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buckyownsmylife · 3 years

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daddy issues - chapter x

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Y/N’s P.O.V.

I looked over at the man driving beside me, a feeling of comfort and gratitude suddenly washing over me. Over the last five weeks, Ransom had truly been the partner I had always hoped to have a baby with, even if we weren’t together in the way I originally would have wanted to be with my child’s father.

It almost didn’t matter though, because he was always around. Whenever I needed something, even if it was the middle of the night, he didn’t seem to mind that we lived on opposite ends of the city. He would drop by with my favorite junk food and leave without complaining.

I’d even started to let him sleep on the couch when I figured it was too late for him to drive back by himself. He never tried to make a move again, which was so relieving to me, especially since my pregnancy hormones were begging me to climb him like a tree. But also now that we got to spend actual time together, I’d come to learn he was a very interesting man. Sure, very immature in a lot of ways, but it almost added to his charm, somehow.

It didn’t help my goal of containing my attraction.

We’d gone to two doctor’s appointments and he truly was doing his very best to show me he was here for me - or maybe he just really was excited about having a child. If there was something I’d come to realize in our talks, it was that Ransom didn’t have a particularly loving childhood, so it warmed my heart to see how invested he was in making sure our kid wouldn’t go through the same things that he did.

“Hey,” I called out for his attention, reaching over his lap to squeeze his thigh. “Thanks for doing this with me.” His eyes were a bit wide when they met mine, but his smile mirrored my own.

“Thank you for inviting me. Can’t believe you trust me enough to want to introduce me to your parents.” That made me chuckle. His honesty was overwhelming most times, but it was also one of the traits I liked the most about him, now that I’d become used to it. If there was one thing I could be completely sure of, it was that Ransom Drysdale would not hide how he was really feeling to please anyone. And somehow, that calmed me down.

“Honestly,” I responded, excited with this opportunity to tease him. “Me too.” The insulted gasp that he released had me giggling right away, risking a glance to the side to check that he had actually understood that I was only teasing him. The way the corners of his mouth turned up let me know that he did.

“Okay,” he conceded, nodding but keeping his eyes on the road ahead. We were almost in my childhood neighborhood, I could recognize it even with my eyes closed. There was no logical reason for it, just an instinctive, deep calling, that made me feel at ease around the streets I hadn’t walked for so long. “I guess I deserved that.”

It was silent then, as he slowly drove us to the cul-de-sac my parents had lived in for the last thirty years. Nothing had really changed, and that showed a lot of the people who inhabited it. If Ransom was nervous at the prospect of meeting the grandparents of his future child, he didn’t show. Or well, I didn’t realize it.

“Hey!” I tried to match my parent’s excitement as they almost ran out of the house to meet us by the car, the second we’d stopped in front of the place I had grown up in. I barely had the time to prepare - I’d hoped I would have gotten a few more words in with Ransom, decide what we would say - but it warmed my heart to imagine them by the window, excitedly waiting for us to arrive.

“Oh my, you’re so big already!” My mom exaggerated, prompting me to roll my eyes as I noticed Ransom and my father shaking hands, our luggage already in my companion’s hands. “You really should have told us sooner,” she chastised, but I was prepared for that.

“Mom, c’mon. You know I had a lot to figure out, I didn’t want to let you guys know about a baby that I still had a high risk of losing, and on top of that, I had tons of classes to prepare.” My mom nodded, her eyes never straying from where her hand rested on my belly. I knew she understood it, she was just having a hard time grasping the concept of her baby having a baby.

“Shall we go inside?” Ransom followed closely, dropping the bags at the entrance when my father approached to give me his own inspection. I chuckled lightly at his furrowed brows until finally, he seemed satisfied with what he found and embraced me against his comfortable chest.

“Good to see you, kiddo. And I’m glad you’ve brought Ransom here for us to meet! We’ve prepared the room for you guys, would you like to go upstairs and rest? We can always catch up tomorrow.” Surprise had me blinking a couple of times, taking a second too long to understand what my father meant.

“The room?” I asked, right when Ransom confirmed it, “For us?” He didn’t sound as confused as me, but maybe a bit hopeful even, and it only made the situation even harder to comprehend.

“Yeah,” my mother confirmed, a patient smile on her lips. “We figured, you’re bringing a guy home for the first time and pregnant… It’s obviously pretty serious.” I was at a loss of words, mouth hanging open as I realized my parents were completely okay with the idea of me sleeping with a man I wasn’t married to under their roof, but what happened next really threw me on a loop entirely.

I felt Ransom’s arms around my shoulder, it was what prompted me to turn to the side and look up at him, but instead of finding him at his usual height, I was shocked with a kiss being deposited on my unexpecting lips, instinctively prompting me to close my eyes.

“Thank you so much.” That was all he had to offer after releasing my lips, and it wasn’t even directed at me. “For the reception, for understanding. I’m excited to talk to you more tomorrow, but for now, I think it’s better for the baby if I take this one to bed.”

Ransom’s P.O.V.

“Why on Earth would you do that?” I barely believed she managed to wait until we were both inside the bedroom, with the door locked, until she spit it out. I was almost certain she would confess the truth right there, laughing in my face at the prospect of actually being in a relationship with me.

“There’s nothing we can do about it,” I feigned nonchalance, shrugging and making a point not to look directly at her as I began to get settled, opening my suitcase and pretending to look for something.

“There was so much we could do about it! Practically anything other than pretend to be together when we aren’t!” Her exasperation irritated me. What was so bad about dating me? Why didn’t she want to be associated to me, the father of her child?

But I chose to take a deep breath, just like the therapist I’d been secretly seeing had taught me. I didn’t want to screw this up, I reminded myself, and I tried to see things from her perspective, instead of immediately focusing on my own feelings of insecurity.

“I’m sorry,” I immediately recognized it, and by the way she looked immediately disarmed, it was probably the right way to start. “I just figured it would be the easier way to go about this, considering what you’ve told me about your parents. I know they weren’t going to be excited about you being a single mother, even though I’m clearly more than excited to be a co-parent regardless of our relationship, and of course, I didn’t intend to lie, but when the opportunity appeared… I just figured we’d take the easier route.”

She didn’t seem to know what to say, and I could see by her expression that it made sense to her too, now that I’d explained. She didn’t want her parents’ interference, and she wanted this trip to go as smoothly as possible. It truly was the simpler way to deal with it.

“I can go downstairs and explain the real situation, if you want me to!” I offered, knowing now she’d be completely reassured of my intentions. “Really, it’s no bother. I’m sure they can fix the guest room for me.”

I turned around to leave, but her hand seized my wrist quickly. “Let’s not bother them, right?” It was impossible to stop the smile from appearing on my face when I turned around to look at her again, finding us much closer than we’d been before. Instinctively, without even thinking, I laced our fingers together, chuckling lowly at her cuteness.

“Right.” The moment felt heavy with something unspoken. I could still feel her lips on mine from when I kissed her earlier to sell the ruse to her parents. I hadn’t planned it, but it felt right for the moment.

It felt right at that moment, but I didn’t want to screw this up. So I put on my most charming smile, the same one that always prompted her to roll her eyes but giggle at me, and question, “Can I keep kissing you, then?” I put a stray lock of her hair behind her ear, my fingers running over her jaw when I found myself unable to pull away. “It’ll make it more believable.”

She narrowed her eyes at me, looking cute as ever with all of her suspicion, but ended up giggling and nodding. It allowed me to finally relax, and so I took the opportunity to look around the room we were in, taking notice of the posters on the wall, the little mementos, and picture frames on the shelves.

“So this is your childhood bedroom? This is hot.” I knew she had rolled her eyes at me, and I was glad we were now at a stage in our relationship where I could say stuff like that without her immediately kicking me out.

“Are you always hard?” For the first time that night, I hesitated. The truth was, and what I wanted to say was that it only happened when she was around, but I didn’t. I knew my silence could make her think I was some sort of creep, but it was better than admitting the truth.

I always wanted her, in one way or another.

“Are you sleepy?” I asked, an effort to change the subject, yet again resorting to messing with my luggage in search of something I didn’t need. “Did the trip tire you out?” Silence followed my question, and I understood she was thinking about it, even if I didn’t know what exactly she needed to think.

I grew tired of pretending to be busy, so I just turned around and faced her as I wanted for an answer, taking advantage of this time to admire just how beautiful she looked, particularly now that her belly had started showing. I don’t think anyone should look that good, not after a five-hour drive, and a burning sensation settled deep in my stomach - I couldn’t tell if it was desire or resentment, fear of ever having to stand back and watch her fall in love with someone who wasn’t me.

“Not really…” Her answer snapped me out of my thoughts, reminding me of what I’d asked. “It’s still so early…” Her eyes were on the night sky behind me, visible through the window of her childhood bedroom, and I shifted from one foot to the other as I waited for her to say something more, but nothing came.

“Well, what do you want to do?” I thought she’d take her time figuring something out - she’d taken so long to decide if she was tired or not - but instead, she surprised me with an immediate response, and an immediate response that almost gave me a heart attack.

“I want to suck your cock.”

It was my turn to not know what to say.

“W-what?” But she seemed decided. Instead of explaining, or offering any sort of insistence, she just shortened the distance between us, hand immediately curling on the edge of my pants as soon as it was within reach.

“Take this off.” I only lost five seconds in hesitation, perusing her eyes, trying to see if this was some sort of joke or test. When it became clear the only way I’d ever find out would be by jumping in head first, I decided to say fuck it.

My hands made quick work of my belt before unzipping my pants, letting it fall down my ankle, and she didn’t even give me the time to step out of it and kick it to the side before she sank down to her knees, taking my boxers with her.

She wasted no time wrapping her lips around the head of my member, already hard from my ever-present infatuation with her, not giving me the opportunity to protest the uncomfortable position she had put herself in. All thoughts of complaints or negotiations flew out of the window and into the night sky the second she started sucking, slowly but surely making her way to take more and more of my cock until her lips were grazing my navel.

My knees buckled and I had to hold the back of her head just to keep myself up, have something to hold onto to stay grounded. My eyes rolled back at the choking, slurping sounds coming out of her, and I silently asked God to allow me to cum this time. I didn’t think I’d survive if she decided to change her mind.

Her mouth felt good - so good. I couldn’t help but praise her. “Oh, fuck,” the curse fell out of my mouth easily when I looked down to find her staring up at me, mischief clear in her eyes. “Y-you’re very good at this.”

She kept on bobbing her head up and down my dick, giving me the sloppiest, most perfect blowjob I’d ever gotten, before pulling away with a pop and teasing, “Oh, yeah? You like it that much?”

Then the situation became overwhelming. My cock twitched inside her mouth, but I didn’t want it to end. I didn’t want to cum and have to face her regret, I didn’t want to feel guilty for relenting and allowing myself to have this. So I tried to hold back, knuckles brushing her cheeks as I focused on controlling my breathing.

But of course, she’d never let me win.

“You know…” her sultry tone warned me that she wanted me to break, even before her hand curled around my member and began to pump it. “... I thought it was really hot when you were acting all jealous and possessive that night at the bar.”

I inhaled sharply, not only because of the implications of her admission but also because she’d enveloped my balls with her warm mouth as she waited for my reactions. “R-really?” As much as I hated hearing myself trip over words because of another person, I couldn’t hate her for the effect that she had on me.

“Yeah…” she moaned against my skin, sending the reverberations across my body. “I couldn’t let you know though, otherwise you wouldn’t learn… But you learned now, didn’t you?”

Her response was a moan, perhaps louder than I should have released, as I pulled on her hair in an effort to keep her away from my dick. “C’mon, Ransom!” She teased, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Let go for me!”

When I shook my head, a pout appeared on her beautiful lips, and I just had to lean down to kiss it away. “Didn’t you like it?” She questioned when we parted, and I almost laughed, squeezing the back of her neck in a playful gesture.

“Oh, baby… Of course I did.” Biting my lip, I felt like I had to add, had to make her acknowledge it, “You’ve made me very, very happy.” When she leaned her head to the side, I already knew what she was going to ask.

“Then why don’t you want to cum?” That was a question I was dreading to answer, mainly because of course I wanted to cum, I just didn’t want to do it in her mouth. But if I had any chance whatsoever of getting what I truly desired, I’d have to voice it to her.

“Hell yeah!” I reassured her, making her laugh at my enthusiasm. “But not like this. Can… Will you let me touch you?” Time seemed to stand still as I waited for her answer, her eyes searching mine for something I couldn’t tell until she pushed me away and rose to her feet, walking towards her own luggage.

“No.” The word almost physically hurt me, and I deflated, falling down on the bed as I ran a hand over my hair, thinking about what the hell this would mean to us now. But then she was back, standing in front of me, a condom wrapper being waved right before my eyes. “I wanna ride you.”

I never wanted to fuck anyone this badly before. She got rid of her clothes just as eagerly as I took off my shirt, sending it flying somewhere across the room, and when she climbed on my lap, I had already put on the contraceptive. By the way she immediately sank down on my dick, it was clear that she was grateful for my speed.

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned against her shoulder, still able to hug her to me despite the small belly separating our chests. The build-up from the last time I almost had her, not to mention from minutes ago when her mouth was still around me had the fire in my stomach burning brightly in no time, as I sat back and watched her fuck herself on me.

“Y-you take me so well.” It came out louder than I intended, and she let go of her breasts to pull me to a kiss in an effort to silence me.

“Shhh…” She whispered, fingers running over my strands as she reminded me, “you have to be quiet, honey.” The nickname took me by surprise, my hands flying up to grip her hips as I took back the control she had so easily usurped from me. “Ransom!”

The way she moaned my name… I could get off just to her voice alone, and that’s what brought me to my release. Somehow, despite barely being aware of anything other than the way my cock throbbed inside of her cunt, I was able to make her cum, and watching her throw her head back and silently scream almost paralyzed me.

“Wait,” she commanded when I tried to lay her down. “Don’t pull out.” I melted against her, falling back on the bed and adjusting us so I could cuddle her to me while abiding to her wishes.

I think she was barely awake when I spoke again, not thinking at all as the words fell from my lips. “Does this mean we’re dating now?” And suddenly, her body wasn’t comfortably relaxed against mine. No, she jolted awake, sitting up and letting my limp cock slip from her while she clutched the sheets over her.

“What? Why?” I wanted to be angry. I wanted to be defensive, and disappointed, and overall hurt from her skepticism, but I knew I couldn’t. Not right now, not when I had a goal in mind and I was so close to it.

“Why not? We’re practically a couple anyway, you even brought me to your parent’s place! Now that we’ve brought sex to the table, what’s the difference between this and an actual relationship?” A long silence followed my words, a silence that felt heavy, suffocating even. Her eyes never left mine as she pondered over what I’d said, and in the quiet of the night, I could hear my heartbeat in my ears.

“Ransom, I don’t want to be your girlfriend.” I felt my heart breaking in a million pieces at her words, too stupefied to argue anything else. I suddenly was extremely aware of just how naked I was, and how uncomfortably the used condom was now sticking to me.

“I’m sorry, I just… I don’t really know you,” she continued, and despite how kind her eyes looked, I still felt like she didn’t understand just how badly she was hurting me. “We’ve never even been on an actual date.”

Surprisingly, that was the sentence that brought hope back to me. Even as she continued, “This was just… a one-time thing,” I didn’t feel deflated anymore, only excited. I knew she wanted me. It was just a matter of showing her that, getting her to admit it. And she had just told me how to do that.

“A one-time thing, huh?” I smirked, pulling her back into my arms, appreciating the surprise that took over her features at the response she certainly didn’t expect to get. “Like the night we made her?”

She chuckled against my chest as my hand fell over her belly. I was certain it was a girl, just as she was certain it was a boy. We had decided not to know, at least not now, and although most of the time the curiosity was eating me alive, I knew I was right.

“Yeah,” the mother of my child whispered against my skin. “Just like that night.” And with her hand covering mine, I slept soundly in a way I couldn’t remember ever doing before. I knew I would do whatever it took to keep her right here, in bed with me. Forever.

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moon-light-jukebox · 4 years

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“If you want me to, I will.” [Hotch x Reader]

masterlist

Summary: Reader has worked for Aaron Hotchner for the past 6 months as the babysitter to his son, Jack.

Pairing: Hotch x (Female) Reader

Word Count: 7.4k – she thicc

Category: Smut/Fluff…and some angst because of who I am as a person.

Content Warning:

A/n: We all know that Hotch’s favorite album is the Beatles "White Album." And I have odd choices for songs that I use as lullabies. This idea came into my head and never left. This video of Billie Eillish singing part of the song is the closest to the structure of how I imagined it. Okay, okay, look, I know Roy wasn’t diagnosed until season 10. But I am taking creative liberties because I needed Jack to be younger.

