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headfulloffantasies · 3 years

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Legacy Returning

Din Djarin is not fit to be the Mand’alor. He runs from the responsibility and more specifically from Bo-Katan.

Ao3

Legacy Returning

Din received a hail while he was flying between planets on the Outer Rim. He opened the hail without thinking, expecting Karga or Cara with a new bounty.

Bo Katan’s face flickered through the hologram. Din dove for the disengage button.

“Din Djarin.”

Too late.

Din slumped in his seat. He had come to hate that stupid headband so much. “I’m not fighting you for the Darksaber,” he cut right to the chase.

Bo Katan pressed her lips together in a frown. “If you will not face me in combat then you must return to Mandalore and begin reparations.”

Din had never stepped foot on Mandalore. It was hard to return to a place you’d never been.

“No thank you,” he said. He reached out to end the call.

“Consider your fellow vod,” Bo Katan said.

Vod. Brothers. Din had no brothers. His covert had been destroyed. He had broken his Creed. He had no one but the foundling he’d given away.

“Mandalore needs its leader,” Bo Katan pleaded.

“That’s not me,” Din said. “If you want the Darksaber, I’m throwing it in the nearest supernova.”

He hung up.

Din arrived on Tatooine at Peli’s shop. She came out of her office wiping her hands on a rag. “Where’s the little womp rat?” She asked in place of a greeting.

Din swallowed hard. “He’s with his kind,” he said.

Peli’s face fell. “Well, next time you have him, bring him this way. I like the little guy.”

Din smiled under his helmet.

“I need some help,” he admitted.

Peli came over and banged a fist on the side of his new ship. “Doesn’t look too bad. Better than your old rust heap.”

“Not with the ship,” Din said. “I need someplace to hide.”

Peli turned on him with a finger pointed in his face. “I know you’re a good person under that bucket, Mando, but if you bring trouble to Mos Eisley I won’t forgive you.”

“Noted,” Din nodded.

Peli dropped the offending finger. “So, what kind of trouble are you in now?”

Din sighed loud enough that it crackled through his helmet. “I accidentally became ruler of Mandalore.”

Peli blinked. She burst out laughing. “You? You can barely take care of the kid!”

Din bristled at that. He’d done excellent with Grogu. He’d found the Jedi for him, hadn’t he?

“Do you know of anywhere I can lay low?” He asked.

Peli shrugged. “People come to Tatooine to disappear all the time. You might want to ask the new crime lord at the Hutt Palace if you’re looking for work.”

Din startled. “There’s a new crime lord?”

Peli waved her hands. “Regimes fall every day. Do I look like a newswave?”

Din thanked her and decided he’d make his way to the Hutt Palace. Work was good. It would keep him occupied until he could figure out his next move.

At the Palace a pretty girl led Din down the stone steps to the throne room. Din’s footsteps echoed in the quiet halls.

They rounded the corner. A throne sat on a raised platform. Din let out a soft curse. “Boba Fett?”

The green helmeted Mandalorian leaped off his throne. “Mando! I thought you’d been killed by that kriffing Mandalorian princess.”

“Not yet,” Din extended his hand. They clasped vambraces. Fennec appeared from behind the throne, carrying a bottle of blue spotchka.

“Nice to see you again,” she smirked.

“What can I do for you, my friend?” Boba asked.

“A job, if you have any,” Din answered. “A hiding place, if not.”

Boba exchanged a glance with Fennec. “You’re running from Bo Katan?”

Din sighed. The sound came from the depths of his very core. “She’s decided if she can’t beat me, she’ll join me.”

“Which means what?” Boba asked.

“She’s trying to put me on the throne of Mandalore,” Din explained.

There was a beat of silence. Boba Fett burst into laughter. The sound bounced off the stone walls. Fennec tried her best, but her smile broke into giggles. Fett bent over and braced himself on his knees while he caught his breath.

“That girl has no taste,” Boba Fett said.

Din wasn’t sure if he should be offended.

Boba sent Din on a task to collect a wayward dealer who’d skimmed some money off the top of Boba’s operation.

“She’s way out in the Dune Sea,” Boba said. “That should be far enough away from Bo Katan.”

Din borrowed Peli’s speeder and set out. As he rode into the sweltering heat of the desert Din reflected on his friends’ reactions to his supposed rulership. No one thought he could do it. Kriff, even Din didn’t think he should be the Mand’alor, but some support would be nice. He definitely could not accept the throne, though. He was dar’manda; he’d lost his Way. He couldn’t lead Mandalore. Especially when he’d come to understand that most Mandalorians did not in fact follow the Way. He should just accept Bo Katan’s challenge and let her have the stupid Darksaber. Kriff, what a stupid system to have a laser sword determine the right to rule. What if it got stolen?

Din arrived at the coordinates Boba Fett had given him. Amid the towering rocks jutting out of the sand Din found a cave. It seemed like the place a normal species would take cover from the suns.

Din stepped into the shade. His visor adjusted to the dimness. A blanket, a dead firepit and a mess of used ration wrappers strewed on the ground. And- was that? Yep. That was a bomb.

Din came to with his ears ringing. He blinked through his visor. Twin suns pierced his vison. He took a breath.

Dank Farrik, that hurt. He ground his teeth against the wave of pain. When it faded enough to manage, Din took stock. It didn’t feel like any shrapnel had pierced his skin. At most, his head hurt. And his ribs under the chest plate.

Gingerly, Din sat up. Smoke billowed out of the cave. The blast had obviously thrown him backwards into the sand. It would take days to clean all the grit from his armour.

A shadow fell over him. Din looked up, a hand on his blaster.

“Dank Farrik,” he hissed. Blue Mandalorian armour filled his vision.

Bo Katan lifted her helmet. Behind her, Kaska Reeves held the collar of Din’s bounty.

Din wobbled to his feet. “What are you doing here?”

Bo Katan had the audacity to look shocked. “I’m here to speak to you. You are the Mand’alor.”

“No.” Din unclipped the Darksaber from his belt. Bo Katana stiffened. Din drew back his arm and pitched the Darksaber as far as he could. He nearly toppled over. The Darksaber winked in the light of the twin suns and vanished into the desert.

Bo Katan made a sound like a choked loth cat. Din did not care. He stomped over to Kaska Reeves and snatched his bounty from her.

“Wait,” she said. “She has to stand trial for trying to assassinate the Mand’alor.”

“No,” Din repeated. He tossed his bounty over his speeder and took off. Bo Katan yelled after him. Probably something about disrespecting his cultural heritage. Din still didn’t care.

Boba Fett took one look at Din at decided he needed a drink. Din agreed, but he’d prefer to drink alone. Besides, any planet with Bo Katan on it was not a planet he could stay on.

Din stayed one step ahead of Bo Katan for longer than he actually expected. Say you want about the princess, but she was competent and crafty. She managed to lure him to a backwater swamp with a fake bounty puck.

“I don’t want it,” Din said. Bo Katan held out the Darksaber to him imploringly. She must have spent hours cleaning the sand from its mechanisms.

Din sighed. “Do you want to arm wrestle for it? Would that work?”

Bo Katan’s eyebrows creased. “The Darksaber must be won in combat.”

Din sagged. He was so very tired of people telling him things he didn’t understand.

“I don’t know anything about it,” Din explained. “I don’t know how it works.”

He meant it as an excuse to pass the light sword along to her, but Bo Katan took it as an invitation to recite the Darksaber’s history.

It was… a lot.

Din latched onto one very important detail. “So, it hasn’t always been a symbol of the Mand’alor.”

Bo Katan faltered. “Well, no, but-.”

“And it was stolen from the Jedi,” Din said.

“Yes. But it was Mandalorian first,” Bo Katan emphasised. “The Jedi had no right-.”

“So, it actually belongs to the Jedi,” Din finished his train of thought.

He swiped the Darksaber from Bo Katan’s lax grip. He whipped around and ran up the ramp of his ship.

Bo Katan yelled after him, “Where are you going?”

“I’m giving it back to the Jedi,” Din shouted back. Glowing satisfaction filled his chest at the strangled noise Bo Katan made.

The best part was that he had an actual excuse to go see Grogu. Usually, he showed up to the Jedi academy with a half baked defense about protecting the children or something. Luke humored him, for which Din was eternally grateful. It wouldn’t do to have to kneecap his son’s teacher.

Din knew Luke was dramatic. The man wore a cape. Din did not wear a cape; it was a cloak and it was different. Capes were for dramatic entrances. This time though, Din thought Luke had taken the cake. Upon being presented with the Darksaber, Luke had vaulted into a tree and refused to come down.

“It belongs to the Jedi!” Din shouted up at Luke. He could just see his pale blond hair through the thick foliage.

“I want nothing to do with that thing!” Luke shot back.

Fine. Din could play dirty then. “Isn’t your sister Force sensitive? Does she need a laser sword?”

“Do not give the Death Saber to my sister!” Luke hissed.

Din did not move from his position of holding the Darksaber up towards Luke. He realised he looked much like Bo Katan had when she offered Din the sword. Kriff, why was she only person in the galaxy who wanted it but wouldn’t take it?

“Do any of your other students need a weapon?” Din suggested. He perked up. “What about Grogu? How long until he gets a sword? I can hold onto it for him until he’s ready.”

Luke sobbed.

Rude. Din thought it was a great idea. “It’ll be like a family heirloom.”

“I will murder you in your sleep,” Luke mumbled in the tree. “I will smother you with your pillow.”

Good luck with that. Din wore the helmet to sleep while he visited the academy. He’d had a close call with curious children the first time he’d come to see Grogu. Force users had no regard for locks that couldn’t stop them.

Anyways, Luke could not stay in that tree forever. Luke seemed to realise this too. He finally dropped back to ground level with surprising grace. He had a leaf stuck in his hair. It made him look much younger.

“That thing,” Luke jabbed a finger at the Darksaber. “Has been used to destroy the Jedi. It has no place here.”

Din looked down at the blade. “I don’t understand,” he admitted. “It’s just a thing. An object. But everyone acts like it has a will and a destiny. It’s a tool. Tools don’t care what you use them for; they don’t know the difference between good and evil.”

Din had Luke’s full attention. It was a bit daunting. Din swallowed. “Instead of giving more power to the stories of evil deeds, why don’t you use it for good? Reclaim its legacy.”

Luke squinted at him. “You’re a very clever man, Din Djarin. And a very tricky one.”

At least someone thought so.

“Does that mean you’ll take it?” Din extended the Darksaber again.

Luke hesitated. “I think,” Luke said slowly. “That you should be the one to reclaim the Darksaber’s legacy. The Force is working very strongly around you, Din Djarin.”

Din sagged. “I don’t want to be the Mand’alor.”

“Then don’t,” Luke said.

Din’s gaze snapped up to the Jedi.

Luke shrugged. “Part of the Darksaber’s dark legacy is the bloody war for the throne of Mandalore. If you hold the Darksaber but refuse to claim Mandalore then the Mandalorians will have to come up another system to choose their leader.”

Din narrowed his eyes. Luke had a devious mind. It might just work.

“You want me to spend the rest of my life defending the Darksaber from would be assassins and someday die a natural death without ever being defeated?”

Luke shrugged. “Something like that.” He grinned. “You’re doing great so far.”

Din resolutely did not mention he’d been blown up earlier that month.

Din clipped the Darksaber to his belt. “Fine. But if anybody calls me a Jedi, I’m bringing the sword right back here and burying it forever.”

END

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rye-views · 4 years

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The Half of It (2020) dir. Alice Wu. 7.4/10

An Asian, high school female being this confident and independent is so unusual, but I love it.

We find relationships in those we least suspect.

I enjoy what she said about alcohol making you pee more.

Spoiler: [About Ellie Chu, being paid by other students in her high school to do their homework. She writes all their essays for the same topic with different ideas. In her music class, she takes notice of Aster Flores. Her teacher talks with Ellie about her future since she’s deciding to stay in their town, Squahamish, to attend a nearby college on a full ride. Her teacher knows she is writing the essays, but it’s better than reading what the students would really write. On her bike ride home, Ellie gets stopped by Paul Munsky to ask her to help him write romance letters to Aster Flores. She refuses since it should be authentic. She goes home and spends time with her single father. She helps him pay the power bill since they don’t understand his accent and she bumps into Aster in the halls. She introduces herself only to find that Aster’s dad at church loves Ellie being the pianist even though she’s a heathen. Ellie hears that she has to pay the power bill of $50 and agrees to help Paul write his letter for that amount of money. They meet at the church as she reads his letter and makes it better. He gets a response letter from Aster and Ellie thinks it’s a good response that matches her wit. More letters are exchanged as she pretends to be him and gets to know him at the same time. Aster is in a relationship with Trig, a wealthy boy, but continues the friendship writing with Paul. She is also unhappy with aspects of her life. Ellie’s teacher finds a love letter that fell onto her floor and confronts Ellie since she believes this love letter writing is the reason her students are failing their essays. Ellie and Aster continue their conversations about literature and art and even collaborate on a graffiti piece in town without Aster knowing who is really talking to her. Paul wants to go on a real date and impulsively sends a text asking her out, but it’s not written in the way Ellie would talk so she tries to mediate the issue. They also switch messaging platforms so that Ellie can message on her phone. Paul and Aster go on a date and she gives him a book to match their conversations, but he fumbles with what he says. Ellie listens to the conversation over the phone. He talks with Ellie and wants to make the effort to be more compatible with Aster. Ellie spends time at the train station as the signal man for her dad and trains Paul there. She teaches him about specific, intellectual topics as he gets ready for his next date in 3 weeks. They also spy on Aster to see what she’s into. During one night, Paul talks to Ellie about why she lives in Squahamish since her dad and her don’t like being here. She leaves him as he brings this up, but he relates it to his own life and she comes back. She reveals to him that this was where her dad could get a job from an engineering PHD. He didn’t advance since the PHD is from China and he doesn’t speak English well. Paul invites her over to his rowdy, family dinner, but they switch to her place as they eat dinner and watch movies with her dad. They play ping pong and answer questions to practice talking. He ends up getting to know her this way. During a ping pong sesh, Paul mentions that he’s been writing to a different city’s paper for months to get someone to try his taco sausage. One day, Ellie asks Paul why he likes Aster and he explains. Ellie then mentions other things one could like about her and he gets upset since what she’s saying is what you say when you love someone. She raises him by saying he tries harder than many people she knows. Ellie and her dad try the taco sausage and like it. Paul and Aster go on their date again and it’s awkward and quiet. Ellie saves it by messaging her and making it seem like he’s shy. He is confused, but acts as if he’s messaging her. He then gets up and tells Aster that he doesn’t want to be just friends. He sits back down to have a real conversation with her as Ellie leaves. Paul and Ellie go shopping as he amps her up for her piano solo for the required senior talent show. He then mentions that he got messaged by a food guy in Tukwila about

the taco sausage and he believes it’s his time. They then talk about the date and how he kissed her. She asks how to know if you can kiss someone and he explains. The talent show happens and the piano is broken, so Ellie can’t play as she gets taunted by the audience. Paul gets a guitar for her and she does one of her original songs and is noticed by the audience. As she’s at the station, a group of high schoolers, including Paul, get her to the senior recital after party. She mingles and gets drunk. Paul gets her home as she vomits. He puts her into his bed and sees letters that she’s written for his taco sausage to various people. When she wakes up the next day, Aster is entering his room to drop off a painting she made. Aster thinks Ellie might’ve been with Paul and she tells her that he’s 100% into Aster. Ellie says she’s lending books to Paul to read for Aster. They talk about the painting and relate on their thoughts. Aster asks to join to hang out with her at the station and they go. They bond and then go on a drive to a hideout of Aster’s. It’s a hot spring and they go in together and listen to music. Aster talks about how she should marry Trig even though Paul is really nice. They also talk about God and Ellie’s mom. In the meantime, Paul goes to Ellie’s dad and brings some meat over to cook with. Ellie gets dropped off and Aster later talks with Paul. They kiss as Ellie incidentally watches from her room. She then notices her application to a different college and her mom’s photo. Paul has a football game and Aster wishes him luck while Ellie is there watching him. He does well and she goes to collect Yakult from the football vending machine. He comes to talk to her and tries to kiss her. She panics and they understand that she doesn’t want to be kissed. Aster witnesses the event and she leaves as Ellie tries to explain. Paul understands that she likes Aster. He tells her it’s a sin and that she’s going to hell. Ellie meets Trig as she’s headed home. He says he knows why she’s always around and believes that Ellie is in love with him, which she pretends to confirm. Her dad hoses him away. Ellie’s dad asks Paul if they broke up and he says they weren’t together. His dad talks about how she seems sad and when Paul says that he doesn’t see her, his dad talks about their family in Chinese. At church, Trig proposes to Aster. He is interrupted by Ellie saying no and trying to talk about love. She gets interrupted by the priest until he’s interrupted by Paul, who now talks about pretending to be someone else and not stopping to love someone for being who they are. The priest thanks him and Ellie says she was also pretending. Trig then cuts her off and says he’s flattered and she cuts him off by saying she’s been writing his papers all 4 years, so she can talk now. She talks about the negativity and strength of love. Aster leaves as the whole church starts to argue amongst themselves. Ellie goes to her dad, who talks to her about the other college and how she shouldn’t be like him here. Ellie sees Aster and they talk. Ellie says she’s headed to Grinnell and when Aster brushes her off, Ellie apologizes for everything and how it was supposed to be one letter. Aster said she probably knew the truth deep down and the thought had crossed her mind, but if only things or she were different. They make up and after Aster says her goodbyes, Ellie goes and kisses her. Paul and Ellie say their goodbyes as she gets on the train. He says he’ll keep her dad busy and his sausages are blowing up. He chases her goodbye as the train goes and she tears up.]

#the half of it #half of it #2020 #alice wu #7.4 #movie #film #review #commentary #rye-views

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thorne93 · 3 years

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Long Lost Love (Part 6)

Prompt: Clint just lost everything. He turns to you – an old friend and an old flame – for comfort. Can you keep your old feelings at bay? Can he?

Word Count: 2611

Warnings: The Snap, grief, loss, mentions of abuse throughout series, angst will be the best friend in this fic

Note: This was written after IW, but before Endgame - so I have my own take on how certain things happened. Couldn’t have done this without @arrow-guy @carryonmyswansong @like-a-bag-of-potatoes (my amazing betttaa!) @mrs-dragneel-stark-solo

Aesthetic by @dontshootmespence

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When you awoke the next morning, you were filled with a mix of wonder, hope, and worry. You wondered if Clint would regret his actions and reject you. You wondered if he’d feel guilty or ashamed. You didn’t know how he’d react at all. You only hoped that he felt happy that he did what he did last night.

You made your way downstairs to find him making a big breakfast, whistling, with a towel over his shoulder as he prepared breakfast.

“Morning,” you softly said.

He turned and greeted you with a dazzling smile. “Good morning.” He came over and kissed you again, quick but firm and earnest. He went back to cooking.

“Making breakfast I see, need a hand?”

“Nope, I’ve got it. It’s almost done,” he assured.

You smiled, relieved that he was in a good mood and didn’t appear to regret anything.

The two of you worked on the farm all day together and he was nothing but smiles. You couldn’t figure out what had triggered the change in him, but whatever it was, you were thankful for it.

Time marched forward and the two of you seemed to fall into an easy rhythm, almost as if you’d never parted ways all those years ago on that train station platform. One night you two had a board game night to celebrate a hard day’s work. You played Scrabble with the rules that real words were not allowed, but for every word you made, you had to come up with a definition. You did this with every board game in the house. Real rules were thrown out, new rules were in. It was the most fun you’d had in… you couldn’t even remember how long. The two of you were in stitches the whole time until somehow you wound up on the couch, holding each other all night.

Another night, you two had smores, a small campfire, and both of you laid down, looking up at the stars.

“Well, this snap didn’t do anything good, at all, but if there’s a silver lining, the stars are a lot more visible with less people,” you mentioned.

“Pollution has dropped quite a bit,” he agreed. “It also helps to be in the middle of nowhere on a farm with one building that has lights,” he added.

“That too.”

“I’m glad I get to see it with you.” He took his hand and laced his fingers with yours and you felt your entire soul warm to the touch.

“Reminds me of being out at night after our acts,” you reminisced.

“Yeah, we always seemed to wind up in some amazing places,” he concurred.

“Every place was amazing so long as you were there,” you said.

So far, you and Clint hadn’t labeled what this was. You hadn’t addressed it directly since that first kiss. Part of you was terrified to say anything. That if you called attention to this, it would somehow wake him up from an illusion and he’d break it. He’d see that this wasn’t actually what he wanted. He would see you were Laura’s poor replacement, a rebound, a distraction, a coping mechanism.

You just didn’t want to face what was probably the truth: he didn’t love you - he loved the idea of you.

Allowing your fear to continue to rule you, and not let it take this precious time from you, you didn’t bring it up. You didn’t question why he wanted you now, you simply accepted it and graciously took the gift of having him be yours again.

But, when you said things like this, things that danced dangerously close to those three little words, you were afraid it would trigger the response in him you were trying to avoid.

He simply responded by saying, “I couldn’t agree more.”

It was reassuring… for now.

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

One evening, while the summer air was very cool, Clint took you to a nearby water tower. He said the view was breathtaking and considering he had zero fear of heights, it made sense that he’d visit it. You followed him up to the top, and sat there, agreeing that looking out over the country side looked absolutely stunning. Of course, your fear of heights was vacant as well, because every now and then you had to do acrobatic work in the circus if you wanted to survive.

The two of you sat and talked, drinking beers, talking about nothing in particular for the longest time. After a moment of peaceful quiet, suddenly, Clint said, “You know, I wouldn’t mind seeing the team again. I know I call them off and on, but it’d be nice to actually have them back at the farm, at least once. Just to see their faces.”

You turned your head towards him, holding onto the railing as your feet dangled off the side. “I think that’s a great idea, Clint. If you want to invite them, I think you should. They’re your family after all. I know Nat would love to see you, and I know you’d love to see them.”

“You sure?” he asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. It’d be good for all of you. Not to mention, I’d like to properly meet them. I’ve done a few random patch up jobs for all of them but I’ve never said more than ten words to all of them.”

“Yeah, you’re right. I think you should meet them. You mean a lot to me and they mean a lot to me, it only makes sense to have all of you together.”

“I can make a big meal for everyone,” you said, delighted. “Fried chicken, some desserts. It’ll be a good time.”

“I think they’d love that,” he agreed. He seemed to be perking up more and more with every second you two talked about this. “I’ll call them first thing. How does this Sunday sound?”

“Any day is perfect,” you assured. “Just make sure I have enough time to get the house cleaned and to make a grocery run.”

“Will do.”

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

Clint called his team and two weeks later, they were at the farmhouse, the whole group of them. Rhodey, Natasha, Steve, Tony, Pepper, their baby Morgan, Thor, and Bruce. They came early on Sunday morning and Clint introduced you to everyone.

He didn’t go into any detail about your past or your present situation. He merely said he had called you up because you were an old friend from the circus that was a vet so you knew your way around animals and the farm.

Thor seemed to be… putting on a show. You could tell he was careful not to let his smile fall unless he thought no one was looking. Tony and Steve seemed slightly tense, but with the way the world was they were trying to look past their issues.

You gave them all a moment to talk alone for a while. You and Pepper sat out on the porch, playing with baby Morgan and Lucky, talking casually for a while. Inside, you could only assume Nat, Steve, and the others Clint was closer to talked about Laura and the kids. You assumed they discussed the snap and more detail on what actually happened. You also assumed he expressed his deep regret for not going to help them.

Everyone greeted you and welcomed you with open arms and when it was time to serve lunch, everyone raved about your food. Thor and Bruce couldn’t get enough of your fried chicken. Pepper complimented you highly on your sparkling strawberry cake. Rhodey said he needed the recipe for your mac and cheese.

The entire day was spent just talking. It weaved in and out of sorrowful talk of who was gone and what had been done to try to think of ways to get everyone back, to what everyone was up to lately. Steve headed up a therapy group in the city, which made sense. Rhodey and Natasha were working almost round the clock to help police the world of any dangers. Tony, Pepper, and Morgan were just enjoying the closest thing to Tony and Pepper being retired as they could. They had a little cabin a little ways from the city on a gorgeous piece of property with a lake. Thor was working with his fellow Asgardians to rebuild their society somewhere off the coast of a Scandinavian area. Bruce had been recruited to work on ways to get resources efficiently.

Everyone was doing what they could to keep society going, to get it back to what it was, to try and not remember all the loss everyone faced every day.

Conversations flowed for a long while, well past dark. It was nice having so much life in the house and you loved seeing everyone. It was no wonder he loved these people. As dinner neared a close, you got up and started cleaning up. Everyone tried to pitch in to help too, but you simply waved them off, telling them you had it covered. Pepper refused to take no for an answer, as did Rhodey. You said they needed to spend time with Clint, but both of them said that the others should really spend time with him.

Clint said he’d get out of the way then and they went outside to the porch. Nearly everyone had a beer in hand as Tony, Steve, Nat, and Bruce followed.

“So, uh, what’s up with Y/N in there?” Tony asked in a hushed tone as he turned to face Clint. The group of them stood in a circle facing each other.

“What do you mean, Tony?” Clint asked, feigning ignorance as he stood there with his arms crossed.

“I mean, what’s the deal? You said you knew her from your circus days. You still keep in contact with all your old circus buddies?” he pressed, knowing Clint despised his past and never talked about it. The only reason any of them even knew about Clint’s past was because they’d read his file.

“No, I don’t keep in touch with anyone but her. She was the only good thing to come out of those horrible elements.”

“So she’s your oldest friend, then,” Thor suddenly said.

“You could say that, yeah. We grew up together…” he replied. All of them could tell there was more he wanted to say, more to say, but he stopped himself.

“Alright, come on, let’s give the guy some space. He’s been through enough,” Natasha tried, wanting them to drop it. Clearly he wasn’t comfortable.

“Well, whatever she is to you, if she makes you happy and keeps you sane, then I’m glad she’s here,” Steve encouraged with a half smile.

“Thanks, Cap,” he said with a head nod. “Yeah, I… When that all happened, I really thought I was just going to lose it. I sat here and stared, not knowing what to do next. Lucky snapped me out of it, but if I didn’t have him, or these animals to care for… I tell ya, my mind went to some dark places. Y/N keeps me grounded though. She helps me on good days and bad.”

“That’s good to hear, man, we're happy for you,” Bruce said.

