the gala?”

Rosemary looked at Jules with momentary confusion. “Pictures?” Then sense came flooding back. Charity event. Photographers. Of course there had been pictures. “God, sorry. Still not firing on all cylinders. I take it I’m in some?” She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. Academically, she’d known it was a possibility but hadn’t really taken the time to think it through.

Jules cocked an eyebrow. “Not a lot.” She paused to fish something from her pocket. “Though I must say, I am practically green with envy over this one with you and Colin Firth.” She held up her phone and flashed said photograph.

Rosemary grabbed the phone and studied the shot briefly before handing it back. “Huh. Not too shabby.” It was a nice photograph. She’d looked remarkably put together and not at all discomposed; a feat indeed considering who she’d been standing next to. He was Mr. Darcy after all. With a shake of her head she returned her attention to the latest order sheet.

Jules, however, remained in the doorway in silence for several moments. Rosemary could feel her eyes burning into the back of her head. “Yes?”

“Tom was there.” It was a statement, not a question.

Rosemary sighed. “Yes, he was. We bumped into each other before the auction.”

“And you didn’t see fit to mention this because…”

“It wasn’t anything major. We saw each other, made small talk. What else was I supposed to do? Avoiding him or flat out refusing to speak to him would create more questions than it was worth. Besides it’s been three years. It’s water under the bridge.”

Jules looked less than convinced. “You are in a few. With him.”

“Oh?” She hoped her tone did not belie the disconcerting feeling that flooded through her. “He was at my table for a spell. We chatted. I guess it was bound to happen.”

“Rose…”

She sighed and dropped the papers still in her hand onto the desk “Jules, honey, I’m fine. It wasn’t nearly as bad as I had feared it would be. We were both adults and handled ourselves accordingly. No harm, no foul.”

Jules narrowed her eyes but did not utter a word.

Rosemary shook her head, “I know what you’re thinking, but really I’m okay. I moved on, we both have. He’s not a horrible person, he never was. We just don’t work. And that’s okay.”

“I know, Rose. I know. I just…You know what, never mind.” She shook her head and relaxed her shoulders. “I’m going to head back out there and make sure Evan’s not being eaten alive.” She smiled.

Rosemary shook her head, laughing as well. “Don’t bother; a little chaos is good for him. Builds character.”

“I’ll just let him know you said that. I’m sure it’ll be a comfort as he nurses his wounds.”

She laughed in earnest and shifted her attention back to the waiting forms. “He’ll deal.”

___

“Can you move that display about a foot and a half to the left?” With a good natured groan Max, the newest edition to the Stories Untold family, shifted the display, again. Rosemary studied it critically and then smiled. “Perfect.”

The newest Stories location had been officially open for a week and, save for a few minor hiccups, had been running smoothly. Sales looked promising and foot traffic was slow but steady. And while Jules’ reports showed that the main store was holding its own, Rosemary still felt the familiar flutter of unease.

It was silly, she knew, and most days she could pay it rather little mind. This would be her first major change to the business she’d loved and cherished fiercely since she’d taken sole ownership seven years prior. She wanted this to succeed; wanted it desperately.

“You sure? Like completely, 100%, can’t be any surer, sure?” Max raised his sandy eyebrow which pulled a hearty laugh from everyone in the room and a quirked eyebrow from Rosemary.

“Watch your cheek, young man.” The laughter in her eyes belied her stern tone. She shook her head and sighed. “Yes. I’m sure. Now, back to the stock room with you; those boxes aren’t going to stock themselves.” Max grumbled good-naturedly as he lumbered off to complete his assigned task.

Rosemary sighed and turned her attention back to the front counter. “Alright people, let’s get back to work. We’ve got ten minutes before we open.”

A controlled melee erupted around her; Hanna, the store’s assistant manager, flew to the register, and finished loading the till. Alex and Gabe, stocking and general floor help, ran around the main sales floor making sure everything was settled and ready for the start of business. Rosemary smiled at the chaos.