Meaning this would be set around season 7. Hotch would be about 41, Jack is around 7; so, I made Reader around 26, giving them a 15-year age gap. Please don’t check my math. 😌

y/n = your name. y/l/n = your last name. italicized texts are Reader’s thoughts.

-- If you want me to, I will. --

I was disoriented when I woke up. This isn’t my bed, I thought groggily. Wait…this isn’t even my house.

“Y/n,” a deep voice rumbled beside me.

I jackknifed up into a sitting position, eyes wide and my face flushed with embarrassment. “Mr. Hotchner!” I quickly brought my hand up to my cheek to make sure I hadn’t drooled in my sleep. Because that would really be the cherry on top of my embarrassment. “I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to fall asleep. This is so embarrassing.”

Mr. Hotchner had been crouched down, putting himself level with his living room couch; the same couch he came home and found me sleeping on. In all the months I’d worked for the Hotchner/Brooks family, I’d never seen Mr. Hotchner smile anytime he wasn’t talking to his son, Jack. He always looked incredibly serious and sometimes incredibly sad; but the normal scowl was missing from his face as he looked at me, I noticed, watching him rise to a standing position.

“It’s fine, y/n. It’s after 1 o’clock in the morning.” He shifted, turning to go open the gun safe he kept in the part of the living room where his desk sat. Mr. Hotchner, or Hotch, as he kept telling me to call him, was the Unit Chief of the Behavioral Analysis Unit with the FBI. Which was just a very fancy way of saying he was a profiler that was in charge of all the other profilers. Some people just look like the jobs they have; Mr. Hotchner was one of those people. “Thank you for staying late, I didn’t think things were going to run this long. I didn’t even know you were here until I called Jessica a few hours ago.”

“Oh, right,” I mumbled as I began to gather my things from the coffee table and put them into my bag. “She called me a little after 4; something happened with her dad, I think.” I zipped my bag shut, standing up quickly. “I didn’t mind helping out, Mr. Hotchner.”

He made a sound that was almost a chuckle. “You don’t have to call me Mr. Hotchner, y/n. I know I’m a lot older than you, but that makes me feel ancient.”

“You’re not that much older than me,” I protested.

He looked incredulous. “Y/n, you’re still in college.”

Well, that stings a bit. “I’m in graduate school,” I said, my voice dampening a little bit. “I’m almost 27.”

Mr. Hotchner blinked at me. “Really? I thought you were younger than that…”

“My age didn’t come up in the numerous background checks you did on me?” I scoffed, immediately wincing as the words flew out of my mouth. “Oh my god, I just keep making this worse.” I slung my bag over my shoulder. “I’m sorry, Mr. Hotchner. For falling asleep on your couch…and for every moment after that. I’ll just go now.”

"Y/n," he called. "hang on, it's really late, and…I still need to pay you."

Jesus. “It is late, Mr. Hotchner, that’s why I need to head home.” I forced an awkward laugh. “I have class at 9 am.”

He pushed his hands into his pockets, regarding me in a way that made me squirm. I wasn’t used to a person paying attention to me the way Mr. Hotchner did. It didn’t make me uneasy; I just felt like I couldn’t hide anything from him…which made me uneasy. “What classes are you taking this semester?”

I don’t know why it stung so much that he knew virtually nothing about me. I’d worked for him for 6 months; he wasn’t obligated to know anything about me other than how I took care of his son. “I’m actually done with my course work this semester,” I mumbled. “I’m a TA…in a class that starts at 9 am.” It doesn’t matter, you’re just tired. “You-you can just pay me for tonight the next time I’m over. It’s not like you’re gonna stiff me.” I walked over to the door and threw a very quick “goodnight, Mr. Hotchner” over my shoulder before I scurried out.

I missed the quiet “Aaron. You can call me Aaron.”

The entire drive home, my thoughts were on Aaron Hotchner. None of this was what I expected when I took this job. I had been in graduate school for 2 years now. I had already gotten my master’s degree and had been accepted into the Ph.D. program. There are many branches of psychology, but I had always been fascinated with cognitive psychology; it seemed only natural that that is what I would pursue in graduate school. Once it became time to focus my interest in preparation for my dissertation, I decided to study the cognitive decay in Alzheimer's patients. We knew that they lost memories, but I wanted to explore how their basic cognitive functions were affected in certain settings.

As part of my program, I was a TA in an intro psych class, and I conducted my research at the hospital connected to the university. That’s where I first met Jessica Brooks. Despite getting a stipend for my teaching assistant work, I had been taking odd jobs to help make ends meet; D.C. wasn't cheap. When I mentioned that I had experience with kids, Jessica had immediately told me that she was needing help caring for her nephew in the wake of her father, Roy's diagnosis. She wanted to keep him at home, which was both admirable and time-consuming.

I wasn’t prepared for the gigantic background check that I was subjected to. I very quickly learned that my potential employer had some power at the FBI. Jessica had raved to him about me, so he agreed to meet with me. When Jessica told me he worked for the FBI, I was expecting a bureaucrat, kind of short, receding hairline, soft from sitting behind a desk all day.

Aaron Hotchner was none of those things. He was a total cliché; he was tall, dark, and handsome. His eyes were such a deep brown they were almost black, his hair was black, and he towered over me. His hand was firm when he shook mine. I initially thought he didn’t like me because of the scowl he wore on his face; now I knew that was just his default expression. I’m pretty sure he invented Resting Bitch Face. I think it was my meeting with Jack that sealed the deal. We had clicked right away. The 7-year-old was impressed by my knowledge of both DC and Marvel comics. I could still remember our first meeting so clearly; when in a move that I now know is so much like his father, he had asked me an interview question of his own.

“What is Spiderman’s middle name?” the boy had asked with a suspicious squint of his eyes.

This kid is poser checking me, I had thought with amusement. “That would depend on which Spiderman you’re referring to. Assuming it’s Peter Parker, his middle name is Benjamin.”

We were best friends after that.

I loved Jack; I really did. And I was paid well enough that he was the only child I babysat for, the rest of my time spent working on my research and plotting my dissertation. It was clear that Aaron Hotchner loved his son, and he felt guilty for not being around more. He was fierce and intimidating any other time, but once he was with his son, his entire face would transform. His smiles came easier, his eyes twinkled, and he didn’t seem so scary anymore.

None of that is why he made me nervous, though. What made me so nervous is the fear that one day I was going to spend enough time with him for him to see the feelings I had so stupidly developed for him.

The very next night, I was hiding in the kitchen floor in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment.

“Ready or not, here I come!” the little voice called out before his feet started stomping loudly across the floor.

From my position behind the kitchen counter, I tried very hard to remain silent, despite my amusement. Jack Hotchner was many wonderful, wonderful things. Sneaky was not one of them. Which is why I wasn’t surprised when I heard his little feet hurry towards me, and I didn’t lose my balance when he turned the corner and launched himself at me. “Oomph!” was the only reasonable sound to make when a tiny human slammed into you.

Jack was delighted. “I FOUND YOU!”

My response was cut off by the sound of the front door opening. Jack was off me in a flash, barreling towards the living room. “Daddy!”

Mr. Hotchner made a similar “oomph” noise when Jack jumped on him, confirming my theory. I rose to my feet quickly, smoothing down my clothes.

“We were playing hide and seek, Daddy!” Jack informed his father. “I found y/n every time! She never found me once!” His chest puffed out with pride, making my face break into a smile.

“You’re just an excellent hider, Jack-attack.”

Mr. Hotchner’s eyes settled on my face then, for just a moment I saw something so sad in those eyes that the breath seized in my lungs.

He cleared his throat, seeming to shake off whatever he was thinking before smiling at his son. “I’m glad you had a good time with, y/n, buddy.”

Jack nodded vigorously. “I helped make dinner!”

“You did?” He questioned in fake astonishment. “When did you make dinner?”

“Tonight!”

Mr. Hotchner looked at me quizzically. “Oh, um, I wasn’t actually supposed to watch Jack tonight…but Jessica called and asked if I could. It was really last minute, and she’d already bought some stuff to make dinner…” I trailed off. “I hope that’s okay. Jesus Christ, y/n. You’re a 26-year-old woman, get it together.

His attention moved from me to his son. "Jack, go get changed into your pj's. It's almost bedtime." When Jack's mouth opened to protest this great injustice, his father went on. "You can tell y/n bye when you're done."

So much for a speedy escape, I thought. Instead, I just smiled at him. "Yep, I'll be right here, little man." Satisfied with this, Jack jumped out of his father's arms and ran towards his room.

“Why did Jessica need you to come over? Did something happen with Roy?” He looked genuinely worried, walking into the kitchen to stand near me.

I reached out and put a hand on his arm without thinking. "Oh, oh god no, nothing like that." Realizing I was touching him, I snatched my hand back like he'd burned me. "Sorry. She…she-um had a date."

His eyebrows rose so high they almost hit his hairline. “A date?” he asked, disbelief dripping from his words.

I chuckled. “That’s what she told me.”

He walked back into the living room then, leaning back against the couch, crossing his arms over his chest as he focused his dark gaze on me. “What about you?”

“…What about me what?”

“Does Jessica ever have to cover for you when you have dates?”

If Aaron Hotchner hadn’t made me so nervous, I might have picked up on how he phrased that question. As it happens, all I could do was fidget under his gaze. “Oh,” I chuckled nervously. “Ah, no. She doesn’t have to do that. I don’t really date.”

That had one of his eyebrows rising, his arms crossing across his chest. "Why?"

Because I want you to crack my back like a glowstick. “Um…you know, it’s hard to find the time.”

Thankfully Jack chose that moment to come barreling out of his room, charging full force at me. “You’re still here!” he exclaimed.

I smiled down at him when his arms wrapped around my hips. I put one hand on the back of his head, the other on his back, giving him a squeeze. “Of course I am! I couldn’t leave without telling you goodbye.”

“I wish you didn’t have to go,” he mumbled.

My throat worked as a sudden wave of emotion hit me. "Oh, Jack," my voice was thicker than usual when I spoke. "I don't like leaving you either, but you'll see me before you know it. I promise."

Once we had finally pried Jack off me, Mr. Hotchner went to take him to bed. He turned to me when he scooped Jack up in his arms. “Thank you for today.”

“It’s no problem, Mr. Hotchner.”

“You know you don’t have to call me that,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine. “Most people call me Hotch. Or you could call me Aaron.”

I didn't know what to say to that; all I could do was give him an awkward smile. I was gone before he came back into the living room. I didn't want to leave, I never did, but I couldn't risk being alone with…Aaron.

The following Thursday night, my phone started ringing just after 11:30. Glancing at it, I saw it was Jessica. “Hey,” I said in greeting.

“Hey, y/n,” she said, sounding frazzled. “I have a huge favor to ask. Dad’s home health nurse had to leave early tonight.” “Is something wrong with Melinda?” I hope not. She’s the sweetest.

“No, I don’t think so. But she needs to go home and there’s no one to sit with Jack. But Aaron isn’t home yet…”

“I’ll be there in 20.”

Which is why I was now in Aaron Hotchner’s apartment after midnight in a pair of shorts that were so short I only ever wore them at home and a t-shirt that I had had for forever. Jessica had sounded so upset when she called, I hadn't even thought to change. She had promised to be back as quick as she could; she said that Mr. Hotchner was flying back from a case, and she didn’t expect him until 5 a.m. at the earliest.

When I first arrived, I had tried to watch TV, my mind too wired to sleep, even though I had class at 9 am in the morning. Sighing, I glanced over at the clock to see it was just after 1:45 in the morning.

“Fuuuuuuck,” I whined out loud. I have to go to sleep; even if it’s just a little nap. I remembered Jessica had left some chamomile tea here for the nights she stayed over to watch Jack. Finding the kettle and the tea itself was no problem; the problem presented itself when I had to get a mug to put the tea in.

I had never considered myself a particularly short person; sure, I had to stretch to get things from time to time, but everybody did that. Looking up into the upper cabinets in the Hotchner house had me reconsidering that. The mugs were on the very top shelf and try as I might, I just couldn’t seem to reach them; my fingers kept grazing over the ceramic.

“Goddamnit,” I mumbled in a huff. What is the point to put mugs way the fuck up there? Some of us are a perfectly normal height…but noooo I have to work for giants. I braced my hands on the countertop as I heaved myself up on to said countertop. Once my knees were in place, I got the offending cup without further problems.

I blame how focused I was on my task for my not hearing the front door open, or the footsteps that followed. Which is why I had a mild heart attack when I heard a voice that sounded highly amused say from behind me, “What are you doing?”

Several things happened all at once, and very quickly. I let out the most embarrassing squeak in all of history, I lost my balance on the counter and the cup fell from my hand. The cup crashed to the floor and shattered. My fate might have been the same but two large hands caught me, gripping my hips from behind. I looked down to see his long fingers wrapping around my waist, gripping me tightly; my difficulty breathing then had nothing to do with how scared I was.

“I’m sorry,” Aaron said softly, still not releasing me. “I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, I get it,” I said lightly, attempting to act like I wasn’t going into cardiac arrest because he was touching me. “You’re a very stealthy FBI agent. It was bound to happen.”

He chuckled before his hands pushed my hips so I was twisting around, my legs shifting until I was sitting on the countertop, staring into the same dark eyes I thought about far too often. They weren’t as harsh as they usually were; tonight, they were soft and warm, and they made my pulse race a bit faster.

I moved to get off the counter when the hands that were still on my hips stopped me. “Hang on, let me clean this up first. I don’t want you to hurt yourself.”

Fantastic, I thought, hiding my face in my hands. It seems I was incapable of not making a fool out of myself in front of this man.

He worked quickly while I debated changing my name and fleeing the country; in the next moment, he was standing in front of me again. "What's wrong?"

“Oh, nothing,” I said, not moving my hands. “Just dying of embarrassment.”

Aaron actually laughed at that, moving closer to stand between my thighs, his hands coming to rest on the countertop on either side of my hips. “Why are you embarrassed?”

I dropped my hands then. “Because this is becoming a pattern! First, I fell asleep on your couch, then I almost fell off your counter and cracked my head like an egg.” I bit my lip, shifting under his gaze. “I’m sorry and thank you for catching me.”

“I didn’t mind,” he said softly.

He still had that soft look on his face, but he was smiling too like he was enjoying my embarrassment. He probably is. I had never been this close to him before. I didn’t know his eyes weren’t just one flat color of brown, but that lighter shades of brown whirled throughout. I had never felt the heat of his body before, but now I was so close I could smell him. Why does he have to smell good? I whined internally. If he just stunk, I could get over this.

This was exactly why I tried very hard to stay as far away from him as possible because I lost the ability to think clearly whenever I was with him. I couldn't stop my eyes from moving down to his lips. I was eye level with him from my position on the counter; all I had to do to brush my lips across his was lean forward, so that’s exactly what I did. His body stiffened slightly at the first touch of my lips to his. I pulled back, ready to apologize when his hand wrapped around the back of my head and pulled me back to him. There was nothing soft about this kiss. His free hand gripped my thigh, my hands held on to his shirt, trying to pull him closer. My tongue brushed against his mouth before he sucked on the tip of it, causing me to shudder. He took a step forward as his tongue twirled around mine. I could feel him when he settled against me; he was hard, and I found myself shifting my hips to rub against him.

The shrill ringing of his phone broke us apart suddenly. He was panting, his cheeks were slightly flushed. I thought I heard him let out a “fuck” under his breath as he reached into his pocket and grabbed his phone.

“Hey Jessica,” he answered.

Now that our moment was broken, I felt very self-conscious. What the fuck did I just do?! He is my boss. He is Jack’s dad. Aaron took a step back and I slid off the counter. This turned out to be a very bad idea on my part; my body brushed down the front of his, causing me to bite my lip to silence the moan that threatened to escape.

“Yeah, I landed a little while ago,” he said as I left the kitchen.

WhatthefuckWhatthefuck. I heard him end the call with Jessica before he quickly walked into the living room. A look of relief washed over his face when he saw me. “I thought you’d try to slip away.”

“I thought about it,” I told him honestly.

“Listen, y/n, about that in the kitchen,” he began.

I held up my hands. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Hotchner. I don’t know why I did that; I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” I was giving him an out because I couldn’t handle hearing the rejection I knew was coming. “I just…I guess we got caught up in the moment? And you’re really tired, I’m sure. I’m so sorry.” I was rambling now. “If you don’t want me to watch Jack anymore-“

“Y/n, no,” he interrupted. “No, this…you’re right, it was just a heat of the moment thing. It happens. I’m sorry I lost myself for a moment.” He cleared his throat, his face still set in softness. “Jack loves you. He doesn’t need to suffer for any more of my mistakes.”

Mistakes. The word hollowed me out and left me cold. I just nodded. “Right,” I said in what I hoped was an even tone. “Just a mistake. I should get going. It’s really late.”

Which is how I found myself driving home at almost 3 in the morning with tears running down my cheeks. A mistake.