“We really are,” Nat agreed.

“I’m not gonna say I’m not happy for you, I am,” Tony said, but there was clearly a punchline coming, “but I gotta know, what is the deal? Did you ever date or think of dating Y/N? She seems perfect for you. Knowing each other for all those years, in those conditions, and now she’s back in your life? That’s some heavy stuff man.”

“Tony,” Nat started, her face dropping down before smiling, “I think Clint loves her, but he’s too afraid to admit it right now.”

“That so?” he asked, seeming amused. “I’ll be damned.”

Clint looked at Nat with an unreadable expression. He was half-glad that she said it and he didn’t have to. He was also worried what his friends would think of him, loving you after what happened to his family.

“I don’t want you all to think I don’t love and miss Laura, I do,” Clint started, looking at all of his friends.

“None of us think that, Clint,” Steve assured, but he pressed on.

“You gotta understand, I loved Y/N when we were kids. We were teens. We had that teenage love, you know? It never went away. We never grew out of it. We had to run from our life in the circus, we thought it would be safest if we split up. We said we’d get our lives back on track… Life… life had other plans I guess and I met Laura. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did.”

“You don’t have to explain anything to us, buddy,” Bruce said.

“No, I know. I think I’m trying to assure myself. To remind myself I’m not a bad person for loving her. She and I… we have history. Being with her… it’s all I ever wanted. It’s what I wanted for years, and now in a sick twist, I can have her. I feel guilty about it, I do, but we love each other, and I don’t see any good reason to deny ourselves of that. I mean, it may be awful to say, but Laura’s not coming back.” Tears filled his eyes and he started to break down before the group came to the rescue and consoled him with hugs and rubbing his back. When he got calmed down he said, “So I just… I don’t see a reason to put off happiness, you know?”

“We get it,” Nat stated, nodding her head with a sympathetic smile.

Clint nodded, wiping his face. “I’m glad. I’d hate for you guys to think I’m some awful human.”

“Awful for wanting to be with someone you love?” Steve asked, perplexed. “If I could have Peggy back, I’d take her in a heartbeat, no matter how the universe brought her to me.”

“Yeah, take it from Pep and me, we wanted to start our family. The world is in shambles but we’ve waited long enough to start our lives together,” Tony said.

“We’re the last people on earth to have any right to judge and at the end of the day, we just want you to be happy,” Nat informed sweetly, squeezing his shoulder.

He smiled and looked up at his friends. “I love you guys, I really missed you.”

They all smiled back at him and they each hugged. They all needed it more than they knew.

Eventually, the team came back inside and Pepper and Tony packed up Morgan and everyone started saying their goodbyes and loading into cars. Natasha was the last to leave, giving you both hugs.

“Thank you, for taking care of him,” she quietly said as she wrapped her arms around you.

You peered at her, confused at first before nodding. “Of course.”

She hugged Clint and kissed his cheek. She waved to you too, ordered that you call her more often, then got in her car and drove off.

The two of you smiled at each other and held hands as you walked in.

“That was a really nice day,” you said happily.

“Yeah, it was. I’m so glad we did this. Thank you for all you did and encouraging me to invite them,” he said as he put his arms around your waist, holding you close.

“Anything to see you happy,” you informed.

“I know, that's why I’m so lucky to have you.” He planted a firm kiss on your lips and then you two went off to bed, separately.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#long lost love #clint barton x reader #clint barton fic #clint barton #hawkeye x reader #hawkeye fic #hawkeye

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prettyinpymtech · 4 years

Text

Did I Mention

Part 2

Series Masterlist

Poe Dameron x Princess!Reader

Summary: Poe refuses to agree with General Organa’s decision when she invites royalty to advise the Resistance. Despite his protests, Leia trusts him with her safety during an undercover mission. Maybe there’s a chance to change his misgivings of their new guest.

A/N: Thank you so much for all of your kind words! I ended up having to change the plot a little because the original idea just wasn’t working for me. Please like, reblog, and let me know what you think! Any and all feedback is greatly appreciated!

The following weeks after your last argument were far too busy for either of you to bother with an apology.

Poe kept to himself in hopes of avoiding you altogether, which wasn’t too hard to do with the recent developments regarding the information he had returned with.

A good amount of research revealed the data collected required a password to access. Poe was frustrated, so many of his best pilots had risked their lives for information they could not use.

There was a glimmer of hope, however, when Connix obtained the identity of a man who could give them the password. His profile indicated he was a senator with great influence in politics and a favorite among First Order sympathizers. Leia had hoped the efforts of her best spies would succeed in retrieving what they needed, but Leif was highly selective in the people he wished to associate with and none could gain his support.

Discouraged by their latest attempts, Leia decided to focus their attention elsewhere. The senator clearly would be of no help and they needed to find allies as quickly as possible.

Poe had been sent to seek support and assumed General Organa’s request for a meeting would give him more associates to find.

He wasted no time in reaching her office and stepped inside.

“You wanted to see me, General?”

Leia briefly met his gaze before finishing a scan of the report on her datapad.

“Come in, Poe.”

Poe sat down across from her, noticing a slight frown as she closed the reports in front of her.

“Everything okay?”

Leia sighed. “Help has been harder to find these days. We’ve sent word to any allies we could think of, but none have offered their support.”

The lack of support was taking a toll on Leia, that much was certain to Poe. He was willing to help her in any way he could, even if his options were impractical.

“What if we tried again?”

There was no question what Poe was proposing. The password was no longer considered a priority, but it clearly had not been forgotten. If they could access the information, it would provide a chance to claim victory in the war against the First Order.

Leia shook her head. “We’ve sent some of our best spies to investigate. I’m afraid nothing can change Leif’s mind to help us.”

“I can do it, General.”

She raised her eyebrow, clearly not convinced by his assurance.

“Poe, you’re one of our best pilots, I’m not afraid to admit that. But you and I both know you’re far too charismatic to work undercover.”

Poe grinned at her words. “You make it sound like’s that’s a bad thing.”

She chuckled, finally allowing herself a moment as his friend.

“Let me try,” he pressed again.

Leia considered his words. She trusted him, but she was right in worrying for his safety in this particular mission.

“If I agree to this, you would need to work closely with a partner of my choosing. Can you do that?”

Poe didn’t hesitate in his answer. “Of course, General.”

“Good. I’ve already spoken to Y/N and she’s agreed to join you on your mission.”

“What?”

“She has a certain history with the senator, from what I’ve gathered.” Poe detected an unfriendly tone in her voice, but didn’t dare question the history between you and the senator. “I’m sending her to meet with him and I need you to make sure she’s safe. Leif will question your appearance, which is why you will introduce yourself as Y/N’s fiancé.”

Poe furrowed his eyebrows, unable to understand the need for such a charade.

“This man is not to be trusted. He’s hurt Y/N in the past, and I have no doubt he would do it again if given the chance. I know the two of you have had your differences, but I need you to protect her. Can you do that?”

Poe considered his options. He recognized the importance of this mission and decided he would not argue with Leia’s decision.

He could only hope this mission would go by quickly.

You were grateful for the silence during your trip to Coruscant.

It allowed you a moment to pacify your worries, though it was becoming more and more difficult to do as you neared your destination.

You had considered asking Leia to send someone else in your place, but you knew it would not have made a difference. You were the only one familiar with Leif, and you knew the information he guarded was vital to the Resistance.

“We’re here.”

The sound of Poe’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

He hadn’t bothered making any conversation during your trip. You knew he hadn’t been too enthusiastic to work with you, but you also suspected leaving BB-8 had affected him greatly.

He had argued with Leia, of course, and hoped she would allow his companion to join the adventure. But it was far too risky, and so he was forced to leave his friend behind in the care of Snap.

Once the ship was secured on a landing platform, you decided it was best to find a nearby hotel and rest before tomorrow’s meeting.

It didn’t take long to find one and you were immediately greeted by an older man.

“Good evening, travelers.”

“Good evening,” you replied. “Do you have any rooms available?”

“Of course. We have a wonderful honeymoon suite.”

Your eyes widened at the man’s assumption. You caught Poe struggling to hide his smile as he saw your reaction.

He wrapped an arm around your shoulders, clearly unfazed by the older man’s notion. “That sounds great. Doesn’t it, honey?”

It took every amount of strength not to step on Poe’s foot again. You could only nod in response.

“Wonderful!” said the old man. “Let me guide you to your room.”

Poe extended his arm to you and you did not hesitate in purposefully bumping into him as you walked past him.

The décor of the hotel calmed you, and you marveled at the blue ornaments lining the ivory walls. It was a welcome distraction from the bright lights outside the windows.

The old man stopped at a dark blue wooden door. “Here we are. I do hope you’ll find it your liking. If you need anything, please don’t hesitate in asking.”

“Thank you very much.”

He bowed his head and left.

Pushing the door open, you gasped at the beauty of the room. While you appreciated the elegance of the palace you had grown up in, you couldn’t deny how comforting the room felt.

“What do you think, sweetheart?”

Well, almost comforting.

You didn’t dare question the blush you felt hearing Poe’s nickname. Ignoring his question, you decided it was best to unpack your bags.

“I’ve already sent a message to Leif,” you replied, hoping to change the subject. “He’ll be expecting us tomorrow evening.”

Poe hummed in response and dropped onto the bed, not even aware of your glare.

“What are you doing?”

“Sleeping.”

“Can’t you sleep on the couch?”

Poe watched you, quickly recognizing your reluctance. “What’s the matter, princess? Afraid you won’t be able to resist me?”

You scoffed at the mere thought of his suggestion.

“Commander Dameron, I’d rather spend a night with rathtars than allow myself to surrender to your charms.”

His mess of curls perked at your words and he grinned. “You think I’m charming?”

A frustrated groan left your lips before you disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door.

You could only hope this mission would go by quickly.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron imagine #poe dameron #star wars imagine

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writer-k-pop · 4 years

Text

Brother (San)

난 너 말고는 다른 아내를 원하지 않아. I don’t want any other wife but you.

Description: Set in old Korea (think like Joseon era), a month before San is to wed (y/n), a rumor from the south of twisted. unknown twins becomes a realty. Warnings: None? Genre: Angst, Love Word Count: 3.2k

Ateez Masterlist | Masterlists

The wind blows across the quiet lake, pulling the leaves against the trees' unwilling grasp. A smile creeps onto my face as I feel the wind blow against my skirts.

"So you've been hiding out here, have you?" I whip around to find San standing behind me, his hanbok flapping in the wind. He cracks a smile and moves to stand next to me at the edge of the lake. "Who were you hiding from this time?" He wonders without looking at me. "Did your books upset you again? Or was it Jong this time?"

I chuckle at his correct guess that his younger brother is the reason I needed peace and quiet. "You must really be from another world to have guessed that right, your highness."

"That name is reserved for the Crown Prince. Not for someone as low as I, the 5th prince." San refuses the title with a regal shake of his head.

I shake my head, "Any prince is royalty and therefore should be treated as such, names included."

I catch a small smirk appear on his face before he quickly reverts the conversation back to the reason I'm standing at the lake.

"So what happened this time?" He asks.

I sigh, "The 8th prince got competitive again and threw a fit because he lost. I told him off and told him to be mature."

San draws in a breath, "That was a wrong move."

I roll my eyes, "I know but it's true! How can he be at such an age and still get upset over losing a simple game?"

"He's the baby of us all, you know how our mother is." San wraps an arm around my shoulder. "Which is why I'll have to teach him a lesson. He should know better than to upset my wife."

"I'm not your wife yet." I retort as he presses light kiss to my cheek.

"Just you wait. One more month." He says in a tone that sends a shiver down my spine. "Gotta run."

I hate when he gets possessive but who am I to tell him off. He's a prince after all. I run my hands over my arms as I listen to his footsteps fade.

"(y/n)!" San calls out to me. I turn and he stands at the palace gates, waving with his smile on full display. "It's time for tea and rice cakes!"

I smile back and nod, "How does he change personalities so quickly?" I mutter under my breath.

As I walk towards San, I can't shake the feeling that someone is watching me. Whipping around, I search the area but there's no one, just the trees, bushes, and the lake. Titling my head, I turn back around and continue towards San.

"Sometime wrong?" San asks, helping me through the doorway.

I shake my head, "I just thought I dropped something but I didn't."

San nods, content with the answer. "I'm guessing the reason that Jong's upset is because you beat him at that game again, didn't you?" He inquires as we walk towards the pavilion in the Crown Princes quarters.

I throw a sideways glance at San, eyebrows knotted in confusion.

San raises an eyebrow when he catches my gaze. "I saw him storm into hyungnim's room, so I deduced." He takes a breath and puffs out his chest. "I must've deduced wrong."

"Does he not remember our conversation at the lake?" I think to myself while still following him.

"No, no you deduced right." I cautiously correct him, "I beat him at the game and then he threw a tantrum. I will tell him to stop ruining the atmosphere of the palace, your highness."

San instantly pouts at the title, "I told you not to call me that. You should be the one person in this entire palace who doesn't have to call me that, besides my family."

I give him a small smile. "Of course."

"What are you doing later?" San suddenly asks. "Are you busy?"

I shrug, "I'm not sure."

"Want to watch us rehearse for the harvest ritual?" San invites me.

"San, I don't think I'm allowed at those." I apologetically start to decline, "Those are for the princes only."

"Though it sucks, she's right, you know." 3rd Crown Prince, Yun, joins our walk.

"I don't understand that rule." San complains, "She's going to be my wife, so why can't she come?"

Yun shrugs, "Hwa's wives don't even come. Plus, it's the rule, and we have to follow the rules."

I give Yun a doubtful glance and mutter, "Says the one who breaks the rules the most."

"Hey!" Yun exclaims, "That's Min, not me."

"What about me?" Min yells from the raised pavilion platform.

"That you're a rule breaker!" Yun yells back and quickly walks up the steps.

I lay a hand on San's shoulder, "Thank you for the invite but I think I will pass on this one."

San smiles and places a hand on top of mine. "Next time."

We walk up the steps and take our seats with the other princes.

"Jong," Crown Prince Hwa glances at the youngest, "Do you have something to say to (y/n)?"

My eyes widen in anticipation of the unexpected notion.

"I'm sorry for acting out the way I did." Jong apologizes, "It won't happen again."

I shake my head, "Oh, no. It's okay, your highness. It wasn't even that big of deal."

"Woah, Jong lost to (y/n) again?" Min becomes aware of a new teasing point. "Isn't that the 100th time?" "Shut your mouth." Jong clenches his jaw.

Before Min can throw in another jab, Hwa puts a stop to the bickering.

"Enough, Min, save it for later." Hwa throws a strong glance to him. Min instantly backs down and slouches in his seat, pulling a low laughter from the rest of us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"The harvest ritual is tonight." Sooyoung says excitedly as we walk the palace grounds. "Where will you be tonight?"

I chuckle at her excitement, "Where else? Watching with the other wives."

"Woah, you're so lucky." Sooyoung gushes, "You're not even officially married and yet you get to do everything that actual wives do. 5th Prince San must be something else."

I smile, "He has a special relationship with the king. And besides, we're planning to wed next month."

"So you're practically official." She giggles. "Oh, isn't that Prince San?"

I look to where she's pointing. Standing in a doorway leading towards the East garden is indeed San. He's dressed in a black hanbok with a hard expression etched into his face.

"Sooyoung," I tap her arm, "Go ahead and go celebrate in the town with the people. I don't need you for the rest of the night."

"Are you sure?" Sooyoung asks.

I nod and turn towards her, "I'm sure. Go ahead and celebrate."

She smiles widely and bowing before running off.

I turn back towards San and he still stands as still as a statue. If it wasn't for his blinking, I wouldn't think he's real.

"What are you doing here?" I ask, approaching him. "Don't you have to prepare for the ritual?"

"I was the first one prepared." San turns to greet me, "I'm hurt that you think I would need longer to prepare."

"My apologies, dear." I bow slightly.

"Anyway," San waves the apology away, "Would you like to walk with me?"

"Not too long, we have a ritual to attend to." I remind him.

"I don't think we'll be making it." San mutters in the quietest voice.

"What?" I question, doubting if I heard correctly.

"We won't go far, we'll make it." San smiles and stretches out a hand for me.

I nod and take his hand.

"How big do you think this year's harvest will be?" I wonder as we head down a flowery path.

The sun is finishing its setting when we reach the base of the mountain that backs the palace.

A loud firecracker explodes behind us. I turn around and the castle is lit by the light of torches being lit in celebration of the completion of the ritual.

My eyes widen in realization that we missed the ritual. "San! We need to get back!" I begin to pull him back towards the palace but he resists.

"We have to go back!" I continue, "How did they complete the ritual without you?"

San still hasn't budged even through all my pulling. "Stop pulling me, (y/n)." San calmly states. "They didn't need me."

I turn towards him, "What do you mean? You're the 5th prince, they need all 8 princes for the-"

San pulls me to him, "They just need the brother, don't they?" He whispers while pulling some rope out from under his robe.

This isn't San. This- this is Twin San...

The rumors are true.

I freeze in realization. It's only after Twin San has my hands tied securely that I'm finally able to move. I struggle against his grip but before I can scream for help, he covers my mouth with his hand.

"No, no, if you scream, we won't be able to hear the celebrations." Twin San whispers in my ear in the same tone I heard San use earlier at the lake, or maybe it was Twin San.

"You spend a lot of time alone, you know that?" Twin San continues talking, "You should be careful, it's easy to deceive one who likes to spend her time away from the crowds."

"How-how many times have I talked to this San when I thought I was talking to my San?" I wonder in fear, looking everywhere for someone to walk by and notice us.

*San's POV*

Cheers erupt as we lower our swords, indicating the end of the ritual. I look towards the wives of my older brothers and search for the one who will be mine in a month but with no luck.

"She said she'd be here." I think, walking over to Hwa's second wife, Yoona.

"You did a great job." Yoona compliments me when she sees me approach.

I bow in thanks, "Have you seen (y/n)? She was supposed to be with you and the other wives."

"I haven't seen her." Yoona answers, her face reflecting the concern that is growing in the depths of my stomach. "Did you see (y/n)?" Yoona asks the other wives.

They all shake their head.

"She didn't come?" Hong asks.

"She always comes." Woo scrunches his eyebrows in confusion.

"I was waiting for my disses about my performances from her." Yeo purses his lips.

I shake my head, "She wouldn't miss it."

"Let's go look for her." Yun suggests.

"We'll be back. Don't wait for us." Hwa instructs his wives but also the other wives.

"We should check her room first." Jong speaks up.

"Let's go check her house." I agree and jog off in the direction of her house.

I hear calls of "where are you going?" and "why are you running off?" being thrown after us but all I can think about is finding out why (y/n) wasn't at the ritual. I can take any punishment for running off but I need to make sure (y/n) is okay.

I skip every other step to her front doors and fly through the house to her room.

Empty.

My heart begins to pound.

"It doesn't look like she's been here for a few hours." Min surveys the room.

"San." Hwa pulls my attention, nodding towards a piece of paper lying on her perfectly flat blanket.

I pick up the note and read over it carefully.

"Brother." It reads, "It's time we met."

"What does that even mean?" Yeo asks looking over my shoulder.

Hwa and Hong share a nervous glance with each other.

"You know something." Yun deduces.

Hong sighs and rubs his neck. "Sort of."

Hwa sighs when Hong won't continue, "I'm sure you've heard of the rumors from the southern cities?"

"The ones about some people having some sort of evil twin?" Jong recalls.

Hong and Hwa nod.

"We don't know much about them, but we know a few things. They're created out of greed and desire. Their goal is to take over their twin's lives and live that life. Last thing we know is that the twisted twin only refers to the original soul as simply 'Brother.'" Hong finishes and sighs.

"We were told not to worry about it as it hadn't reach far enough north for us to worry." Hwa adds.

My grip tightens on my sword. "He's not getting my life." I say through clenched teeth. "Search the palace grounds and find (y/n)!"

*Your POV*

I glance around, wishing someone will happen to walk by. Shifting from leg to leg, I try to shake some of the tiredness out.

"Well, he is taking longer than I anticipated." Twin San sounds slightly disappointed.

"How- how long have you been .. you know." I'm unable to finish the sentence.

"How long have I been acting as him?" Twin San reiterates, "About a week. But I've been watching the both of you for about a month. Gotta make the transition perfect. No mistakes."

"But I'll know you're not my San." I spit back.

"Eventually you'll forget." Twin San leans down to be eye level with me, "They always do."

I roll my eyes.

"I just need to get rid of the brother and I'll have everything." Twin San smiles wickedly and stands up to full height again.

"I'm sorry that you won't be able to achieve that." San's voice bellows towards us.

I turn to see him approach still in his ritual clothes. His gaze is set on Twin San with his sword in a death grip at his side. Behind him seven other ritual clad, sword yielding men follow.

"I thought it was obvious you were to come alone." Twin San cocks his head to the side as he takes in all 8 princes in his presence.

"You picked the wrong family." San forces out.

"You don't mess with us individually." Hwa walks forward. "You mess with us as group. All 8 of us."

Twin San clicks his tongue, "And what would the king say to this. His beloved Crown Prince risking his life for a lowly wife of the 5th prince." Twin San pulls his sword out and levels it against my neck. My neck straightens away from the blade on instinct.

San pulls his sword out and the other 7 place their hands on their swords in preparation. "She is not a lowly wife. She's my first and only wife." San narrows his eyes.

Twin San turns his blade towards San, "What's the point of having one wife when you could have many? You could have all the wives in the world."

San shakes his head, "I don't want many, I want just her."

My heart swells with pride for a split second.

Twin San rolls his eyes, "God, you're such a sap. Fight me for her if she means that much to you. Just us."

San replies silently by taking stance. Twin San smirks before kicking me to the side.

I hit the ground and a low throb erupts in both of my sides, beating in time with the clashing of swords in the background.

"Hey, I got you." Yun kneels over and helps me to sit up. Jong appears next to him and quickly cuts through the rope around my hands.

Once my hands are free, Yun helps me up to my feet before he drags me away from the fight. San and Twin San are clashing against each other in a sort of twisted dance. For every strike from San, Twin San has a prepared defense. For every strike from Twin San, San has a defense but they begin to barely defend against the constant onslaught of attacks.

Though San is a great warrior, I begin to worry that Twin San might be too good for San. I press a hand against my heart trying to settle its pounding.

"San! Right side!" Hong yells out as Twin San lands a kick to San's stomach. San falls to the ground before struggling to stand up. Without stopping, Twin San continues his attacks on San and the only thing San can do is defend.

"Once I defeat you, the rest of the country better be prepared." Twin San sneers as their swords meet yet again. "We will be unstoppable."

"Unless you stop here." San grits and kicks Twin San back. "It's not as easy as you think."

Twin San laughs out loud, "Oh, it's so much easier." Then he attacks again.

I hit Yun on the shoulder, "Do something!" I yell at him.

"I can't." Yun says defeatedly. "It's not our fight."

San screams and I turn to see him on his back, head barely able to rise, his sword just out of his reach. Twin San stalks towards him, sword dragging, flashing in the moonlight. Hwa, Hong, Min, Yeo, Yun, and Woo pull their swords.

"Come on, San." Jong mutters under his breath, hand on his sword, hesistant to draw it. "Grab the sword. Grab it."

"Yun, give me your dagger." I hold out my hand for it.

"I don't have a-"

"I know you have it, Just give it to me." I turn towards him, eyes hard with determination.

Yun pulls the unallowed dagger from his ankle hold and places it in my hand. I grip the handle, pull my arm back, and throw the dagger with the precision and skill that I've been taught over the years. We watch in silence as Twin San raises his sword above his head. As the dagger digs itself into Twin San's back, pushing a scream from his throat. Twin San lowers down to his knees and San grabs his sword before slicing across Twin San's chest. San shoves Twin San to the side as he lets out a last breath and begins to wither into dust.

San rises to his feet and immediately starts to limp towards me, dropping his sword in the process.

"San." I run to him and wrap my arms around him.

"(y/n)." San says into my hair, "You're okay."

I nod and pull away, "I am. But are you okay?"

San smiles softly, "A few grazes, the general battle scars." He tucks a strand of hair behind me ear, "Remind me to thank General Song for teaching you some skills in secret."

I let out a soft laugh.

"Where do they come from?" Woo asks, kicking the spot where Twin San once laid.

"We probably will never find out." Yun says picking up his dagger from the ground.

"They've attacked the royal family. They're not getting away with any of this." Hwa says angrily. "Where's the military general?" Hwa yells out and begins to walk back towards the palace. "Get me the military general!"

"Let's get you fixed up, yeah?" I ask San while cupping his face.

San nods in agreement.

"Before we go, though," I stop him from moving away, remembering something. "Did you really mean what you said earlier?"

His eyes search mine for a second, "Of course, every word. I don't want any other wife but you. You're it for me."

With the fullest heart, I pull him into a kiss and his arm wraps around my waist tighter in response.

"Never forget it either." San whispers when we pull apart.

I nod, "I won't."

#ateez #ateez imagine #ateez san #ateez san imagine #san imagine #choi san imagine #san #choi san

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shawtygonemad · 3 years

Text

What Is This Feeling: Chapter 5

Fem!9th Doctor x Male!Rose Tyler

WITF Masterlist

In the TARDIS there is no sense of time. Ross, however, was still accustomed to Earth Time. He needed to go bed at Earth's night, and got up at Earth's morning. It's been quite some time these two have been traveling together. One year, according to the last time they went to Earth. That was quite an adventure. Jackie nailed the Doctor in the face after she found out that some alien stole her son away for an entire twelve months.

On top of that, Earth was invaded be the Slitheen family from the planet Raxacoricofallapatorius. The Doctor, Ross, and the help of Harriet Jones, blew up Downing Street. The Slitheen were destroyed and the world was saved, again.

Being through so much together you'd figure the Doctor would be used to Ross's human schedule by now. Yet, she was not. It annoyed her that this human needed so much sleep.

She was tinkering away below the grating in the console room to pass the time. Her eyes would keep wandering down to her wrist watch. Time Lords don't need as much sleep as humans do. She spent most of her time bored while Ross was in dreamland.

Finally losing her concentration, the Doctor decided to go make some tea. This seemed to be their routine. The Doctor would waste time during the night to fill her boredom. When she got frustrated she'd leave to make some tea, and a little breakfast. Ross usually awakens are this time.