Yeah, she thought, this will definitely be a challenge.

____

“Excuse me, do you know if you’ve got the new Carter novel in?”

Rosemary turned, setting the box she’d been carrying onto the counter. She smiled at the woman standing before her. “Let me check.” A few quick taps on the tablet sitting by the registers later and Rosemary nodded. “Yes we do. It will be just here.” She motioned for the woman to follow her.

Book obtained, the woman thanked Rosemary profusely, quickly paid for her purchase, and hurried from the store, leaving the jangle of the door chime in her wake. Rosemary turned her attention back to the box she’d sat on the counter. With any luck it should be the business cards and other various promotional materials they’d been due a week and a half ago.

Box cutter in hand, Rosemary had seen but not registered the figure that had entered the store and now stood near the counter.

“We seem to have a habit of meeting like this,” a familiar, warm voice chuckled. Startled, Rosemary dropped the box cutter and snapped her gaze up. Tom stood, a small but genuine smile lighting his features. “Hello.”

Rosemary blinked at him for several moments before remembering herself and returning his greeting. “Hi.” She let out a small, nervous laugh and quickly collected herself once more. “You, good sir, seem to have a habit of scaring years off my lifespan.”

Tom held his hands up in apology. “As always, that was never my intent.”

“So, Mr. Hiddleston, what brings you in today?” Professional, she told herself, I just need to keep myself professional and I can keep my head.

It was his turn to chuckle nervously, “You,” he answered with a smile, “Actually.”

Rosemary was taken aback but fought to hide it. “Oh? And you knew I’d be here because?”

Tom laughed in earnest. “The store has always been your baby. There isn’t a chance in hell that you’d not be here for the newest launch.”

Rosemary nodded slowly and rested her hands on the counter. “That still doesn’t really clear anything up.” She watched Tom blink in confusion and stamped down the small part of her heart that fluttered stubbornly in her chest.

She watched Tom rub the back of his neck with his left hand. “I saw the sign for the shop a few weeks back and was intrigued,” he started, eyes rising to hers. “I had been debating on whether it was a good idea for me to come after it opened when I ran into you at the gala.” His face flushed slightly. “After that I knew that I had to at least see…” He paused again and seeming to come to a decision, carried on. “I just…I missed you.”

Rosemary didn’t bother to hide the shock and confusion that flooded over her. “You missed me?” She parroted back, trying to understand. “It’s been three years, Tom. Why now?”

Tom nodded. “I know you asked me to stay away. And I understand why. I did my utmost best to respect that. But, yes, I have missed you. And seeing you again…it solidified that for me.”

A thousand questions ricocheted through her mind. With great effort she settle on, “What do you want, Tom?”

He smiled softly, “To be able to talk with you again. To call you when I’ve had a shit day or a great one or when I just want to hear your voice. There’s this saying, I guess you’d call it, that I heard recently and it struck me.” He paused, watching her face. “It pretty much goes that you have no idea how much you miss someone until something happens, good or ill, and the only person you want to tell is the one who’s not there. And it’s true. I want you in my life Rosemary, in whatever capacity you are comfortable with.” His eyes were clear and cautiously hopeful.

She stared at him in stunned disbelief. It was tempting, so very tempting. “Tom…”

He nodded and offered a small, knowing smile of understanding. “I’m not asking for an answer now. But can you get promise me to think about it?”

Rosemary hesitated, her eyes lowering to the counter. Could she do this? Should she? And if she didn’t would she honestly be okay with it? With a sigh, she nodded. “I can do that.” She paused, pulling a length of receipt tape from the cash register. In a quick, neat hand she wrote her number and handed it to Tom before she allowed herself to think better of it. His brows rose in confusion. “My number,” she clarified. If he could be bold, so could she.

He smiled, tucking the number safely in his pocket. “Is it okay if I call you this week? Maybe we could meet for coffee or lunch?”