Things went back to normal after that night. I continued to avoid Aaron Hotchner at all costs and he…did whatever he did. I tried to hide the hurt whenever I did happen to see him, but it was so hard when I could still feel the tingle from his lips on mine.

A few days after the “mistake,” I was babysitting Jack again. He’d went to bed at his normal 8:30 and all was quiet. I decided to do some TA work while I waited for Mr. Hotchner to come home. I was halfway through grading an essay when I heard the first noise come from Jack’s room. Lifting my fingers from the keys of my computer, I waited to see if I heard another sound. I didn’t have to wait long; not even a minute passed before I heard a strained cry. Jumping up, I hurried down the hall to Jack’s bedroom.

Cracking the door open I called, “Jack-attack? Are you okay, little man?” I didn’t see him right away; he had hidden under his covers and curled up into a little ball. “Hey, Jack. It’s just y/n.” I sat down on the edge of his bed. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

I saw the lump under the blankets start to move hesitantly before I saw his brown hair peak out of the blanket near his pillow. His eyes were wide and with the light shining in from the hall, I could see tears gleam in them. “Oh, buddy,” I cooed. “Did you have a bad dream?”

The boy nodded. “Yeah…there was a bad man…and my daddy didn’t come save me.”

I felt my breath seize in my chest. Jessica had told me a brief version of what happened to Jack's mother a few years ago. "Jack, you know your dad would always do whatever he had to do to come to save you." I shifted my position on the bed until I was sitting beside him. "He'd never let anything bad happen to you." Jack started inching closer to me. I held out my arms and smiled when he lunged for me; I wrapped him in a tight hug, rubbing circles on his back.

“My dad just isn’t home a lot anymore. He has a lot of work to do,” he mumbled into my shirt.

“Your dad would be home if he could, Jack.” I couldn’t quite keep the sadness out of my voice. It wasn’t fair to either Jack or his dad that he had to be away so much.

“I know,” the little boy whispered. “I just miss him sometimes.”

“Do you want to call him?” I offered. “I don’t think he’d mind.”

Jack just shook his head. “No, it’s okay.” He turned his face up to look at me. “Will you stay with me?”

I moved so he lay beside me with my left arm still squeezed around him. “Of course, bud.” I scooted down the bed so I was reclining instead of sitting straight up, pulling the cover-up over him again. "Do you want me to read you another story?"

He just shuffled under his covers, looking at me with the bashful innocence of childhood. “Can you sing to me until I fall asleep?”

I wasn’t the biggest fan of singing in front of people, but how could I turn this little face down? I just nodded. “Do you have any requests?”

“Nope,” he answered with a little grin on his face.

Unfortunately, at that moment every single lullaby I had ever know left my head. I couldn’t think of a single traditional lullaby. So, I decided to improvise. I started singing slower songs I knew, some of them might not have been appropriate for a 7-year-old’s lullaby, but I don’t think Jack cared that much.

He was almost out, drifting on the edge between deep sleep and awake. My arm was still around his shoulder, he was still snuggled to my side. I decided one more song would be enough, which meant I pulled out my second Beatles song of the night.

“Who knows how long I’ve loved you?

You know I love you still.

Will I wait a lonely lifetime?

If you want me to, I will.

For if I ever saw-“

I glanced up, immediately sensing there was someone else in the room. To my horror, Jack’s father was standing in the doorway, staring at me with an unreadable expression on his face. I swallowed nervously, then I turned to press a kiss against Jack’s soft forehead before I gently detangled myself from him. I straightened my clothes that to my further embarrassment had shifted around because I was laying with a wiggly child, then, attempting to keep my face impassive, I walked to the door, moving around his father as I exited.

Mr. Hotchner walked into the room and checked on his son, while I moved into the living room to gather my things. I wonder if he just left the money by the door, I mused. If he did, I could just make a dash for the door. I mean, if he didn’t, he could always just pay me next time. Sadly, my plans were escape were foiled yet again by the man in question entering the room.

"Sorry," I muttered. "I know he was up past his bedtime. I put him down at 8, but he had a nightmare." I was babbling, not meeting his eyes, my gaze very intently focused on my bag. "He asked me to stay with him until he fell asleep…" I finally looked up, shrugged, and said, "He's very hard to say no to."

“You don’t have to apologize for being nice to my son, y/n,” he said softly. “That’s one of my favorite songs on the White Album, you know.”

I hadn’t known that. “Mr. Hotch-“

He took a step towards me before I finished speaking. “Y/n, please, I can barely handle this as it is. Please call me Aaron.”

I just blinked up at him. “So, ‘Hotch’ is off the table now?”

That had a soft smile curving his lips upward. "That was a limited-time deal. You should have been quicker." I saw his hand rise up slowly, so slowly that I would have had time to move away…but I just couldn’t. He brushed my hair back from my face, his eyes were two pools of black in the dim light, they were swirling with something that made my stomach flutter.

“Aaron,” I breathed, having no idea what I was going to say.

He let out a soft sigh, turning his eyes upwards. When he brought them back down to mine, his hand slid from its place near my ear to cradle the back of my head. His eyes searched mine for a moment before his shoulders dropped slightly. “Fuck it,” he muttered before he leaned down and sealed his lips over mine.

I might have thought this kiss would be questioning or unsure, but there was nothing unsure about it. Aaron kissed me like he was starving for me. His teeth caught my bottom lip and tugged as he pulled away. “It wasn’t a mistake,” he breathed before bringing his lips more firmly against mine.

My hands began to move over his body; one of my hands grabbed his tie and used it to pull him closer to me, the other reached up to brush against the short, soft hair on the back of his neck. “It wasn’t?” I questioned when we broke away for air.

Aaron’s lips moved across my cheek, leaving soft kisses until he reached my ear. “No, sweet girl, it wasn’t.” His mouth moved down to my neck; his kisses turning into bites that were sure to become brushes. I didn’t care, I needed him. My hands moved to his shirt, quickly trying to undo all the buttons.

His hands moved down to the waist of my jeans, deftly flicking the button open before sliding the zipper down. “Is this what you want?” he asked as his hand touched my lower stomach, his fingers brushing over the elastic band of my panties.

“Yes,” I said, still working to free him from his shirt. “I want this so much.”

The fingers of his free hand rose up to tap my chin, forcing my eyes up until I met his gaze. "I want to hear you say my name again." His other hand lifted from my stomach to slide over the flair of my hip until he was gripping my ass. "Whenever I laid in bed that night after I had you pressed against me in my kitchen when I stroked my cock, I thought about you moaning my name.” The hand that was on my chin pulled away, skimming down my body until he was grabbing the other side of my ass. “So, say it. Tell me what you want.”

“I want you, Aaron.” So, so much.

His hands moved to the backs of my thighs, then he lifted me up his body, startling me. Jesus Christ, how strong is this guy? I threw my arms around his neck as he started walking us down towards his bedroom. A giggle escaped my lips. “I could have walked, you know.”

We had already entered his room; he tossed me gently on the bed before he turned to close and lock the door. He walked to stand at the side of his bed, his eyes devouring me. “I couldn’t give you a chance to sneak away again, sweet girl.” Aaron pulled off his tie before he finished unbuttoning his shirt, shedding it on the floor.

Fuck. Fuck, he’s hot. I pulled my own shirt over my head, and his body was on top of me before it even left my hands. Aaron's mouth moved down to my collarbones, his hand slipped behind my back to unhook my bra. Once the straps were down my arms, Aaron lifted himself up on his arms to toss it away, his eyes running over my body. "You're so beautiful," he said softly like it wasn't the sweetest compliment I'd ever been paid. He leaned over again, his lips skimming down to my chest before he wrapped his lips around one of my nipples.

“Fuck, Aaron,” I moaned.

He gave my nipple a flick with his tongue before he lifted his head. “Ssh, sweet girl. You have to be quiet. Can you do that?” He kissed his way over to my other breast. “I can’t do this if you won’t be quiet.”

“I can be quiet,” I whispered right before I bit my lip to smother my moan at the feeling of his mouth on me. “Maybe.”

His breath puffed against my skin when he laughed at me. My hands threaded through his hair when he brought his face back up to mine. My mouth opened eagerly for him, my tongue slicking over his while I tried to grind my body against him. Aaron was smiling when he broke the kiss, shifting up onto his knees. “Well, I appreciate you trying to be quiet at any rate,” he teased.

My response died in my throat when his fingers yanked my jeans off my legs, bringing my panties with them. I was totally bare in front of him. His eyes raked down my body in a way that would make me self-conscious with anyone else. How could I ever be self-conscious with a man who looked at me like I was the most beautiful thing in the world?

But when he started to kiss further down my body, I grabbed his arm, attempting to pull him back up to kiss me. “Aaron,” I whispered.

He pressed a soft kiss to my collarbone. “What’s wrong, beautiful?”

“You don’t…you don’t have to do…that,” I mumbled, feeling my face heat up.

Aaron braced himself on his arms and stared down at me. Enlightenment dawned on his face a second later. He leaned down to kiss me softly. “Do you not want me to?”

I bit my lip, feeling more flustered. “It’s just…I’ve never…and I know that guys don’t really like-.“ My words were cut off when he placed another kiss to my lips, still incredibly soft, but with more force than before.

"If it makes you uncomfortable, I won't," he said quietly. "But I can assure you, I can't think of anything more I'd rather do than lick your pussy until you cum all over my face." He skimmed his lips over my cheek to my ear. "And once you've come down, I want to slide my cock inside you and feel how soft and wet you are." His kisses moved down to my neck, his mouth sucking on my pulse point. "Then I want to fuck you until you're whimpering against my lips to make you cum again.”

I felt my core throb at his words. No one had ever said anything like that to me before. He lifted his gaze when he got back to my breast, flicking my nipple with his tongue. “Is that what you want too, sweet girl?”

I have never wanted anything more, I thought; but I was so far gone that all I could do was nod.

He gave me a soft smile, moving down the bed further to settle between my thighs, pulling them further apart. I felt a kiss pressed to one thigh, then the other. His hot breath washed over the part of me that was already so wet for him. “You’re beautiful here too,” he murmured before he pressed a kiss to my clit. I lifted my hips at the sensation, causing him to chuckle and move his hands to wrap around my thighs, his arms anchoring me in place. A second later I understood why he braced my hips. The second he flattened his tongue and licked the length of my pussy, my hips started moving involuntarily and my fingers tangled in his hair.

I felt a puff of air against me when he laughed again, and it made me smile. I didn’t expect Aaron Hotchner to be fun…or dirty in bed. All thought immediately left my head when he parted me with his tongue, dipping into my entrance before spearing his tongue into me. I felt the vibration when he moaned against me. "You taste so fucking good, y/n," he said, his voice still hushed. Giving my entrance one last lick, he moved up to my clit.

He spent time moving his tongue around me, learning what made me squirm. When he started fluttering his tongue quickly over my clit my hands started tugging on his hair and my thighs tried to snap together.

“Aaron,” I whined, attempting to rock my hips against his mouth.

I think he understood what I needed better than I did. His left hand released my thigh and moved down to my heat, just below his mouth. I felt his fingers brush over me before he pushed on inside me, causing my back to arch off the bed. “Aaron, Aaron, fuck.” He added a second finger, pumping them in a rhythm that complimented the movements of his mouth.

I wasn't prepared for when his lips closed around my clit, sucking lightly, while his fingers started to curl inside of me. “Oh my God," I moaned out, louder than I should have. "Aaron, I'm going to cum." I started pulling on his hair so hard it must have hurt, but he just moaned against me, never slowing his pace. "Aaron, fuck, please. I think…I-I-“

My words broke off as the band inside of me snapped, my pussy clamping down on his fingers and my back arching off of the bed, my mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

Aaron slowed his motions, slowly bringing me through the orgasm and back down to Earth. With one final kiss to my thigh, he rose and moved up my body until his face was hovering over mine. His lips were shiny with my arousal, they also looked a little swollen, but more importantly, they were smirking at me.

I’ll give him that one. Reaching up I cradled his jaw in my hands, bringing his mouth down to mine. I tasted myself on his lips and tongue when he licked into my mouth. Despite the powerful orgasm he had just given me, I was still desperate for him. I broke away from his mouth. “Aaron, I need you.”

He pressed another kiss to my lips before he lifted up and stood at the side of the bed, undoing the buckle of his belt. My eyes were fixed on his movements, watching as he unbuttoned his slacks and slid them down his legs. His cock was a thick pipe outlined in his underwear. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband before he spoke again. "I'll give you everything you need, greedy girl." Aaron pushed his underwear down, his cock springing free before he climbed back on the bed.

He was so much thicker than I expected he would be. I moved my hand down to wrap my fingers around him, pumping his length. He let out a groan and lowered his forehead to mine. “Baby,” he muttered. “I…fuck. I have to get a condom.”

“Aaron,” I whined. “I want to feel you inside me. I’m on birth control. Please?” The thought of anything separating me from this man was abhorrent to me in that moment.

I saw his willpower crumble. “Are you sure?”

So sure. “Please,” I begged lifting my head to kiss him. “I want you to fuck me.”

With a groan that I will remember for the rest of my life, he shifted his hips forwarded, allowing my hands to guide him to my entrance. Aaron kissed me then, slowly and deeply has he started to push inside me. My hand flew away from his cock, both my arms wrapping around his body to pull him closer to me. I felt my nails digging into his back.

Aaron broke our kiss with another soft moan that sounded like my name. “I knew you’d feel like this,” he whispered, pressing deeper inside me. “I knew your pussy would be this fucking tight, this fucking hot, and so fucking soft." He started moving in and out of my pussy, going in a little further each time. “You still have to be quiet, sweet girl.”

“I’m trying,” I moaned, my pussy already starting to flutter around him when he finally pushed all the way inside of me. “Aaron, fucking Christ.” I felt him everywhere, and I somehow still craved more.

He grabbed my thigh, pulling if further up his side, allowing himself to sink deeper inside of me. “I know, sweet girl. I know.” He started a slow pace, pulling almost all the way out of me before slamming back inside me.

My head was thrashing against the pillows, my teeth digging into my bottom lip. “Aaron, I need you to fuck me harder. Please.”

He groaned at my words, placing a sloppy kiss to my mouth before pulling back. He pulled one of my legs up until it was over his shoulder, the other still wrapped around his waist, and then he started to move faster inside of me.

I braced one hand against the headboard as he pounded into me. “Oh my god, Aaron,” my voice was a low whimper as I looked down to see his cock sliding in and out of me. “You feel so fucking good.”

“Baby, I want you to reach down and rub your clit for me while I fuck your tight little pussy.” His pace started to speed up as he spoke. “Can you do that for me?” He groaned when I complied, the stimulation to my clit causing my pussy to flutter around him. “Good girl.”

My fingers began to work frantically. “Don’t stop, Aaron. Don’t stop,” I begged. “I’m so close.”

“I know, sweet girl, I can feel you. Your pussy feels so good squeezing around my cock. You’re going to make me cum.” His thrusts were starting to get choppier, one of his hands braced on the top of the headboard while the other held my leg on his shoulder. “Do you want me to cum inside your pretty pussy, sweet girl?” He groaned loudly when my walls clenched around him. “It feels like you like the idea of that, don’t you baby?”

My fingers continued their pace, my head thrashing, my body trembling. “Yes. Fuck, Aaron. Please cum inside of me. Please.”

Aaron felt it first and acted quickly; his hand moved from my leg to cover my mouth. “That’s it, cum for me, baby.”

I thought my orgasm earlier tonight was powerful. It was nothing compared to how I felt when I came around his cock, only to feel him find his own release a moment after.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, y/n,” he breathed, giving a last few jerks inside of my body, pushing against the fluttering aftershocks of my orgasm. He rolled off me, careful not to drop all of his weight on top of me. To my relief, he quickly gathered me in his arm, pulling me against his body, pressing a soft kiss to my sweaty forehead.

My ear was pressed against his chest, allowing me to hear his heartbeat slowdown from its frantic pace and his breathing even out. I turned my head and pressed a kiss to his chest while his hand continued to stroke my back.

“That…that was amazing,” I said, looking up at him. “If I knew you had that in you, I wouldn’t have run out of the room every time I was alone with you.”

He laughed softly, his eyes sparkling. “Well, at least you’ll know for next time.”

My thoughts sobered at his words. Next time

“Hey,” he said, his hand cupping the side of my face. “No, don’t go away. I just got you.” He kissed my forehead again, then the tip of my nose, then both of my eyelids, before he tilted my face up further so he could press a kiss to my lips. “We’ll figure this out. We have to. I care too much about you to let you go.”

“I care about you too,” I replied, snuggling against his chest, my eyes suddenly feeling heavy.

I was almost asleep when I heard his voice rumble again. “Will you sing Beatles songs to me when I can’t sleep too?” His voice was sleepy and teasing.