By the time Ross woke up the Doctor had a fresh batch of Banana-Nut muffins and a warm cup of tea waiting at his usual spot. The Doctor glanced up from her book as the human entered the kitchen. A smile grew on her face. His blonde hair was a class 'A' bed head. His eyes were half lidded and still matted with sleep sand. He looked adorable.

"Good morning," she greeted as she went back to her book.

"Morning," he replied before sitting down and beginning his muffin graze.

Comfortable silence fell between them. Ross ate and drank while the Doctor continued to read The Hobbit. Once he was fully awake, Ross spoke up.

"You know, for someone who hates being 'domestic' you sure like to make breakfast every morning."

"It's not being domestic," she protested. "It's called being bored while you sleep your life away."

"Mhmm," he smiled as he continued to eat.

More silence ensued. That was, until the ringing of a phone echoed out. It wasn't Ross's mobile. It was an old fashioned one. That was either one of two people. Winston Churchill or… She quickly made her way to the console room. Ross followed behind her. She quickly approached the old fashioned phone attached to the console along with many other things. She picked the phone up and answered.

"'Ello?"

"Is this the Doctor," a clear, proper, American accent came through.

"This is she. Might I ask who's speaking," she knew who it was. She just enjoyed getting a rouse out of the man.

"It's Gatsby."

"Gatsby," she smiled. "What Gatsby?"

"It's Jay Gatsby, from New-"

"I'm just mucking about," the Doctor smiled

A soft laugh was heard from the other side.

"Right."

"It's been a while," she commented.

"To long in my opinion. In fact, that's why I called. I wanted to personally invite you to my party," Jay spoke confidentially.

"Tonight?" she asked.

"If you could make it," he said.

"I always make it whenever you invite me," her eyes wandered over to Ross who was patiently sitting on the jumper. "Do you mind if I bring a plus one?"

"Of course. Although the last time you were here you I don't remember you being committed," the Doctor was about to interrupt, but Jay quickly went on. "None of the less, I'd be happy to meet the old sport."

Jay went silent.

"Is there something you're not telling me," she questioned.

"Yes. There is something I need to speak with you about. However, I'd much rather do it in person rather than over the telephone."

"Okay," She said slowly.

"I'll see you tonight, then."

"Tra."

They hung up. She turned toward her companion, and grinned.

"So, Ross Tyler, how's about a trip to the 1920's sound?"

"Sounds amazing, but who was on the phone?"

"We were just invited to one of the biggest parties New York has seen. It just so happens to be in the wonderful roaring '20's."

"Tonight?" he asked excited.

"Yup! So you best get dressed. You remember where the wardrobe room is, yeah?"

"Yeah," he began to leave the room when he noticed the Doctor wasn't going to follow. "Aren't you going to change?"

"I wasn't planning on it," She informed him.

"Well you can't go like that. You look like a… biker girl."

"Oi!"

The TARDIS hummed, agreeing with Ross.

"Whose side are you on?!"

The ship hummed once more, encouraging her to change.

"Fine," she sighed, giving in.

The Doctor walked with Ross in the direction of the wardrobe. She kept moving forward once Ross entered the public costume room. She, however, had her own personal room for this. It's where she decides her signature outfit for each regeneration.

She stepped inside the Time Lord sized closet. It was massive. Most females would kill for a closet this size. The Doctor walked forward onto the platform in the center of the wardrobe. Spiral racks of many different clothes reached from the ground to ceiling.

A dress was already selected and placed on the lounge couch. The TARDIS must have picked it out for her. Trusting in her old friend's decision, she put the dress on. It was a spaghetti strapped, mid-thigh dress. The tassels on the dress hung down to her knees. The top of the dress was silver. It faded to gold at her mid-section. That then faded down to a brown shade. The best part of the dress was that it had hidden pockets for her to hold her sonic screwdriver and other various items.

She put on a pair of short heeled silver shoes. They were perfect for dancing, even though she would refuse to. Nothing could really be done with her hair, so she just put a diamond headband across her forehead. And much to her dismay, she ended up putting some make-up on.

Once the TARDIS was satisfied with her friend, she released the Time Lord back into the halls. The Doctor made her way back to the console room. She was met by an incredibly handsome Ross wearing a tuxedo. His eyes widened at the sight of her.

"Wow, you look… stunning," Ross said breathless.

The Doctor flushed red. "You look very handsome. Well, considering…" She trailed off.

"Considering what?"

"That you're human."

She stepped down and started to command the controls. They were in the '20's in no time. She parked the TARDIS in the gardens, and turned to Ross.

"Ready to go," she asked.

"As I'll ever be," he smiled and offered her his arm.

She gladly took it. They stepped out together. The music was surprisingly very loud. They walked together out of the garden, past the pool and bar and entered the mansion. People were everywhere. It was the height of the party. Glitter and confetti rained down on top of them. The Doctor grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waiter. She past a glass to Ross, who was staring at everything in awe.

"This is incredible," he spoke.

She smiled and sipped on her drink.

"Care for a dance," he asked.

"Oh no. I don't dance," she informed him.

"Who doesn't know how to dance," he accused.

"I never said I didn't know how to. I said that I 'DON'T' dance."

She then noticed a brunette girl smiling at Ross. A pang of jealousy hit her. She hid it though.

"Besides, it seems that you might have a volunteer," she gestured to the girl.

"But-"

"Go have fun," she encouraged. "I have something's that need to be taken care of."

"If you're sure..."

"I am. Go on," she smiled.

Ross gave her a sad look before turning towards the girl. The Doctor stepped away and began up a staircase. She tried to weave through the people, but ended up bumping into a man.

"I'm sorry," he began. "This may seem like an odd question, but have you seen the host, Mr. Gatsby?"

"I have not, but I'll be sure to send him your way…?" she trailed off.

"Nick Carraway," he smiled and shook her hand.

"I'm the Doctor."

"A female doctor. You don't see too many of those," he commented.

"Well it was a pleasure, Mr. Carraway."

She continued up the stairs. She walked over to the railing and searched the crowd below. Ross was instantly spotted. He looked like he was having a blast with the girl. She had the urge to do down and butt in.

Why was she feeling this way? He was just her companion. Nothing more. But what is this feeling? She wasn't starting to develop feelings for him, was she? No, they were simply friends.

The Doctor felt hot breath against her ear. "A lady should never be at a party alone."

"I brought my plus one, Mr. Gatsby," She smirked.

"Where is the old sport?"

"He's down enjoying your party," She took another sip of her champagne. "So, what was it you wanted to talk with me about?"

"Let's speak about this in private," he said and guided her away from the party.

He led her to his study. It was a cluttered mess. Books and papers were everywhere. She took a seat in the vinyl chair and set her drink down on the desk.

"Tell me your troubles," she leaned back, and got comfortable.

Gatsby began to pace.

"This may sound a bit mad," he began.

'Believe me, I've probably heard worse,' she thought.

"Over the last few months I have been slowly losing my memories. The oldest things I can remember were about a few weeks before the war. Right around the time I met Daisy Fay. I can't seem to recall my childhood at all."

She let this fact roll around in her head for a moment.

"I thought it would be appropriate to contact you. The last time we met you said that you were a doctor who specialized in odd situations."

"I am," she said absentmindedly.

What could this be? Possibly Alzheimer's? No, this had to be something else.

"Has anything else seemed not quite right?" she asked.

"Well," he started. "I've been feeling drained both physically and mentally."

"Hmm," the Doctor continued to think.

These symptoms seemed like any normal human disease. However, something still seemed off. It was like she could feel a burst of energy coming from somewhere in the mansion. Ross and she will have to check it out.

"Do you mind if I have a look around," she asked while standing up.

"Be my guest. If you'll excuse me, I have to meeting to get to," he took her hand and placed a kiss on it before exiting the room.

The Doctor noticed a dial phone on the desk. She picked up the receiver of the phone and dialed Ross's number. It rang for a long time before he finally picked up. The music was blaring in the background, which caused Ross to yell into the phone.

"'Ello," he said loudly.

"Ross, I need you to meet me at the balcony overlooking the dance floor," she informed him.

"Okay. Did you find something," he asked.

"Not yet," she said while taking out her screwdriver from her secret pocket. "We're going to have a look around though."

Once they hung up the phone the two met by the balcony. The Doctor began to change the setting on her sonic. It was now set to scan.

"What did you find out?" Ross asked.

"Mr. Gatsby is beginning to have some memory loss. He didn't mention having any head trauma."

She began to scan the area. She paused. That's strange. She was getting a reading of high energy from deep within the mansion. The Doctor followed the signal with Ross following beside her. They were led into a very large bedroom.

"The signal is coming from over here," she scanned a wall behind the bed.

She placed the sonic back into her pocket. How does this thing open? She ran her hands over the wall, only to find nothing. She then spied a painting on the wall and got an idea. The Time Lord grinned.

'Fantastic!'

"Ross, how good is your American history," she asked.

"Okay, I guess," he said awkwardly.

"If you lived in America in 1922, where would you hide the switch to open the door to your speakeasy?" she grinned, waiting for him to figure it out.

He was quiet for a second while he thought. His eyes searched the wall. He began to smile when his eyes fell upon the painting.

"Behind a painting," he exclaimed.

The Doctor grabbed the painting and placed it on the floor. On the wall was a switch. The Doctor flipped it up, and the wall slid to the side. Her eyes widened when she saw what was behind it.

"This must be what was giving off the energy reading."

"What is it," Ross asked curiously.

"It's a transmatt beam," she stepped inside along with Ross. "But where does it go?"

She pressed the red button. She could never resist. The pair was suddenly beamed up into a ship. The Doctor stepped out. They were in, what seemed to be, a lab. She began to look around. It was like a classic mad scientist's laboratory.

"Doctor, you might want to see this," Ross called her over.

She walked over to find an entire wall full of what looked like crystal balls. Something light blue was swirling in each one. Below every crystal was a name.

Furrowing her brows, she took out her sonic and scanned one. When the readings were finished she was shocked with what she found. She placed the sonic back in her pocket.

"These are memories. Whoever these people are, they're stealing memories," she paused.

What if they were caught while they were here? She could easily block an intruder even if she was in a regenerative sleep. But Ross couldn't, and the Doctor doesn't want to have the hassle of restoring his memories.

"Ross, if they are stealing memories, then we are both at risk. I know how to keep people out of my mind. So I'm going to give you a quick lesson on how to do the same. It's easy."

"How do you do that," Ross frowned.

"It's a part of your mind that most humans can't get to. I'll have to guide you to it, if you'll let me," she spoke that last part softly.

"Of course I'll let you," Ross said quickly.

"This is a very intimate action. I'll be inside your mind," she warned him.

"Let's do it. I don't want to lose my memories," Ross spoke, determined.

The Doctor nodded, and placed her finger tips on the connecting points on his face.

"It's like a mind-meld that Mr. Spock does in Star Trek," she tried to explain.

She concentrated as she expanded her mind into her companion's. She was suddenly hit with confusion and… comfort? Those weren't her emotions. Those were Ross's.

'Ross, can you hear me?'

'Yes. What's going on?'

'I'm in your mind. Just follow my consciousness. I'll lead you towards the hippocampus.'

She began to guide him through his mind. She tried not to look at things that were personal. She moved slowly so her pink and yellow human could keep up. They finally made their way to the heart of the memory storage.

'Okay. I'm going to choose a memory at random. I want you to try and push me out. Completely out of your mind. Just imagine a door slamming shut and locking.'

As she informed him she stepped into one of his memories. The scene was set outside of Ross's apartment building. It was snowing out. Ross was returning home. She noticed a short woman with long brown hair. She was wearing a dress that was brown and pinstriped. She had a tan overcoat on as well. Her shoes were cream colored converse. She looked as if she was in pain. The Doctor instantly spotted the TARDIS in the distance.

"Are you alright, love?" she heard younger Ross ask the woman.

"Yeah."

"To much to drink?" he smiled.

"Something like that."

"Maybe it's time you went home," he suggested.

"Yeah."

"Anyway, Happy New Year," he told her with a grin.

"And you. What year is this," she asked.

"Blimey, how much have you had? 2005, January the first."

"2005. Tell you what. I bet you're going to have a really great year," she told him.

"Yeah? See-"

She was suddenly pushed out of Ross's mind. She was so engrossed in the memory that this took her by surprise. She dropped her hands from his face, and opened her eyes. She grinned at him.

"Brilliant! A little slow, but that's to be expected of a first timer."

"It wasn't as hard as I thought," Ross grinned.

The Doctor noticed something off to the side of the lab. She walked over to investigate. One of the crystals was placed on a pedestal-like machine. The computer next to the machine had a bunch of data and information on it.

Name: James (Jay) Gatz (Gatsby)

Age: 32

Species: Human

Breeding Notes: Body is healthy. Fully capable. Good gene pool.

Drainage: 26%

The Doctor stared at the screen reading through the information. The 'drainage' must be the memory. But what does 'breeding notes' have to do with anything?

"Oh," the Doctor grinned. "I get it now."

"Get what?" Ross asked.

"These, whoever they are, are erasing people's memories leaving the body mindless. An empty hard drive. The body will then be used for some type of breeding. But why?"

"Doctor!" Ross cried out.

The Doctor turned around only to get a needle driven into her neck. Her eyelids began to droop as she was hit with drowsiness. Everything went to black.

#romance #adventure #doctor x rose #the doctor #doctor who imagine #doctor who fanfiction #doctor who fanfic #doctor who #ninth doctor #9th doctor x rose #9th doctor

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swordmeetssorcery · 4 years

Text

Sir Ebrenn’s Houseguest

Aefsheen shifted in his sleep, dream memories washing through his mind…

The teenaged half elf looked over at his human counterpart, the girl panting as heavily as he. They were in their usual hiding place, an abandoned and shuttered storefront in the mill quarter. The two urchins had been sneaking in here for years, and over time had furnished it with castoff items. There was a wobbly crate for a table, a couple of broken chairs they'd crudely repaired enough to use, and a couple of abandoned mattresses found on the street. They stank of the wood smoke they’d used to drive the bedbugs and fleas out, but they were better than lying on the bare earth floor of the old storefront’s storage room. They each now lay on one, bruised and bleeding and out of breath from their flight from the city watch. As he caught his breath, Aefsheen spoke.

"You know, Danniven, there are some things I understand and accept. If we pinch food from a butcher or grocer and get caught, I expect a couple of kicks and a head knocking. They're trying to survive just like us. Don't get me wrong - I'll take that food and dodge that beating every time I can, but I don't hold a grudge about it. I'd do the same thing in their place.

But what that watchman does. And it's not just us - he strides roughshod over the whole quarter. Bullies people that haven't done anything wrong. And just now? We were lucky to get away. I think this time he meant to kill us."

Danniven, wiping blood from where it still flowed freely down her chin from her nose, nodded.

"You're right, Aefsheen. Absolutely right. He needs to be taught a lesson, that one."

"Yeah, but what can we do, Danni? He nearly killed the two of us singlehandedly. He even managed to take our knives away.”

“Well, yours he took. Mine, I left in his leg. I guess I’ll have to break into another butcher shop and steal us some replacements. But I know, brother. He nearly killed the two of us. But could he take ten of us down? Fifteen? I don’t think he could.”

“Are we back to that, sister? We’ve talked and talked about it.”

“Yes we have, and it’s time to stop talking and act, Aefsheen. I know you’re not thrilled with the idea, and I honestly prefer going alone or with just you, but we’ve caught the Watch’s attention now, and they’ll be hunting us. We won’t survive on our own any longer. We have a few friends. Let’s talk to them and they can talk to their other friends. We’ll see how it plays out.”

Aefsheen turned it over in his mind and the more he thought about it, the more he realized she was right. The pair had targets on their backs now. If not the whole watch, then at least this tyrant and his friends would hunt them down now that they’d wounded him. Reluctantly, he agreed to organize a group of other youths from the neighborhood.

Tohlfehn meandered through the mill quarter. He was a large man, but lazy, and so had chosen to join the city watch rather than fell trees or labor in the lumberyard. When he’d finished his training, at first he’d resented being sent here to police the city’s laborers and drunks and urchins. But he soon came to realize that he could truly make use of his great size and strength and have some fun with the city’s poorer citizens. He’d always been a bully, and he soon turned the quarter into his playground, knowing the locals would never bother to complain to his superiors. He pushed around drunkards, beat children, and occasionally had his way with some of the fairer women unfortunate enough to catch his eye.

Movement in an alleyway caught his attention, and he hefted his mace and turned that direction. He limped into the shadowy space between the butcher’s and the tanner’s shops and paused to let his eyes adjust to the gloom. Then he saw her. One of the two little bastards from last week. He’d caught them stealing apples and tried to arrest them but they fought. He’d beaten them with his fists until they pulled knives. He’d managed to disarm the pointy ear boy, but the filthy girl had sunk her knife into his leg. They used the distraction to escape. Now she was standing at the other end of the alley, face still swollen, but she wasn’t running this time. She spoke as she approached him.

“Your days of abusing the people of this neighborhood are over, Tohlfehn. You’ve terrorized us for the last time. It ends today.”

The burly watchman, confident in his leather armor, iron headed mace, and sheer size, laughed loudly enough to echo through the alley and out into the street beyond. He reached out and grabbed the front of her tunic. She didn’t resist as he dragged her out into full view of the growing crowd.

“Little girl, what do you mean, threatening ME? I’ll give you the beating of your life right here in the street as a lesson to any others that feel brave. Ha! I’m a man of the city watch, and you’re nothing. You’re an insect! What threat is an insect?” He lifted her by her tunic and punched her in the face. Her head rocked back, then she lifted it back up and looked him in the eye. She grinned at him as the crowd closed in on them.

“You’re right, watchman.” She spoke the last word with all the disdain she could muster. “One insect is no threat. It stings, and you swat it and it dies. One insect is a nuisance. But a swarm? There’s your threat.” He felt the bite of a blade entering his back and she laughed at the look of shocked pain in his eyes.

He dropped her and spun around, swinging his mace inches over Aefsheen’s ducking head. Aefsheen reached out and left a bloody gash in the large man’s thigh as more than a dozen children and youths emerged from shop doors and alleys, running to attack Tohlfehn at once with knives, table legs, boards, and cobblestones pried from the street.

Danniven laughed as she drew her knife and joined in the attack. She leapt onto Tohlfehn’s back, wrapping her legs around his waist and one arm around his head. “Meet the Swarm” she murmured in his ear as she buried her blade in his neck.

He woke groggily from his dream of the Swarm’s first attack. He sat up and looked at the faded tattoo of a wasp on the web of skin between the thumb and forefinger on his right hand while his left hand rubbed his swollen jaw and he took in his surroundings. He appeared to be in a small stone cell with an iron grate for a door. The bed was a wooden platform jutting from the wall, almost padded by a thin mildewed blanket. There was another bed across the cell, a chamber pot in one corner of the cell and a pitcher near the door. The whole room was perhaps eight feet square with a low ceiling.

He took a look and a sniff at the pitcher. It appeared to be water. Maybe a bit stale, but likely not dangerous. If his captors had wanted him dead, they’d have killed him while he was unconscious instead of going to all the trouble of imprisoning him first. He drank the water and tried to think through the throbbing in his skull. How had he wound up here? As the water revived him, his memory slowly returned and he remembered the conflict. He’d gotten lost in a forest after seeking shelter from a storm. He was camped for the night when he found himself surrounded by soldiers including one mounted and dressed in full plate armor and helm, holding a lance and wearing a sword.

As it turned out, the mounted man was Winslir, Sir Ebrenn Markwell’s squire. Winslir informed Aefsheen that he was trespassing on Sir Ebrenn’s lands and accused him of poaching, although he was clearly eating dried meat and fruits inside his wagon, taking shelter from the rain still soaking everything around him.

This was bad. He’d heard stories of Sir Ebrenn. He was referred to as the Mad Yeoman, although presumably not to his face. He was crazy and, ironically for his station, reclusive. He was as likely to treat a guest with all the hospitality of a noble lord or with all the cruelty of a twisted inquisitor, apparently completely randomly. By all accounts, he was an old man, too old to ride into battle anymore. His squire was said to be up in years as well, and to have fought in many battles in his youth, but Ebrenn had always refused to grant him knighthood, and kept him away from any noble who could bestow the honor so that he could keep the poor man indentured to him for life. Most other men would have abandoned Ebrenn long ago and sought a new mentor, but Squire Winslir was afflicted with a deep sense of either loyalty, twisted honor, or his own brand of madness, and he’d remained in Ebrenn’s service all these decades. Ebrenn was rumored to have employed unscrupulous wizards and sorcerers in the past and was supposed to keep monsters as pets and to have inhuman hordes, either as henchmen or prisoners, depending on the story you heard. This was not a man whose prisoner Aefsheen wanted to be. For that matter, he’d prefer to not even be an invited dinner guest.

Aefsheen tried to explain that he’d merely gotten lost in the storm, and offered to leave immediately, but they told him they had standing orders: Anyone who entered Sir Ebrenn’s land without immediately announcing himself at the castle was assumed to be a poacher or an invader and was to be arrested on sight. He’d resisted, and at first fought off his attackers, but then the squire landed a solid sideways blow with his lance across Aefsheen’s jaw, and the world had gone black. The next thing he knew, he was waking up from his dream of the Swarm, feeling hungover without having had the night of revelry to make it worth the headache.

He got up and crept to the door of his cell. He saw a stone hallway leading to his left and right, lit by torches in sconces set just close enough to provide dim lighting in this dungeon. The other side of the hallway appeared to be solid stonework, unbroken by any other cells or doors. He could hear stirrings off to his left and assumed he wasn’t the only prisoner.

“Pssst. Anyone there? Are you awake?” He asked in the Common speech, hoping the sounds weren’t coming from a guard sleeping at his post. In reply, he heard a wordless baritone grumbling.

“Humph. I’m awake, alright. Now, at any rate. Second time in the last few hours I’ve been awakened on your account. How’s your head? They had to carry you in here last night” the deep voice answered in the accent of the dwarves of Worldcrown Mountains.

“It hurts, and my jaw’s fairly swollen, but I’ve had worse from drinking at the wrong tavern.” Aefsheen replied with a chuckle.

“Well, welcome to the dungeons of the Mad Yeoman. From all accounts, he could hold us for life, let us out today, or have us killed at any time. I’ve heard he’s even pitted prisoners against each other in gladiatorial combat. Who knows?”

“Well, that’s … unfortunate. How long have you been here?” Aefsheen asked as he began investigating the lock on his cell door. It was a purely academic act, done out of habit and to occupy himself, since his captors had taken his lock picks along with everything else but his clothes.

“I’ve been here a week or so, assuming I haven’t lost track of the days. They keep the water pitchers filled regularly, but the meal schedule is pretty irregular, as is the quality. Sometimes it’s stale bread and moldy cheese, sometimes it’s a feast of roast mutton and potatoes. At any rate, the mercurial timing makes it hard to gauge time. My name is Fehrehngarr Stonehew, skald of the Clanfolk. Who might you be?”

“I’m Aefsheen. Question, Fehrehngarr: Have you tried escaping yet?”

“Oh, aye, it’s crossed my mind, lad. But I’m not capable of bending steel bars nor of burrowing through stone with my bare hands. I’m no picker of locks either. So here I sit until an opportunity presents itself. So far they haven’t made it easy. They don’t open the door – they just pass the food through the slot down by the floor and have me pass the chamber pot and empty pitcher through the same way.”

“How many guards do you see at a time?” Aefsheen inquired.

“Usually two, sometimes just one” came the answer.

“I may have an answer then. Wait a moment.” Aefsheen took off his jacket, and began rubbing a spot along the bottom hem against the roughhewn stone of the cell’s wall, fraying the thread of the hem. He pulled at the thread and removed a gold coin concealed there and dropped the jacket onto the bed.

“What are you up to over there, elf?”

“Half-elf, actually, my new friend, but I applaud your ear for voices. And plotting our escape is what I’m doing. The soldiers took my weapons and pouch, and emptied my pockets, but I have a few tricks. For example, this piece of gold that was hidden in the seam of my jacket. If there’s one thing I’m sure of regarding soldiers, it’s that to a man, they consider themselves overworked and underpaid. Makes them easy to bribe.”

“Humph. I can’t argue with that logic, but tell me this – what will you do when the guards take your gold and then leave you sitting there anyway?”

“I’m two steps ahead of you. I’ll offer it, then retreat to the rear wall of the cell. When the guard comes in, the door will be open and I’ll have my window of opportunity.”

“I admire your ambition, but they’re armed and armored. You’re neither. What do you hope to accomplish?”

Aefsheen sighed. “Fehrehngarr, you have no faith, but that’s forgivable, since we’ve only just met. This won’t be my first time fighting this type. Soldiers, city watch, gaolers – they’re all the same at their core. Assuming this one fights like the ones who took me last night, I think I’ll be alright. After all, it took four infantrymen and a mounted squire to bring me down. And if we’re visited by a pair of them, I’ll bide my time until there’s only one to better my odds.”

The pair passed the time with casual conversation. Aefsheen discovered that Fehrehngarr was from the Rockfall Clan, a group of nomadic dwarves roaming the Worldcrown Mountains. He was a skald, recording and reciting history and heroic tales in the form of songs and epic poetry. He’d gone off into the world to seek out new tales to add to his repertoire, and to find opportunity to add his own deeds to his library of songs. To that end, he’d served an enlistment in the mercenary company Swordsong. He’d just finished a three year enlistment and was headed home to reunite with his kinsmen, although he’d caught the wanderlust and would probably venture back out into the world after a bit. Aefsheen, true to his own nature, revealed just enough of himself to achieve a rapport with Fehrehngarr. He spoke vaguely of growing up in the north, and of his travels as a drover and courier, carrying goods by consignment throughout the five baronies. Fehrehngarr, thinking of Aefsheen’s earlier comment about having fought watchmen and gaolers before, came to his own conclusions about what sort of goods Aefsheen ferried.

After an hour or so, they heard booted footfalls descending a stairway nearby. When Aefsheen realized there were two sets of boots, he quickly slipped the coin back into his pocket. The guards refilled the water pitchers and slid plates of food through the slots in the cell gates. At the sight and smell of eggs, ham, and dark rye bread, Aefsheen realized just how hungry he was and his mouth watered. It didn’t even matter that the food was cold and looked already picked at, hinting that it was probably leftovers from the soldiers’ mess.

The two prisoners ate their meals quickly, and one guard left to take the bucket of water back upstairs while the other waited to take the empty plates back. Seeing an opportunity, Aefsheen spoke up as he placed his plate on the floor and pushed it through the slot.