Rosemary nodded. “I’d like that.”

___

It took everything Rosemary had to keep herself from jumping each time the phone rang. She felt utterly ridiculous the way her heart would leap into her throat at the sound only to settle in disappointment when the name on the screen wasn’t his. Pathetic, she chided herself. You are completely, ridiculously pathetic.

Tom had promised to call but that had been nearly two weeks prior. A few days she could easily excuse. He was a busy man and time had a funny way of slipping away when you were busy. Maybe a week, given the right circumstances. But two weeks and nothing, not even a text? She was an idiot for even considering letting him back into her life. But that didn’t stop her from wishing he would call. That he would reach out. Something.

Disgusted with both herself and the situation, she tossed her phone onto the coffee table and forced herself to focus on something, anything else. The knock at her door forced her heart heavily into her throat.

“Sweet lord,” she murmured to herself, hand clutches tightly to her chest. With a laugh at her own skittishness, she pushed herself up from the couch and to the front door.

The first thing she registered was the large bottle of wine clutched tightly in a well-manicured hand. “Wha…” she started. It took all of thirty seconds for her brain to register the smiling face behind the bottle. “Jules?”

Jules rolled her eyes and pushed past Rosemary into the flat, shedding her coat as she went. “You’ve forgotten our standing date. I’m crushed.”

Realization dawned. “It’s Thursday!” She shouted, feeling like a fool. “God, where is my head?”

Jules snorted in laughter. “Obviously not attached. So…seeing as you completely forgot I was coming I doubt you’ve got food ready.”

Hissing a curse, Rosemary shook her head. “Chinese?” She offered helpfully.

“I guess that’ll do.” Jules wandered into the kitchen behind Rosemary, grabbing two wine glasses. Armed with both a menu and a corkscrew, Rosemary ushered her friend back into the living room.

“General Tso’s?” She asked, grabbing her phone from the table.

Jules nodded her assent and busied herself opening the wine bottle. Order placed, Rosemary took the offered wine glass and sipped gratefully.

“So…Movie?”

Jules smirked and grabbed the remote from the coffee table, switching on the flat screen television and cueing up Netflix. “Romantic comedy?”

Rosemary groaned and settled further into the couch. “Only if it’s a truly terrible one and we take the piss out of it.”

A grin lit up Jules’ warm face. “One cheesy romantic comedy coming up.”

___

The movie they settled on was truly terrible but the wine and running commentary made it almost bearable. “I cannot believe someone got paid to write this drivel,” Rosemary moaned as she picked through her sweet and sour pork. “I mean seriously, we are in the wrong line of work.”

Jules lifted her glass. “Here, here!”

Both women dissolved into fits of giggles. “You spill wine on my couch, young lady, and you’ll be sorry,” Rosemary admonished, placing her own glass onto the coffee table. Another round of giggles erupted between them.

It took Rosemary several moments to register the ringing she assumed was coming from the television was in fact coming her phone that she’d left lying on the side table. She clumsily grabbed for the phone, hoping whoever was on the other end had patience. She glanced at the phone, it was number she did not recognize. “Hello?”

“Rosie?”

The voice was familiar, Rosemary knew that she knew it but still she could not place it. “Yes…?”

“Rosie, its Tom…Are you drunk?” There was amusement in his tone.

She giggled. “Maybe...” Rosemary squinted, trying to think. Tom? Tom…Oh yes, Tom. I know Tom! “Tom!” she squealed into the phone, earning a glare from Jules. “Wait…” Her voice trailed off. There was something she was forgetting. “You said you’d call two weeks ago! You lied!”

A sigh, “I know, I’m sorry.”

“S’not good enough,” Rosemary protested. “You say you want to be part of my life and then disappear. That’s not acceptable.” From the corner of her eye she could see Jules’ eyebrow rise in increments. She held up her hand and waved it dismissively in her direction. She could not handle two simultaneous conversations at this point.