I smiled into the darkness, not bothering to open my eyes. “If you want me to, I will.”

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love-and-monsters · 3 years

Text

Necklace for a Dragon

M dragon X GN reader, 5,975 words

A dragon commissions a necklace for his deceased mother, but he is reluctant to open up about her death. Can you help him work through his grief?

The thin, delicate chain in your fingers clinked quietly as you worked on it. The magnifying glasses perched on your nose enabled you to carefully manipulate the tiny gemstones into place. It was a nice piece, you thought. The white and pale yellow gems set against the deep platinum gave the impression of tiny stars in a night sky.

Your gaze flicked up as you worked. It was a habit from before you’d gotten the bell installed on your door to let you know if a customer had entered, so your gaze moved back to your work before you’d really processed anything you’d seen.

Then your brain caught up with your eyes and your head snapped back up.

There was a man standing in the middle of your store. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a fairy tale. His look was oddly monochrome- he had pale skin, white-blonde hair that curled around his ear and under his chin. Silvery antlers pulled back from his head and a shimmering scaled tail tufted with fur coiled and twitched behind him. His clothes were unreasonably fancy and not at all modern- his shirt was ruffled and he wore a heavy, furred cloak around his shoulders. Gems fairly dripped from his horns and the upper curve of his ears.

The little bell hadn’t even rung to announce his entrance. It was as if he had simply appeared in the room.

“Hello,” you said, whipping your glasses off and staring at him. “Can I help you with something?”

He regarded you with ice-blue eyes. His expression was utterly neutral. “I am looking for jewelry.”

Okay. Good start. Your eyes swept over his frame, assessing him as a customer. He was unfamiliar, but given his mannerisms and the general look of his clothes, he was wealthy. That was good- most of the pieces in your store weren’t made by you. There wasn’t enough of a market to buy your handmade pieces in most cases, which were priced high enough to drive away most typical buyers, and those who were rich enough to afford the splurge were few and far between. Most of the jewelry on the shelves was cheaper, more mass-produced pieces. It wasn’t exactly something you were proud of, but it kept the roof over your head.

He wasn’t looking at any of those pieces, though. He had beelined right for the well-lit display case that showed all your custom jewelry. You slipped out from behind the counter and hurried over to him. “See anything you like?”

His gaze swept over the case. “I am not sure.”

“Well, I also take commissions, so if you want a specific design, I can do that for you,” you said eagerly. Commissions were uncommon, but very much appreciated. You could charge a little more for them and you didn’t have to account for the shelf time.

The man turned toward you. His gaze locked with yours and a chill slipped down your spine. Holy shit. With a sudden clenching in the pit of your stomach, you knew that this wasn’t an ordinary monster of Fortune Falls. This was one of the Old Ones.

The Old Ones were not necessarily old individuals, though, even though the one in front of you appeared to be in his twenties, he could be ancient. It was their species that were old, though, ones that had existed before civilization and kept to those old ways. They radiated powerful magic and rarely interacted with humans at all. Even other monsters were uncomfortable around them.

You had only seen one once before, an ancient golden dragon. You steeled your will. A customer was a customer. Even if Old Ones had an irritating habit of paying in extremely outdated currency- you would be lucky if he paid with something from the modern millennium.

“A specific design,” the man repeated, drawing you out of your daze. You nodded attentively.

“Is there anything in particular you’re looking for?” you said. The man exhaled slowly. He had the expression of someone unused to interacting with others- he didn’t seem to be holding a stern expression because he actually felt stern, but more because he had completely forgotten you were supposed to change your expression to let others know what you were feeling. “Maybe you could tell me what the jewelry is for and I can give you some suggestions.”

The man turned back to the display case. “It is for a funeral.”

“Oh,” you said. “For, ah. For you or for the, erm. Deceased?” It was not the first time someone had come to your shop looking for jewelry to bury someone in.

“Deceased.” There was no emotion in the man’s voice, but it was not the lack of emotion of the passionless. It was the sound of someone who had been exercising their emotions so much they didn’t have anything left to give. Pity stirred in your chest.

“Well, I’m sure we can find you something nice,” you said. “There are a lot of nice pieces here.” You gestured broadly at the wall of jewelry. The man peered at the necklaces lining the bottom row. His tail weaved back and forth, flowing like a river.

After a moment, he shook his head. His curls swayed, brushing against his chin and over the tips of his ears. “No,” he said. “Something else.”

You froze, waiting for his next move. Instead of turning toward the door, he turned toward you. You let out a sigh of relief. “Would you like something made specifically for you, sir?”

He lowered his chin in the slightest of nods. A faint flicker of bitterness invaded your mind before you shoved it away; the idea that you were going to make something that was going to have exactly one showing before it was being shoved underground wasn’t something you were overly pleased about. Then again, plenty of the extremely rich had pieces of jewelry made for them only to cram it into a closet after one night out. This was a little more important than that, wasn’t it?

“It would need to be elaborate,” he said. “Something worthy of my mother.”

You sucked in a breath through your teeth. “I’m sorry for your loss,” you said. “I can sketch up a few designs overnight and you can come back tomorrow to look at them. We can work from there.”

The man’s head dipped in a slow nod. “I will see you then.” Not waiting for any response, he whirled, cape swirling around him, and headed out the door.

The bell still didn’t ring. You glared at it until the man left, then pulled out your stepladder and went to check on it. When you tapped it, it jingled merrily. Hm. Weird. You moved the ladder away and experimentally swung the door open and closed. The bell rang every time. Okay. Really weird. But you had more important things to do.

You placed the stepladder away again and sat behind the front counter. There was a sketchpad situated under the desk for situations such as this. Usually, you had a little more idea what the customer wanted. You kicked yourself for not asking any more questions. He had left before you could get some clarification. You sketched out a few designs, most of them similar to ones you already had on the shelf. They were pretty, of course- all your jewelry was nice, and it tended to be difficult to make shiny things look that bad. But they almost certainly weren’t what your client wanted.

Night fell. You closed up your shop, but stayed in the back, eating takeout. You had an apartment, but it was barely bigger than your shop and you spent so much time here that you’d just moved a couch and some blankets into the back room, just in case you wanted to crash for the night. Really, the only practical use your apartment had was that it had a shower you could be sure no one else was using. Given your cooking skills, it was probably safer if you didn’t have access to a kitchen.

You sketched on the pad late into the night, growing more and more frustrated the longer you tried. Nothing seemed to be coming out right, and the things that looked kind of good were too reminiscent of stuff you’d already made.

Grimacing, you rolled your stiff neck and shifted your position. One of your legs was starting to fall asleep. Maybe you should just go to bed. Your mind wasn’t getting any clearer the later you stayed up, and maybe you would get an idea in your dreams. It wasn’t common, but it was better than just sitting around and waiting for inspiration to strike.

You leaned your head back, eyes closing for a moment. The image of the man swam back to your mind. He had been rather beautiful. The silvery sheen of his tail had been almost mesmerizing. It reminded you of sunlight gleaming off flowing water, or maybe oozing mercury. And his multi-pointed horns, glittering with gems had been striking as well.

Inspiration slammed into your mind like a lightning bolt. A sizzling, frenetic energy jumped through your veins. The idea seized you with a frightening ferocity. You had felt this before, the few times when an idea had seized you with a creative fervor. There was no way you were going to be sleeping now. Instead, you scrambled for another piece of paper. You needed to get this down before the idea faded.

It took you well over an hour of sketching, erasing, and fine-tuning before you’d worked the design into something you were happy with. Once it was done, you collapsed into bed, not even bothering to change your clothes. Sleep swept over you in an immediate wave.

You woke late enough that you barely had time to throw on another set of clothes and snag a granola bar before you had to open the shop. Fortunately, the design you’d made the night before still looked good in the morning light. The amount of times you’d written something in a sleep-hazed frenzy only to wake up and discover that it was absolute garbage was uncomfortable to even think about.

Despite your somewhat unkempt appearance and your tiredness, you still managed to make a couple sales. One of them was an engagement ring, one of your own designs, which had you feeling quite proud for the rest of the day. You added a few finishing touches to your sketches with a flush of enthusiasm. The day was nearly over, but the man hadn’t showed up again.

Someone cleared their throat right in front of you. You startled, knocking over a stack of coins and watched as they rolled under your counter. “Dammit.” Grimacing, you looked up.

The man was standing over you. He watched as one of the coins rolled in a neat circle next to his foot and fell over. “You should pay more attention,” he said. He stooped and picked the coin up, placing it delicately on the counter. “It is bad customer service to leave a customer waiting.”

“There’s supposed to be a bell,” you muttered under your breath. If he heard you, the comment didn’t bother him. He watched as you scrambled to pick up the few coins you could see. You could get the ones under the desk later; it wouldn’t do to go crawling around on your hands and knees in front of an important customer.

“I have the sketches,” you said. “There’s a little area we can sit in over here.” You led him over to the small alcove, separated from the rest of the shop by curtains. It was basically just a table in an area that would give the two of you a little privacy. Not that it was terribly necessary- there wasn’t anyone in the shop. But it was nice.

The man swept over to the table and paused. You looked where he was looking and paused. There were two chairs at the table and both of them had tall backs that left no space for a tail. “I might have a stool somewhere,” you said. “Hold on.”

The man lifted his hand, revealing long, elegantly manicured fingernails. “No need. I will be fine.” He sat a little awkwardly, tail curling across his lap. You hesitated for a moment, then sat across from him.

“So, I have a few sketches that I wanted to show you,” you said, spreading them across the table. The man reached out and picked up a few of them, looking over them with a critical eye. His expression was utterly emotionless. You swallowed uncomfortably. It was always weird to have someone looking at your art right in front of you.

Each drawing was examined and he placed it on the table in front of you. The stack of rejected drawing kept getting higher. The back of your neck tickled with sweat. Was he going to like any of them?

He reached the bottom of the pile and paused. Right. Your final drawing. You sucked on your lower lip. His expression was still unreadable. Finally, he placed the drawing on the table in front of you. “This one,” he said in a soft voice, tapping a finger in the center of the drawing.

It was the design you’d based off his antlers. You nodded, sweeping it back off the table. “Great. So, next we’ll need to pick the base metal color. I’ve got a few of them. There’s silver, gold, platinum…” You spread the sample metals across the table in front of them. His gaze swept over them for a moment, then he tapped the platinum band. “Okay. Good. Are there any specific colors you want in it? I’ll try to match the colors as well as I can, and you’ll get approval at all stages.”

The man sat back in his seat. For the first time, you saw a flicker of discomfort cross his face. “Blue,” he said after a moment.

You noted the color down on your pad and gathered your drawings back together. “Great. That should look nice.” You glanced into his face. His expression was still fairly emotionless, but you thought you were getting better at seeing the subtle tension on his face that indicated changes in expression. There was a tension around his eyes and a tightness around his lips that made him look tired. The sort of blank, weary tiredness of someone who was struggling to keep going. “Um. When do you need this by?”

“Four days from now,” he said. “Is that acceptable?”

“It’ll be a rush job,” you said automatically, then cringed. That felt insensitive. The weariness in his face grew a little more present as he bowed his head in a small nod.

“That will be extra?” he said. He started to reach for his pocket, but you waved your hands hurriedly.

“Uh, no, no. It’ll be fine. No extra charge.” It was probably a bad decision. There was a reason you charged extra for rush orders. But he looked exhausted and if it was for a funeral, he was likely going through a lot. It felt wrong to add onto that.

The man stared at you for a moment. He said nothing, but there was gratitude in his expression. “How much do I owe you?”

You told him the price. He reached into his pocket for a moment, then extracted several bills. You held your breath as he handed them over. Bills was a good sign. You’d once been paid exclusively in heavy gold coins and it had been impossible to find a bank that would exchange them for actual currency.

After a moment, in which you were able to reassure yourself that yes, the bills were all modern, you tucked the money into your pocket. “The rest I’ll want upon delivery,” you said. “This is just an advance.” The man nodded. “Also, I’ll need your name.”

“Solomon,” he said. He gave no last name. You didn’t bother to ask for one.

“Then I’ll see you in a few days for pickup.” You smiled at him. He gave a small bow and swept back out the door.

As it turned out, you saw him much sooner than that. You closed the shop slightly early and started heading back home. It wasn’t the best idea, to take a full night off when you had a rush order you needed to complete, but you were starting to feel a little gross. It was time to get some food that was slightly better than takeout.

The air was chilly and it was drizzling as you walked across the street and headed toward your apartment building. Then you came to a stop, squinting at the man standing in a tiny alcove of trees. His clothes were ostentatious and he looked more than a little out of place, like a prince crouching in a stable. His head was tilted back, staring up at the rain dribbling from the sky. It trailed in little rivulets down his sharp features.

“Solomon?” you said before you could think better of it. He lowered his head and turned to face you. His expression was solemn, but there was a new level of exhaustion in it. It looked more like he was too tired to make any expressions other than weariness.

He nodded to you. “Hello.”

You paused, a little awkward. He didn’t seem overly keen to talk, but he wasn’t exactly moving away from you either. “What are you still doing here?”

Solomon closed his eyes and swayed unsteadily. Automatically, you darted forward to try to catch him. At the same moment, he stuck a hand out to prop himself up on a nearby tree. You collided, his hand fumbling awkwardly through the air until it came to a rest on your shoulder. There was a moment of stumbling as you adjusted to his weight. He was heavier than he looked. His tail wrapped around one of your legs as he struggled to catch himself again.

After a few moments of fumbling, the pair of you managed to find a balance. His weight pressed down on you, leaving you panting with the effort of holding him upright. “Are you okay?” you managed.

Solomon’s chest expanded against you as he took in a deep breath. One of his hands pressed against a tree trunk and he slowly lifted himself back up. “I’m all right,” he said. His eyes closed, but this time, he didn’t sway dangerously. He just let out a deep sigh.

You slid away from him, relieved to have his weight off your back. “Are you sure?” You hesitated for a moment, debating the pros and cons, then kept talking. “Do you… do you need some help?” The words came out of you slowly. You didn’t have a lot of experience trying to give other people your assistance; you were solitary by nature and rarely gave or asked for help.

Solomon closed his eyes for a moment. His long, snow-white lashes nearly touched his cheekbones. “I am just tired. I have not been home in some time.” There was a terrible weariness in his voice, like each word was a struggle to get out of his mouth.

“Do you need help getting there?” you said. Honestly, you weren’t sure how you could actually help him get home. Didn’t most of the Old Ones live in the mountains? You didn’t even have a car.

“No,” he said. “I…” He hesitated, then ducked his head a little, looking intently at the ground at his feet. “I have not been home because I do not want to go back.”

The awkward silence grew thicker. You cleared your throat. “Er. Is it because of your mom, or…?”

His lips curled up to show the slightest flicker of fang. “Yes.”

“I’m sorry,” you said again. “Er.” A suggestion floated across your mind. “You could come to my apartment for a bit. You look tired.” The instant the idea left your lips, you felt stupid. You were tired too, and you didn’t really feel up to entertaining a stranger, much less an Old One who likely had never been in an apartment building. On the other hand, leaving him alone on the street felt gross too. Well, he probably wouldn’t take you up on the offer anyway-

“I would appreciate that,” he said. “After you.” He gestured to the sidewalk in front of you.

Well. Okay. This was happening. You walked ahead of him, trying frantically to remember the last time you’d vacuumed. Had it been last weekend? Hard to say. It honestly kept slipping your mind. Oh, god, when had you last dusted? Did Old Ones care about stuff like that?

In no time at all, you were at the front door to your building. You fumbled with your keys for a moment before your door clicked open. Solomon stepped into your building with an expression of mild curiosity.

There was nothing fancy about the lobby to your building. There was a threadbare rug and a slightly shoddy desk in a corner. The doorman, a medusa with massive snakes coiling around his head, looked up. His eyes fell on Solomon sweeping in behind you and he raised is scaled brows. You mouthed ‘tell you later’ and headed for the elevator.

Solomon looked momentarily confused when you gestured for him to follow you inside, but he stepped in regardless. You tapped your floor button and the elevator doors slid shut.

You were already braced for the weird jolt that happened every time the elevator started, but you’d completely forgotten that Solomon wasn’t. He seized your elbow as the floor juddered under your feet. His expression was smooth, but his grip on your arm was tight.

“It’s okay,” you said. “It’s just an elevator.” You couldn’t tell if he understood what an elevator was, but your lack of concern seemed to appease him. His grip on your elbow loosened, though he didn’t remove his hand.

Solomon brushed past you to get off the elevator once it stopped, giving it a suspicious look over his shoulder. You bit your tongue. Do not laugh at the powerful monster. Even if he is looking at the elevator like it might jump at him.