“Quite the meal, my good man. Thank you – much better than the jerky I was accused of poaching last night. So good of your master to feed his falsely accused prisoners so well.” As the guard started to bristle at the insult to his employer, Aefsheen produced the coin from his pocket. “I’ll wager so petty a nobleman isn’t likely to pay his soldiers well, eh?” The gold coin twirled across Aefsheen’s knuckles as he spoke, gleaming in the torchlight. “Here’s an interesting proposition – I’ll trade this coin for that ring of keys on your belt. It’s probably as much as the old miser pays you in a fortnight. More than enough to let you get away from here and start anew elsewhere.”

The guard slid the plate across the floor and away from the door with his foot. He reached for the key tucked into his belt. “These keys for that gold coin, you say?” He asked, greed in his eyes.

“Yes. Surely it’s a more than fair trade. Gold is worth so much more than iron…”

“Aye, that it is, poacher. That it is. However, I don’t like my chances of getting away from here alive if I did that. For that matter, I wouldn’t place any wagers on your escape, neither, if I did let you out. So why don’t we remove the temptation, and I’ll just confiscate your contraband. I’ll do you a favor and not even mention it to the others. That way, you won’t get into even more trouble. You’d likely be executed for attempting to bribe me.” With the last words, he drew his shortsword and moved to put a key into the lock.

Aefsheen moved toward the back of his cell, forcing the guard to come after him. Once inside the cell, the guard hooked the keys back onto his belt, held his sword at the ready, and extended his other hand, palm up, demanding the coin.

“I suppose I should’ve expected treachery from the hired sword of a knight who imprisons travelers for the crime of getting lost.” Aefsheen said with a heavy sigh and held out the coin, which he fumbled and dropped, sending it rolling between the soldier’s feet. As the man looked down at the rolling coin, Aefsheen acted quickly, grabbing his jacket from the bunk and whipping it over the other man’s head, then giving him a hard shove, sending him sprawling on the floor. The guard fumbled his sword, and Aefsheen stepped on the blade, pinning it to the ground. As he knelt and reached for the hilt, the guard freed himself from Aefsheen’s jacket and flung it aside. He put both hands on the sword’s handle and the two struggled over it. The guard was the stronger of the two and was about to wrest the weapon away when Aefsheen leaned over and drove his forehead into the supine man’s face. The stone floor prevented his head from rocking back to absorb the impact, so his nose and mouth took the full force of the blow and, dazed, his fingers loosened their grip for just long enough that the half elf took the sword away and stood up.

Aefsheen pointed the sword tip at the guard’s throat while he retrieved his jacket from the floor.

“I’ll take the keys now, if you don’t mind. Nice and slow.” As the guard handed them over to him, Aefsheen nodded his thanks and walked out of the cell, closing the door with a clang. “It only seems fair that I let you keep the coin after all that trouble. I just hope your superiors don’t find it and think you took the bribe…”

Fehrehngarr shook his head and chuckled at that last bit while Aefsheen unlocked his cell.

“Now, do you have any idea where our things are? We won’t get far without weapons, no matter how stealthy we may be.” Aefsheen asked the dwarf. Fehrengarr looked up at Aefsheen through eyebrows as bushy and red as his long beard, and replied “I’ve only seen guards come and go from that one direction.” He replied. Indeed, looking the opposite way from the stairs the guards had used, they saw only a few more yards of corridor and a couple more cell doors. Looking toward the stairs, they saw the corridor went beyond them and took a turn underneath the stairwell.

The pair headed that direction, came to the turn, and after cautiously peeking around the edge of the corner, continued on. Soon they came to a heavy wooden door. Aefsheen put his ear to the roughhewn surface and listened. After a couple moments of silence, he started trying keys in the lock. On the third try, the lock clicked open. He slowly opened the door while Fehrehngarr stood by with clenched fists, ready to jump into battle should anyone be lying in wait on the other side.

The door opened into a dusty, little used room. They saw piles of crates and chests stacked here and there. There were old weapons and sets of armor, traveling sacks and backpacks, all covered in deep layers of dust. Some of the metal implements were showing rust through the grubby accumulation. But closer to the door, lying atop a rotting wooden chest and piled on a creaky table, were their own belongings. Some of them, anyway. Fehrehngarr’s gear was all present: chain mail shirt, dagger and short sword with the red wrapped hilt and silver plated pommel in the shape of a harp (displaying his standing as honorably discharged from Swordsong), and his great battle scarred ax, pack, and the bag holding his lute and bagpipes. The only thing of Aefsheen’s to be seen was his armor and the pouch he carried on his belt.

“You go unarmed, do you, Aefsheen? Seems dangerous for a courier traveling alone.” Fehrehngarr commented.

“They must have disarmed me when they knocked me out. They probably put my weapons in my wagon – I’d have been lighter and easier to carry. Damn. I’ll just have to make do with the guard’s sword, since these others don’t exactly seem fit to use.”

Fehrehngarr pulled on his hauberk, strapped on his sword belt and hefted his battleax, and Aefsheen donned his leather breastplate studded with steel rivets. They surveyed the room and saw two doors at the other end, and made their way there through the clutter. The first door wasn’t locked, and Aefsheen eased it open. They slipped through and found themselves in a larder. There were crates of various foods and sacks of flour and other ingredients on tables along the walls. There was a large icebox in one corner, and an open stairwell leading upward in the middle of the wall on their left. There was light coming down that stairway, and they could hear kitchen sounds. Likely the next meal was being prepared. As shadows grew on the stairwell, they beat a hasty but silent retreat back out of the pantry to the storage chamber and closed the door as quickly as they thought possible while remaining quiet. Their options were to go up the stairs the guards used to get to the cells, which seemed ill advised, or the other door leading out of this locker. After a brief discussion, they opted for the door in front of them. It had layers of dust and cobwebs built up on it, to the point of obscuring the seam between door and jamb. It had obviously not been used in many years.

Fearing a squeaky hinge would give away their presence, the pair searched the store room and found a discarded oilcan that still contained some thin, watery oil at the bottom and they applied it as well as they could to the hinges. The door was so encrusted, it took both of them pulling on the ring in the center of its face to open it. Even freshly oiled, the hinges squeaked and the wood, so long settled in place, creaked loudly enough for them to halt at one point, fearing the sound would be heard from the kitchen, even through a door and two rooms. They heard nothing from the kitchen, but they could hear sounds of alarm coming from the direction of the cells. It had only been a matter of time before the locked up soldier was missed and discovered, and that time had come. They’d run out of options. They yanked the door open another foot, which allowed them to get through. They plunged ahead through a curtain of cobwebs, pulling the spidery silk off their faces as they went.

They heard calls behind them as they ran blindly down the web filled space. “After them – they’re getting away!”

The space beyond was more tunnel than hallway, unfinished earthen walls, supported at irregular intervals by rotting wooden beams collapsed in places, allowing soil to landslide down, partially blocking their way and forcing them to climb over or run around small mounds of loose dirt.

The tunnel smelled of damp earth, rotting wood, and decay. They could hear other shouts now, from the door. Orders and refusals: “Go in after them!” “I’m not going in the tunnels – we all know what he keeps down there!” “You’ll follow orders or answer for it, coward!” “I’m no coward, but I won’t go down there with those unnatural *things*!” “Fools! The Harvestmen are rumor and myth. Stories told to scare children and keep them from trespassing on Sir Ebrenn’s estate. Now get in there!”

Sounds of scuffling reached their ears, above even the sound of their own labored breathing as they ran and wondered what had the soldiers so frightened. They rounded a bend in the tunnel and stopped to catch their breath. Fehrehngarr pulled remnants of spider web from his beard as Aefsheen nudged a small snake away from his foot. As a dwarf and a half-elf, they could see in the darkness of the tunnel, so had not bothered with any of the torches from their places on the dungeon wall, but they could see the light from torches carried by the soldiers begin to slowly creep in their direction. Apparently the sergeant had proven scarier than whatever bogeyman the men feared in the tunnels. They began their flight anew. Here and there, they began to see small tunnels branching off the main one. These obviously weren’t dug by men, because they weren’t even with the floor of the main passage. They were at seemingly random heights, even through the ceiling, and they had to watch their footing lest they step in one. The smaller passages didn’t always fork off at right angles. When the pair bothered to look, most of the smaller tunnels seemed to twist in odd turns and directions, and many looked to be lined with a white silky coating.

The tunnel they ran through gradually devolved from the structured, semi-finished passage it had started as to a simply dug, rounded hole through the earth and began to twist and turn like those side tunnels they'd passed.

They began to notice an upward incline to the tunnel, and they could just make out a hazy light up ahead, as if daylight were creeping around a doorsill. Just as they started to feel some hope of escape, they began to hear a new noise mixed in with that of their labored breathing and the clamor of the soldiers blundering through the tunnel in pursuit. From all around them, they heard an odd skittering noise, much like the sound a beetle might make as it crawls across a piece of parchment.

Then, in the semidarkness of the tunnel, they saw the first of the creatures. At first, neither believed his eyes, because the images were so surreal. Dozens of what appeared to be gigantic spiders crawled out of the twisted cross tunnels. Up through the floor and down from the ceiling, as well as from all sides, they climbed over each other in their haste, presenting a chaotic swirling tableau of oddly jointed legs like crooked stilts, all racing each other to get to the two adventurers. Each one seemed to be about a foot tall, with a body about the same size, and a leg span of at least five feet. But that was the most easily digestible part of what they saw. What took them valuable seconds to believe was the human face on the front of each of the creatures, and the fact that the first pair of limbs wasn’t spidery legs, but humanoid hands. As though that weren’t bad enough, several of the creatures held sticks or rocks in their hands, presumably as weapons. If the horrid screeching sounds issuing from those ghastly mouths was speech, it was no language either man had heard before.

As the beasts drew closer to the front, and the soldiers closed their distance from the rear, the two men felt real fear creeping at the sides of their minds, threatening to swarm panic over them. They gripped their weapons and looked at each other. “More inspiration for your tales, if we survive, eh, skald?” joked Aefsheen with gallows humor. Fehrehngarr adjusted his grip on his ax, gave it a flourish and replied “Don’t stand too close to me when it starts – an ax requires a wide berth in battle. Shall we?”

“Ready when you are.” Aefsheen readied his stolen sword. Fehrehngarr gave a great roar, lifted his ax, and charged into the cluster of monstrosities with a mighty swing. As he cleaved the head of one, Aefsheen thrust his blade into the face of another. They pulled their weapons free, and not caring to try to kill all the man-faced creatures, began to hew a path through the crowd. They pushed and fought their way through the arachnid throng, making progress by ax stroke and sword thrust, spilling foul blue ichor from the unnatural beasts. For their part, the monsters, through sheer weight of numbers, took their toll on the pair trying to escape this nightmare dungeon. Aefsheen and Fehrehngarr both were covered in deep bruises and shallow cuts from their clubs and stones. The two could better see the light coming into the tunnel now. It looked as though the tunnel led outside and its opening had been loosely capped. They hacked their way towards it.

A great beast of a harvestman made a leap and landed on Fehrehngarr’s chest, wrapping its spider legs around his back and grabbing his beard with its humanlike hands. He could feel others pummeling his legs, and a well-placed blow to the back of his knee caused his legs to buckle. As the beast on his chest lowered its mouth toward his face, fangs dripping with venom, Fehrehngarr dropped his ax and began wrestling with the creature, trying to keep its teeth away from his flesh. A dollop of poison dropped onto his cheek and he felt his skin burn and smelled his whiskers singe. As other monsters crawled onto him, he began to lose his struggle and the fangs drew closer to his cheek. His arms shook with the effort of pushing it away, and just as he felt the tips of those murderous fangs make contact with his flesh, he saw the beast’s head flinch, and the point of a sword exited its forehead. As the blade retracted, he shoved the corpse off himself while Aefsheen set to work slashing at the others who’d crawled aboard the fallen dwarf.

As Fehrehngarr regained his feet, he could see Aefsheen being overrun himself. Not daring to swing the ax and risk cutting the half elf as well as the man-spiders, he drew his own sword and set to work skewering and prying the monsters to free his comrade.

As they were freeing themselves from the onslaught, they noticed a slight ebb in the arachnid tide. They could hear screams from the way they’d come, indicating that the troops had now encountered the swarm.

Aefsheen had a flashback to that first attack by the Swarm he’d helped to found. He saw the irony that he now faced almost certain death at the hands of another type of swarm. If he ever survived, this would make for the perfect tale to share with Danniven and the other remaining founding members back in Oakyard. But first, he had to survive.

Fehrehngarr spoke, “Aefsheen! Stay with me, friend. It’ll take both of us to make it out of here.” Aefsheen shook his head, clearing his mind of the flashback. Fehrehngarr picked up his ax and continued “If I use my ax properly, it takes both my hands, but here – borrow my sword. Do you ever fight with two weapons? It might make the difference.”

Aefsheen replied “It’s how I prefer to fight, actually. These blades are a bit shorter than I’m used to, but they’ll do.”

They resumed their push toward the light. As Aefsheen thrust and slashed to both sides with the pair of shortswords, and Fehrehngarr hacked and swept his way through the arachnid hybrids, they heard a renewed pursuit coming toward them. Just ahead, they saw a large, round stone blocking what looked to be their exit out of this hellhole. There were just a few yards of distance and only a couple of the creatures between them and daylight. They each dispatched a man-spider and then both broke into a run for the stone blocking the exit. Coordinating their timing, they both crashed into it with their shoulders, hoping against hope that their weight and momentum would open their escape route and let them get away from the horrific horde behind them.

Breaking free from the spider hole into the sunlight, they shoved the capstone aside and their momentum carried them to the ground. As they caught their breath, they took in their surroundings. They were in a small, lightly wooded, naturally bowl shaped hollow a few dozen yards across, whose sides sloped up to the crest about twenty feet higher than where they lay. There were fallen trees and boulders strewn around the depression, all covered in webs still beaded with moisture from last night’s rain. They also spotted too many web-obscured lumps that looked uncomfortably humanoid shaped. There was a light scattering of web strands across the rest of the ground as well, resembling a light frost, while the lower branches of trees might as well have been subjected to a blizzard for all the white clinging to and hanging from them.

As the pair stood up, they heard more battle sounds from the tunnel, but more ominously, as they looked toward it, they heard a loud rustling from the fallen leaves beneath the trees behind them. They turned to find another cadre of the spiderlike monsters approaching them from the leaves, while their second line dropped on webs from higher branches.

The fight began anew as the adventurers thrust sword and swung ax, and did their best to dodge and parry stones and sticks. They could hear the fight from the tunnel getting closer, and just when they were beginning to wonder if they’d run out of stamina before their enemy ran out of numbers, they saw the knight’s guards hack their way into the sunlight, having finally overcome the spiders in the tunnel. The guards emerged blinking at the sun’s brightness contrasting with the tunnel they’d just fought through. They seemed confused as to whether they should continue to pursue Aefsheen and Fehrehngarr, or to fight the creatures. The question was answered for them as a new pack of Huntsmen broke away from the main force and encircled them.

After what seemed an eternity of fighting, hearing the screams of men and the horrific screeching of man-spiders, enduring the bruises and cuts of wounds, and feeling the burn of cramping muscles in desperate need of rest, the two escapees found themselves backed up against a web-shrouded boulder alongside the last two soldiers left alive. The giant spiders seemed to be regrouping in a semicircle facing the four. Everyone on both sides seemed to be taking the moment to catch their breath. Hearing the guards ragged breath, seeing one looked like he was about to die, Aefsheen steeled himself to take his last stand. He spoke, “Fehrehngarr, this looks like the end. Shame, too – I feel we could have been friends under other circumstances.” For his part, the skald looked around at his impromptu battle mates and took a deep breath. When he spoke, his sonorous voice carried the authority of a historian and the inspiration of a poet. “Few against a throng Captain Asfandiar Cried out ‘Cut down the vile invaders!’

He raised Troll-Sunder Swung down the notched blade and Elf heroes laid waste to orc raiders”

Raising his ax blade as he spoke the last stanza, he then roared and charged the gathered spider throng. Aefsheen, inspired by recognizing the name in the poem, gave both blades a whirling flourish and leapt back into the fray with renewed vigor. The soldiers, encouraged by Fehrehngarr’s oration, began once more to swing their own swords.

There weren’t so many monsters left now, and by this time, the men had begun to figure out the weak spots to aim for, and soon turned the tide. There was a scream, and Aefsheen and Fehrehngarr, having each dispatched the last of the creatures facing them, turned to see only the sergeant left alive. He was disarmed, on his back, wrestling with one of the beasts, much like Fehrehngarr had been earlier. The dwarf strode steadily toward him, drew back his ax and swung. The blade bit right through the monster, cutting it in half, sending the two pieces scattering, and covering the soldier in blue blood, but sparing him the venom that had killed his companion beside him.

“You could have left me to die and made good your escape. Why did you help me?” the man at arms asked, and Fehrehngarr replied “No, I couldn’t. Have no doubt I’ll be leaving, but I couldn’t walk away from any man and leave him to die such an unnatural way. If you wish a clean death in battle, let’s take a moment to recover our energy and we’ll have a go at it. Otherwise, I’m walking away now.”

“Not at all. You’ve more than earned your release as far as I’m concerned. Looking at some of those shapes wrapped up in webs, I think I know what happened to some of our ‘deserters’, and what would have happened to me and the bodies of my men had you not intervened.” He looked over to Aefsheen, who was using the shirt of one of the fallen to clean the sword blades. “I’ll retrieve your wagon and deliver it to you on the road near where you were captured last night. Just wait until after nightfall when the knight and the squire have retired for the evening.”

Aefsheen nodded his thanks and replied “Just don’t wait too long. If I don’t have reins in hand by midnight, I’ll come back in for it myself. And I won’t be caught unaware this time.”

________________________________________________________________

Later that night, having regained his wagon, donned his own swordbelts, and returned Fehrehngarr’s blade, Aefsheen took shook the reins and set his team to a relaxed canter despite the rain having started again. There would be no stopping tonight – he wanted as much distance as possible between himself and whatever dark wizardry was responsible for what they’d just survived. He looked over to the dwarf seated next to him and asked “What was that bit of poetry you called out back there?” The dwarf shrugged and replied “Oh that was just the end of the Tale of Asfandiar Silverthorn. I’m surprised you’re not familiar – it’s a true tale that took place during the Orc War up in your part of the world.” “Oh, I know that much. We just didn’t hear a lot of poetry or singing in my quarter. Well, at least none that wasn’t lewd.” They shared a laugh that helped relieve some of the day’s tension. Then Aefsheen got serious. He was distrustful by nature, both from upbringing and profession, but this man knew things he wanted to hear. Plus, they’d just saved each other’s’ life. He decided to let himself trust the bard.

“Some time you’ll have to tell me the rest of the poem. To be honest, I’ve heard quite a few stories about Asfandiar. For example, did you know that Asfandiar took a human wife in the Treeguard Barony?”

“I’ve heard rumors about Asfandiar Silverthorn’s human woman, aye. But the historians are divided on how true it is.”

“Humph. The elves provided a proper funeral for him, but then abandoned his widow and child afterwards… Yes, any tales you’ve heard of Asfandiar, I’d love to hear them, my new friend. And in exchange, perhaps I can supply you with some you haven’t heard.” Fehrehngarr stole a glance at the man he’d just met, looked at the head and face that was shaped like an elf, but bore beard and mustache like a human and started to ponder.

“Aefsheen, are you saying –“

Aefsheen cut him off and said “I’m saying that in my mother’s house, in the mill quarter of the city of Oakyard, on the wall above her fireplace is an elfmade longsword, with a prominent notch in one edge, hanging below a scrap of banner from the Elderwood kingdom.

I didn’t tell you my surname, did I? It’s Silverthorn.”

#sword and sorcery #fantasy #elves #dwarves #wizards #warriors #high fantasy #epic fantasy #dark fantasy #sorcery #sorcerer

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jingabitch · 4 years

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An Arrangement for Convenience ch.5

Summary: It's ridiculous that girl groups aren't allowed to date, and are kept under such strict lock and key that they can't satisfy their desires. Enter Ha-eun, YG's solution to the problem.

Pairings: ot4 x oc

A/N: Wrote this a while back and posted on ao3; reposting here because I want to be more active on this platform. While I currently have 8 chapters written which I will be releasing on Tumblr gradually, I am currently on hiatus due to school and work commitments and will not be actively writing and posting new stuff until the semester ends in December.

Series index

The next morning, Ha-eun woke up as the first rays of sunshine were starting to peek in through the drawn curtains. She yawned as she stretched and rolled over, pushing herself up into a sitting position with her hands.

There was excited huffing, barking and a furry mass suddenly pressed against her belly, and Ha-eun blinked down at Kuma. “Good morning,” she greeted the dog, stroking his soft fur. He panted and hopped up to lick her face excitedly, and she laughed as she let him.

Jennie wasn’t in bed, and Ha-eun shrugged mentally. She’d probably just gone to use the restroom, she thought, untangling herself from the covers to do the same. Realizing that she was still nude and it was kind of chilly in the apartment, she went to Jennie’s closet and helped herself to a t-shirt and pajama shorts before leaving the room.

On her way to the restroom, however, she was waylaid by the sound of laughter and cooking, and an amazing smell that tempted her to detour from the path to the bathroom to the kitchen.

“Shit,” she breathed in awe, watching Jennie and Chaeyoung moving around the kitchen easily. “What is that smell?”

Chaeyoung turned to grin at her. “Oh, you’re up, good morning,” she greeted casually. “We’re making bacon waffles.”

As if on cue, Ha-eun’s stomach growled and she flushed. Jennie, closing the waffle iron around a scoop of batter, looked up with a teasing grin that fell off her face when she took in Ha-eun’s current ensemble. The younger girl looked really nice in her clothes.

“Oh, my God, bacon waffles sounds like heaven,” Ha-eun groaned, “but I have to pee and brush my teeth really quick, then I swear I’ll be right back,” she promised, running off to the bathroom.

“She’s so cute,” Chaeyoung sighed, as the bathroom door swung shut.

Jennie flipped the waffle iron, and hummed noncommittally even though she couldn’t help but agree. Still, she wouldn’t be her if she didn’t make a snarky remark, so it was almost out of obligation that she said, “You just think she’s cute because she’s happy to get on her knees for you.”

Chaeyoung scoffed as she went to get the syrup and butter for the waffles. “That is not true at all. I think you guys are cute and none of you would do that for me.”

Jennie shrugged; she was right, after all. She continued cooking the waffles as Chaeyoung started washing and cutting the strawberries they had in the fridge.

When Ha-eun re-emerged from the bathroom, newly freshened up, she came straight back to the kitchen. “Is there anything I can help with?” she asked with wide eyes, watching the two girls move around the kitchen in tandem, the ease with which they worked together in the small space clearly showing their familiarity with each other.

“No, just stay there,” Chaeyoung giggled. “This is your reward for doing well on your test!”

Ha-eun, surprised, just gaped. She’d thought they’d forgotten about it, which was fine, it wasn’t like she’d been expecting them to actually remember, but even when the idea had been floating around she’d expected it to be something sexual, not this.

She couldn’t help that her heart fluttered just a little, or that she suddenly felt soft and mushy on the inside. None of her previous clients had ever really bothered to do something like this for her; it had always been clear that it was about them. Which was only right, after all, since they did pay good money for her to make them feel a certain way.

“Thank you,” she said softly, as Jennie finished preparing the third plate. Ha-eun jumped to help her then, taking one plate from her and helping Chaeyoung bring the other stuff to the table.

“Should I wake Lisa-unnie and Jisoo-unnie?” she asked, standing behind her seat with her hand on the back of the chair.

Jennie shrugged. “They don’t usually wake up that early, especially Jisoo-unnie. I left more batter for them when they get up.”

“Oh… all right then,” Ha-eun said, sitting down and scooping a generous amount of butter onto her waffles, then drowning it all in syrup. She dug into the mess with gusto, moaning sinfully around the first mouthful of waffles.

“Oh, my God, bacon is definitely the best thing that ever came out of the West,” Ha-eun groaned with her mouth full.

Chaeyoung laughed. “Should I be offended?” she asked lightly.

“Okay, democracy is pretty good too,” Ha-eun amended after swallowing, cutting another section of the waffle and stuffing it into her mouth.

Jennie looked at her indulgently, eating her own waffle. She really was a pretty good cook, she thought as she chewed and swallowed. It was nice that Ha-eun seemed to think so too.

Chaeyoung huffed, though, having clearly been angling for a personal compliment. Ha-eun laughed at her. “Fine, if you insist, it’s you,” she said, rolling her eyes playfully.

Chaeyoung narrowed her eyes at her. “You’ll pay for that,” she said threateningly, but Ha-eun wasn’t intimidated, instead saying “promise?” flirtatiously and winking at her.

The girl really was insatiable, Jennie thought, stifling a laugh at the scandalized expression on Chaeyoung’s face, and she had a sassy streak a mile wide given the way she escalated all the time.

They settled into a regular conversation soon after, Ha-eun asking what they had planned for the day. It really was fascinating listening to them discuss dance practice and Jennie’s photo shoot for Chanel like they were just everyday things, which they were to them, she supposed. Still, since her plans for the day mostly involved going home and mopping the floor before going for her afternoon class, their lives in comparison were way more interesting than hers.

“Unnie, you didn’t wait for me for breakfast?” Lisa interrupted their conversation by whining loudly as she opened the door to her bedroom and stepped out, dressed in a t-shirt and pajama pants.

“Go make your own waffles,” Jennie pointed at the kitchen, not even deigning to reply Lisa’s protest. Muttering to herself in annoyance, Lisa padded over to the kitchen, turning the waffle iron back on again and then going to grab a carton of juice from the refrigerator.

“Good morning, Lisa-unnie,” Ha-eun greeted, giggling at the older girl’s antics.

“Oh, good morning Ha-eun-ah,” Lisa greeted as she poured the juice into a glass. “Did you sleep well? Did Jennie-unnie treat you properly?” she asked, grinning mischievously.

Ha-eun giggled. “I have no complaints,” she said, sending a wink Jennie’s way.

“Yeah, we could all hear you not complaining, ” Lisa shot back, but Ha-eun just shrugged. “Jennie-unnie is very talented at many things,” she responded, turning back to her food to eat another bite of her waffle.