“I know it’s not, Rosie. And if you can meet me for lunch tomorrow I can try to explain.”

Rosemary creased her forehead in confusion. “Why can’t you explain now?”

Tom sighed and she could hear shuffling on the other end of the line. “I could but something tells me that it would be lost on you at this point.”

“Are you saying you think I can’t keep up?” Now she was indignant.

“No, well yes. Rosie, you are slurring your words something fierce…”

She shook her head, temporarily forgetting that he could not see her. “It’s not that bad. Just tell me Tom. Cause if you don’t I’m just going to assume the worst…” and it wasn’t a completely idle threat.

“Work, Rose. I got called back for an insane amount of reshoots and I could barely keep myself straight let alone other people.”

She snorted a laugh of derision. “And you couldn’t text me something to that effect because?”

“I’m a shit person and got caught up in my own damn head. I’m sorry. I truly am. I should have called or at least texted. It’s just the more time that passed the harder it was to try to justify.” He was nearly tripping over his words now.

In her inebriated state she could just barely keep up. Damn him. “Tom, I think you’re right. I don’t think I’m up for this kind of conversation right now.”

“Okay.” Tom paused and was silent for several moments. “Could we…I mean. Would you be able to meet me tomorrow for lunch or maybe dinner? To talk?”

“Lunch,” Rosemary replied automatically. Dinner was decidedly not a good idea. Far too intimate for whatever is was they currently were.

“Is Italian okay? I know a nice little café that does a fantastic lunch.”

She gave her assent and quickly ended the call. The phone chimed moments later with the text Tom had promised of the location and time. She could feel Jules’s eyes on her but did not dare look over. She instead held up her hand in exasperation. “I know. But we are far too drunk for this kind of conversation…”

“Nope. Not gonna happen, Rose, darling. Drunk is exactly how this kind of conversation needs to happen. So talk,” Jules ordered pouring more wine into each glass.

Rosemary took the proffered glass and drank deeply, knowing she’d regret all of this come morning. “Fine,” she uttered. “Do your worst.”

#Tom Hiddleston #Tom Hiddleston RPF #Tom Hiddleston x oc #Tom Hiddleston x ofc #Tom Hiddleston x original character #Tom Hiddleston x original female character #Tom & Rosie #Love & Great Buildings

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orderofthedyingstar · 4 years

Text

RECAP: SESSION 10

SESSION TEN

It’s been a week since the encounter with Umbra. The party left the barn they commandeered on Dynafell’s outskirts after its owners returned and have been staying in a tavern in the farmland area outside of the city proper. Rhododendron’s been staying in their room almost exclusively, while Inigo disappears for long stretches of the day and Jun’s been preoccupied reading. Verrix hasn’t strayed too far from the tavern (worried about Rhododendron, hmm?), digging around for information about Donny and Raz where he can. People sort of recognize Donny’s description, but they seem to be confused about what crimes she’s committed (robbing a bank, killing a man, etc); more people know Raz, since they lived in the city, but no one has seen them since Umbra took them - and no one recognizes Umbra’s description.

Rhododendron, out of both boredom and curiosity, finally asks Jun where he got the books he’s reading and he admits that he stole a bunch of books from the Order of the Dying Star - and didn’t want to tell her since she’d been so worried after he stole the bow. Rhododendron tries to explain the difference in morality between stealing from a shady Order and the Queen to Jun again, and while he’s willing to listen he still doesn’t seem to really understand. Jun then says he doesn’t really care whether or not it’s bad so long as he can get more information, while Rhododendron disagrees, saying all of the information she’s gotten in the past month has been bad…when she starts wallowing and looking like she’s about to cry again, Jun makes a mustache appear on his face to try and cheer her up. When Rhododendron starts asking him about his spell-learning process, he hands her an Illusion magic book to try and distract her. Verrix returns, sees a book in Rhododendron’s hands, and starts laughing.