You jostled the lock a few times before your door swung open. Solomon was tall enough to just look over your shoulder into your fairly tiny apartment. It only had a couple of rooms, and both of them could be charitably described as cozy. You scrambled to grab a few of the carelessly-tossed bits of packaging that hadn’t yet made their way to the garbage can and pushed them out of sight. You had definitely forgotten to dust for a while; Solomon picked up one of your books, then hurriedly ducked his head into his elbow to sneeze.

“Sorry. I don’t come here all that often,” you said. Solomon sniffed and put the book back down.

“I have never been inside a human dwelling before. Are they all so…” He trailed off, looking around the room. “So compact?”

“They’re not if you have more money,” you said. “Um. I can get you something to eat or drink? Or get you something to make you more comfortable? You can sit, if you want.”

Solomon scanned the room and his eyes fell on the small, but fairly cushy, couch. He approached it slowly, then, after testing the cushions with a hand, sat down.

It was strange to see him seated on your overly-plush couch. The heavy fur ruff of his cloak and the fine regality of his face were at odds with the barely maintained shabbiness of your apartment. It was like looking at a historical reenactor on break. It just looked off.

“So, uh,” you said, fumbling for something to do with your hands. “How are you doing?”

It was a dumb question, but you were having trouble coming up with things to say. Solomon looked at you. There was something glassy in his expression. You paused in your aimless fidgeting.

“I am…” The words seemed to take considerable effort. He closed his eyes and swayed. You placed the mug you’d grabbed on the counter, fully prepared to lunge for him if he showed signs of fainting.

Fortunately, he only swayed for a moment before his eyes opened again and he slumped back into your cushions. “I have had a long few days,” he said.

“Yeah?” You picked the mug back up and slid it into your coffee maker. You had no idea if he would like it, but you felt like you needed some. “Do you, uh, want to talk about it?”

He gave you a stony look. “Do you know who I am?”

It was such an unbelievably douchey question spoken with such earnestness that you snorted. “No. Not really. You haven’t told me much.”

“I am the Lord Solomon, ruler of the lands from the town to the eastward river,” he said. The words were grand, but his tone was bored. “My mother’s death places me at the top of the line of succession. There had been an enormous amount of political posturing.”

You nodded slowly, trying to process what he was saying. “I wasn’t aware this area had a lord.”

“It may be a bit above mortal understanding,” Solomon said. “We operate outside mortal laws, and our ownership of the land does not fall in line with your understanding.” He flexed his fingers and clenched them into fists repeatedly. His tail twitched back and forth. “Indeed, these past couple of weeks have been stressful.”

“I’m sorry about that,” you said honestly. You picked up your mug, now filled with steaming coffee, and walked over to the couch. He looked up at you as you sat next to him. His eyes flicked toward the mug and you saw him sniff the air curiously. “It’s coffee,” you said. “Do you want some?”

“Yes,” he said. “I know what coffee is.” Your hand was already sort of extended toward him, so he easily reached out and took it from you. Before you could do anything other than stare in surprise, he had tilted it up to his mouth and drained it in a few quick gulps. “Thank you.”

There was one of the Old Ones sitting on your couch and he had just stolen your coffee. Presumably, it would be a very bad idea to yell at him, but you still kind of wanted to. “Okay,” you said in a barely-restrained voice, “Cool. I guess I did offer.”

Solomon caught the irritation in your tone. “I am truly grateful for your assistance. I will admit that I was unwilling to return home.”

“It probably feels weird that she’d not there anymore, right?” you said. Solomon looked at you for a moment, then gave a tiny, hesitant nod. “I know how that feels.” You paused, swallowing hard. “I lost my dad five years ago now. It was rough. I can’t imagine having to deal with lordship on top of all that.”

Solomon kept looking at you with wide eyes. He didn’t seem to believe that you, a lowly mortal human, could comprehend his feelings. You decided to wait until he was feeling better to be insulted by that. “I am sorry for your loss,” he finally said, sounding a little more robotic than sincere. You decided he probably didn’t get out much.

“It’s okay. It was a while ago.” You leaned back on the couch. “You want to talk about it?”

Solomon kept staring at you. “Talk about it?”

“You know. Say all the stuff you’re feeling. It might help,” you said. He kept looking at you. The concept seemed entirely foreign to him. “Um. Like. How are you feeling right now?”

He looked at you for a long, uncertain moment. “Tired,” he finally said. “I am tired. Of trying to manage land squabbles. Of trying to plan my mother’s funeral. From dealing with all the new responsibilities my position entails.” He rubbed his forehead. “And I miss her. I miss being able to see her. I miss being able to speak with her about her responsibilities. I miss hunting with her.” His voice choked and he made a gulping noise that seemed to surprise him. you reached out and tentatively patted his shoulder.

“I know. It’ll get better. But it’s gonna hurt for a long while,” I said. “It’s gonna be hard.” Solomon gave an absent nod, looking down at his cup. “You know, there’s a grief counseling support group in town. If you want to go to it sometimes, I can take you there. I go there still, when it’s bad.”

Solomon looked blank. “A support group?”

“It’s a group of people who all lost someone important to them who get together and talk about their feelings. And they all help each other. You can learn a lot about dealing with grief from going. And sometimes hearing about other people’s problems can make it easier to deal with your own.” Solomon blinked a few times. His eyes were abruptly watery and you realized you weren’t entirely sure how to deal with him suddenly breaking into tears in your living room. You patted his shoulder awkwardly. “It might help? I think? I know you’re not like most of us, but it could still be good. I don’t think grief is all that different across species.”

He inhaled slowly. There was a little tremble in it, like he was still dangerously close to crying. “I think I would like that,” he said. His voice was quiet, but firm.

“Okay,” you said. “It meets Wednesdays.” You paused. “Do you know what Wednesdays are?”

He snorted. “I have a concept of human time.”

“Oh,” you said. “Okay. Good.” You sat in silence for a few more moments. There was still tiredness in the set of Solomon’s shoulders, but he looked more at peace than he had a few moments ago.

Eventually, he got to his feet. “I should return home,” he said. “I will see you again.” He paused. “And thank you.”

“No problem.” You stood up and started to lead him toward the door. “We support each other, you know?” He nodded.

You stayed up for a while after he left your apartment. It felt strange, that such a conversation had taken place between you and an Old One. They seemed so ancient and remote, and yet you had just had a conversation with one on the loss of a parent. And he had seemed utterly normal.

Odd. Not unpleasant, just… odd.

Your shop was quiet the next day, so you spent much of it working on the commission. Your thoughts were occupied with Solomon. How something so powerful had managed to look so vulnerable- it stuck with you.

Solomon didn’t show up for the next few days, which gave you some time to finish the necklace. It was good work, in your opinion, sturdy and beautiful. The long, antler-like branches were designed to rest on the clavicles and twist up the throat.

The necklace was done in time for the meeting on Wednesday, so you packed it into a box and took it with you to your apartment. You usually brought some sort of food with you to the meetings. It seemed polite, and people usually enjoyed it.

When you emerged from your apartment, Solomon was standing there. He was still wearing his heavy robes, with the thick fur ruff, and it was attracting a lot of stares. He didn’t seem to notice it. His eyes locked onto you as soon as you emerged from the building.

“Hello,” he said. “We are still going together, yes?” Despite his serious expression, there was a note of hesitancy in his voice.

“Yeah, we are,” you said. “Come on. I’ll show you the way there.”

It was a cozy little building that the meetings took place in. There were only four other people in the group, and they all stared at Solomon when he walked in. You gave an awkward wave. “Hey. Uh, this is Solomon. We met, uh, recently, and he wanted to come to the meeting.”

The man who led the group, a bulky and intimidating werewolf, locked eyes with you. His confusion and shock were blatantly written across his face. You tried to communicate your own surprise and bewilderment at the situation, but it was difficult when his eyes kept going back to Solomon. Thankfully, the Old One didn’t seem to have noticed. He just crossed the room and took one of the seats.

The meeting went as usual, except for everyone’s glances at Solomon. If he was bothered by their constant staring, he didn’t show it. You occasionally reached out to pat his hand or his leg. Everyone stared when you did that, like you were casually touching the sun itself. He didn’t speak much, except to give the bare basics of his story. But he paid intent attention to the stories of others, apparently interested in what they were saying.

“So,” you said as you stepped outside after the meeting, “how was that?”

“Interesting,” Solomon said. “Everyone just talked about their loved ones and their feelings.”

“Yeah. It helps to talk about the people you love and how you’re dealing with everything. It helps to know there are other people who care,” you said. “Oh, and, uh, by the way, I brought this with me.” You reached into your pocket and removed the small box.

Solomon delicately opened it and looked down at the necklace. He traced its lines with a finger. His lashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly. “She- My mother would have liked it.”

His voice broke. You leaned into his side, letting him rest some of his weight against you. His tail twined around your leg, as if seeking comfort. “You can cry. Remember? We said it was good to cry.”

Solomon shuddered and tears started to drip down his cheeks. He cried in silence, leaning on you heavily. You allowed him to, only speaking to soothe him.

Eventually, he petered out. You offered him a pack of tissues. He mopped at his face. “Thank you,” he said, voice rusty.

“Of course. Like I said, it’s good to have other people you can count on.” You patted his arm gently.

He closed his eyes for a moment, taking in a deep breath. “I was wondering. The funeral is… soon. Perhaps, if you were willing, you would come with me?” You stared. “You do not need to feel obligated. It is just- you have helped me, recently. I feel that it would be nice to have someone there who understands.”

“Sure,” you said. “I’d be okay with that.” Solomon nodded, then reached into his pocket. He retrieved a wad of cash from his pocket and handed it to you. Your mouth dropped open. It was mostly fifties, with several hundred bills wadded up in the middle. “This… I think this is more than we agreed on.”

“You have given me a greater gift than just the necklace, so I feel that I should pay you back in kind.” Solomon squeezed your shoulder. “Thank you. I will see you again soon.”

His form rippled and extended into a massive, serpentine dragon. Its scales reflected opalescently in the sunlight and his antlers gleamed like metal. There were gasps around you, but your eyes were fixed only on him. He looked back at you with a surprising amount of affection for a draconic face, then he swooped upward and vanished. You stared as he vanished into the sky, awe swelling in your chest. “See you again soon,” you said, half to yourself. “And thank you, too.”

#exophilia #dragon #dragon boyfriend #monster boyfriend #monster lover #dragon lover

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sharkselfies · 3 years

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The Minds Behind The Terror Podcast Transcript - Episode 4

Our journey comes to an end with the transcript for episode 4 of The Minds Behind The Terror Podcast, where Dave Kajganich, Soo Hugh, Dan Simmons, and Adam Nagaitis discuss the last two episodes of the series. Once again, Adam steals the show with his revelations about Mr. Hickey, but we also hear about everyone’s favorite death scenes, the fight to let Mr. Blanky say fuck, the many changes the writers made to the ending that differed from the novel, and the importance of trusting your audience’s intelligence.

The Minds Behind The Terror Podcast - Episode 4

[The Terror opening theme music]

Dave Kajganich: Welcome to the fourth and final installment of The Minds Behind AMC’s The Terror as we discuss our final two episodes of the show! I’m Dave Kajganich, creator and co-showrunner of the series, here with the honorable Dan Simmons, creator of the novel The Terror on which the series is based. Also with us is Soo Hugh, executive producer and co-showrunner of the show, and Adam Nagaitis, who plays a man who plays a man called Cornelius Hickey. Welcome back!

Adam Nagaitis: Hi!

Dan Simmons: Hi Dave.

DK: So we launch into our final episodes. Now we are in an episode where the show begins to bend time. We cover a lot of ground in episode nine, a lot of distance, we say goodbye to quite a lot of characters, and we start to really bend the tone and the shape of the narrative towards the kind of horrible collision that’s coming between Crozier and Hickey and our Tuunbaq.

Soo Hugh: So in nine we say goodbye to so many of our characters. I mean Dave and I cried so--

[laughter]

SH: The amount of tears that he and I shed editing this show, especially with nine and ten. For you guys, Adam and Dan, which were the deaths--well, what did you think of the deaths?

DS: What’s your favorite death?

[laughter]

SH: Yeah, what was your favorite death?

AN: My favorite was probably, the one that really moved me was Fitzjames, it’s such a fantastic story, his character’s so interesting, that transition, discovering, you know, admitting who you are, and the firework at the Tuunbaq being his feat of courage, and then to end up, to embrace death, and to do it in such a beautiful way. And then the line of “there will be poems” that Mr. Bridgens says.

[show audio]

[sad, eerie music]

Bridgens (through tears): It was an honor serving you, sir. You’re a good man. There will be poems.

AN: It’s a beautiful death, it’s probably the best you can ask for, in that situation, you’re with a friend. Yeah, it’s quite sad. Of course you gotta love Blanky’s death as well, that’s, I’m cheating, now, yeah, but Blanky’s death is the greatest line to go out on, surely.

[show audio]

[Tuunbaq growling, shales crunching underfoot]

Blanky: What in the name of god took you so fuckin’ long?

[Tuunbaq snorts, Blanky laughs maniacally]

DK: We weren’t entirely sure whether AMC was going to permit us to use that word, a curse word, because on AMC you’re not meant to. Luckily for us, there are a number of AMC shows that have a precedent of using that word and we argued successfully that, you know, could you ask for a better show, a better scene than a Victorian disaster show to use the F-word, and they finally allowed us to use it, and we’re really grateful.

SH: I think just visually Bridgens’ death was so beautiful, and that pull out. And what was interesting was in our research found, we discovered, there was a corpse they discovered who had rolled over and was found sleeping on a set of papers, and in the show Bridgens takes Peglar’s diary when he chooses to die out there in the cold alone comforted with his memories, we see him roll over, and so that’s just our nod to history. Now it turns out we don't know whether or not it was actually Peglar’s diary, it could have been Armitage’s--

DK: No, I think we know it’s Peglar’s journal, but we don’t know whether the man lying on top of it was Armitage or Bridgens.

SH: Then there’s Goodsir’s death. Oh my God, Goodsir! I can’t believe Hickey! Adam! Goodsir!

AN: Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know. He had it comin’!

[laughter]

AN: I forgot that death, I forgot all of those deaths, actually, what a--so beautifully acted. I mean, unbelievable. It was perfect. The pure clean images of the coral, and the shell, oh I loved it, and the end, I think it’s an orchid, I just loved it, I absolutely--it’s something that I don’t like talking about, that death, it’s really horrible.

[show audio]

[the rising music from the scene of Goodsir’s death]

DS: They were all very moving in their own way, saying goodbye to each of the characters, surprisingly powerful, you know, some of ‘em were not major characters, but everything connected for me watching your version. When--earlier, when Fitzjames is out with Crozier alone, and Fitzjames sort of acknowledges that he’s a fake, that he’s just been faking this heroism, you know, the admiralty thought they sent a hero, they sent Fitzjames, he was the man of the moment, but he hadn’t done that much, so he had the courage to say that, and Crozier immediately had the compassion to point out, “No, you’re here, now, and you’re doing fine,” that’s not the dialect but that’s the essence of his message. So all through these scenes with the different characters, I found compassion again. [It] was the way Crozier touched men who were close to the end, the tone of his voice, you know, it wasn’t mawkish, he wouldn’t like being at all sentimental, but it was so supportive. It was like Goodsir helping the poor boy at the beginning of the show, telling him how death could be good, how you see light, you cross over. The kid died in terror; some of these people did. But most of ‘em, they’re like--Fitzjames, when he’s, you know, when he finally has to be carried in the sledge, and he has a sense of humor at the end, he can laugh at himself, somewhat, ‘cause he tells Crozier that that the bullet that went through his arm into his chest, that area is now so gangrene--er, rotten, you know, the bullet is finally going to kill him. Haha.

[polite awkward laughter]

DK: Well you pointed out a line from the first episode, where Fitzjames is talking to Franklin and he says, “Sometimes I think you love your men more than God loves them,” and Franklin's response is “For all your sakes, let’s hope you’re wrong,” and we brought that line back in a different way in episode nine, which is where the survivors of the Terror Camp attack are about to leave, and they know Hickey’s out there somewhere, and Fitzjames’s impulse is to hide or destroy all of their extra supplies so that Hickey’s group can’t benefit from them, and Crozier has the opposite instinct, which is because he knows some people in Hickey’s group probably made that decision because they were afraid that the alternative was worse to stay with Crozier and so many people, that he wants to offer them the resources in case they can use them and in case they wanna make a different decision in the days ahead.

[show audio]

Fitzjames: And the supplies we cannot carry? If Hickey’s band are waiting us out to loot the camp?

Crozier: Some of the men with them made their choice out of fear, I’ll not take away any chance they have to survive. We may meet them yet again, and if we do, I want them to make a different choice. Leave our supplies in a tidy pile, as an offering. I want the men with Hickey to know that’s how we meant it.

[shales crunching underfoot]

Fitzjames: More than God loves them...