“I just bet she is,” Lisa chortled. “Too bad she refuses to share her talents with the rest of the girls.”

Jennie rolled her eyes. “How long are you going to complain about that? I did offer, you know.”

Lisa scowled. “That was only if I let you tie me up!”

Jennie shrugged. “Ha-eun let me tie her up last night.”

Ha-eun nodded. “It was fun. You should have let her do it.”

Sighing as the waffle iron beeped, indicating that the waffle was done, Lisa used the tongs to pry it out of the mold and plopped it down on her plate. “I’ll overlook that, but only if you promise to let me tie you up too.”

“Sure,” Ha-eun agreed nonchalantly. It wasn’t like she was going to say no to Lisa, since there was a contract and this was her job and all. It was nice that she still flirted with her like that. It was all a part of the experience she wanted, she supposed.

“Great!” Lisa chirped. “Are you doing anything tonight?”

“Uh, I have to go to class in the afternoon, but I’m free after that, why?”

“Come visit us at the studio if you have time,” Lisa invited.

Ha-eun accepted eagerly, excited to see whatever new choreography they were working on.

Soon enough, though, it was time for her to leave, and she sighed as she went to put on her clothes from yesterday, not really enjoying the thought of wearing her dirty clothes again. If she’d known she was staying over, she would have packed a spare set of clothes, having gotten a nice routine down that prevented her from the walk of shame.

“Oh, you can borrow some of my clothes if you want,” Chaeyoung offered, and Ha-eun smiled at her. “Thanks, but there’s no way I could fit into your clothes,” she said. “You’re so thin, it’s not fair,” she sighed with envy.

Chaeyoung laughed. “Love, I spend more time working out than normal people dream of having. You look gorgeous,” she reassured the younger girl, popping a kiss on her forehead.

“Okay, if you say so,” Ha-eun said, accepting the compliment with grace as she hugged her. “I’ll see you guys later,” she called as she slipped her sneakers back on and walked out the door, going to the subway station to take the train back home.

As she was letting herself into her apartment, calling to her brother to let him know that she was home, she looked out the window of the living room and couldn’t help but laugh. There was a giant billboard on the building across the road from hers, and an ad for - you guessed it - Blackpink’s upcoming comeback, with a blown up photo of all four girls staring coolly at the camera had gone up yesterday during the time that she’d been out yesterday.

Taking a picture of the billboard, she sent it to the group with exclamation marks, laughing when Lisa immediately replied.

We can’t get enough of you, sweetie. Xx

Shaking her head, she laughed and put her phone in her pocket as she went to see what her brother was up to.

By the time Ha-eun got to the studio, it was almost nine, and she was frantic. Her class had ended more than two hours ago, and she’d been planning to go straight to the YG building, but had been waylaid by her project groupmates who’d wanted to have an impromptu discussion.

“Fucking idiots, always calling meetings to talk about useless things we could settle easily over text,” she seethed as she ran down the hall to the studio. She’d texted them to let them know that she would be late and to let her know if they were leaving so she could meet them elsewhere, but they hadn’t replied and she took that to mean that they’d been practicing all this while and hadn’t seen her messages.

Reaching the door to the room they’d told her to come to, she took a second, standing outside the entrance, to straighten herself out, running her hands through her hair, smoothing out her blouse and adjusting her skirt, which had somehow rotated almost 180 degrees around her waist. Consciously evening her breathing so it would look less like she’d just been sprinting down the hallways of the YG building like a lunatic, she opened the door gently and stepped into the room.

To her surprise and dismay, it was dark, although the air in the room was still cool, and when she looked up at the ceiling, she could see that the air conditioner was still on. Had they left and forgotten to turn off the air conditioner?

She groped for the light switch, sure that it couldn’t be too far from where she was standing, when a voice cut through the silence, sharp and authoritative.

“Stop.”

It was Jennie, and she sounded furious.

Ha-eun’s heart pounded. What was this?

“Jennie-unnie? What’s going on?”

“You’ve been a very bad girl, Ha-eun-ah.”

“Unnie?” Ha-eun’s head whipped around to try and locate the source of the voice, to no avail, because the room was completely dark now that the door had shut behind her.

Suddenly, the lights were on, but it was the spotlights that had been installed for choreography videos and the room was still mostly dark. Ha-eun blinked as she looked around, seeing the four of them standing in different spots around the room. Jennie was standing almost right in front of her, her arms folded across her chest.

Ha-eun gulped as Jennie stepped closer to her. She was dressed in a sports bra and leggings, drenched in sweat, the hair that had escaped from her ponytail sticking to her forehead and neck, but she still looked gorgeous. Her thought process was cut off abruptly when Jennie’s hand shot out, grabbing her face, her fingers digging into the soft flesh of her cheeks.

“I thought we agreed that you would be here at seven, hmm?” Jennie said quietly, the words slicing through the air like knives. They found their target easily as Ha-eun’s shoulders slumped. There were reasons, she wanted to explain, but they seemed like weak, pathetic excuses when she was faced with Jennie’s angry gaze boring into her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, and Jennie smirked as she squeezed Ha-eun’s face tighter, pushing down and forcing the younger girl onto her knees.

“Open,” she demanded and Ha-eun immediately obliged, her mouth falling open as she knelt before Jennie, who was bent over her, her face hovering over Ha-eun’s.

Her lips curved into a sinister grin right before she spat into Ha-eun’s open mouth, watching with satisfaction as the wad slid down her tongue and disappeared.

“Swallow,” she commanded and Ha-eun immediately obeyed, feeling herself drench her panties.

“Looks like you can do some things right, after all,” she sneered, before lifting her hand from Ha-eun’s face and using it to backhand her instead, so hard that her head turned, her cheek burning.

“You’re such a useless whore, you know that?” Jennie purred, fisting her hand in Ha-eun’s hair and pulling so that she was facing her again. “Coming two hours late, wasting our time… do you know how much our time is worth? Of course not… a poor little nobody like you can’t even imagine it.”

Ha-eun’s eyes filled with tears, but she knew that Jennie was right. “I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “Let me make it up to you, please, mistress,” she begged.

Hearing that caused a thrill to shoot through Jennie, but she controlled her expression so that not a trace of her arousal showed as she continued to stare impassively down at the other girl. She scoffed. “And just how do you propose to do that, whore? You aren’t even good enough to fuck.”

Ha-eun’s lip trembled, tears spilling from her eyes now. She knew Jennie was right, she was nobody compared to them, they could easily replace her with someone who was more obedient, who turned up on time, who didn’t force them to wait for her…

“Please, please, I’ll do anything,” Ha-eun cried, pitching forward as she folded herself into a bow, her forehead hitting the floor with a loud knock that she barely even felt, so focused on earning forgiveness.

“Anything?” Jennie’s voice was silky and dangerous, but Ha-eun was too far gone by this point to notice the change in tone as she shuffled forward, her forehead now resting on top of Jennie’s bare feet as she continued pleading for forgiveness.

“Did you hear that, girls? She said anything ,” Jennie called. That caught Ha-eun’s attention, and she looked up, sniffling, as the other three girls glided out of the shadows, coming to stand next to Jennie.

Chaeyoung laughed, a sweet, delicate sound that seemed completely at odds with the atmosphere in the room. “Anything? My, that’s a broad statement to make, sweetie. Are you sure?”

Ha-eun looked up at them with wide eyes, in awe as they stared down at her as dispassionately as they had from the billboard outside her home. “I’m sure, Chaeyoung-unnie,” she breathed. Should she be more concerned about the fact that the way they looked at her, as if she were something dirty they’d found on the bottom of their shoes, made her drip? She was sure there was a puddle beneath where she was kneeling now, and her panties were definitely ruined.

Lisa made a doubtful noise. “It seems like you like Jennie-unnie more than the rest of us, though,” she commented, and Ha-eun almost sprained her neck with how quickly she wrenched her head around to stare at her in disbelief.

“N-no!” she denied, in a panic. Why would they even think that?

Jisoo hummed. “You let her do things to you that the rest of us can’t, though.”

“No, you can do anything you like to me, please, please,” Ha-eun begged. What could they be referring to?

Then it hit her. Of course. Still looking up at Jisoo, she let her mouth fall open slightly.

Jisoo feigned ignorance, though. “Oh? What do you want, baby? Use your words,” she coaxed, running her fingers through Ha-eun’s hair. It looked like a tender motion, but she was doing it roughly enough, pulling on the silky strands, that it hovered on the brink of being painful.

Ha-eun bit her lip in embarrassment. Was Jisoo serious? She was going to make her beg for that?

When no words were forthcoming, Jisoo frowned. “I’m not a mind reader, sweetheart. You need to tell mommy what you want,” she said, her voice harder now.

Left with no choice, Ha-eun had to say, “Please spit in my mouth,” her cheeks on fire. How humiliating, actually being forced to say the words, to beg to have something so degrading done to her. And yet she couldn’t deny that her pussy felt like it was on fire.

“Aww, anything for my baby,” Jisoo cooed, leaning forward so her face hovered over Ha-eun’s. “Don’t swallow yet,” she ordered before she spat into the younger girl’s open mouth, her eyes never leaving Ha-eun’s.

To her credit, Ha-eun didn’t flinch or otherwise move at all as the warm, sticky liquid dripped into her mouth, pooling on her tongue. Chaeyoung and Lisa then took their turns, before Jennie, once again, bent down, holding Ha-eun’s mouth open with her hand pressing on her cheeks, as she spat loudly.

“Good girl,” she cooed when she straightened up, the praise obviously affecting Ha-eun as her eyes sparkled with joy, even if she couldn’t smile at the moment.

“Swallow.”

At that, Ha-eun obediently closed her mouth, swirling the unholy mixture around before she swallowed it down.

“Aww, such a cute little girl,” Chaeyoung praised, petting Ha-eun on her head. “You’re our sweet little pet, aren’t you?” she asked, and Ha-eun, basking in the affection, just nodded, barely aware of what she was agreeing to.

“That’s good, because we got our pretty pet a present,” she continued, and Ha-eun looked up with half-lidded eyes to see that Lisa now had something in her hands. Blinking, she looked more carefully and saw that it was a black collar with rose gold hardware and a cute pink bell on the front of it.

“Whoa, where’d you get that?” Ha-eun blurted, surprised.

Jennie shrugged. “We ordered it online and had manager-oppa pick it up for us today.”

Ha-eun had to press her lips together to stifle a giggle at the thought of the quiet man having to pick up fetish gear for his charges.

Lisa bent down and buckled it around Ha-eun’s neck while Chaeyoung held Ha-eun’s hair out of the way. “You’re such a pretty girl with our collar on you,” Jisoo cooed, and Ha-eun couldn’t help but smile shyly. She definitely had a praise kink, they noticed.

“Come on, kitten, let’s go home,” Jennie said, clipping a leash to the little ring behind the bell, and Ha-eun blinked. Surely she didn’t mean…

Hesitantly, Ha-eun started to get up, but all four of them frowned immediately. “Did anyone tell you to stand, whore?” Jennie asked in a glacial tone, and Ha-eun immediately fell back to the ground, confused.

“But you…”

“Yes?” Jennie prompted when Ha-eun trailed off, raising a brow at the younger girl.

“All the way to the van?”

“Of course, pet, how else are we going to go home?” Chaeyoung replied with a little laugh, as if Ha-eun was stating the obvious.

“But what if there are people…?”

“Are you ashamed of people knowing you belong to us?” Jisoo asked, her brows coming together in a deep frown.

“No, mommy,” Ha-eun immediately mumbled, chastised.

Then they walked out of the studio like they did most nights, laughing and chatting casually. The only difference was that tonight, Lisa was holding on to a bag that wasn’t her own, and Ha-eun was crawling behind them, a leash attached to her collar that Jennie was holding, biting her lip while hoping fervently that no one saw her.

#blackpink smut #bpsmut #blackpink #kim jennie #kim jisoo #lisa manoban #park chaeyoung #ot4 x oc #jennie x oc #jisoo x oc #lisa x oc #rose x oc #an arrangement for convenience #aafc

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phroyd · 5 years

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WASHINGTON — After months of anticipation, Robert S. Mueller III, the former special counsel, on Wednesday delivered nearly seven hours of dry, sometimes halting testimony before Congress. Republicans and Democrats sparred over his conclusions, but in back-to-back hearings, Mr. Mueller mostly reiterated the findings of his two-year investigation into Russian interference in the 2016 election without offering any significant new disclosures.

Here are seven takeaways.

Mr. Mueller batted down President Trump’s claims about his report and threw a few barbs.

Mr. Mueller may have been reluctant to go beyond the four corners of his 448-page report, but with a series of one-word answers and short-winded darts, he dealt a sharp blow to President Trump’s version of events by broadcasting his own meticulous research.

Asked if Mr. Trump “wasn’t always being truthful” or complete in his written answers under oath to the special counsel’s questions, Mr. Mueller responded, “I would say generally.” He called Mr. Trump’s encouragement of the WikiLeaks releases of purloined Democratic emails “problematic” to say the least. He fretted that the Trump campaign’s openness to accepting Russian assistance would prove to be “a new normal.” And he warned that not only had the Russians not been deterred from election interference, but “they’re doing it as we sit here.”

Under questioning by Representative Adam B. Schiff, Democrat of California and the Intelligence Committee chairman, Mr. Mueller agreed that receiving campaign assistance from a foreign power was “unpatriotic” and “wrong.”

The most helpful moment to Democrats may have come as Mr. Mueller faced his first questions, from Representative Jerrold Nadler of New York, the chairman of the Judiciary Committee. It is a sequence that is likely to play out on television and in political ads for months to come.

“Director Mueller, the president has repeatedly claimed that your report found there was no obstruction and that it completely and totally exonerated him. But that is not what your report said, is it?” Mr. Nadler asked.

“Right, that is not what the report said,” Mr. Mueller replied.

The exchange went on in that fashion, with Mr. Mueller shooting down Mr. Trump’s claims.

Time and again, Mr. Mueller defied Democrats looking for a flashy new moment.

It did not take long for the routine to become predictable: Democrats asked a leading or politically damaging question, and Mr. Mueller demurred. The special counsel clearly laid down limits.

“The most important question I have for you is why? Why did the president of the United States want you fired?” asked Representative Ted Deutch, Democrat of Florida.

“I can’t answer that question,” Mr. Mueller replied. It became a frequent refrain.

He repeatedly declined Democrats’ invitations to read passages from his report, consciously depriving Democrats of potentially useful footage of him speaking aloud some of the most damaging material he uncovered.

When Representative Hakeem Jeffries, Democrat of New York, walked through an analysis suggesting that several episodes documented by Mr. Mueller met the criteria for obstruction of justice, the former special counsel tossed cold water his way.

“I don’t subscribe necessarily to the way you analyzed that,” Mr. Mueller said.

The Democrats’ challenge was visible in miniature when Representative Jackie Speier, a California Democrat on the Intelligence Committee, offered Mr. Mueller an open platform to tell the American people why they ought to care about his work. He essentially refused to step onto it.

“We spent substantial time ensuring the integrity of the report,” Mr. Mueller said.

“It is a signal, a flag to those of us who have responsibility to exercise that responsibility, not to let this kind of thing happen again.”

Republicans tried to sow doubts, but Mr. Mueller frustrated them too.

Republicans’ playbook with Mr. Mueller was clear: Trumpet prosecutorial conclusions beneficial to Mr. Trump while trying to sow doubt about the basic fairness of Mr. Mueller, the F.B.I. and his team. More often than not, they met a stiff arm from Mr. Mueller, but succeeded in roughing him up around the edges.

There were questions — sometimes tangled and obscure — about shadowy figures in the investigation, about the supposed bias of Mr. Mueller’s team of investigators, and about charging decisions. Representative John Ratcliffe, Republican of Texas, told Mr. Mueller that he had “inverted burden of proof” by detailing the president’s conduct without charging him with a crime.

“Respectfully, respectfully, you managed to violate every principle in the tradition,” Mr. Ratcliffe said. “I agree with the chairman this morning when he said Donald Trump is not above the law. He’s not, but he damned sure shouldn’t be below the law” either.

Representative Devin Nunes of California, the ranking Republican on the Intelligence Committee, opened with, “Welcome everyone to the last gasp of the Russia collusion conspiracy.”

But Republicans gained little ground in their effort to better understand why Mr. Mueller or the F.B.I. made the choices they did. The former special counsel swatted away questions on a salacious but unverified dossier of information on Mr. Trump used by the F.B.I., on the former British spy who compiled it, and on other aspects of the origins of the Russia investigation.

Representative Jim Jordan of Ohio asked elaborately why Mr. Mueller chose not to charge Joseph Mifsud, the London-based professor who told a Trump campaign adviser that the Russian government had obtained “dirt” on Hillary Clinton in the form of thousands of emails. Mr. Jordan’s voice raised. His arms flailed.

Mr. Mueller answered, “I can’t get into it.”

Whither impeachment? Mueller did not help advocates much.

Liberals who support opening impeachment proceedings against Mr. Trump had hoped that testimony by the former special counsel would finally electrify their efforts. The early verdict suggests that did not happen.

Mr. Mueller himself clearly did not want to let the term escape his mouth, nor did he provide the kind of shocking new evidence or analysis that would have forced the issue. When Representative Mike Johnson, Republican of Louisiana, asserted that the special counsel’s report did not recommend or even discuss impeachment, the witness would not even nod along.

“I am not going to talk about that issue,” Mr. Mueller said.

The staunchest supporters of the impeachment effort pressed on anyway, and are likely to keep up pressure on party leaders.

“To not open an impeachment inquiry in the face of such obvious corruption is an abdication of the oath we took to defend our country, uphold the rule of law and hold the president accountable for his misconduct,” said Representative David Cicilline, Democrat of Rhode Island and the head of his party’s messaging arm.

One Democrat, freshman Representative Lori Trahan of Massachusetts, joined 90-odd other House members calling for the opening of an impeachment inquiry.

Others could follow this week, and some sensed new openness by Speaker Nancy Pelosi Wednesday evening to pursuing such a case. But with a six-week August recess looming and the views of most Americans fixed on what is now a two-year-old story line, a lasting shift in public opinion appears unlikely.

Mr. Mueller appeared a little shaky at the witness table.

In his years as F.B.I. director, Mr. Mueller was never known as a loquacious witness, but his performance on Wednesday frequently turned heads and prompted cringes from lawmakers looking on.

He stumbled over his words, asked lawmakers again and again to repeat their questions after misunderstanding or seemingly not hearing them, and declined to engage in any extended discussions over the legal rationale of his work. On occasion, Mr. Mueller, 74, appeared to be unfamiliar with details of his own report and even in one instance his own résumé. That may have robbed his testimony of some of the power that many had expected.

When Representative Greg Stanton, Democrat of Arizona, asked which president had first appointed him as a United States attorney, Mr. Mueller could not remember, guessing that it may have been President George Bush.

“According to my notes, it was President Ronald Reagan who had the honor to do so,” Mr. Stanton said.

“My mistake,” Mr. Mueller replied.

But other moments proved stronger, particularly during the afternoon hearing with the Intelligence Committee. Mr. Mueller appeared more at ease and more willingly strayed from his written report.

The Justice Department’s opinion that bars charging a president brought confusion.

Democrats thought they had struck gold during the day’s first hearing when Mr. Mueller seemingly told Representative Ted Lieu, Democrat of California, that he would have indicted Mr. Trump if not for Justice Department policies prohibiting a federal indictment against a sitting president.

“The reason, again, that you did not indict Donald Trump is because of the O.L.C. opinion stating that you cannot indict a sitting president, correct?” Mr. Lieu asked, referring to the Justice Department’s Office of Legal Counsel.

“That is correct,” Mr. Mueller said.

Mr. Mueller’s statement directly contradicted what he wrote in his report and could have been damaging to Mr. Trump, implying that he was a criminal in all but name.

But when Mr. Mueller delivered an opening statement before the Intelligence Committee a short while later, he backtracked. He did not agree with Mr. Lieu’s statement, he said, repeating a version closer to what his team put in their report: that the policy prevented them from even considering whether to charge Mr. Trump.

“We did not reach a determination as to whether the president committed a crime,” he said.

Mr. Mueller offered a defense of his investigation, belatedly.

Through months of withering attacks by Mr. Trump and his allies, Mr. Mueller’s response was unchanged and often frustrating to his allies: total silence. On Wednesday, he finally pushed back, albeit late and with a light touch

“It is not a witch hunt,” Mr. Mueller declared flatly, when asked by Mr. Schiff about a term Mr. Trump has lobbed his way hundreds of times since the investigation began.

He betrayed stronger hints of emotion when Representative Tom McClintock, Republican of California, said, “Having desperately tried and failed to make a legal case against the president, you made a political case instead.”

Mr. Mueller replied, “I don’t think you have reviewed a report that is as thorough, as fair, as consistent as the report that we have in front of us.”

He had just as starchy a retort ready for Republicans who accused him of filling his office with partisan Democrats who were out to tank Mr. Trump.

“We strove to hire those individuals that could do the job,” Mr. Mueller, a Republican, said. “I’ve been in this business for almost 25 years, and in those 25 years, I have not had occasion once to ask somebody about their political affiliation. It is not done. What I care about is the capability of the individual to do the job and do the job quickly and seriously and with integrity.”

Phroyd

#trump #mueller #hearing

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blustersquall · 5 years

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Only Make Believe // Chapter 36: An Evening Alone

Thank you for your patience, I hope you enjoy this new chapter~

Trigger warnings for anxiety attacks (fairly mild, but still).

As always, this chapter has been uploaded to AO3 for those who prefer that platform for reading.

Two more days.

Varric convinced them to stay another two days. Dorian and Josephine would arrive the following day with whatever information they had already uncovered about Nevena’s mother. The day after she and Cullen would take the morning ship back to Gwaren and, traffic and weather permitting, be back in Denerim by the evening.

It was a simple plan.

Simple, straightforward, and so… final. It hadn’t truly dawned on Nevena until then just how close the end of this whole situation was. The end of this entire fiasco. So much had happened in such a small space of time that when she really sat down and tried to think about it, it made her head spin. She couldn’t deny that part of her was looking forward to getting back to Denerim. She was looking forward to returning to the safety and security of her loft, the familiar sights and sounds of the city. She was looking forward to seeing Roselyn and celebrating her pregnancy with her properly and getting back to work. More than anything, she wanted to put most of the last few weeks behind her.

She could think of little else in her life that had been more disastrous that the last few weeks. The only good things she would take away from it was meeting Varric Tethras, reconnecting with her niece, and Cullen. He, most of all, was the saving grace of everything. When she thought of returning to Denerim, the only thing that gave her pause was that it would mean the two of them would return to their daily lives, and that they would have to adapt their… whatever they had, to a whole new set of circumstances and constraints.

They would no longer be living in each other’s pockets, seeing each other all day, every day. There would be time apart and the attachment to each other that had formed would be tested. Perhaps that was a good thing. It would force them to really examine if they were good for each other, if what they had was more a close friendship, than anything to do with love…

Although, that was an issue in and of itself.

As Nevena sat at one end of the couch in Varric and Cassandra’s living room, and Cullen sat at the other, half watching the television and half scrolling through his phone, her mind again focused on the words he had said to Rick the day before.

He had said he loved her.

Out loud for those closest to hear.

He said it to Rick’s face and, though her memory was a little cloudy from the panic she was feeling at the time, she couldn’t recall any hesitation in Cullen’s voice. Just thinking about it made her stomach squirm in a way that was both pleasant and not. Her chest tightened, and there was an undeniable flutter behind her ribcage that threatened to make her breathless. Cullen’s words had been so forthright and firm, he had to be telling the truth. Right? There was no way he would say something so mind blowing just to get Rick to release her…

Then again, he did say that he had some training in how to communicate with hostile forces. Perhaps saying he loved her was all just a ploy. Something he knew would get under Rick’s skin. Something he knew would focus Rick’s ire onto him and take his attention from her giving her the chance to get free.

She had no reason to doubt Cullen and the things he said. In their time together he was honest and upfront about almost everything. And when he wasn’t, there was a good reason for it. He told her about his panic attacks, about his time in Kinloch. He told her about the people he lost, and about his coming off lyrium. He told her things that were important and gave her no reason to assume he was lying. So, maybe he was being truthful and honest. Maybe saying he loved her was true and real, and getting Rick’s attention was simply a bonus to admitting it.

Maker, she couldn’t focus. Whenever she tried to look at the pages of the book in front of her the words all smeared together like wet mascara. Try as she might, her brain would not allow her to switch off, and now with the impending information dump the next day her anxiety was high.

They were alone in the house for the evening, which didn’t make things any better. Cassandra went out in the afternoon to see some friends, and Varric left a few hours later to join her. He invited both Cullen and Nevena, but they each refused. Cullen was still tired from his lack of sleep and the nightmares that hunted him, and Nevena didn’t want to risk even glimpsing Rick – even though she knew it was unlikely. So now, they sat in the living room with the television on, neither of them really paying much attention and a strange palpable distance between them that hadn’t been there a few days before.

She wanted to go back to their brief time on the Peraquialus. When it was just them and everything felt so normal and natural, and there were no expectations or demands on either of them. They had left Haven and all the negativity behind them, and the prospect of Kirkwall was a positive one… Only, it had turned into a nightmare for the two of them in very different ways. She felt like they were probably the most honest with each other and open on the ship, and maybe before in Kinloch. When Cullen said he ‘had never felt anything like this’, Nevena believed him, and she agreed. Whatever she felt for him was unlike anything she had experience before… She wondered if that was why now they were alone she couldn’t find a way to be comfortable with him. There was a communication breakdown. She had things she wanted to say, and he was keeping things contained too, she could feel him pulling away from her.

He asked her in the garden if they were okay…

She had lied.

They weren’t okay.

They could be, if they could just work this out, but that required emotional strength she just didn’t have right at that moment. Nor did she think Cullen had much more to spare. They had each asked so much of each other and themselves over the past few weeks – it was no wonder Cullen was so eager to get back to Denerim and be away from her. To be in his own place and recharge.

As she glanced across the couch towards him, she saw that he was smiling down at the screen of his phone, thumbs typing out a message. Curious, and wanting to obtain that sense of closeness that was missing, Nevena closed her book and shuffled across the cushions towards him, sighing and leaning her head on his arm. Cullen kissed the top of her head and tilted his phone screen towards her, so she could see. On it was a photograph of a boy, about four-years-old, grinning at the taker while wearing an Iron Man costume.