Rhododendron: “I was going to learn! Fuck you!”

Jun switches the book from Rhododendron to Verrix, pointing out that Verrix might actually be able to get something out of it. When Rhododendron tries to argue that she can do magic, both Verrix and Jun conjure up fire and ask if she can do it. Rhododendron eventually gets annoyed enough with both of them to leave the room - and Jun asks Verrix if he can even read, which he doesn’t give an answer to. Rhododendron starts shooting arrows at a tree outside of the tavern that she’s been using for target practice the past few days, although she misses much more than she would like. Inigo passes by Rhododendron on his way back to the tavern to sleep, commenting on her half-hearted archery attempts. Rhododendron eventually heads back inside and asks Verrix if he found out any new information.

Verrix: “Did you know Donny was a guard here? Who let that happen??”

Rhododendron: “I don’t think they really thought about it.”

Jun: “I don’t think they do background checks here.”

The party starts worrying about their slowly dwindling supply of money, wondering if they’re going to need to start dividing up their rations. Rhododendron asks for a dagger (Jun hands her one, Verrix tries to hand her four), worrying both of her (conscious) party members that she’s going to ‘get stabby’. (Verrix: “At least it’s not an arrow.”) They also both comment that they have Shield at the ready in case she gets any ideas.

Rhododendron, threatening: “Oh, you both know Shield?”

Jun: “It’s a pretty good spell when you’re fragile and bleed easily and blood mages can just knock you out in one hit.”

Rhododendron: “Blood mages?”

Jun: “Uhhh, I mean strange fire genasi that we don’t know the powers and origins of…”

Rhododendron: “Are you not telling me something?”

Jun: “Ah…I’m not telling you a lot of things…so…”

Jun tries to distract Rhododendron from his slip about Umbra by rambling on about divination magic, Donny, and Raz - and successfully derails her by mentioning that he might be able to track Raz using Locate Object, although he’s still reluctant to burn a spell slot.

Rhododendron: “We’ve been doing nothing for seven days, Jun If-I-Knew-Your-Last-Name-I-Would-Have-Said-It.”

Jun: “That’s on purpose.”

Jun doesn’t think he can sense Raz’s arcane focus anywhere within the current range of the spell, just similar objects in the temples of Dynafell. Rhododendron wakes Inigo up with a loud screech, interrogating him about where he’s been wandering off to the past week. Inigo tosses a bag full of silver and copper coins at her, saying that he got them from ‘work’; he’s been killing a lot of rats and doing other odd jobs. Rhododendron tries to ask Inigo if he has any ideas about where Umbra could have gone, or if he has a secret hideout, and Inigo finally reveals that his memories haven’t fully returned.

Inigo: “I don’t remember…”

Rhododendron: “Remember what?”

Inigo: “MMHMM! A lot of things!”

Rhododendron: “I thought you got your memories back?”

Inigo: “Mostly, I mostly got them back. Turns out there’s a lot of stuff I didn’t know so when I started remembering I thought, ‘wow that’s a lot’…but it turns out it’s a slow thing.”

Inigo barely remembers anything about Umbra, and as Rhododendron pushes for more facts he freaks out about how little he can recall and how violent the things that he can remember are. The only concrete things he’s able to give involve a cave somewhere in the mountains with ‘creepy statues’ and a giant nearby. When Rhododendron looks to Jun for any sort of opinion on this he won’t look at her. Rhododendron realizes that none of the current party were with her for the incident at the lake and makes herself sad again.

Rhododendron (telling Verrix about what she and Donny fought about): “The blood on the hotel walls, my career ruined and in the garbage?”

Verrix: “Why did you do that again?”

Rhododendron: “Michael. Fucking Michael.”

Verrix and Jun shrug at each other. They have no idea what she’s talking about.

Rhododendron: “Oh, we could find Yeah!”

Verrix: “We could find Michael?”

Rhododendron: “No, Yeah!”