DK: Lines like that are a real test, I mean, you struggle with them in the editing room. Did we earn that line? Is it important that an audience remembers that as an index point that line has now been sort of superficially applied to one man, but more sincerely applied to another man, and, you know, that goes back to sort of a close reading of the book, Dan, just sort of scouring through your dialogue trying to figure out how does a master, if I can refer to you that way, approach this idea of a relationship with an audience? And we learned an enormous amount from your book about restraint and indirection, and credit, giving the audience credit. And I will say this, the series is different enough from your novel that I would encourage everyone who has seen the television show but not read your book to seek it out, because they will have just as rewarding--even more so, possibly!--a time of learning about this history through the lens of horror than they did watching the show. So I think they complement one another. I hope they do, and I hope people will seek out both.

DS: That’s kind of you, Dave. My wife keeps track of the tie-in version of the book, and it’s selling very well, so some people are gonna get that.

SH: There is this fantastic scene that is in your book, that we had neither money nor time to shoot, but it’s where they discover leads, and they take the boats out going around, and they realize they’re just going around in a circle. We didn’t have the time to shoot that and we re-jiggered our narrative so that the leads ended up being a ploy on one of Hickey’s secret mutineers. Nine is a very quiet episode, and in some ways when you, in television shows--did you miss a set piece, in nine? Did anyone miss having a bigger narrative punch?

DS: Well, I'll answer, then let Adam answer, but for me, who had that boat scene and really liked it a lot, I didn’t miss my stuff too much, because what happened was when the young man, a boy actually, who’s secretly under Hickey’s control tells Crozier and the others he sees open water, and they rush to the rocky beach to see it, and of course that was a lie and a ploy to get them there so Hickey can seize them, but my heart just flew, that, “Open water! Ohh boy!” You know? How would men have felt if they’d heard that, in reality, what was their reaction? ‘Cause the open water could conceivably be their savior, they could get other places, not just cross over and start marching through middle Canada, but they could go anywhere on open water, and to see it all locked in with ice was just stunning to me, it was such a disappointment. So no, I don’t miss my part of it very much.

AN: I never thought of it as something that suggests a quiet narrative like you described it, Soo, to me it sort of links--I see nine and ten as one episode, really. It’s this slow build, the creation of that relationship that these two--the antithesis between these two camps, and between the tactics employed... I just think that the way you guys wrote it and put it together is flawless, I just think it’s so beautifully weighted, between, you know, the deaths that to me they don’t seem to just sort of monotonously pile up, they’re all just so beautifully handled and acted. And the whole time you have this tension building, slowly, slowly, that, you know, that it’s gonna come to a head. I didn’t feel when I watched it that it ever lacked punch. It had such clarity and such patience that made it really beautiful.

DS: And I don’t know if we can say the C-word on podcasts… cannibalism?

[laughter]

DK: Yes, that one we can.

SH: Yes.

DS: Oh, ok. You know there was a--if Hickey hadn’t already divided the troop into his people, the anointed, and then Crozier’s group, it would have happened anyway because of the cannibalism. And when you think about it, think of that rugby team or soccer team or whatever that crashed in the Andes. They went back into society. They were cannibals, they admitted it, they got a book deal. And so, presumably, even in England, these people would have been forgiven, or they would have kept it secret like some do. So cannibalism, what it did in this show, I think, divides the people. I didn’t see, until he was forced to imbibe in cannibalism, I didn't see Crozier even considering it. And so that fascinates me, just how far people will go to survive.

[show audio]

[tense music, tent canvas flapping in the wind]

EC: I’ll give you some advice. Don’t indulge your morals over your practicals. Not now. Don’t you also wanna live?

SH: Dave, we talked a lot about this, is when you’re in that moment, you’re not Dave Kajganich and I’m not Soo Hugh, in that moment, choosing whether or not we decide to eat someone. Something else will take over, whether it is the Goodsir in us or whether it is the Hickey in us, in that moment. I think that’s why when we shot that scene, you know, after Gibson is cut up, Adam, remember when we shot the reaction shots from each one of you eating your first bite of human flesh meat, and we took so much footage, we shot so much. We shot, you know, closes, mediums, just because Dave and I, you know, at that point, we were very confident of how to shoot everything, that was probably the moment when we were like ugh.

DK: Well we wanted to know how little we could get away with, and what we found, of course, which is typical for the show, the performances were so terrific, that we didn’t need very much. And I remember on the mix stage, the first mix that they did of the show, of that episode, I mean, there was quite a lot of chewing.

[laughter]

And so when I said, no no no, let’s pull all of that out, and use the most minute changes in expression, because all of you at that table were so well in character, that even the slightest muscle movement on your face communicated everything we needed you to. And we were obviously very interested in not overplaying that scene, knowing that audiences had been waiting for it, wondering how, in what kind of taste we would show it, you know, how we would modulate it, and you know a rule throughout the show was to try to present everything with its most practical face, including this. And so, you know, hopefully when that lands for people it will be both satisfying in the sense that they will understand how these characters made that decision but it won’t feel that we have over-articulated it, somehow.

DS: I’m not religious, but I’m obsessed with religion, and in your story, the way you structured it, you have, in a sense, we’ve already talked, or at least I have, about how Hickey seems to be evolving towards Messiahdom, I think he near the end he thinks he is the Messiah, but it’s Goodsir who provides The Last Supper. How much more powerful a story of Christ is there, than, you know, “Take, eat,” and it’s yourself? And it’s fascinating to me that the man who dedicated his life to helping people and curing people and being empathic at their ending, his last act is to kill as many of Hickey’s people as possible. And, you know, so there’s--that’s where the trial was, it wasn’t when Hickey was gonna be hanged, it was inside Dr. Goodsir when he decided that “These people need to end and I will do it.”

SH: So should we talk about the big scene at the end--well, it’s not the end, it’s the Tuunbaq sequence in 1.10?

DK: To set it up, Adam, you know, Hickey--we’ll keep calling him Hickey even though we’ve established he isn’t--you get an important piece of information in episode nine where Tozer, Sergeant Tozer, relays to you a piece of information that he hasn’t shared with anyone, that he watched Collins be killed and he watched Collins’s soul be pulled out of his body. And, you know, for Hickey, suddenly a lot of things make sense. What happened to Private Heather, who was alive for many episodes but no longer sort of present in his body, I mean you even have a scene where you poke his brain hoping to get some kind of reaction out of him, and you take that piece of information and you suddenly realize you’re not longer in a kind of survival story, you’re in kind of a spiritual story, you’re in kind of a mythological story, suddenly. Can you talk about how you decided to play that so it was sort of clear to an audience what that opportunity was? Because we did not devote a lot of dialogue to it, it was going to have to be something an audience felt as much as was described to them.

AN: I can only describe the way that it--the process--the mind of it, that, you know, you see Hickey has a plan, up until that point, he’s started--the way that I thought about it was that, you know, once he starts to hear things, he starts to have this space of this area, creates this space in his mind and he understands the things that have come before him and his curiosity leads him to, you know--one element in him is still practically engaged in survival, and outmaneuvering the captain, and heading south, and coming up with a plan and, you know, a story as to what happened, but then there are other elements of, you know, consuming human flesh, that there might be an answer there, it might be an enlightening experience. And if it’s not in that, is it something else? And he finds the hill, and he understands when he sees that hill, that he hears something, and then he’s not quite clear on what it is, what’s drawing him, and what’s talking to him, and what he’s feeling, but he’s becoming one with this realm, and, you know, he starts to, once he discovers the supernatural element--not that he hasn’t already established that there is one, but the fact that it’s such a specific--he’s been developing his knowledge of the summoning song that Lady Silence sings to become a Shaman, you know, the rules of this particular realm, this empire. And he’s been gathering this information as we go along, all the way through the series he’s been taking pieces of information, and he pockets it and learns and keeps it for later.

[show audio]

[mysterious music]

Hickey: Tuunbaq… a spirit that dresses as an animal, and yet we shot it with a cannon and drew blood. How do you reconcile that?

Crozier: I can’t. There’s much about this voyage I can’t reconcile.

Hickey: What mythology is this creature at the center of?

Crozier: About the creature I have no answers, Mr. Hickey. We were not meant to know of it.

AN: And when he gets this key piece of the puzzle, that the Tuunbaq is taking souls, and that... there’s a hierarchy of what the Tuunbaq wants to eat. You know, a captain, and important people, he realizes that he really is the center of this universe. I suppose the way that I adjusted it was that everybody else became irrelevant. Completely irrelevant. I no longer needed to worry about manipulation, control, fear. Everything was gonna sing for me, everything was gonna work as if I had magic hands, and my voice just dictated what the universe would do.

[show audio]

[mysterious music continued]

Hickey: I didn’t have anywhere near an equal on this expedition. But you. I wanted to thank you for that. On the eve of what is quite an important day.

AN: Every single conversation was an annoyance because it was getting in the way of me listening to the universe, this world, this empire, this realm that was now speaking to me. And I was talking to the Tuunbaq, you know, from this distance, and we had this dance going, and everything that happened was just getting in my way. It was all gonna work itself out because I’ve been chosen to ascend, to reach this ascension, to, you know, ride the Tuunbaq into my new empire, to take my new throne, and I was finally gonna be given the answers to these questions that I’d been asking.

[show audio]

[rushing wind, men singing weakly in the background, creaking]

Hickey (shouting): Bugger Nelson! Bugger Jesus! Bugger Joseph and Mary! Bugger the Archbishop of Canterbury! None ever wanted nothing from me!

SH: When you offer the Tuunbaq the tongue, and there’s that pause, what’s gonna happen, and he bites your arm off instead, and that look on your face of just, you know, “You too have failed me.”

DS: Et tu?

[laughter]

“Et tu, Tuunbaq?”

[laughter]

AN: “Et tu, Tuunbaq,” that’s a great T-shirt. But that scene, I drifted, but that scene in particular, is a slight difference to what his plan was, which was to climb the hill, sacrifice the men, sacrifice the tongue, and to become one with the Tuunbaq and to take my place on the throne in this new realm. And to find the answers and maybe, you know, climb through to a different realm, or who knows what. This empire was now my empire, which was the culmination of all of Hickey through his entire life has been leading to this point, and he’s quietened himself enough to hear it, and then suddenly he gets sick, because somebody poisons him. And so it’s a slightly different feeling, as he’s climbing the hill, and it’s a different--something else is happening inside him. He’s still perfectly capable of executing his plan, he gets carried away in that scene, and then by the time the Tuunbaq appears, he kind of focuses again, and becomes very excited. It’s a relationship with the Tuunbaq, it’s a dance, that everything is for him and the Tuunbaq. Everyone else is irrelevant.

[show audio]

[Tuunbaq snuffling, boat chain clanking]

[the Tuunbaq roars, sound of chomping flesh, then the screeching sound of the soul being eaten]

SH: And what he gets so wrong about the Tuunbaq, and I think what a lot of the Western characters in our show get wrong about the Tuunbaq, is that the Tuunbaq is not a deity, the Tuunbaq doesn’t ask to be a god, right? All it is is just this arbiter of what is good or what is not good for the land, you know, there’s no sense of the Tuunbaq wanting to be the ultimate creative force here, and I think that’s where Hickey was wrong, right?

AN: I think he sees it as a supernatural creature, and again, because everything comes through him, and the universe revolves around him, that it’s a challenge for him, it’s a question for him, and he deals a lot in questions as opposed to answers, and what his position is in the universe, and by the time he meets this creature that eats souls--and the creature’s sick, and it’s because he hasn’t united with it yet! It’s because of me that it’s sick, it hasn’t, I haven’t been in contact with it, and we haven’t united ourselves and taken over this empire, and he doesn’t see it for what it is. SH: And when you guys see the Tuunbaq’s death in the very end of that sequence, how did you guys feel?

DS: Speaking for the novelist here, I was surprised; and then I got through the surprise and thought yeah. And then I immediately wondered how Lady Silence would have to pay for this death, ‘cause you’d already shown me that she’s in charge of protecting the Tuunbaq, so it was controlling it in some way, and she wasn’t really up to the task, so I liked that in going, when Crozier’s with the Inuit band, learning that she’s been punished and sent out by herself. But the Tuunbaq’s death itself just seemed right at that time.

[show audio]

[Tuunbaq’s death scene--growling noises, boat chain clinking, Crozier struggling]

AN: It was a horrible thing to watch, as a viewer, it was so sad, and it spoke to me of this sort of contemporary sort of--to me it was sort of a global warming issue, not to bring it ‘round, but it was sort of like, that’s it, they’ve killed it.

SH: No, absolutely, yeah!

AN: They’ve killed it, they’ve killed the Tuunbaq and we’re actually rejoicing at Crozier’s survival. But really, the man deserves death, with the creature that creates balance to this culture should be alive. And we have this upside down world that we are celebrating, which is so, you know, intelligent of you guys to create, and it’s difficult to take, but that creature is gone, and so balance is gone, and here we are.

DK: The very specific and subtle thing that we put in the show that probably no will decode it ‘til they hear this podcast, but was important to us as a structural element, was Sir John dies, when he’s killed down the fire hole in episode three, he has some flashes of subjective kinds of hallucinations, I suppose, or visions, I don’t know what you would call them. But one of them is of open water, it’s just a vista of the future of the Arctic, that there are going to be these, you know, that there’s going to be a huge melt, and there’s going to be all this open water. And for the final shot we tried to match, as much as we could, the angle, so that all of that frozen water that Crozier is sitting on at that seal hole would maybe possibly evoke that memory, to speak to what you’re saying, Adam, which is that this whole thing is a kind of, from the Netsilik’s point of view, it’s a huge tragedy in which these Europeans are the terrors, in a way. And not to be too reductive about it, but, you know, we wanted the season to have that kind of change of polarity, which is one reason why we couldn’t quite use the sort of the ending of the book, as much as we loved it, Dan, it felt like a lot of things that would feel--that would pull the point of view of the season across that line too much and too late. We wanted to try to modulate it a little bit so that every episode felt like you were giving some room in your point of view for Lady Silence’s perspective, or the Inuit’s perspective, and that that change would sort of happen so slowly you might not even notice that it was happening at all, which is one reason why we made that decision.

DS: You gave every character I saw room to have his or her own apotheosis, which is a big theme with you guys, I meant, the arcs end and people becoming someone else. Crozier grows into his leadership, I think, beautifully. Maybe he deserved punishment, but I found Crozier and his empathy, as Fitzjames is dying in the boat, it’s Crozier that touches him and lets him know, you know, through physical contact, that he’s not alone. And giving them room is unusual. I just find there’s so many unusual elements to what you three have created, that, I have to warn you, I think it deserves a lot of intelligent attention.

DK: Well I hope we can volley a lot of those right back to the book, Dan. Well we should take some time at the end to--given that after the sequence, this really becomes almost a kind of silent film to deliver the ending to Crozier’s arc--to really sing the praises of Jared Harris in this show, I mean, what he did with this role is remarkable. So, Dan, I would love to know what you thought of Jared Harris’s Francis Crozier?

DS: After watching the ten episodes of him and all those, and watching what he did with it, I just wanted him to adopt me.

[laughter]

SH: He would love that!

DS: But it certainly--leading is the operative word, isn’t it? He just, he didn’t give 100 or 1000 percent, he gave more than that to the character. He became Crozier for me. I’m the one who had to dream up the man, and see what he looked like, and write about him for about 1100 pages, 700 finally in type, and so I had my Crozier, he was pretty solid. But now Jared Harris is Crozier. There’s no doubt in my mind.

DK: The ending of the season is quite different from the ending of the book, Dan, how did you feel watching the ending of the show, and, in all candor, do you feel that it was satisfying? Do you feel that it was at least a good companion piece for the ending of the book?

DS: Well I’m glad I didn't video record my reaction the first time I saw the different ending, because speaking for two million readers I stood up and shouted, “What's wrong with my ending!”

[laughter]

“Is it chopped liver?” And I realized it would be. I realized that I don’t think you could have taken my ending and made it a sensible finale visually in the way it went. So I tracked--the whole episodes, the last two episodes, were enlightenment to me, because I’m just a viewer now, I’m watching something I didn’t create, these are not my ideas, so I sat back and enjoyed it, as horrible as they were. So when I watch your ending, the only thing I was bothered by was I’m sentimental. And the real Crozier, I believe, and certainly the fictional Crozier that we’ve all created, was so lonely, he was so alone in life, I think he was less alone than Crozier was, and, you know, rejected by Franklin’s niece several times from marriage, a life where he really felt rejection, probably more than Hickey did, and at the end I wanted him to be with someone. So as much as I liked your ending and I really thought it was proper and appropriate for the series, I woulda put a person next to him as he’s fishing out there in, you know, in his Inuit outfit at night waiting by a seal--he’s not fishing, he’s waiting by a seal breathing hole to kill it. So if I’d seen a glimpse of two of them, you wouldn’t even need to see their faces, you know, the sentimental side of me woulda been happy.