“My nephews favourite Christmas present.” Cullen told her, “apparently he’s hardly taken it off since he got it.”

Nevena smiled, “he looks very cheeky.”

“He is,” snorted Cullen with a fond sigh. “Cheeky and… stubborn. But stubbornness is a family trait, we all expected that. I haven’t seen him since the summer.”

“You’re making plans with your sister?”

“Batting ideas about.” Cullen sent his message, put his phone to the side and slid an arm around Nevena’s shoulders. She snuggled in closer on instinct, his warmth and the security he offered drawing her in. This was comfortable. This was easy, and this was what she was going to miss when they got back to Denerim. This casual familiarity between them when they were alone, and they could each relax. “She’ll want to meet you.” Cullen said, tapping the end of Nevena’s nose with the tip of his finger. “They all will… Though I don’t think it would be fair to unleash all my family on you in one go.”

“Why not? You endured mine.” Nevena retorted, tilting her head back to better look at him.

Cullen laughed to himself, “fair point.”

“And I’m certain your family is much nicer than mine. Probably fewer skeletons, too.” Her words were teasing, but there was a weight behind them that changed the air in an instant. Cullen’s easy smile faltered, he lifted a hand to cup her jaw, and pressed his lips to her forehead with a heavy sigh. Nevena closed her eyes, her stomach sinking a little. “Have you thought about what you’re going to do when you get back home?” she asked, trying to bring back the casual air.

“Sleep.” Cullen said with a wry smile. “Sort through my post, catch up with some friends, unpack, do laundry… Just, get back into my normal routines.”

“Makes sense.” Nevena swallowed back on the choking sensation welling up at the back of her throat. No mention of her. No mention of them. She was being selfish. She shouldn’t have expected Cullen to make plans for them when their respective worlds returned to normality.

“What about you?”

“Probably the same.” She forced a smile. “First thing will be to check on my plants. Rose said she’d come by and water them while I was gone but she has a knack for killing anything green.”

“Really?”

“She killed a cactus.” Nevena told him flatly. “Those things are practically immortal, and she managed to kill it.”

“Do you have any hope for your plants?” he asked, grinning.

“Some. I love Rose to pieces. I’d be lost without her, but she lacks a little in the green thumb department.” Something inside Nevena’s chest clenched at the mention of love. It was something hanging over them, something that made them both pause and look at each other. Cullen’s expression was hard to read, a furrow in his brow made him appear troubled, a look not helped by the thin line his mouth was pulled into.

Why couldn’t he just say something about yesterday?

Anything.

Just, blurt out an explanation for what he said and whether he meant it or not? Maybe Nevena was expecting too much from him. After all, he wasn’t a mind reader and she hadn’t questioned him at all about the things he said when confronted with Rick. She was expecting something without giving him any prompting and it was unfair on him. She shouldn’t expect everything to come from him. Shouldn’t have expected him to be the one to take the initiative in these deep or tough discussions.

It came down to her, really.

Her need and desire for answers and clarity. Her need to know the truth of the matter and know, for certain, if Cullen felt the way about her that she did about him… That opened a whole other can of worms. If he affirmed he loved her, would she have the strength and conviction to say it back? Even though she did love him, knowing it in herself and saying it aloud to him were worlds apart from each other.

Perhaps it was better for neither of them to say a damn thing. Perhaps it was for the best if they forgot the whole episode with Rick ever happened and forget everything surrounding it. Nevena certainly wanted to banish the stickiness of Rick’s breath on her face and the strength of his grip around her wrist from her mind. She wanted to banish him from every corner and crevice of her memory for good… Maybe, it would be better for her and Cullen to pretend the day before never happened… To wait and see if this relationship of theirs panned out. If feelings grew, or stayed the same, or sputtered out like a dying candle. There was little point of bringing up love if that was going to be the end result.

The cowardice, the fear, and the doubt won over and Nevena retreated from the thoughts consuming her. She offered a sheepish smile and started to move in some vain, over-acted attempt to show she was trying to get comfortable. She could still feel Cullen watching her as she distracted herself by unfolding her legs from beneath her and stretching them out over the vacant side of the couch. He was still watching when her act came to an end.

Gently, so gently and so tenderly, Cullen eased her hair back behind her ear. His thumb brushed the corner of her eye and he drew it and his fingers down over her cheek until he touched the corner of her mouth. He traced her lower lip with a tentative sweep, watching for her reactions with half-hooded eyes and an expression on his face that made Nevena’s breath catch. That he could do that – just look at her and make her whole being quake from the inside out was intense and a little unnerving. He sighed, his breath fanning across her cheek as he leaned in closer. Nevena’s throat was threatening to close, her blood thumping behind her ear drums, a reaction that seemed too intense considering all he was doing was touching her, and not even that intimately. His proximity though, and the smell of him was enough to drive her to distraction. Not helped by the occasional brush of his lips on her cheek, brief kisses moving steadily towards her ear.

“Nev,” Cullen sighed again. Nevena’s tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth when she tried to say something in response, so she kept her lips closed and inched closer to indicate she was listening. Cullen drew his fingers up and down the back of her neck which was distracting, and incredibly arousing, making Nevena’s eyelids heavy with every repetitive stroke. “I wanted…” He stopped, tutted to himself, “you’d think, after everything, this would be easy…” There was genuine mirth in his voice, tarnished with a hint of frustration. With himself, or with the situation Nevena wasn’t sure and didn’t want to ask.

“What would be easy?” she prompted, shifting closer though she was all but in his lap at this point. His lips ghosted over her cheek as he pulled back enough that they could see each other again and that neither of them was hidden from the other. They sat, with only the low sound of the television gauging one another and each waiting for the other to talk. Nevena breathed quick and shallow, her heart racing and chest tight. Every time Cullen moved, or a nerve in his face twitched something inside her leapt up into her throat and she was forced to swallow it back down. A minute, maybe more, passed with them simply watching the other and breathing the same air. Nevena wasn’t sure if she wanted to speak or to kiss him… She didn’t know if Cullen was sure what he wanted to do either. He looked… conflicted. Brief flashes of what she could only describe as fear appeared in his eyes, there and gone in a moment, but appearing none-the-less.

Nothing would be said or done if one of them didn’t do or say anything. In most other situations, Cullen was the one to initiate these conversations. In the Redcliffe Cathedral, in Kinloch, aboard the Peraquialus… Whenever a conversation needed to be had about their relationship, Cullen was the one to bring it up and pursue it. Here, he was struggling with what he wanted to say. Nevena clutched at a tiny flame of bravery flickering in her chest. She thought back to the words he used on the ship when she was struggling to get her words out. “Is this…” She stopped, bit her bottom lip and tried again after exhaling in a rush. “Do… did you want to talk about yesterday?”

She watched him. A look of understanding and recognition flickered across his face, mingled with relief. He smiled, nodding his head. “Y-yeah, if you— I mean… do you want t—” His phone on the arm of the sofa buzzed and the screen started to flash. “Hold that thought.” There was a growl to Cullen’s voice. Nevena glanced over at his phone as he picked it up. She saw a picture and a name on the screen. “It’s my sister.” He said, looking to Nevena and then back at the still flashing screen. “Do you mind if I…?”

“Answer it.” Nevena nodded, her stomach like lead and her skin cold. “It might be important.”

“To be continued,” he said, getting up off the couch. He answered the call, “hi Mia…” He left the living room, preventing Nevena from hearing the rest of the conversation. Not that it would have made much difference. The sound of her heartbeat was deafening enough. They had been so close to talking about the day before. Not about Rick, it wasn’t about Rick. It was about them, about what he said. About what she felt. It took so long to get to that point and now… Now, she didn’t know if they would be able to get back there. Tonight, was the only chance, really. The next day would be filled with people and depending on what Dorian and Josephine had found out, Nevena didn’t know if she would be up for talking afterwards. The day after they were travelling back to Denerim and it wasn’t like this was a conversation for car journey!

She grabbed a cushion and yelled into it, her frustration spilling out in angry tears that she wiped away with her sleeve. She was so foolish. Her stupid hesitation, her fears, her ridiculous habit of relying on other people to do things for her was what led to this situation. They were so close and yet so far, and it was doubtful that Cullen would return from his conversation with his sister and be in the same frame of mind as he was before the call.

You said you loved me. That’s all Nevena needed to say. You said you loved me. Did you mean it? Or was it something you said to get under Rick’s skin? A sentence or two. A simple question that did not have a simple answer. Twenty words, and she couldn’t even get that out. She had to dance around it and be afraid of the potential answers – which was even sillier when she thought about it because she wasn’t sure which answer scared her more. That Cullen did mean it, and that he did love her. Or that he didn’t, and it was just something to distract Rick. Both were frightening for different reasons, and now, that tiny flame of bravery was extinguished, and she was too full of doubt to consider bringing it up again.

Cullen returned after ten minutes. He offered an apologetic smile as he sat down, putting his phone to one side. “Sorry. She and I haven’t really had a chance to catch up.”

“It’s okay,” Nevena waited for him to get comfortable on the couch before cuddling up beside him once more. Cullen wrapped an arm over her shoulders. “Is everything alright?”

“Oh, fine,” Cullen started to flick through the television channels. Now the Christmas and New Year period was over, television returned to mundane normality. “She tends to think I avoid talking to her so…”

“You don’t get on?”

“Oh, far from it. Mia can just be a bit… She likes to pry. It comes from being an older sister.”

“Ah,” Nevena nodded. “But it comes from a good place?”

“It does…” Cullen put the remote to one side. He cleared his throat. “What were we talking about before she interrupted?”

He was giving her an out. Nevena knew that. She recognised it because she would have done the same in his position if the roles were reversed.

“Oh…”

You said you loved me.

“Uhm…”

You said you loved me.

“I…”

You said you loved me.

“I don’t remember.” Nevena said with a half-hearted shrug and looking away at the television screen. She was a coward, and the way her stomach clenched and turned only reminded her of that shameful fact. She swallowed back the sickness and the phantom bile. “It must not have been important.” Silence. Cullen was looking at her, she could see him from her periphery. She didn’t dare meet his gaze. She knew if she did, then everything would come spilling out of her and the floodgates would be opened. “Tell me about your family.”

He seemed taken aback by her change in topic. “My family?”

“Mhm-hm.” Nevena plastered a smile on her face. “You told me a little when we met in Red Jenny’s. I’d like to know more. You’re the… second oldest? After Mia, right?”

“Yeah…” Cullen’s body relaxed beside her. He knew, just as she did, that they would not talk about what he said. Not tonight. Maybe never. “Then there’s my brother Branson, and Rosalie is the youngest.”

“Are you close?”

“Reasonably.” Cullen grabbed his phone and after tapping a few icons, brought up a page of small thumbnail photos. He scrolled through them and enlarged one of a small group of adults to show her.

All four of them were blond.

Of the two women picture there was one only an inch or so shorter than Cullen who had unruly blonde curls that fell to her waist, a heart-shaped face, warm smile, and brown eyes. She stood on the left side of Cullen in the photo, her arm linked through his. On Cullen’s right was the other sister. The shortest of the four. Her blonde pixie-cut hair was messily styled with hints of fading lavender dye. Her face was more angular, a stronger jawline than the older woman. Nevena could see a piercing in her right nostril and the hint of a tattoo peeking out from behind the hem of her t-shirt. The last person was another man. Still blond, his hair was a shade or two darker than Cullen’s, making him look almost brunette in the photograph. He was laughing, his face contorted into a wide grin. He wore a hideous holiday sweater with a reindeer on it.

“That’s Mia,” Cullen pointed to the woman with long hair on his left side in the photo. “Mia’s a stay-at-home mother. Has two boys, Thomas and Jake. Jake is four, Thomas is almost eighteen-months. Then that’s Rosalie, she writes for a travel blog, and does some freelance photography. And Branson on the end works at the zoo in South Reach.”

“They all live in South Reach?” Nevena handed Cullen’s phone back to him.

“Mia and Branson do. Branson was living with his girlfriend, but I’m not sure if that’s still a thing…” Cullen quirked his mouth to one side. “Rosalie recently moved to Amaranthine, but she’s always driving to South Reach to see Mia and the boys.”

“Do you miss them? Living in Denerim, that’s quite far from South Reach.”

“Sometimes.” Cullen shrugged a shoulder, “but, Mia calls me at least once a week, and I’m always getting some of those meme things from my brother. Rosalie is always sending me glimpses of her latest work or photos from wherever she’s been sent for her next assignment. We stay in touch.”

“Sounds nice.”

“It is. When things have settled down I’ll have to invite Mia to visit. She’s probably the best one for you to meet first. Branson and Rosalie are… mellow in comparison.”

There was an undeniable flutter of excitement in Nevena’s chest. Meeting Mia meant planning in the future. It meant things carrying on when they were home. It was a start. “Do I need to be worried?”

“No, of course not.” Cullen chuckled, “she’s just… You know how older sisters can be.”

“I know how my older sisters can be.” Nevena gave him a playfully reproving look.

Cullen blanched. “Ah, right. Sorry. Uh, bad example. Well, she’s… she’s a bit overbearing. Protective if you will. When everything happened in Kinloch, after my recovery I went straight to Kirkwall. I didn’t inform her or our parents of my whereabouts.” He cleared his throat, lowering his gaze. His voice dropped, shame seeping into the tone. “It took her two years to locate me.”

Nevena tucked one hand beneath Cullen’s chin and guided him to look at her. “Why didn’t you tell her where you were going? Did you… Does she know what happened in Kinloch? What you went through?” Despite their visit, it was still such a sensitive topic to talk about. Nevena wasn’t sure if she would trigger some awful memory just mentioning the place. In this instance, she thought it safe to talk about given it was Cullen who mentioned it first, still she trod lightly on the fragile ground.

“I…” sighing, Cullen pinched the bridge of his nose and squeezed his eyes tightly closed for a moment.

“It’s okay,” Nevena slid her hand around to cradle his jaw, shifting up onto her knees and kissing his forehead. “If you don’t want to talk about it…”

“Thank you,” Cullen’s arms slipped around her waist. He hugged her, burying his face into the curve of her neck and doing what she could only describe as hiding. “It’s not that I don’t want to talk about it. I acted… shamefully, is what I did. There’s no forgiving the way I left her and my parents with no word and no knowledge of whether I survived the events of Kinloch or not.”

“Given everything you went though I can’t imagine you were in the right frame of mind to talk about things, even after being given time to recover.”

“I recovered physically.” Cullen said. Nevena could feel his eyelashes on her skin, then his stubble when he moved. His lips skimmed her neck, but it wasn’t on purpose or a pleasurable touch. There was nothing intimate about it. “But mentally… Well,” his shoulders sagged, “you’ve seen how well that worked out.”

“Cullen…”

“I think the worst part is that during those two years my parent’s health declined.” He shuddered and leaned back enough that Nevena could see his face more clearly. “I was able to see them once before they both passed away within days of each other. I spoke to them, cleared the air. I wasn’t… fine but I was better than when I first arrived in Kirkwall. Mia was so angry. I think, in some small way, she still is.”

“Why?”

“I shut myself away. Shut myself off from her and my parents. In some twisted way I think I wanted to protect them from the truth of what I went through.”

Nevena shrugged one shoulder, “we always try to protect the people we love most from the worst parts of ourselves. Whether that’s seeing us at our worst, or after a terrible experience… Reaching out is… hard.”

“I know.” Sighed Cullen.

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry about your parents.”

The corner of Cullen’s lips quirked into a small, sad smile. “Thank you. You would have liked them. They would have loved you.” He chuckled and cradled the back of Nevena’s head bringing her lips down to his. The kiss was soft and brief, Cullen’s mouth fitting just-so over Nevena’s and the closeness of him drawing her in. Her eyes remained closed a moment or two after the kiss ended. She opened them to see Cullen watching her. “I’m very tired…” Cullen told her.

“I’m not surprised.” Nevena replied, smiling. “Bed?”

“I doubt Varric and Cassandra expect us to wait up for them.”

“Bed.” Nevena said again. A statement now, instead of a question. She untangled herself from Cullen’s embrace, rising to her feet once she worked the pins and needles from her toes.

They tidied the living room, plumping up cushions, turning off the television and the lights before heading upstairs. While Cullen went to the bathroom to get ready for bed, Nevena changed into her pyjamas. When Cullen was done, they swapped places. Cullen went his room, and Nevena went through her evening routine. There was still a heaviness weighing on her chest. Things going unspoken when they needed to be said, but now was not the time to bring them up and… while they might not have put any concrete plans down for their impending return to Denerim, that Cullen mentioned plans in the future with her helped to quell some of the fear and uncertainty rumbling around in her brain.

When she was finished, Nevena retreated to her bedroom. Cullen’s was further up the hall and he waited outside his bedroom door.

“See you in the morning,” Cullen held the door half-open. He’d brushed wet hands through his hair while in the bathroom, Nevena could see strands sticking up at odd angles.

“I hope you sleep better than last night.” Was all Nevena could muster before she disappeared behind her door. She tried to ignore the disappointment she felt. It would be the first time since… probably since Haven that she and Cullen weren’t sharing a bed. Strange, how quickly she grew accustomed to it, considering how long it had been since she shared a bed with anyone. She didn’t blame him though, after the poor night’s sleep the previous day he probably wanted to sleep alone in the hopes he might sleep better.

She paced around the bed as she brushed her hair, thinking of nothing except what revelations the next day might bring. She was dreading it and eager for it to come. She knew nothing of her mother and had dreamt up no fantasy or expectations of the kind of person she might be. Even when she discovered she was adopted, she never daydreamed about who her real parents might have been. She knew if she went into the next day with low expectations or no expectations, then disappointment would be minimal. Still, she couldn’t help but feel the anxiety humming beneath her skin.

Before she climbed into bed, there was a knock on the bedroom door.

“Nev?”

It was barely two minutes since they said goodnight to each other, that Cullen was outside her door was surprising. Nevena opened it. “Did you forget something?” She asked, leaning one hand on the door frame.

“Yes, actually.” Cullen swallowed hard enough that Nevena saw his Adam’s apple bob in his throat, “I forgot to kiss you goodnight.” Nevena stared up at him, dumbfounded. “May I?” Cullen could sometimes be an enigma – she liked when he asked permission to kiss her, it struck her as gentlemanly and acted as another reminder that he was on board with her boundaries. On the other hand, sometimes it came as such a surprise she was sure it was rehearsed, but no less sincere.

Realising she had not yet answered, Nevena quickly nodded her head a couple of times. She caught a quick glimpse of Cullen’s relieved smile before he cupped her jaw, tilted her head back and kissed her.

She was lost in an instant. His lips moved against hers with such tenderness that it made her knees want to buckle. Her stomach plummeted down through her legs and into the floor of the room below hers. His nose brushed hers as he adjusted, deepening the kiss, his tongue easing past her lips and one of his hands sliding back into her hair. She could taste the spearmint toothpaste and she could smell the soap he used to wash his face. Nevena curled one hand into his t-shirt, the other rising to curl around the back of his neck, fingers twisting up into his hair. With one hand still in her hair, Cullen snaked the other around her waist, tucking underneath her clothing to her bare skin and guiding her closer until their bodies were touching with only their garments as a barrier.

Nevena’s abdomen tingled and the weight that settled there throbbed between her legs. Blood rushed from all other extremities making her feel light-headed when Cullen pulled away. He was breathing harder and faster than before and those breaths landed, hot, on Nevena’s mouth. She flared her nostrils to get more air, keeping her eyes closed while savouring and memorizing that sensation of his lips on hers. Slowly, she blinked her eyes open, staring up into honey-brown eyes that seemed to burn in the low light of the lamp on her bedside table. She couldn’t read Cullen’s expression or make out what he was thinking behind those intense eyes of his. All Nevena knew was that she was afraid of looking away, afraid of even blinking. It was like if she lost sight of him for even a moment, he would shatter or disappear.

Silence built with tension. Their breathing evened out. Cullen’s fingers trailed and curled through Nevena’s hair, while those beneath her shirt remained still except a few minor touches. She squeezed the fabric of his clothes in her hand. Neither of them was moving, and one of them had to. It was a stalemate.

“That was a goodnight kiss?” Nevena asked, an airy, half-hearted laugh joining her words. Cullen exhaled a long breath. His hand on her body and the one in her hair loosened. Nevena clutched tighter to his shirt unwilling to let him move away. She gave a gentle pull and stepped towards him closing what space remained. Cullen seemed surprised for a moment by her boldness, then he was kissing her again.

They stumbled back into her room all grabbing hands and hungry lips. One of them kicked the door closed. Cullen gave eager kisses that Nevena accepted sliding her hands over his waist and underneath his clothes. They fumbled and tripped over each other moving further into her bedroom wrapped up in each other, kissing, touching, lips smacking, and breaths being stolen. The pulse between Nevena’s thighs grew more insistent and there was little she could do to relieve it beyond pressing her thighs together. Cullen dragged his hands down, fingers catching on her clothes and tugging them until the fabric pinged back into place. He pressed one hand into her backside, strong fingers drawing her towards him, so their bodies were all but pinned to each other. He eased a leg between Nevena’s bending at the knees and guiding his hand further down Nevena’s thigh. Her leg trembled and gave out as Cullen hooked his hand underneath her knee.

Nevena gasped and yelped in surprise when her legs gave out and she found herself landing of the softness of the bedcovers.

Cullen chuckled against her mouth, murmuring to her between kisses, “sorry, I didn’t mean to surprise you.” His fingers trailed up her thighs, skimming beneath the top she wore. She tingled to feel his touch on her, her skin rising in goose bumps in the wake of it moving up, higher, over her waist and her ribcage, taking the edge of her pyjama top with them. He slipped a hand along her shoulder, curling his fingers around her neck and into her hair, guiding her closer.

Something inside her stirred. Something that was not pleasure but was uncertain and tinged with fear. It grew within her without warning. Rising up and coiling around her desire for Cullen as if trying to quash it. This new uneasy feeling was raging with what she was feeling moments before, causing an internal conflict she tried to subdue. She wanted him. Wanted him like air and sunlight and water. Wanted him in a way she had never wanted anything or anyone. She wanted to give in to the pulse between her legs and the raw yearning that coursed through her every vein. Wanted to give herself over to it, give herself over to what she was so close to, and what was still so far out of reach. She wanted to give in to what she denied herself.

And yet…

That fear was there…

A snake, hidden and ready to strike. Venom tainting every good feeling and making the touch of Cullen’s fingers on her skin cold and clammy. Her chest tightened the more of her skin his wandering hands exposed. His hand moved upwards, palms spreading over her back lifting her shirt as if coaxing her to try and remove it. Was she ready for this? Was it a good idea? Was it sensible and smart to give in or was this just more of the same? Was this desire honest or was it her way of dealing with what happened taking over again? Was it that she wanted Cullen? Or wanted to use him to chase away the memory of Rick?

Rick. Who was brutal, and cruel. Rick, who bit her and drew blood. Who forced her into positions and situations she could still recall and that pushed her into a fit of terror induced anxiety. Rick, who stalked and hounded her steps both awake and asleep. Rick, who only yesterday had his hand around her throat and was threatening her.

Nevena’s eyes were watering and she blinked hard causing tears to start to spill down her cheeks. Cullen was still kissing her. It was him she tasted. It was his hands she felt, one on her body, one lightly caressing her neck. But it also… wasn’t him. The glimpse of his hair was darker, and the shape of his face was more square. A scream welled up inside her and with as much strength as she could muster pushed with both hands against his chest.

She tried to form a word, but her voice was just a yell. She grabbed at her throat, her breath coming quicker and sharper as she struggled to get air into her lungs. Panic flooded her nervous system with adrenaline causing her heart to thunder with a rib cracking pain. The world began to blur, and she couldn’t see clearly through the tears starting to fall. All at once she felt trapped, boxed in and unable to see a way to freedom. Glancing into one corner of the room, there was Rick, his shadow looming and approaching from the dark. Nevena yelped and started to scrabble back on the soft covers underneath her, kicking them up. He came at her from another corner and then it was like his cold hands were around her throat again, cutting off the air she desperately needed.

Her mind was fuzzy, and she could hear nothing except a low hum, like the sound of bees. There was a vice around her chest, keeping her from getting enough oxygen and her head was starting to spin from her struggling to breathe. She saw two hands reach towards her and flinched away from the out stretched limbs, screaming again when one hand closed around her wrist.

“Letgo-! Please—”

“Nevena.” Something cold was shoved into her hand and something else forced her to close her fingers around it and squeeze. The sudden temperature and the sharp pain from it shot up her arm, piercing through the cloud of fear in her mind and helping it to clear.

Still breathing hard, she saw what was in her hand was an ice cube, slowly beginning to melt and leak out from between the folds of her palm and fingers. Her cheeks were wet from tears she didn’t know she shed and Cullen was kneeling in front of her, his expression stricken and concerned.

He hovered his hands above the covers, making slow, deliberate movements and maintaining eye contact as he closed one hand around hers again, causing her to squeeze the ice cube. “It’s a grounding technique, keep squeezing…” He told her, nodding to the cube in her hand. Nevena clenched her fist, the cold now less noticeable.

She checked the room, eyeing the corners for the shadows she had seen previously. There was nothing lurking there. Nothing threatening to appear from them to torment her. She saw on the floor was a tray of ice cubes and dish towel.

“Slow down, Nev, slow down…” Cullen straightened up on his knees and began to rub her upper arms. Nevena realised she was trembling. “Breathe... deep, slow…” Cullen inhaled, held his breath a few seconds and exhaled. Nevena tried to copy him, but her chest was still too tight and taking a long breath hurt too much.

Why couldn’t the bed just open and swallow her? Why couldn’t she just disappear into the ether? Shrink down and wither away into nothingness? It was the second time in as many days Cullen had been forced to talk her down and tend to her anxiety. The second time in as many days he was forced to witness her a trembling, weeping mess, too confused and terrified to function. Why did she have to be this way?!

“Can you talk?” Cullen handed her a cloth to dry her hand.

She nodded, once. “Y-yeah. It… It’s not that bad of an attack.” She was trembling so hard her teeth were chattering. “S-sorry. I…” She glanced at the corner of the room. “I thought…”

“You pushed me.” Cullen said, “did I go too far?”

“No…. no, it’s not you.” Nevena buried her face into her hands, “it’s me. It’s me, it’s just me and my fucked up brain and my fucked up past and my fucked up life ruining everything!” She pushed her fingers through her hair, tugging at the root and scraping her fingernails over her scalp until she could rest her palms flat on her shoulders. “I’m sorry… What you must think of me…”

Cullen rose onto his feet and came to sit beside her. He kept a small distance between them. He was trying not to crowd her. “I think you’re a strong, resilient woman who has had a lot thrown at her in the last month.”