Verrix: “Which one???”

Jun, to Verrix: “Is she making less sense than usual or is it just me?”

Rhododendron: “Do you know Yeah?”

Jun: “Do I…No?? Yeah??”

After confusing the rest of the party thoroughly for several minutes, Rhododendron finally explains that Yeah is another person that she knows, and that they might have some more information about the owlbears and anything that’s been happening in Dynafell…but the decides that it isn’t much of a lead. The party decides to go to the mountains to try to rouse Inigo’s memories, although Rhododendron gets annoyed when Jun points out that while it’s not a bad idea, it might take months before they get answers. She also blames Inigo and Verrix for not doing anything while Raz was being taken, which Verrix gets annoyed about and Inigo says that they wouldn’t have been able to stop Umbra. Inigo points out that Umbra probably would have killed them if they’d tried to stop them, and doubts they’ll be able to do anything to stop Umbra even if they find them again.

Despite the party’s disagreements about their ability to face Umbra or even find them, both Jun and Inigo agree with Rhododendron on killing Umbra. Jun also says that he doesn’t think they’re capable of killing Umbra just yet because they all work poorly together as a team and don’t really know what else Umbra can do. Rhododendron is still insistent on moving, irritated and restless with being unable to do anything to help Raz at the moment. Verrix heads out to gather more information in town, and Jun reveals that he recognizes Umbra from a few brief encounters with them a long time ago. Both Jun and Inigo try to escape with Verrix but Rhododendron doesn’t let them leave, interrogating both of them for every detail they can give her about Umbra.

Jun gives brief details about his time spent interrogating Umbra while still working at the Cobalt Keep, stating a few times that it’s difficult for him to remember all of the pieces of what really happened. Inigo gives some scattered information about some of the places he’s remembered going, and that he thinks he was very young when he met Umbra, and that they haven’t seemed to age at all. (Jun says that genasi don’t have very long lifespans, so Umbra not visibly aging would be abnormal for them.) Rhododendron tries to ask Jun about the Cobalt Keep, but he refuses to talk about it, just going back to his interrogation of Umbra and how few answers he got - and that Inigo was with Umbra during their imprisonment at the Keep. Jun also doesn’t give many details about Umbra’s breakout, but does mention that he couldn’t get into Inigo’s mind at all.

Rhododendron: “Wait, Inigo, how old are you?”

Inigo: “Huh…..probably somewhere between ten and sixty.”

While she’s calmed down considerably, Rhododendron still gives Jun some shit for withholding information, which he isn’t upset about. He says that he’s always gotten in trouble for withholding answers and doesn’t have a good track record with trusting other people with the truth; he then mentions that if Umbra has run back to So’Joh he probably shouldn’t go because he’s wanted there, although most people probably think he’s dead. When Rhododendron whines about only being friends with fugitives and criminals, Jun points out that the only person (including her) that they’ve hung around the past few weeks that hasn’t committed any crimes is Raz. Inigo also manages to recall that Umbra had once had a plan to steal the crown of So’Joh and switch it, which Jun initially doesn’t care about until he remembers that it’s Enchanted to manipulate people’s emotions.

Jun: “That is not our problem, because it’s in the Cobalt Keep, which we are never going to - or at least, I’m never going to. You can do that on your own time, I’ll stay here. In a different country.”

Verrix, meanwhile, has been asking around if anyone has seen any mountains lately. (They definitely have.) He then switches gears, trying to ask about a lake up in the mountains.

Verrix: “Mountain. Cave. Lake. You know what I mean?”

Verrix goes into a tavern and stares at a map of the country, staring at it for a while before realizing he has no idea how to read it. He tries to get some strangers at the bar to read the map for him, but they refuse (Verrix: “This city is so mean”). He tries to pry the map off of the wall with his dagger, but the bartender catches him - Verrix asks the man to read the map for him, but he gets mistaken for a drunk person, although the bartender also does mention that the only lake of any significance up in the mountains is Mirror Lake before kicking him out. He gives up and heads back to the rest of his party. Verrix does confuse the bartender’s suggestions that he attend school with his information about the lake, thinking that children are getting kidnapped and taken to the lake.