SH: But we leave that ambiguous in the ending, in terms of he’s not with Lady Silence, she, you know, had to pay the bill in some ways for the loss of the Tuunbaq and her destiny is to venture forth alone, and in some ways her storyline is the most tragic of all the characters in our show because, I mean, the price she paid is so harsh. But in terms of the last shot, which Dave and I just knew from pretty early on that was gonna be our last shot, and it felt right. We don’t know much about Crozier’s biography, you know? For all we know that child could be his, it may not. We actually didn’t want to fill in too much of the coloring book at that point. It’s up to the audience to describe whether or not that last shot is--it’s interesting ‘cause we had this big argument, lovely argument in the color suite, the grading suite, of how we grade that last shot. Whether we grade it bright and sunny to be optimistic, or we grade it with a lot of contrast and stamp down a lot of the light to make it seem that, you know, there’s a sense--a harshness, to this reality. And in some ways we split the middle, so the audience can decide whether or not the life Crozier has at the end is one of punishment, reckoning, or whether or not he will move on and have something different.

DK: And I think something in that final shot that certainly we couldn’t have planned, that tipped things in a warmer direction was the child that plays that boy in the shot, who’s meant to be sleeping against Crozier as he’s waiting at the seal hole, really fell asleep because he was wrapped up in fur, and Jared’s a very welcoming person, and he fell asleep. And in the middle of that shot he twitches in his sleep, like children do. And I think that if you catch that it’s quite undeniably a warm moment. You don’t know whether that’s Crozier’s son, whether that’s just a friend’s son, someone he’s taking care of, but you do get a sense that there is a community and that it’s a warm one, even though that life will be difficult and he will occupy no position of leadership in that world, he will be--you know, he’s missing a hand at that point, it’s going to be a rough rough road ahead of him, but we decided to sort of be as ambiguous as we could but for that child who twitches in his sleep, which we just loved that, that that’s a part of that final shot of the show.

DS: Now you’ve made me wanna go back watch that scene about ten times. I think you did at the ending essentially what you chose to do throughout the series, which is to trust in the intelligence and the sensibilities of the audience. So in that sense I like it a lot, but I admire it too. It just, I’m just sentimental, I just want Crozier finally to find somebody.

[show audio]

[”The Gates of Paradise” by Robert Fripp, which is the music from that aforementioned final scene of Crozier and the little boy asleep at the seal hole, plays]

SH: And with episode ten, the story of the Franklin Expedition on AMC is completed. And Dave, you’ve been working on this project now for ten or twelve years, I’ve been on it for two and a half years, Adam you’ve been on this journey for a long time, Dan you’ve probably been--how long has it been for you?

DS: Oh, since about 1994!

SH: Yeah, wow. I mean, what is it about this story that means it’s hard to let go? Even now I feel like there’s a grieving process that I feel like I have.

DS: I know why it’s hard to let go. You created real people, you did something that is incredibly rare I think, for any media, movies, series, anything. They’re real people, and when they suffer the viewer suffers with them. When they try to fight back and survive, that’s the viewer’s impression, and we’re sorry to see each one of them go, including Hickey. So, I think there’s a success in what you set out to do.

SH: We’re just so thrilled that, you know, you gave us the trust to do your book but also that you love it! We were so nervous that you would hate this adaptation!

[laughter]

DK: Well and now what’s amazing is we all get to sort of take a seat in the theater of real history playing out again, now that they’ve discovered the ships. You know, we’ve been told by Parks Canada and by people we’ve met who are actively on the archeological expeditions now, dives to the ships, that there is a chance that they will find a ship’s log, and that all of the questions that have come up and perplexed us and preoccupied us and fascinated us in the researching of both the writing of the novel and the creating of the television show, that those questions may have answers soon. And so now we are all now back in that position of being riveted by this actual history. And what a treat it will be to have a conversation in a year when we have learned hopefully much more about what actually happened on this expedition.

[“The Gates of Paradise” begins playing again softly in the background]

DS: If I were on the expedition ship and found the log, the diaries, everything, I would hide them.

[laughter]

DK: Agreed.

AN: Yep, absolutely.

DS: I mean we’ve all done a lot of work here, who cares about reality?

[laughter]

DK: Well thank you, Adam, thank you Dan, for joining us, Soo and I have had a fantastic time having this extended conversation that hopefully is interesting to people who have watched and appreciated the show. So thank you for the opportunity to do it, it’s been fantastic to talk to you both, and onwards we go, into the future!

SH: Onwards ho!

DS: Onward.

AN: Onward. Thank you so much guys, it’s been a pleasure.

DK: Thank you, and thank you for everyone who’ve watched the show and thank you for everyone who’ve read the novel, and we can’t wait to hear your feedback!

[“The Gates of Paradise” fades out]

#the terror #the terror amc #dave kajganich #soo hugh #dan simmons #adam nagaitis #the minds behind the terror #personal #aaah the last one! we're finished!#as always lmk if you catch any mistakes and google docs link will be in the reblogs #this has been a great project and i hope this was helpful for you guys!#<3

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dancingazaleas · 3 years

Text

bertholdt hoover | mc donald’s

HELPLPPPP i love he 🥺 i love he so much

sorry if this was trash :-(( i was rlly sleepy when i wrote this. pls enjoy

warnings/notes: cursing, modern au, highschool au, bertholdt, reiner, marcel, and reader are seniors, porco is a junior, reader is marcel’s twin, bert is ambidextrous (my headcanon), hard pining, bert’s a music prodigy, female reader

when you meet him, it was at your house on a friday night.

porco and marcel had decided to have their obnoxious and messy friend group over at the house while your parents were away for the weekend doing god knows what.

you were just annoyed that your mom said their friends could come over.

it wasn’t that they were inheritaly bad people, it was just that they were overly loud and, somehow, always forgot to pick up their shit before they left. you’d always get your ass chewed out by your mom for it too.

you also hated going downstairs whenever they were there. if marcel or porco caught even a glimpse of you, they would pester you to play a round of super smash bros and wii sports with them and the group. whenever the two of them started to pester, usually reiner would join in until you would cave. reiner was annoying when it game to game nights.

so, you sat upstairs in your room trying to go to sleep and drown out their laughter and yelling, but you couldn’t. they were too fucking loud.

you texted both porco and marcel angrily, telling them ‘shut your fucking mouths i cant fucking sleep’. you concluded that they were too distracted to notice your texts when they continued to yell and laugh. you scoffed and decided that you’d just try to scroll through social media and rant to ymir over text.

30 minutes had passed and the group downstairs showed no signs of quieting down and you were starting to get hungry. so with a sigh, you made your way downstairs towards your kitchen with the intention of finding pizza flavored goldfish in mind.

you were glad you weren’t noticed when you passed by the living room, that meant no pizza flavored goldfish. you opened the door to the pantry only to find cereal, protein powder and bars, porco and marcel’s chips, and the food your mom and dad ate.

this meant they had used your food for this get together. you groaned loudly and slammed the door to the pantry shut. the echo of it immediately silenced the large group in the living room, which held your next homicide victims.

you stomped into the room, irritation written all over your face as you looked at your brothers, who were hugging each other in fear.

“first, you ignore my texts asking you to shut your big fucking mouths. then, you decided death when you chose to serve your friends my food.” the two teenage boys nodded wearily.

with a battle scream, you jumped over the coffee table and on top of them on the leather couch, fists swinging. they shrieked in fear, scrambling under your weight to get away as everyone else in the room laughed at the scene.

you sat on porco’s back, the main offender, and held his head up by digging your thumbs into the bones of his eyebrows.

“porco, if you want me off of your’s and marcel’s ass in the next week; you better drive me to fucking mc donald’s, get me food, and pay for it!!! deal?!” you shouted at him, kicking away the hand that was reaching around to shove you away.

he slammed him palm onto the couch two times, “okay, okay!!! deal!! now get your ass off of me!!!”

you let go of his face and got off of him, but not without giving him a hard slap to the side of the head.

reiner hooted and clapped his large hands together, “another wrestling victory for (name)!!!”

everyone laughed a little, and you did a little bow before plopping down next to pieck, a college student you met in junior year while she was a senior who you were actually quite close with.

“how do you always manage to get your ass kicked by (name) everytime we come here,” zeke, another friend you’d met in junior year while he was in his senior year, snickered at the misery of porco.

“ha ha,” porco gave a monotone laugh, “leave me alone old man.”

“porco, where’s my mc donalds,” you sang and watched marcel roll his eyes a little.

“(name), it’s 11 o’clock at night. i’m not going to get you fucking mc donalds,” porco snapped but cowered away when you made the slight movement of getting up onto your feet.

“bertholdt’ll drive ‘em!” reiner piped up and everyone turned to said bert.

you felt yourself getting flustered when you took a look at bertholdt. he was tall and lean guy cowering in the corner of your couch with dark red cheeks as he stared back at you. his hair was a dark brown and he had the prettiest light jade colored eyes with a hooked nose right between them.

“oh...,” you were stunned, which was a uncommon occurrence, and felt like it was just you and him, “yeah... i’m down. i don’t think we’ve met before.”

bertholdt gave a shy nod and stood up for the couch, and you noticed just how tall he was. before you could make a step towards him however, porco jumped to his feet and got between you.

“nope! changed my mind! get in the tr—,” you shoved him back onto the couch next to marcel, who had a small and gentle smile.

“bert’s gonna get some,” pieck teased with a giggle as she poked at your sides from her seat.

you laughed bashfully and slapped her hands away, telling bertholdt that you were ready to leave when he was. pieck seized her attacks when you followed after bertholdt when he made his way to your front door.

“don’t forget to use protection,” annie shouted nonchalantly, the whole room bursting into laughter.

after that, both you and bertholdt hurried to get out of the house and into his car.

which led you to now, sitting in the parking lot of the sketchy and dingy mc donald’s eating and talking.

“wait, so when reiner...,” you chew while laughing, “told you marcel had a twin, you thought it was a prank?”

bertholdt chuckles shyly and nods, “yeah. i just.. i never saw you around cause no one pointed you out when we were at school. reiner would do stuff like that ever since we were kids.”

you shake your head with a smile, “so, why’d you decide to transfer to titan high just a couple weeks ago?”

bertholdt thinks for a second, “better music program. reiner mentioned something about it to me once, so then i did my own research. titan has multiple opportunities for their students to get a chance at getting scholarships to prestigious universities for fine arts by competing. also, all my friends are here.”

your heart swells as the way bertholdt eyes shine as he speaks of the music program, so much that you forget to answer for a second.

“oh! so, what instrument do you play?”

“uhm... i play the cello, violin, viola, double bass,” he pauses, “i’m learning the harp, piano, lyre, and the guitar.”

you gape at him, “so you’re a prodigy?!”

he blushes and gives a small shrug, “i’ve never really considered myself as such... but i guess by definition i am.”

“th-then why the hell are you going to titan high?!”

“i still wanted to be a normal kid. my dad put me in public schools with decent music programs so i could still play. my favorites are the piano and the cello.”

“hold out your hand for a second,” you request, to which he obliges.

you take it into your own hand, eyes scanning over the palm of his massive hand. his fingers are worn and he has a writer’s bump on his middle finger despite it being his left hand. he has a bandaid on his pinky finger and the tips of his fingers are a flushed red as well as his knuckles. his nails are perfectly even and trimmed and you notice a scar on his thenar stretching to his radial longtitude crease. you run the tip of your finger over the scar, ignoring how bertholdt flinches at the contact.

bertholdt’s blushing and he feels like he’s going to pass out on the spot. the only other girls he’s been this close to were pieck, annie and his friend ymir, who all have girlfriends.

but then bertholdt feels the soft skin of your lips gently kissing at the scar on his hand with your eyes closed. his heart races and it feels like it’s beating out of his chest.

bert’s pretty sure he can see black dots in his vision.

you look him in the eyes now, “i know we haven’t known each other for that long, but you’re really beautiful, bert.”

bertholdt flushed cheeks turn pale as he faints.

#bertholdt fubar #bertholdt x reader #attack on titan #shingeki no kyoujin manga #shingeki no kyojin #aot fanfiction #snk #snk bertholdt #snk fanfiction

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wy-van-sunshine · 3 years

Text

wesper fanfic!

Plot: After the “Crooked Kingdom” events, Jesper and Wylan live together at the Van Eck residence. One night Wylan can’t fall asleep and he looks for some company from Jesper. He finds him staring at that small portrait of a red-headed child which Marya Hendriks had drawn during her exile in the care house.

Wylan had some trouble falling asleep in the last few weeks. His life had radically changed: his devious father was to stand trial and he would probably end up to Hellgate; he had somehow gotten involved in a gang of criminals and - in case that wasn’t enough - he had found friendship as well as love among those criminals. He was now an independent boy, ready to replace his father in the city business, possibly to make a better job than him, and his life felt almost... happy?

Wylan didn’t remember many times in which he felt happy, definitely not since the day he was told his mother was dead.

But mostly, now he felt loved.

Wylan had been in love before - or at least he thought so - but he never felt that same warm feeling come from the person to whom he gave everything he had.

Still, as a simple student afraid of every aspect of life he probably didn’t have that much to share.

But Jesper knew everything about him. He knew him in a way no one ever did, maybe even better than Wylan himself. He knew about his most hurtful experiences and, even though he often mocked him about his little flaws, Wylan knew he didn’t do it to do him any harm. He would never.

So, basically, when Wylan thought about his new life he felt as if his universe and timeline had completely changed: he was a whole new boy, but he didn’t mind at all.

That evening was different, though: he had already had these thoughts while trying to sleep, but he was so tired from the heists he had attempted with the Crows that the need for a good night sleep was stronger than anything else.

But now two weeks had passed and his mind was thinking at incredible speed, leaving him no space to rest. He lied in his bed for about an hour, then, after stating it was useless, he stood up to reach the living room and spend some time with Jesper.

Jesper always got in bed later: they shared the room, but Wylan’s need to sleep and the sharpshooter’s relentless energy were not the best thing after the heists, so Jesper had started to leave the redhead some space in order to let him rest - not without mocking him a little about it, obviously:“Go to sleep, sunshine. I have to say, though, I thought I’d fallen for a young boy, not for the oldest man alive!”.

Wylan smiled thinking about how every insult coming from Jesper embarassed him, but at the same time it somehow made him feel special. After all, that was his way to flirt and he knew it.

“Hey, Jes?” he said softly, entering the living room and looking over the sofa on the left. The view warmed his heart: the room was a little dark and the only light, coming from the fire in front of the sofa, played with Jesper’s features in a beautiful way. Every time Wylan fell a little more for him, he couldn’t explain how, but he did.

The sharpshooter lift his head and looked at him, smiling while putting a little paper he held in his hand in the pocket of his shirt. “Already missing this hot piece of Zemeni boy, sunshine?”

Wylan’s cheeks flushed with red - he would probably never get used to Jesper’s candor - and he walked up to the sofa, where he sit next to his boyfriend.

“I really hate you, you know?” he said staring at the ground, but leaning in on Jesper’s chest, waiting for him to wrap his arm around his shoulders.

“Evidence shows the opposite, actually” answered the Zemeni with a grin, circling Wylan’s shoulders with his arm. “What is it, anyways? Why aren’t you sleeping?”

“Am I not allowed to wish for some time with my boyfriend?”

Jesper smiled, his eyes spreading light:“Of course you are, love, don’t even need to ask. When did we estabilish I am your boyfriend, though? I must’ve gotten lost somewhere between our kiss and- ouch!” Jesper couldn’t finish his sentence as Wylan punched him on the thigh, laughing softly with a sound the sharpshooter loved with all his heart. He laughed back and placed a tiny kiss on the redhead’s neck.

“I suppose my need for sleep is over, now I just lay in bed thinking about everything that’s happened and I can’t help but making my mind wander” said Wylan answering the original question. He turned over to look at Jesper in the eyes, letting a grin shape his lips:”Which means we can go to bed together now”

“Wylan Van Eck, are you saying what I think you’re saying?” asked Jesper with an astonished but amused expression. “Wow, hanging out with us really made you a terrible person”

The redhead burst out laughing, laying his forehead on the sharpshooter’s shoulder, his eyes filled with tears of amusement:”You’re so stupid”

“I am learning from the best, you know”

“Stop it!”

They both laughed out loud for a while, Wylan’s whole body shaking and Jesper’s arms wrapped around his waist in an attempt to calm him down. Eventually, they both relaxed and silence fell on them, on their hug which neither of them felt like breaking, not just yet. Wylan’s forehead still lay on Jesper’s shoulder: after keeping his eyes closed for a while, enjoying the moment, he opened them and his gaze fell on the little piece of paper laying in the pocket of his boyfriend’s shirt. It was inside and he couldn’t quite see what it was, but he was pretty sure he recognised it and his heart made a huge, joyful leap.