Nevena snorted. “Hardly an excuse for freaking out.”

“For my part, perhaps kissing you like that wasn’t the best thing.” He scratched the back of his neck. “Given what happened yesterday. I should have been more mindful of boundaries and…” He paused, sighed, and looked down at his hands in his lap. “Tell me if I did anything or do anything. Anything that… is a trigger. Did I do anything?”

“No,” Nevena replied perhaps a little too fast, given the unconvinced look on Cullen’s face. She chewed the nail on her thumb, trying to think back and recall what it was that caused the panic to take hold, but her mind was still a mess and her memory just white noise. She just remembered the panic and the feeling of being surrounded. Her eyes darted around the room, looking at furniture and corners, trying to piece together the last two or three minutes.

The bedroom door was open, when it hadn’t been before. And aside from the ice tray and the cloth, everything was the same. She reasoned Cullen must have run down to the kitchen and back upstairs in record time, but that she was so out of it she didn’t even realise he left her for a moment. She swallowed hard on what felt like a stone at the back of her throat and gingerly rubbed her neck. That gesture was enough to remind her-- the sensation of Cullen’s fingers on the front of her throat.

“My throat.” Nevena stated, turning her gaze to Cullen. “Yesterday, Rick. He…” Nevena placed both her hands around her throat.

“Ah…” Cullen lowered his head. “I see.” He flexed his hands open in his lap. “I didn’t even realise-- I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s not your fault.”

It wasn’t. Nevena knew it. And Cullen knew it, too. But she knew it would eat away at him. Just as it would eat away at her. They sat in still silence for a few minutes. The trembling started to recede and Nevena’s teeth stopped clacking together. Cullen gathered up the ice tray and the dishcloth, taking both to the bathroom. When he returned, he stayed near the open door.

“I really did just come to give you a goodnight kiss,” he explained with a small, sad smile. “Perhaps I should have thought better.”

“No, it was a sweet gesture.” Nevena folded her hands in her lap. “I’m sorry I ruined it.” She stood, a little wobbly on her feet and went to him. He didn’t move, waiting for her to initiate contact, which she did by sliding her hands over his waist. “Will you stay?”

Cullen lifted his hands. In the past he slid them over her jaw, but now she noticed he hesitated with them in mid-air before settling on taking her upper arms in a gentle grip. “I’d like to, but I really don’t think it would be a good idea. After last night, and now this…”

“Maybe you’re right…” Nevena tutted. She understood his point. It didn’t soften the disappointment, though. “You’ll wake me if you have a nightmare though, right?”

“Sure,” Cullen’s sad smile remained in place, even as he inclined to kiss her forehead. “I’ll wake you if I have a nightmare.”

When Cullen closed the door to his bedroom, the first thing he did was run his hands down over his face and allow himself to exhale. He didn’t want to keep his eyes closed for long. Doing so meant he saw the terror in Nevena’s face when she screamed and shoved him. It meant he realised he had done something that reminded her of the man who put her through literal hell. He didn’t want that. Never wanted that.

How had a kiss goodnight turned into something so horrific? How had a gesture of affection become something that left the woman he loved a trembling, tearful mess, unable to catch her breath and barely able to focus?

Was he to blame?

Cullen leaned back against the door, staring up at the ceiling, contemplating that very question. Was he to blame? He initiated the contact. He kept kissing her. He tripped her onto the bed, an act he now considered unforgivably stupid… He wasn’t, though. Really. Rick was the one who brought back all the traumatic memories for Nevena the day before. He was the one who had his hand on her throat then, and in times before. He was the one who threatened her and frightened her. Cullen thought he could have been a little more tentative in his approach but ultimately, he wasn’t the one to blame for all the fear Nevena felt.

He wasn’t responsible for it, but he would do all he could to help her deal with those fears and the triggers.

Going to his bag, Cullen dug around a few moments until he found the small, leather bound journal Nevena bought for him. He found a pen, opened the last page and started to write.

Nevena Triggers: - neck touching. Specifically, front of neck?

He held the pen away from the page and took the book to the bed where he sat, contemplating what other things were issues for her or might be. He tried to recall from previous conversations with her, and from what he witnessed the day before in the Chantry.

- biting? - not comfortable with oral sex – past experiences? - raised voices - sudden movements. Hands moving towards her at speed.

Again, he removed the pen from the paper and scanned the small list. Despite all the time they had spent together, he still knew so little about things that might set off her anxiety. Most of what he had learned was from the day before. After all, he had never really witnessed an anxiety attack until just now. He was there as she was coming down from one, but this was different. He was grateful – perhaps for the first time in his life – that his own traumas forced him to learn techniques for grounding. While Nevena clearly knew some that had worked for him, when in the throes of an attack, any attack, it wasn’t easy to recall useful information.

He was glad the ice cube worked. Given her fear of him in that moment, he had not wanted to chance touching her too much.

He scanned the list again, tapping the end of the pen on the page while trying to think of other things. Her face drifted across his vision. The wide unseeing eyes that darted around the room seeing things he could only imagine. The way she backed up on the bed away from him, shaking and how she yelped whenever he went closer. The change in her was so fast and so sudden, Cullen only noticed it when it was too late to stop it pre-emptively.

He remembered how her body froze under his hands, the way her expression froze, how the colour drained from her face, and the sudden rapid increase in her breathing. Faster than when they were kissing, almost as though her airways were closing, preventing her from getting the air she so desperately needed. The scream was the worst though. A short, sharp noise which was filled with such terror it chilled him to the bone. Had her shove not pushed him back, the noise alone certainly would have.

All the progress they had made – while it wasn’t gone the incident with Rick most certainly put them back several paces. He would need to be slow. Check for her comfort, her boundaries. Cullen was under no illusions that Nevena would likely be on high alert until they returned to Denerim and were safe in familiar surroundings. Any interaction with her, intimate or otherwise, would be one he would have to approach with caution and gentleness, even after they arrived back in Denerim. For all he knew it would be months before she was ready or felt comfortable enough to resume a more physical relationship as they experienced in the past few weeks.

Not that it mattered. Cullen would wait. She was worth it, and after everything was done here in Kirkwall and they were back in Denerim maybe then he’d be able to discuss the things he said in front of her, when Rick had her in his grasp. The statement he knew she was trying to ask him about that evening, before Mia’s interruption.

Checking his list again and unable to think of more to add, Cullen closed his journal and put it onto the bedside table with the pen. He turned off the main light and climbed under the covers, grabbing his phone from the table to turn it off. He saw a message alert flashing and checked it.

Mia: ‘Forgive a sister for getting a bit gushy, but you sound smitten with this Nevena, and that makes me so happy! When do I get to meet her? Love, Mia. X’

Smirking to himself, able to imagine his sister grinning as she typed her message, Cullen quickly constructed a reply.

Cullen: ‘Soon. She’s wonderful. We’ll be back in Denerim in a few days. I can’t wait for you to meet her. Cullen’

Thank you for sticking with me. And thank you for sticking with this fic.

I have been writing a bit. I'm hoping (as I have some time off coming up) to get the next few chapters written before May is finished. So, fingers crossed for that.

In regards to this chapter, I hope you enjoyed it. What did you think about Cullen going into a bit more detail about his family? Or Nevena's almost-but-chickening-out-at-the-last-minute question about his feelings towards her, and what he said? Should Cullen have been more aware of Nevena's potential triggers, given what had happened the day before? Or was it just a sincere oversight on his part?

Please go ahead and leave a comment or flail in the tags, or reblogs! (Feed your local writers). And if you enjoy my content, maybe consider donating to my ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/1486VMVO9HS33.

Thank you for reading, I appreciate you following the fic and supporting it. See you in the next chapter. <3

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kenneth-omega · 5 years

Text

The Mistakes of Grief (part 3) Theseus Scamander x Reader

(Sorry for the unusually long A/N!)

A/N: Here is the third instalment of this on-going series! Don’t worry, this story is nowhere near done, with part 4 currently in the works! I couldn’t restrict this to only a three-part story and expect it to not feel rushed or crammed. So, I hope you enjoy this section and don’t get too tired of the few little POV jumps I have, I promise part 4 won’t have as many as these, I just find it makes the story work better and gives more depth for all the characters places in the plot. Also, I’m unsure whether the breakers I’ve put in before a POV hop will show up on mobile, so I apologise if it doesn’t work! x

If you’d like to be tagged in upcoming parts then just send me a message, or comment on any of the three instalments, that way I’ll definitely see it! x

Requests are open for any of the Fantastic Beasts characters!

Disclaimer: This only loosely follows the plot of FB:CoG so please don’t come after me because of inaccuracies. This is my own AU version.

Word count: 3894

Synopsis: You’ve allowed yourself to be roped into Grindelwald’s inner circle, fighting for your own cause whilst trying to also cope with the recent, muggle-related death of your brother. With Theseus and the others in London and you in Austria, Vinda Rosier’s plot to eliminate the people who stop you from wholly joining their cause is being put into place. Starting with a special announcement from Grindelwald and an open invitation.

Warnings: NONE, just some cute Newtina mentions

Part 1 Part 2 Part 4

Theseus couldn’t sleep.

For the sixth night in a row, everyone had fallen asleep before him and left him with his thoughts.

They were now staying at Newt’s house, with the group of remaining fighters having decided that they could no longer keep crowding up Nicholas Flamel’s house, despite his avid protests that he really didn’t mind.

Yusuf Kama, a wizard who Newt and Tina had encountered in Paris, had decided to stay a while longer with Flamel along with a young woman by the name of Nagini. She had revealed that she was a Maledictus and had nowhere to stay after fleeing the circus she’d been forced to perform in. She had been heartbroken after the rally, revealing that she’d been with Credence the past few months and had helped him through every problem he’d had, every ache and pain and the longing he’d had to find his lost family.

Newt of course, had shown an intense fascination in her ability to change into a gigantic snake, despite the sadness of her curse, and had asked if he could speak to her more about it at a later date, to which she had agreed.

The four people that had chosen to leave were himself, Newt, Porpentina Goldstein, or Tina as Newt referred to her as. The American Auror, and the Muggle Jacob Kowalski who Newt had managed to get caught up in his antics on his trip to America. Theseus had bitten his tongue about the numerous laws being broken about a Muggle having knowledge of their world, knowing that it would only fall on deaf ears.

Besides, Jacob himself wasn’t a bad man, Theseus had to admit, seeming genuinely interested and excited to learn anything wizard-related. Theseus had found himself on the receiving end of Jacob’s questions quite frequently the past few days.

Sitting up slowly from the sofa which Newt had offered him as a bed, Theseus ran his fingers through his curls which flopped down in front of his eyes. After the fight, Theseus had struggled to keep himself clean and well-groomed, all his usual quirks relating to his appearance had slowly deteriorated over the course of the week. He’d had to use a few spells recently to try keep himself looking presentable.

His usually pristine appearance was now dishevelled and crumpled.

Right now he was wearing a white cotton shirt with the sleeves rolled up and the buttons undone. The absence of a tie and having untucked his shirt from his black slacks made him look like a dishevelled misfit student who refused to adhere to the dress code.

Much like Newt at school, he thought. He couldn’t help but chuckle at the number of letters sent from home, berating Newt for his detentions regarding his inability, or stubbornness, to dress himself to the code.

Theseus looked over at Jacob, who was currently sleep in an armchair, his head lolling back against the seat as he snored, a deep rumble that unfortunately didn’t help with Theseus’ current sleeping problem.

Tina was staying in Newt’s room, after initially refusing to take up that much space. This had resulted in quite possibly the politest argument Theseus had witnessed and the two of them butting heads for a good five minutes over whether she would sleep in there or not. Eventually Theseus had grown tired and made the decision for them.

His little brother was in the most obvious of places. Tending to his numerous beasts in his basement before eventually going to sleep in the early hours of the morning.

Picking up his pocket watch that lay on a small table beside the sofa, Theseus studied the watch face that informed him it was 4:32am. Newt would also be fast asleep by now.

Lying back down, Theseus stretched his arms experimentally, feeling how the ache in his shoulder protested at the movement. It still wasn’t truly healed; his shoulder having suffered from an injury from the albeit brief fight between you and him.

Ignoring the dull ache, Theseus hooked his hands behind his head and gazed up at the off-white ceiling for what felt like the hundredth time that night. The apartment was beyond warm and had there not been a woman staying in the house, Theseus wouldn’t have bothered wearing his shirt, but he found it extremely ungentlemanly to just parade around half dressed.

Giving into his exhaustion, Theseus settled finally, allowing his mind to wander back to the night when things went horribly wrong. When both he and Newt lost one of their closest friends. When a dozen Aurors died at Grindelwald’s hands and Theseus had watched helplessly as you slipped through his fingers.

Never again, he vowed. Never again would he let you go.

When the time came to rally up against Grindelwald once more, he was bringing you home.

“Queenie!” You exclaimed, upon entering the large gathering hall, glad to have found a friendly and familiar face. The exuberant blonde waved at you, standing up on the balls of her feet to find you over the heads of the dozens of people stood around, all talking amongst each other in hushed tones.

Merely a week after the rally, Grindelwald had called for his followers to come together and congregate at the castle.

He had an announcement.

Whatever it was, it was going to be big. Something considerably colossal in comparison to his stunt in Paris, and that idea terrified you greatly.

Upon your arrival, Queenie latched onto your arm with barely contained anticipation, looking towards the raised platform at the front of the room. You hazarded a guess that it was something originally used for entertainers who would come to perform for the residents of the castle.

Grindelwald hadn’t been seen much around the castle since the day you happened upon the man named Credence in that library. After you had left Queenie that morning, there had been a loud explosion and a minor panic amongst the occupants of the castle. Apparently it was just a rock slide, and surely enough when you looked out the window a large chunk of the mountain had disappeared, the rubble and dust settling into the valley below. But that didn’t explain the fact that you saw Rosier casting a fixing charm on one of the windows in the library.

The sound of cheers pulled you from your thoughts and you looked up to see the man who was feared by all but adored by many.

Neither you or Queenie cheered, instead waiting patiently for him to speak. You two were more than just his fanatics, more than this rabble of purebloods who thought themselves different and of some higher authority.

The man stood proudly in front of his audience, giving the slightest of bows as though he was preparing to deliver his own performance. He had the ambience of a bizarre conductor of sorts, about to lead you, his orchestra, into its next piece. His eyes scanned the crowd and found you, a smile on his face that oozed of something not wholly sincere. You couldn’t help but feel as though this speech wasn’t for anyone else in the room but you.

A direct message to you.

“Welcome, my children.” He began, sweeping an arm out across the room in a smooth, controlled motion, a greeting for all those before him.

Every single movement of his was calculated, planned and executed on key. He didn’t speak on improvisation, he didn’t act on instinct. He was tactical and shrewd.

“I’ve waited for this day for many years, when I could address a room full of the trustworthy and the loyal. To preach about why we are doing this. WhyIdo this.” He smiled, part of him relishing in all the eyes that were watching him, following his every move and drinking in every word.

“So…what do you believe I do this for?” Grindelwald paused, waiting for anyone to speak up who wished to do so. Nothing. Completely captivated.

It was almost too easy to manipulate their little, malleable minds, he thought to himself.

“Love.” A woman announced.

His eyes fell on Queenie, the origin of the voice that piped up and boldly was the first to do so. Everyone spun around to look at her, at the woman who had dared be the one to answer Grindelwald.

He nodded thoughtfully, remembering her sacrifice in Paris.

“Power!” A man shouted, which earnt some hollers of agreement. It took a few seconds for the noise to die down.

“Good suggestions, my passionate successors. However, not quite correct.”

Grindelwald walked across the platform towards the right edge, extending his hand to someone who had been hiding in the crowd up until now. Onto the stage stepped Credence, seemingly more confident than he had been a few days ago. He held his head high, his back no longer hunched in timidity. Queenie gasped. The crowd became rife with mutters. They were no strangers to the rumours.

When the two men had returned to Grindelwald’s original point, the ever-ominous man held the young boy’s hand aloft, fingers intertwined as if in a sense of solidarity.

“Equality.” He declared.

The room was deathly silent.

“Love and power are all aspects that I believe are needed to make the world equal,” He continued, “Muggles who seek to hate and destroy one another, they have to be eradicated.”

The threatening word hung in the air like poison.

Grindelwald continued his tirade. “For they do not know how to balance power with love. They greedily take one and spread that around as their slogan, something they believe justifies for their actions.” Grindelwald shook his head, seemingly disgusted at the thought.

You had to admit, everything he spoke of echoed with truth. You didn’t want Muggles gone, in fact you never saw them as anything less. But the ones who had taken what was not theirs to take? You couldn’t be so forgiving with them.

“Those wizards? The cowards, who hide behind their protective charms and push out anyone who speaks different?” Grindelwald released Credence’s hand, stepping to the front of the platform, the tips of his boots just hanging over the edge.

“Those who want to see us cowering in the shadows for centuries to come? We eradicate them too.”

Grindelwald turned to Credence, beckoning him forward before pulling him into an embrace. Credence lifted an arm and gently held him back, his face displaying that of someone impassioned by this small act of affection.

“You are equal, my boy.” Grindelwald whispered, still loud enough for the room to hear in the hushed room.

Grindelwald gestured for him to return to his original spot, his role in this sermon now fulfilled. Then he turned back to the crowd, arms raised up as though he were issuing a blessing on the room.

“We are going to demonstrate why we as wizards, as people, shall not be shunned into the dark. We will show the world…what we are!”

The cheers that began to rise slowly became deafening, as more and more the crowd became riled, their hatred, their adrenaline and bloodlust all tangible. You stood there, holding Queenie’s hand in the middle of the storm that was Grindelwald’s army.

Queenie was horrified, her gift allowing the voices of the minds around her to scream and fill her head with their personal turmoil. She couldn’t switch it off or block them out no matter what she did. You could only squeeze her hand in consolation adrift the raging waves of loathing.

“In three days’ time, I expect to see every single one of your faces.” Grindelwald’s accusing finger swept the room, lingering on you for a fraction of a second much to your discomfort. “Dress accordingly, my dears. For it is to be the funeral of discrimination!”

With those final words, he exited, the chorus of cheers and applause ringing in his ears.

He left, knowing that his work was done.

It was the eve of the demonstration and everything was in place.

Vinda Rosier stood back and admired her work from beneath her black cloche hat. The little trim of lace that came down across her eyes she had thought was a nice, if not slightly satiric, touch to her all black ensemble.

It was fitting for the occasion however.

After all, she thought, this was an execution.

With a small chuckle, she stalked out of the theatre and Disapparated. She only had one more job to fulfil for the night to be a success.

Theseus could hardly believe his ears when Newt announced that they had received a letter.

Not even ten seconds ago, there had been the sound of the letterbox rattling, an unusual noise for your average wizard, let alone his extreme introvert of a brother. So when Newt had summoned it from the living room where they were all occupying, the four people sat around were on tenterhooks.

“To the four occupiers currently inhabiting Mr Scamander’s residency,

Please note that you are cordially invited to the showing of Grindelwald’s Hinrichtung.

A once in a lifetime display and an opportunity not to be missed.

Simply tear up this letter and you will be transported to the host venue.

Dress code is compulsory.

Yours sincerely,

Vinda Rosier”

Newt read the small, daintily written letter out loud to the room, before passing it around for each person to read personally.

After Theseus had finished reading it, being the last to receive the letter from Jacob, Tina spoke up.

“It’s a trap.” She stated, no room for debate.

Theseus growled with frustration, standing up from his seat and stalking round the room, the letter still clutched firmly in his grasp.

Newt hummed in agreement with the woman sat next to him, picking at a new loose thread on his trousers, obviously something that had been done whilst he had been downstairs tending to his creatures.

Jacob spoke up, not wanting to dismiss the letter instantaneously. “Now hold on a second, Queenie could be there, at that hinrick…whatever.”

Tina sighed, knowing full well that her younger sister would definitely be there, but also being able to see that it was exactly for that reason they wouldn’t be going.

“That’s why we’re invited. Because the alluring possibility of our friends and partners being there is what they are counting on.” Tina argued, hoping to make it painfully clear that none of them would be attending.

Newt once again was in agreement, much to Theseus’ exasperation. Having had enough, he decided to speak up.

“Newt, you don’t get it, you have everyone you need right here.”

Que the incontrollable blushing from both Tina and Newt as they shifted awkwardly in their seats.

Theseus gestured to Jacob and himself, “Who have we got? Queenie left, Leta is-”

Newt stood up and was across the room in a flash, stood in front of his brother with such a fierce look of hurt and grief in his eyes that Theseus faltered in his rant.

“You and I both know that what happened that night was difficult to deal with, Theseus.” Newt not failing in noticing the guilt and hurt flash across his older brother’s face. “But don’t use her death as a reason for getting yourself killed. Don’t let her sacrifice be in vain, please.” He begged.

Theseus couldn’t stop the tear that fell down his face, the torment of such a loss still fresh in his heart. Without warning, Newt once again reached out and pulled him in for a hug. Theseus knew it was difficult and overwhelming for his little brother to be so forwardly affectionate, even towards family, and so he had quickly learnt to cherish the small moments like this.

“She’s out there, Newt. I have the opportunity to find her again. Don’t you remember the conversations we had as kids? How I used to get so delighted over something as little as her smile?”

Newt pulled away, a hint of a smile on his face as he recalled his older brother’s hopeless infatuation. He’d even spoke to Leta about it, the two of them having to listen to his paranoid rambling about unreciprocated feelings countless times growing up.

“I know this must be hard for you.” Newt didn’t fail to notice the way Theseus swiped the singular tear away quickly.

Theseus nodded, looking down at the scrunched-up letter in his hand, knowing that you were just a quick trip away made it so difficult for him to not just tear up the letter and be gone in a flash before they could stop him. But that was selfish of him to think of, and so he kept it firmly in his grasp.

Tina was the one to interrupt, still hoping to offer some reasonable advice.

“This doesn’t change the fact that it’s still incredibly risky, we can’t go and possibly risk our lives or theirs.”

There was a moment of silence as everyone weighed up the possible ramifications in their heads, until Newt spoke up.

“Tina, you stay here with Jacob, Theseus and I will go get the girls.” Newt suggested.

Tina and Jacob stood up in a flash, their expressions both mirroring the same expression.

Not a chance, Scamander.

Despite how humorous the moment was, Theseus knew it wasn’t the time to joke and instead shook his head firmly, siding with the other two’s obvious objections. He wasn’t willing to put his baby brother in harm’s way. He wouldn’t lose anyone else this week.

“You’re needed here, to look after your creatures and protect Tina and Jacob.” Theseus stated bluntly.

Newt began to argue, “Bunty can lo-“

“No!” Theseus snapped, silencing the younger man instantly. “Newt, if you’ve ever respected me as a someone who works in the Ministry, or listened to me as your brother, you have stay here.”

Theseus gently but firmly held his brother by his shoulders, forcing him to meet his eyes. “Promise me you’ll stay, or in the name of Merlin, not even Dumbledore will be able to stop me from reprimanding your stubborn ass.”

Jacob couldn’t supress the loud laugh that erupted at Theseus’ final remark. Even Tina hid her mouth with her hand so that Newt wouldn’t see the small smile that she was wearing. Newt’s face went a deep red as he flushed with embarrassment and horror at Theseus’ light threat.

A bit of light relief in such dark times was something that they were all grateful for.

Newt begrudgingly made his promise, allowing Theseus to finally let go of him and begin running around, grabbing his wand and anything else he thought he needed. He noticed your wand sat on the table, having retrieved it from his coat pocket after the fight, and picked it up to take with him.

“Multicorfors.” He muttered, pointing his wand at himself.

His crumpled shirt changed to a tight-fitting, jet-black dress shirt, with a light grey tie sliding around his neck and fashioning a traditional Windsor knot. His trousers pressed themselves to be clean and crisp once more, and with a final flick of his wand, his unruly waves styled themselves into his usual slicked back do.

Jacob gave him the thumbs up, an idiotically cheesy grin that Theseus couldn’t help but find contagious, making him involuntarily mirror the amusing Muggle.

“Why the all black ensemble?” Tina questioned, her expression perplexed.

Theseus couldn’t stop himself from laughing, albeit sounding slightly harsher than normal, as this really was no laughing matter.

“Hinrichtung is German for execution.”

“I don’t like this Queenie, I haven’t even got a wand to protect myself.” You hissed, stood by the steps of the stage with the ever-beautiful blonde, facing out towards the room. She too was dressed in black as was requested, but with a dark pink accents on her dress and the fascinator that dipped to cover her right eye. She held her wand between her fingers and was unconsciously twirling it, her nerves betraying her cool expression.

You couldn’t help but fiddle with the hem of your outfit as you watched more wizards file into the room.

Your clothes had been presented to you by Rosier earlier this evening, in a posh, designer box with paper wrapped around them for protection. It was an unusual ensemble, despite its obvious elegance.

Long and flowing black trousers that skimmed the floor, a black cotton shirt with a scooped neck and last of all a cloak.

Made of the softest velvet and lined with silk inside, it was rather heavy on your shoulders and felt like more of a restraint than a fashion piece. It had a hood, but you had opted to keep it down.

The theatre you were stood in was breath-taking, the ceiling having been hand-painted with a mural on the domed roof, angels and deities carved into the walls and supports around the room. There was gilding everywhere, on the railings of the higher tiers, around the stage and even on the seats. It truly was a thing of beauty.

You had arrived merely ten minutes ago, but already the spacious theatre was almost bursting at the seams with onlookers and fanatics, purebloods alike all under one roof and dressed in varying states of fashion and wealth, but all were clothed in primarily black.

Turning your head, you spotted the familiar faces of Carrow and Abernathy, the latter being up on stage observing out from where he was hiding in the wings, whilst the former stood at the opposite end of the room to you and Queenie, guarding the other set of stairs.

No sign of Rosier or Grindelwald.

Credence was not in attendance tonight, Queenie had told you, for what reason you didn’t know. But it had put you at unease.

As the doors at the back of the main room shut with a loud bang, the lights were cut, a few of the audience members’ cries of shock echoing out as the chatter died down instantaneously.

You could hear the sound of boots clicking against varnished wood resonating behind your head, and you knew someone was walking onstage under cover of the darkness.