Rhododendron: “Inigo, are you paying attention?”

Inigo: “Honestly? No. You guys started using big words so I zoned out and started staring at the ceiling.”

The group decides to try to head up to Mirror Lake, although Rhododendron is reluctant to go through Whitwood/Elfslayer’s Run (even though it’s faster) and Verrix does not want to go back through Snaketail Crevice to get up into the mountains. She still says that they should pass through Whitwood as fast as possible, making the rest of the party think that she’s committed some sort of crime in that town. They spend too long arguing about whether or not to stock up on supplies in Whitwood, and Inigo calls the party boring, offending both Verrix and Rhododendron.

Before the group leaves, Verrix takes Inigo with him to ‘borrow’ the map he was looking at earlier. Verrix tries to run into the tavern to grab the map, but gets blinded by his own bangs and trips over his own cloak. Inigo tries not to laugh and then walks over the map, rips the map + frame off of the wall, and walks outside. Verrix finally remembers to check for any wanted posters to see if anyone remembers Rhododendron’s crime, but gets distracted by all of the other posters in the city. Verrix is disappointed when Rhododendron tells him that they can’t carry the map around in its frame the entire time they’re traveling.

Rhododendron: “Um, did you need one that big??”

Verrix: “Yup. We gotta go.”

The group heads out on the road, one Rhododendron is very familiar with. She’s made this journey plenty of times before, and knows that the last big town they’ll pass through before Whitwood and the mountains is El Canje.

Rhododendron: “It’s important when battling to know one another to know how people think.”

Jun: “Oh, I know how all of you think.”

Verrix: “How do I think?”

Jun: “You don’t.”

Verrix: “That’s harsh. Wow.”

Verrix shares a little about his past, saying that he used to live in Silva before losing his parents and running around on his own. Inigo still doesn’t remember much, but says that all ‘angels look the same’ - when Verrix tries to confirm that with the Voice in his head he’s punished with three straight minutes of unrelenting harp music. When they finally rest, during her watch Rhododendron talks to a few animals, really creeping Inigo out.

Rhododendron: “I think you’re just bottling things up and avoiding them and it’s going to be really bad when they finally blow up.”

The close the party gets to El Canje, the more traffic they encounter. Rhododendron notices that most of the people heading that direction are self-styled adventurers, decked out in armor and weapons to try and break into an old temple that’s been unearthed in El Canje bearing the symbol of the missing moon goddess. Freaking out a little, Rhododendron catches Verrix up to speed on the events of the Laoteng temple she and Jun broke into a while ago. Rhododendron and Jun decide it would probably be worthwhile to try and get into this temple too, but are unsure how to do that without attracting the attention of the entire crowd of travelers. They debate whether or not the bow is cursed, (and hope that it isn’t) to which Jun says a small curse is better than a big curse.

Rhododendron: “We aren’t here to steal anything.”

Verrix: “Yet.”

The temple itself is partially unearthed, clearly excavated from beneath another building and covered in scorches and scratch marks from the many failed attempts at entry. Whatever magic is here is old and failing but still incredibly powerful. As the party tries to figure out a way to enter the temple, they also wonder what could possibly be inside of the temple - and how to distract all of the many, many adventurers circling around the building. While Rhododendron and Verrix are distracted arguing about whether or not Verrix is ‘chill’, Jun mimics Laoteng’s symbol on the front door, attracting the attention of all of the other adventurers. The party circles around to the back and tries to get in through a window - Rhododendron prays to Laoteng for help and shoots an arrow through the window. Light collects at the arrow tip, just like the last time, and the window explodes as the arrow blasts through it. The party climbs into the temple through the window (with some difficulty on Rhododendron’s end), finding it just as decrepit as the last one, with another pool of water in the center of the main room. Rhododendron launches another arrow at the pool, evaporating the water and revealing another set of stairs leading downwards…