Then, there was light.

A bright, white orb that flew outwards from the stage, levitating high above the crowds with a brilliant shine that illuminated the room, casting numerous eerie shadows amongst them.

You gasped, your amazement of the iridescent glow catching you by surprise. You were not the only one to gasp however, as hundreds of wizards looked on at the scene before them. Turning yourself to look upon the stage, your heart stopped in horror, it’s rhythm faltering inside you as every sliver of air was sucked out of you instantly.

There stood Grindelwald, in all his unorthodox glory, his wand raised as he had been the one to conjure the light that now illuminated him and the guest he had dramatically revealed onstage.

Their arms were bound behind their back and ankles restrained by rope. The chair they were strapped to didn’t budge no matter how much they fought against it, obviously enchanted with a fixing charm to keep it securely on its legs.

But it wasn’t the pinioned limbs, or the sheer look of terror in their eyes that caught your attention, it was the fact that you knew him.

You knew that face…

And it filled you with fear.

Tag List:

@igotmadskills @velairena @nightskywriter @sleep-i-ness @dreacantsleep @brittanymcsharry @iamtheonewhocares @mystrade-shipper

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pennyisalesbian · 6 years

Text

Ben and Barnaby headcanons

((i’m sad and they make me happy))

Every summer, Ben Copper steps off of the Hogwarts Express, and he is full and soft and maybe even chubby, but he is terrified of the summer months to come. The moment he leaves the platform, a countdown begins in his head until he can go home.

Every fall, Ben Copper boards the Hogwarts Express, and he is scrawny, skinny, and he is grateful for the loose robes that practically swallow his tiny form. If anyone looked too closely, they could see the sharp outline of his bones, or the ashy-grey tint of his skin, or maybe the bruises and scars that start to fade the moment he steps on board the train.

Ben is afraid of nearly everything, but he is especially afraid of getting in trouble. He’s cautious of the most benign things, he is quiet and polite, he does not speak unless he is spoken to first. He flinches at someone speaking too loudly, or too harshly, or moving too suddenly when they are near to him.

He plays it off when someone notices. As the local scaredy-cat, nobody thinks twice when he tells them he’s just easily startled, or when he scrubs away tears and explains that he’s scared of something in potions class today. They buy it, so he doesn’t have to explain anything else.

He’s an expert at hiding things, both metaphorical and literal. He knows the hiding places no one will even think to look in; he knows how to destroy evidence; he knows how to make it look like he was never anywhere but exactly where he was supposed to be.

Ben is not a troublemaker. He’s never played a prank in his life. He didn’t learn to evade detection in an attempt to make someone laugh. He learned, because it was that or starve.

Barnaby Lee’s father is in Azkaban, which means he isn’t a true orphan, but he may as well be. His mother is dead, so Barnaby lives with his grandmother in a big, empty house, where he spends his summers trying not to break her china and feeling lonely.

He’s never really had friends. He is too dumb, or too big, or, worst of all, too much of a Deatheater’s child.

So when Merula Snyde invites him to sit with her, he accepts in a heartbeat. He doesn’t like her, exactly, but she’s the first person who has paid an interest in him and doesn’t think he’s too horribly unbearable to be around, even if he is incredibly stupid.

(Because he is quite stupid; his grandmother laments regularly that he never inherited his mother’s brains or his father’s charm. Barnaby has accepted that long ago, so it doesn’t mean anything when Merula says it too.)

And then, inexplicably, a completely different group of people accept him. It’s almost overnight that he goes from part of Merula’s gang to one of this new group. It’s a shock, going from the pureblood elitism to this hodgepodge of all four houses, and it takes him awhile to figure out what exactly is going on.

They’re... strange, he can’t deny that. But they’re kind in a way he isn’t used to. There’s good-natured teasing from all sides, but never anything actually hurtful, and then they spend hours draped all over each other on the couches in any of the common rooms, or in the library, or stretched out in the courtyard yelling over a game of gobstones.

He’s utterly confused. When he makes a comment about being stupid, someone will inevitably shoot it down and mention something smart that he’s done recently. They do it every time. He’s been testing it, and so far, there is a 100% chance that this will happen every time he makes a negative comment about himself.

Eventually, it’s Ben Copper who sits him down and says, “Barnaby, you’re not stupid, all right? Stop calling yourself that and teach me how you’re so good at Care of Magical Creatures.”

Ben is a head shorter than Barnaby, half his weight, and he worries, loudly, constantly. Despite all that, though, there’s a confidence to his (frequent) reassurances that Barnaby is good for more than just punching things, and his insistence refuses to be ignored.

And gradually, Barnaby begins to believe him.

He relaxes, and he cracks jokes to make Ben smile, and he shows him how to catch bowtruckles without scaring or hurting them.

(He thinks he might burst with pride when Ben finally holds one for a full thirty seconds before getting scared himself.)

Of course, Barnaby’s muscle is still useful. Such as when he’s punching people who give Ben a hard time.

So now Barnaby knows that he isn’t stupid. Ben taught him that, and now he knows it’s true. He has a hard time keeping up sometimes, sure, but he that doesn’t mean he’s dumb. When he catches something, it’s important.

And he’s starting to catch on to something off about Ben.

Ben is skinnier at the beginning of fourth year than he remembers him being, and Barnaby knows the ugly scar across the back of his left hand wasn’t there back in June. He also knows that Ben is too afraid of heights to fly high enough to account for the fading yellow bruises on his upper arms.

(Ben had not meant for anyone to see those bruises. He had not meant for anyone to see him when he tripped and fell into the lake, and he had not meant for Barnaby to be the one to help him out, because of course Barnaby would make him take off his dripping wet robe and swap it with Barnaby’s dry, oversized one, and Ben was only wearing a short-sleeved shirt underneath. He threw together the lie hastily, and he prayed Barnaby would buy it.)

Barnaby does not pry. He wants the full story, and he wants the truth, but more than that, he doesn’t want to scare Ben. In this instance, Ben is a frightened, easily startled creature, and Barnaby wants to make sure he knows that he is safe.

So he is patient, he is gentle, and he waits for Ben to trust him. Even if it takes months. Even if the bruises have long since disappeared, and the sharp edges of Ben’s face have been rounded off, and the scar on his hand is pale and faded. Even then, because those might be gone, but the fear in Ben’s eyes is still there, and Barnaby will do anything to erase it.

And then one night after a particularly rough day of classes, Ben misses dinner and Barnaby finds him curled up behind a statue. He’s crying and panicking, which Barnaby has seen before, but this time things are different.

Ben latches onto him, chooses Barnaby as his anchor in the midst of the terror gripping him, and Barnaby feels something inside of him that he can’t name, empty and full and broken and complete all at once.

The story comes out then, tumbling out in jumbled words and broken sobs. Barnaby holds Ben close until the panic is gone and he can carry him back to his dorm and leave him in Charlie’s care, and in his head he is punching everyone who has ever hurt this boy.

Barnaby is a kid, and the people who have hurt Ben are not. Luckily, Barnaby has some adults on his side.

He explains everything to Professor Kettleburn, and the two of them go to Professor McGonagall together. Barnaby worries, because he knows Ben would never agree to this and he is going behind his back, but he has to do something. The end of the year is rapidly approaching, and he’s terrified of what could happen the entire summer when Ben is too far away for him to protect.

Minerva McGonagall wishes that Ben was the first student like this to be brought to her attention, that she had never before had to make the best of a bad situation.

He isn’t, of course, and he won’t be the last.

There isn’t much she can do that won’t put him in a worse situation than he already is, but she has one idea. If she invents the idea of a special summer exchange program for muggleborn students to live with a wizarding family and see what normal wizard life is like, she can place Ben with another family for at least this summer, and then they can assess again next year and make a better long-term plan.

She pulls some strings and makes some visits, and before she makes the final arrangements, she calls Barnaby to her office and runs it by him. Barnaby readily agrees.

At the end of the school year, Ben Copper steps off of the train and for the first time, he is not afraid. Barnaby slings an arm over his shoulder, hefting Ben’s suitcases in addition to his own, and he steers them across the platform to where a woman waits.

She is older, with white-streak hair pulled up in a tight bun and a disdainful frown frozen on her face. As the two boys draw near, she somehow manages to look down at both of them, despite Barnaby having passed her height years ago.

“So this is our house guest?” she says, not exactly happy, but Barnaby knows her well enough to know that she’s not really upset. Ben squirms under her gaze all the same.

“Sure is.” He squeezes Ben’s hand once. “Grandmum, this is Ben.”

#hogwarts mystery #hphm #headcanons #ben copper #barnaby lee #do they have a ship name #this isn't really shippy but it could be #barnaben #???? is that their ship name #idk guys #// child abuse #i guess?#implied/referenced child abuse #i'm better with ao3 tags sorry guys #its almost 1 am and i have been awake for too long

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graymalkyn · 6 years

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Nonny had requested a short piece related to the guitar, which could be angsty, romantic, funny, or basically anything XD so here it goes (as usual it’s not great, it’s more like a sketch, but well...)

He Tian doesn’t delude himself: he knows the chances that Mo Guanshan will thank him for the gesture are close to zero, and that’s because there isn’t anything less than that. But he’s learned to look for those microexpressions that Guanshan occasionally lets show. His scowl, for instance, is different when Mo sees him and when He Tian touches him. So is the inflection in his voice when he screams at him. When he’s actually furious, there’s a little growl that gets mingled with the words he spits out. When he’s just embarrassed, the screaming is louder and there’s some kind of trembling that matches his clenched fists. So he’s confident that when the time comes, he’ll be able to get how Mo feels.

He Tian grins as he’s attacked by a barrage of questions (“Is it for you?” “Will it be this person’s first guitar?” “What is your budget?”). He deflects them by pointing to the guitar on display and producing a fat wallet from his pocket. By the twinkle in the salesperson’s eyes, he knows that he’s secured the guitar.

The tricky thing, however, is when to give it to Mo. After the sauce incident turned saucy, he doubts Guanshan will go to his place any time soon. Maybe if he kidnapped his mom… No, that would be wrong. What about organizing a world sandwich exhibition in his apartment and sending him a formal invitation? No way in hell. At school, in front of everyone? He rubs the back of his neck as he tries to contain a smirk. That would send him right through the roof. He can’t help but laugh at the thought of Little Mo going so red in the face, hissing like a pissed-off cat.

It would be better to see him blushing for other things instead, wouldn’t it.

Eventually, he decides to go straight to Mo’s house. Mo’s got cleaning duty that day, so he won’t be home for a while yet. Fortunately, Mother Mo is home, so he sits with her for a cup of tea and they have a little chat.

“Please tell him that I hope he can make use of this old guitar. Since my uncle left it behind and I can’t play it, you’re doing me a favor by taking it off my hands. Also,” he slides an envelope across the table, “I’m sorry for ruining Guanshan’s clothes the other day. I hope this is enough to cover for any expenses.”

“Oh no, I couldn’t accept it!” his mother blushes as she waves her hands. “Besides, it wasn’t hard to remove---”

“You’re too kind, but I must insist.” He Tian gives her his charming-schoolboy smile and by the look in her face, he knows he’s won the battle. At least he’s scored a few points with her. The thought keeps him happy as he walks down the street towards the subway station. He stops to buy something to drink and checks the time. Mo’s probably home by now, or maybe not, since he hasn’t received any furious messages.

Walking down the steps to the platform, he tries to imagine Guanshan’s face. For some reason, He Tian pictures him biting his lower lip in frustration. Mo’s pout is a sight that always stirs something within him, so he feels slightly sorry that he won’t get to see---

“HE FUCKING TIAN!” The howl startles him, but he blinks the confusion away and looks up. Mo Guanshan is standing at the top of the stairs, panting; his face is flushed from running after him. He’s clenching the envelope in his right hand and the guitar case is hanging from his shoulder.

He Tian is aware that the train has arrived at the station and is only a few meters away from him. If he hurries and strides across the platform, he can get away with it and live another day. He turns to make a run for it, but Guanshan recklessly leaps down the steps, and He Tian’s brain tells him he’s going to fall and hurt himself if he does that. His legs seem to agree, so they refuse to move, and he waits.

Now Mo is standing right before him. The strap of the guitar case slides down his shoulder and he shoves it onto He Tian. “What the fuck is this?! Are you out of your mind?!”

“Compensation,” He Tian smirks. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Take it! I don’t need you to get it for me!” Guanshan yells. “Who do you think you are?! Who do you think I am?!”

He Tian rubs the part of the chest where the guitar poked him but he still refuses to take it. He tries to read Mo’s expression, so he simply gives Mo a quiet smile, looking for the right words. “Who do I think you are? I don’t know… But we’re getting to know each other, aren’t we?”

“What the… You’re fucking unbelievable,” Guanshan growls. “How dare you come to my place when I’m not there---”

“Oh, wait!” He Tian raises his eyebrows and flashes him a smile. “Is that your issue? That you weren’t there to---”

“As---As if, dickhead!” Mo spits out, cheeks bright red. “Stay away from my mom!”

“My, did she fall prey to my charms? I should have told her that the one I’m interested is---”

“Shut your hole!” Mo’s shrill voice is the perfect complement for the blushing that’s spreading down his neck, getting lost underneath his shirt. He grabs He Tian by the collar as if he were about to rough him up, but He Tian can see a hint of pain in his eyes.

Ah, that’s true. He’s forgotten the most important thing about this guy: his pride. Somewhere along the line He Tian has realized that Mo Guanshan is stupidly proud. He’s enjoyed teasing him, he always does, but lately it feels as if Mo’s discomfort were his own, perhaps after what happened at the restaurant. “You don’t need to be proud with me,” he wants to say, but he gets the feeling that Mo will sock him square in the face if he tells him that.

“If you hate it that much, then,” He Tian says almost gently, “take it as a farewell gift.” He sees Mo’s frozen stare and takes it as a sign that he’s actually paying attention to him. “After today, I won’t come near you anymore. So, take it.” It’s a lie, of course, but if that’s what he truly wants... He tilts his head and waits for Guanshan’s look of relief.

But Mo’s lips aren’t curving into a smile. In fact, they’re trembling as if he couldn’t help it. He Tian sees him clenching his jaw, but the more Guanshan tries to hold back, the more his body shivers.

When he speaks, his voice is brittle. “You… Why… Why do things always have to go according to your pace?”

He throws the envelope at He Tian’s face and it lands on the floor with a soft thud, but He Tian doesn’t pay attention to it. His eyes are entranced by Mo’s face, because he’s never looked this way before.

“Little Mo…” he begins to say, but before he knows it, Mo’s fist hits him in the cheek, not too hard but hard enough for the punch to sting a bit.

“Asshole!” His voice is broken now, and his rage makes his whole body shake in a way he cannot control. “Fucker, why---” Mo rubs his eyes roughly with the back of his hand, leaving a red mark on his face. “I fucking hate your guts, you dickhead!” he shouts.

He Tian picks up the envelope and slips it into the guitar case. He glances around and notices that some people are watching them. He puts his hand on Mo’s arm and says softly, “Come with me.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you,” Mo grumbles, but his body offers no resistance.

He Tian leads him to a secluded place. He waits in silence for Mo to calm down. He’s still muttering “asshole” and “jerk” and other things that He Tian’s grown immune to. “Shouldn’t you be happy to hear that from me?” he finally asks.

For the first time, Guanshan seems to think before he speaks. But when he opens his mouth, what comes out is, “I hate you.”

He Tian sighs. “Which is why I’m saying it should be better for you if we didn’t hang out… If I didn’t go near you anymore.”

Mo clenches his fists and He Tian gets ready to be punched again. But this time, Mo says, “You’re big-headed and irritating and meddling and evil, and since I met you, my life has been fucking hell.”

“You make me sound like a demon,” He Tian chuckles bitterly.

“You fucking are,” Mo Guanshan replies. “Everything you touch turns chaotic, and I can’t deal with it. The world starts spinning like mad when you’re around and it’s fucking annoying. I can’t take it.”

He Tian passes his tongue over his lower lip and swallows hard. “I didn’t think I affected you this much.” He waits, even though he knows that Guanshan’s reply might never come, because deep down he hopes.

Mo’s shoulders tense up. He doesn’t look at him; instead, his eyes are fixed on a spot of the floor where there’s a tiny crack, like the one in his voice when he finally says, “You do.”

In his mind, He Tian pushes Mo against the wall and slides his hands down his shirt and up his back. His tongue has to hold back as well, eager as it is to slip between Mo’s lips and taste him. But he remembers Mo’s reaction to their first kiss. His body and his brain don’t seem to agree on what to do, so he just stands there, frozen.

Meanwhile, Mo’s appears to have realized the weight of his words, because it commands his legs to move and take him out of there, but Mo has forgotten how to walk. He turns around and his feet falter, and the only thing keeping from falling down is He Tian’s hand.

“Aaah, I want to kiss you right now,” He Tian says, blissfully numb.

“Wha---! Don’t, you chicken duck! Dick! Jerk!” Mo manages to babble.

“But Little Mo, you can’t say that and not expect me to act...”

“This is what I said before!” Mo snaps. “It’s always about what you want, when you want it! What about me?!”

“Then you do it,” He Tian says, stepping forward and relaxing his grip on Mo’s arm. “You take the lead.” Before Mo complains, He Tian cannot resist one more dig at him. “Or what, are you that much of a coward?” He hopes that Mo’s outrage will become the excuse he needs, and he’s not disappointed.

A pair of warm, trembling hands grab him by the t-shirt and tug at him, bringing him forward. His lips get crushed against Mo’s in a rough way that suits him, because right now there’s this bubble inside him about to burst. He Tian can’t help but smile, and when Mo’s lips leave him, he leans forward and kisses him slowly. Their breathing becomes slightly heavier and it gets mingled. Mo is clinging to him, melting.

And for a moment, the world stops.

If you haven’t seen it yet, do check @bisho-s version of an amazing TianShan kiss. I swear, she’s a freaking 19 Days angel. Bless.

#oops it's long #19 days writing #tianshan drabble #he tian x mo guan shan #it's not really related to the other drabbles

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callicalliope · 3 years

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Okay so

I did not plan on writing this one, but I feel like I have to share it at this point.

I used to be in a relationship with a guy, let's call him Nathan.

We got together May 2019 after a trip to Budapest. Everything was picture perfect.

Now, I suffer from anxiety, and I was extremely worried of being abandoned as I have been before, but turns out it was not the case with this guy. He was sweet, charming, caring, and he obviously loved me very much.

I went to an other trip, also in Hungary, which he refused to participate in.

While I was there, Nathan's puppy got really sick, turns out she was born with a disease which I cannot explain in English. The puppy died while I was away. Nathan had an arguement with his best friend and cut off contact.

Now, Nathan was always a kind of weird guy. He never really had friends and was extremely antisocial. It was not a problem in itself of course. But when I got home from the trip a week later, I found him severely depressed. He only talked about negative things and often scared me. He told me he was unsure if he even loved me, which wrecked my heart, but I ignored everything and tried to help him the best I could. I did everything a 16 year old could have done in that situation. He refused to get helo, which worried me. He also had some physical problems, but he refused to see a doctor. All in all, he got better sometimes and went downhill again. His mood changed in 0.01 seconds. I ignored everything. I wanted to help him, I loved him. I also noticed that I was unable to bring him along when I was with my friends. When he did show up, he barely talked. It stressed me further, but in the end I let it go, because I knew how it felt. I only had those 3-4 people in my life and I had an extremely hard time making friends.

School started again, he was in his last year (Nathan is one year older than me). He is an extremely smart guy, but he refused to study. I was worried about him, because his parents were rich and he had everything, but that will not be the case forever.

I came over once to tell him that he needs to study and think about his future. He became extremely angry, told me to get out of the house and refused to talk to me. In the end, turns out he was going to break up with me because of this. Anyways, we did not part ways. I went to an exchange student program. When I got home, everything was fine for a few weeks.

There is a school tradition that every 11 grader goes to a trip to Budapest. I was preparing for the trip and asked Nathan to come with me to shop for food. We went by foot, and I accidentally missed a street so we had to walk for 5 more minutes. He became extremely mad and refused to talk to me. It was nighttime and extremely dark, but he turned around and started to walk away. I threw a tantrum and he told me he is breaking up with me. He called me awful names. Well, we talked for hours, turns out he felt like he was too sick for me. So we stayed together once more.

Things got better, and I started to blame myself for everything that happened in the past.

Nathan did not hide some of his awful traits anymore. He lives with his grandma, but he treats her like shit. He yells at him all the time. He also yells at his mother, and it gets physical sometimes. I became terrified of my own boyfriend.

The holidays passed and as Nathan began to show more and more of his true colours, I slowly began to develop some sort of panic disorder. I blamed it on my mother, I was scared of him.

Quarantine came, and I started to feel empty. Like I did not love him anymore. He was angry a lot, too, but I blamed it on the exams.

When the lockdown was lifted, he began to attend classes again. One time my mother allowed me to go to his place after singing class which I attended. Nathan told me to wait for him at his place, but I was anxious about being there alone, so I waited for him at the park. For 2 hours. He was extremely angry, he told me he expected to get home and find his loving girlfriend waiting for him in his bed. Well, he did not speak to me while we walked home, then he shut the door in my face. I had a panic attack, one of the worsts. I knew I could not go home because my mother would not let me meet him again. I stood there, terrified and begging him via texts to let me in because I'm sick, which he refused. I was in an awful state, but I managed to call my best friend and she came to the nearest park to calm me down. He soon forgave me and I did not talk about the accident again.

The summer was awful. He spent it arguing with me and hating on my friends. I tried to conceal everything, but my mom discovered some bits. She couldn't do much so she had to let it go.

It became harder and harder for me to fall asleep. One night I was feeling pretty decent and ready to actually rest, but he told me he needed a break right before bedtime. I was shattered.

Earlier he told me he did not like the fact that I was pansexual, because he felt like I was part of something he was not. So I told him I was no longer that.

He instantly regretted asking for a break and I once again felt pained and powerless.

He threw a tantrum via text during my mom's birthday, ruining my mood. Next day, when we were celebrating with friends and he attended too, he was mad that I did not greet him happily after the incident. He once again wanted to break up.

My mental health was circling down the drain by this point.

He hated my friends. He did not even try to hide it anymore. He even wanted me to drop them, but he was careful to not speak that out loud.

I invited him to another get together and he ruined the mood. He did not talk to anyone and accused me of degrading him when he thought I told something to my best friend. He was also offended by a joke: when my best friend said something about me being stupid in a joking way, my boyfriend agreed, once again joking, so I pretended to be mad and moved from him to her side. He was furious. He argued with me all the way home, calling me awful. He said he was only with me because he did not have other options.

He continued degrading my friends and me. He was also extremely jelaous. He also threw terrifying tantrums. I woke up once to him throwing a printer on the ground, slamming the table, screaming. He even broke a door once. All while perfectly aware that these things triggered my panic attacks. But this was not the worst.

TW: sexual abuse and self harm

After lockdown ended, I allowed him to tie my hands behind once. He became addicted and one day he showed me he purchased objects like a whip etc etc. I was scared, but I also knew he would be mad if I refused, so I instead set boundaries. Sometimes I had to be the dominant one, but most of the time it was him. I did not enjoy either.

On his birthday, he decided there were no boundaries. I do not like pain, I do not like to be hit, I do not like to be degraded, but I tolerated it. But that night was different.

He told me a safe word which was so ridiculous I knew it would ruin his mood, causing him to hurt me more. That night will haunt me.

It gets blurry, but I remember being put against the window, no one could see us, but I saw a car and a man in it. I wanted to scream down for help. I remember crying the whole fuckin time, asking him to stop. I remember collapsing and him getting mad at me for it. I remember nearly breaking my leg. I remember him pulling my short hair behind so much he nearly broke my neck. I remember me finally refusing something and him getting mad, telling me to take over, which I could not, because I was horrified. I remember him getting mad and telling me I ruined his birthday. I remember the pain, the humiliation, the disbelief that this happened to me.

And I hid it. I did not tell anyone. I harmed myself, I had panic attacks, I had anxiety, but I did not tell. He did not have anyone in his life, just me.

In early december, he called me a degenerate bitch, a slut, he said he hopes I'll die. Because I, someone interested in history, told him an other perspective. By this time he became alarmingly anti-woman, anti-anyone who disagreed with him and so much more. I did not dare to tell him when I went out with friends. He was obsessed with being right, and he was suffocating. So he degraded me to this level, and I stormed over, dropped his stuff and broke up with him. He came over and began begging me to take him back. I agreed. I was scared. I was also having a panic attack because my mom thought he might do something to himself.

I fell in love with my classmate in the meantime. It was nothing serious, but being with him comforted me. I knew we could never be together, but I clang onto the feeling and pulled myself together. Three days later he called me names once more for refusing to allow him to call my best friends sluts. I broke up with him again. My mother told me I won't be able to break away from him this way. I decided to change tactics. I reconciled with him and decided to distance myself instead. One thing Nathan is good at is manipulating people.

My birthday was coming up. I celebrated with my family earlier. As I was cleaning the house, my boyfriend texted me. He told me he almost killed his mom. Because of a stupid arguement about cookies. I was horrified. When family came over, I called my aunt to come with me to my room and I I told her everything. She was in an abusive marriage before. She only told me to run. With this courage, I told my father and my uncle (who is like a second father to me). My father was diabolical, nearly crying. I had to block Nathan on every platform. My father told him to never be around me again. So he started harassing me. The night before my birthday he started pulling up the shades, leaving messages that he would come back an hour later. My father threatened him. After my birthday, his mom called us and begged me to visit Nathan. She wanted to get me to go to couple therapy with him. I am only 18. 18.

We had to go there because he began to cut his arms. It was a horrifying sight. But he did not have any serious injuries.

He wanted to coerce me into resuming the relationship 2 months later, saying he would get help. I knew he was not taking his meds. I knew he was lying. And I left. Now, I cannot walk the streets alone.

On New Year's Eve, I got together with another man. I love him. So far, he makes me feel like a real person, a valid person, and I never felt safer than around him. He makes me happy and I feel like crying whenever I think about the fact that this nightmare is over and I can still be loved. It's hard to heal and he understands. And I am truly happy.

Solid advice: do not stay. You are not your lover's psychologist. You help them, you are there for them, but in the end, it is up to them to grow. Have power to let go. Do not let them manipulate you like Nathan manipulated me. And never be afraid to get help, to talk about it.

#me too campaign #me too #metoo

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