Inigo casts light on a rock so Rhododendron can see as they descend the staircase, leading them to another circular room covered in mosaics depicting more myths about Laoteng: how humans got emotions, Gosha’s founding, the guidance of the gods in creatinine the capital cities. Rhododendron, forgetting to look for traps/enemies, runs straight into a massive web, attracting the attention of something large that skitters along the walls. Verrix shoots a firebolt down the hallway, revealing six giant spiders (Gross).

Verrix: “Boy, I sure do hate that.”

Rhododendron: “Yeah! YEAH! Ugh, that’s horrible, spiders shouldn’t be that big.”

After setting most of the webbing on fire and dealing a significant amount of fire damage, the party manages to destroy all of the spiders, although Verrix and Inigo get poisoned in the process. Rhododendron sorts through her bag and spells but realizes they have nothing to cure the poison on them, leaving half of the party weakened. As they extinguish the flames and push past the last of the spiders’ webbing, they find that the hallway continues, but is trapped with spikes that Rhododendron nearly falls into. Rhododendron and Jun make it across the spikes safely, but tell Verrix and Inigo to stay behind since they’re still poisoned. The hallway leads into a large, circular room, only this time there’s someone moving around in it.

Jun: “Ah, shit - backup, backup, abortabortabort.”

Rhododendron: “Do you think they’re friendly?”

(Nat1 nature check from Rhododendron) A kindly old woman is in the room, surprised by her visitors. She tells the two that she lives in this temple ‘sometimes’, and offers up a riddle. Jun keeps insisting that they leave. The woman says that she likes being in the temple to absorb the old magic, to which Jun comments that he’s never liked hags.

Rhododendron: “Maybe you shouldn’t, like, do that? This temple is gonna fall apart.”

Auntie May: “Maybe someday, but rocks are pretty sturdy and the magic is even sturdier.”

Rhododendron: “Not if you’re eating it.”

Auntie May: “I’m not eating it, just…absorbing. It’s nature.”

Rhododendron: “Or it’s stealing.”

Auntie May: “Well, no on else is using it, so might as well.”

Rhododendron: “You don’t know that.”

Auntie May: “I do. What’s a dead god going to do with power that’s just sitting there? Nothing. This is but an echo of what she was.”

Auntie May expresses displeasure at the party having killed the spiders, calling them her ‘pets’ and saying she’ll have to go look for new ones. She dodges answering when Rhododendron asks how she gets in and out of the temple, but as Rhododendron asks more questions she offers and exchange: a secret for a secret, but Rhododendron declines. As Jun and Rhododendron start to leave, Auntie May addresses Rhododendron by name, saying that she read it on her bow even though it’s covered. As they leave Rhododendron spots spell components on the table Auntie May is rearranging, including bones. She asks Jun if they should be worried about the hag, but Jun is extremely against confronting her, especially after casting Detect Magic on the temple walls.

Rhododendron: “This is a whole temple. It shouldn’t be a place you destroy and ruin.”

Jun: “Well, we’re no clerics of Laoteng, you know? We can let it slide, it’s not like Raz is here - oh, s-shit. Um, I was UNCONSCIOUS, did I mention that?“

Rhododendron is still concerned about the hag and the possibility of other adventurers running across her, and despite Jun’s repeated warnings decides to go back into Auntie May’s room. Rhododendron says that she also feels compelled to see things through on behalf of Laoteng.

#split into two parts cause i already had a lot typed for the first half alone even tho not much happens like physically for 90% of it #rly funny that rhododendron keeps trying to set jun up w Inigo/verrix the past few sessions #also r i p Verrix i forgot bout his WM until after this session i think i still feel bad bout that #dndas #dnd another sunrise #dndas recap

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