“What were you doing, anyways?” he asked, pretending like he hadn’t seen anything “I noticed you were looking at some paper... was that something business related?”

Wylan noticed with silent amusement Jesper’s eyes starting to wander in the room, meeting everything but his gaze:”Erm, yes, yes, business. A merchant wants to buy- no, sell some of his... well, yes, business related stuff. Definitely. I’ll think about it tomorrow, anyways” Jesper cleared his voice, trying not to choke on his own words ”Shall we go to our room now?”

The redhead smiled, leaning in on the sharpshooter in order to kiss him. Their lips met and Wylan seized the moment of distraction to rapidly take the paper from Jesper’s pocket and jump off the sofa not to get caught. He stared at the little drawing of him as a child, made with love by his very much alive mother Marya: he remembered Jesper had stolen it when they visited her, but he didn’t think he was still keeping it after Genya had used it to restore his aspect. He smiled, looking at Jesper with not even Saints know how much love in his blue eyes.

Wylan didn’t think he would ever see bold, enterprising, outgoing Jesper blush... and yet there he was, his dark skin slightly changing colour in realisation of what his boyfriend was learning. The redhead said nothing for a while, a huge smile laying on his lips as he stared at the sharpshooter. After some time in which Jesper did nothing but move anxiously with his whole body on the sofa, Wylan finally broke the unbearable silence.

“Jesper Llewellyn Fahey, you are a big softie!”

If possible, Jesper blushed even harder, hiding his face in his hands and cursing the day his father revealed his middle name. Thank you, Da. Not only do I have to deal with this, I also have to hear Llewellyn being called a big softie. Jesper wasn’t enough. He didn’t like the way he was handling the situation: he was desperately looking for some of his sarcasm, but he was not prepared to face his feelings in such a strong way. He felt so stupid.

Suddenly he felt some gentle fingers wrap around his wrists and he lifted his head, meeting the blue oceans resting in Wylan’s eyes. The redhead was smiling, a light he had never seen before shone in his gaze. He was... wait, was he about to cry?

“Wy?” he asked, not certain about how to behave. What was happeing? If anything, he should be the one crying from shame.

“You really like me that much?”

Wylan’s question was so simple, so genuine. Jesper couldn’t help but falling a little more for him every time he witnessed how pure he could be.

“What... of course I like you. A lot, I’d say. How is that something to cry for?”

Jesper put a hand on the redhead’s cheek, brushing away with his thumb a single tear running on it.

“I have never had someone like you, Jesper. I have really never felt like someone cared for me this much. Not my father, not my friends, not my crushes. And now you’re here and I... I don’t know how I deserved any of this. Are you even real?”

The sharpshooter laughed softly, his shame completely gone, his love for that skinny, clever boy stronger than ever.

“You’ve earned every single part of this, Wy. You are so amazing and please, every time I tease you punch me, because you deserve eveything, more than me, more than anything this world could ever offer you. Please know how much you’re worth. Please.”

Wylan smiled, sending his tears back, then he sit on Jesper’s lap and he placed both hands around his neck:”I don’t care what I do or do not deserve, all I care about is you. As long as you’re here, it’s okay”

Jesper kissed him slowly, with kindness, grateful to the Saints, to Djel and to whomever was up there for placing that merchling on his way.

“Back to the original matter” said Wylan after a while “I’m putting up posters in every street of Ketterdam to tell the world what a big softie Jesper the sharpshooter is”

Jesper laughed out loud:”Yeah sure, everyone will believe that. It wouldn’t work out, anyways”

“And why is that?”

“Your mother drew you as a beautiful child and you’re really not that handsome, No one would say that’s you.”

Wylan grinned and punched Jesper twice on his arm.

“Damn! What the hell was that for?”

“You just told me how amazing I am and that I should punch you every time you say the opposite. It’s on you”

“Fair enough”

#wesper #jesper fahey #wylan van eck #six of crows #wylan x jesper #wesper fanfic

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lollytea · 4 years

Text

Fearless (part 2/3)

( PART ONE okokok some parts of this are pretty good. some not so good. but the important part is im tryin my goddamn best out here.)

[OCTOBER 22ND, 7:02PM] The sun had melted away beneath the distant hills and Louie had somewhat calmed himself down.

At least, he was no longer hyperventilating. The feathery tufts on his cheeks were not as fluffy as before, now clumped together from his waterworks earlier.

He lit the last of his lights, drawing the match away and allowed the head of the flame to seize its last moments. It danced with delight, flickering as it devoured the thin strand of poplar wood.

Louie watched it too long, finding solace in the glow of gentle orange. Just as it was teasing to taste his fingertips, he snuffed it out, not nearly as interested in the arising string of pale smoke. Seven illuminated oil lamps circled his room, washing him in warm, yellow light. But still, It would breed an array of shadows, outlining everything with subtle pools of gloom. Shadows made Louie uneasy. They gave him the strangest feeling that he was being watched. Reminded him of people and powers that were best not to think about. But a shadowy room was preferable to pitch black. He was scared of the dark. Come to think of it, he was scared of a lot of things. Louie had a complicated relationship with fear. He was, by no means, the skittish kid from five years ago. He simply couldn't live with that mindset for long when thrust into the life of McDuck royalty and all the madness and danger attached. So, he adapted. His busiest days tended to fall in the order of breakfast, adventure, magic, certain doom, barely escaping with your life and then sleep. Rinse and repeat. Living like that didn't phase him much anymore. How could it when he was surrounded by the most courageous family put on this earth? And when you continue to survive when that was your Day-to-Day, it had a tendency to boost your confidence. He had gotten braver for sure. Much braver. And yet, he couldn't help but feel like he was lying to himself sometimes. Being afraid of the world around him had never quite faded, he just gotten much better at handling it. Recent years made things all the more messy. His brothers weren't as brave as they used to be these days. Not after what they went through. As a spot of hope, Huey was starting to rebuild a stronger, improved version of his old self. But Dewey still needed time. It made Louie wonder if his intrepid brothers could be broken like this, should he even bother trying to toughen up? He had never been like them. Not naturally, at least. He didn't stand a chance when his time came. He figured that with all he's experienced, he should've at least developed past his more irrational fears. But he didn't. Deep down, silly stuff still unsettled him. Spiders, violence, surprises. The dark. Ty knew he was afraid of the dark. Ty knew most of the stuff he was afraid of. And despite teasing Louie for pretty much everything else, never his fears. He claimed his brother was the same so he didn't find it all that weird. Louie called bullshit on that one. From what little he knew about Ben, it was impossible to picture that guy being scared of the dark. Ty was most likely trying to ease his insecurity. It didn't work. He felt uncomfortable sometimes, being somebody scared of so much, being close with somebody like Ty. Fearless. It sorta made him wonder if he was inferior. As if standing alongside Ty just wasn't right. The balance didn't seem equal. Wow. Louie was never gonna be good enough, was he? Wait, no, stop it. Fucking stop it. He had no right to be feeling all sorry for himself for the probability that he wasn't good enough for Ty. On the grounds that he wasn't brave enough? No. Of course Louie wasn't good enough for Ty. That was an irrefutable fact. But what mattered right now was that his carelessness had almost gotten Ty killed today and he couldn't, in good conscience, be focusing on anything else. He almost got Ty killed. He almost got Ty killed. He almost got Ty killed. That was a little more important than "Boohoo, cute bear boy is never gonna kiss me. I'm sad." To make matters worse, Louie had gone and chosen the perfect time to figure out he was in love with Ty. Sure, It had left him happily dopey at the time. But now, after everything that happened, it was like his imaginary little love letter left a paper cut on his heart and splashed it with lemon juice. Ty was going to resign as his retainer. The more Louie said this to himself, the easier it would be to accept it when he received the news. It was truly possible Ty was currently out of his life for good. As much as Louie was trying to talk himself into hunting the boy down right this minute and begging for forgiveness, there was a part of him speculating that Ty would prefer not to see his stupid royal face ever again. It hurt. It really did hurt. But if that's what Ty wanted, Louie would silently abide by the request. He hated to admit it but the spineless side of him didn't want to face Ty either. The last look at him had been his still body laying on an iron bedstead in the castle infirmary. Beakley had assured the stricken Louie that Ty was not dead but refused to divulge the details as she ushered him out and exiled him to his room for the rest of the night. He needed to see Ty conscious. He needed to see him alive. It would be one weight off his chest just to know his retainer had bounced back. But also.....he didn't want to know the damage he'd done. He want to know how badly Ty had been wounded nor how close he had brushed by death. It had been Louie's fault. And he knew that. But the thought of confronting it head-on was a difficult reality to swallow. Even though he should. He should. Completely unrelated but another dumb, embarrassing thing that made him jump out of his skin? Sudden noises. Still completely unrelated but there was a knock at his door.

___________

[OCTOBER 22ND, 11:24AM]

The sky was clear, the autumn air wasn't chilly but pleasantly crisp and there was a lively gathering in the forest. It was held in a wide clearing, bursting with happy people, milling around and chatting. Surrounding them was an almost perfect circle of tangled old oaks, their branches wreathed with strings of homemade lanterns and flower garlands.

Ty and Louie were quick to turn on tunnel vision towards the table with a large arrangement of party food. They came away with armfuls of bread, cheese, fruits and two tankards of apple cider. They found a spot for themselves, hiding away behind a stack of bailed hay just on the outskirts of the festivities. They set up their little feast, which they wasted no time in devouring.

There were minstrels playing a vibrant tune. But even with all their flutes, fiddles and practice, they fell short in comparison to the natural music of Ty Cloudkicker's laughter. Louie was talking fast. He was gravitating into Ty's space as he did so, lured in by the bubbling sound. He was eager, grinning deliriously as he spouted out more and more of his story to keep the laugh from fading.

As if it was a lifeline. Like the back of his mind was utterly terrified it would stop. Yet he was entranced with a flood with endorphins, so enamored with the resonance that he couldn't help but be elated as he rattled on to keep himself alive. "Okay, so nobody specifically told Uncle Donald that keeping snacks in your crown was not considered "Kingly" behavior. But see, he just saw it as an extra pocket. He didn't get what the big deal was."

When Ty laughed hard enough, he started snorting. He attempted to control himself. Louie wished he wouldn't. "So imagine being one of those advisor buzzard dorks, right? And you're having this big, important royal audience with the new king. And then right in the middle of discussing warships or something, he reaches into his crown, (not breaking eye contact.) and starts munching on a fish sandwich. They looked at him like he just spat on their mothers' graves." The octave skyrocketed and Ty disintegrated into high pitched cackles, tightly clutching his side as if he would split in half. It swept away the narrative in Louie's head, fizzling the thought process as he continued to gaze at Ty as if he were channeling golden light. However, his brain did not send the memo to this mouth that it was time to stop talking. Which led to Louie stuttering out "And the--....He--...uh, he--,um...." a brainless smile slapped on his face all the while. He couldn't stop smiling. He was crashing and burning and he couldn't stop smiling. He was certain he would be humiliated over this blunder later but right now, it was pretty funny. Thankfully, his subconscious had mercy on him, cutting him off with a nervous, breathless giggle. Ty was oblivious to whatever kind of gay breakdown Louie was having as he was trying to regain composure from his own hysterics. He was beginning to calm down, occasional wheezy yet delighted noises still sputtering out of him. His shoulders relaxed and he leaned back with a shaky exhale, still stuck with that huge sunny smile. They fell into a silence in the aftermath, content to sit and just listen to the music. Ty picked up his cider and took a gulp. Louie mirrored him. Then Ty's entire frame bucked with a surprise hiccup and Louie nearly choked. He was pretty sure he saw his whole life flash before his eyes as he collapsed into a coughing fit, Ty thumping him firmly on the back. "I'll live, I'll live!" Louie gasped, regaining himself. "Stop hitting me, I bruise like a peach." "Sorry." He drew his hand away. Then he hiccuped again and Louie lost it. "It's not funny!" Ty insisted, a desperate crack to his voice. It was pretty hilarious, actually. Not just the ridiculous little noises, but the way his shoulders jumped and how he would blink in split second afterwards, startled and bewildered like a baby animal. Ty gave him a shove, Louie still snickering and flailing his hands to halfheartedly fend him off. "Hey, hey, what gives you the right to attack me? I nearly choked and died 'cause of you." "Sounds like a "you" problem." "Where'd those hiccups even come from? Your papa bear never teach you not to drink your cider so fast?" Ty's bottom lip jutted out, irritated. He shook his head "Nah, it's--" Hic. Louie snorted. "Shut up!" He snapped. Yeah, his face was definitely a darker shade of pink than usual. "Sometimes I get hiccups if I laugh too much." "Huh. that's a thing that can happen?" "Yeah. A thing I gotta live with." Hic. "Lemme guess, this hasn't happened in a while?" "Huh?" Ty turned to him, perplexed. "Nah, it happens all the time. And when I tell ya it's the most annoying thing--" "You can't be serious." Louie smiled with a disbelieving shake of the head. "You, like, barely laugh anymore." "What's that supposed to mean?" "What?" He shrugged. "You don't." Ty rolled his eyes and directed his vision elsewhere. "I usually do whenever I go back to the glen." "Are Ben and Lottie really that funny?" "They are the least funny people I know. Also they suck and they're cheaters and I hate them." Hic. Let's see. So, he was clearly pouting. Acting all petty about his siblings. The Glen. Laughing to the point of hiccups. "Lots of tickle fights, huh?" Louie deduced, a smirk playing across his beak. Ty considered him for a moment, as if he was thinking about decking him right then and there but ultimately decided it wasn't worth the effort. (Louie was offended.) He then looked off into the distance, an indescribably haunted look in his eye. "Soooo....I'm gonna guess you usually lose the tickle fi--?" "I do not!" Ty abruptly yelled, shooting him an indignant look. "Let's get this straight, if it's one-on-one, I win. I always win. You better not forget that, your highness." He jabbed Louie's chest with his forefinger. "I'm the best fighter out of the three of us. In fact, I probably got the potential to be the best fighter in the whole kingdom!" "Real modest." "It's just if they team up, then it's unfair! That's why they're--" Hic. Louie watched, delightfully entertained as Ty hissed "God. Damn. Hiccups." "And how often do they team up?" He didn't answer right away. Then reluctantly grumbled "Most of the time." "So what I'm hearing is--...." Louie casually leaned against Ty's side, propping his elbow on the latter's shoulder. "You do lose most of the time?" "Shut up." "No." "Okay, so here's the thing. Let's say you're a big, strong brave knight. You're super cool and heroic and everybody respects you." Hic. "Then you go back home and then suddenly you're just someone else's baby brother and they see you just standing there, minding your business and they're just like "Well! Guess I gotta obliterate him!" And they do not hold back." "Ohhhhh, I get that, I totally get that." Said Louie. "Well, not the brave knight part. But y'know. Me and my brothers had to share a room. It was tiny. There was always a foot in your face or whatever. And sometimes when were bored, they started getting rowdy and throwing hands and it's not like I asked but I got dragged in too. When I was just trying to sleep, man! I wasn't asking for a spontaneous duel at 2am." Ty snorted. "Oh yeah, and sometimes Dewey calls me a little bitch." "He's right." Louie knocked his body against Ty's, making a sound of faux outrage. Ty only found that funnier. Huffing, Louie pawed around for the cluster of grapes at his side. He twisted one free and twirled it around his fingers for a moment. "Watch this. I can feel it. I'm gonna do it this time." "Are you now?" Said Ty in such a distinctly pleasant tone that Louie could not possibly interpret it any other way than "I do not believe that but I'm humoring you but I also want you to understand that my sweet voice is oh, so bitterly sarcastic. Fuck you." "I see you're doubting me." "Me? Doubt my liege? I could never." "Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're a real court jester. Now shut up and observe." Louie wiped all expression from his face and inhaled deeply to obtain peak tranquility. He relaxed his whole frame. If he could pull this off, this would be his day for sure. Ty was watching. This moment would define his life. Thinking a hasty prayer to every known God, force and entity that had ever favored the unlikely ones, he tossed the grape in the air, threw his head back and opened his beak. The grape finished rising and gravity took control. It fell. Down, down, down, down. Louie now understood the concept of meditation. He was so in the zone, he could've sworn the grape was descending in slow motion. Yes, yes, it was aligning directly below his beak. He was gonna catch it! Down, down, down, down. Then Ty snatched it right out of the air and swallowed it whole. Louie sat, slack jawed, attempting to process what had just happened. He slowly turned to Ty, completely blank. Huh. That moment really did define his life. "You bastard!" He squawked. "Me bastard!" Ty exclaimed, looking insufferably proud of himself. "How could you?! I know our allyship has been complicated but this is high treason!" "Sorry, sorry, I just--" He sat back a little, shaking with silent laughter. He then formed a square with his hands and hovered it before Louie, squinting one eye. "I just needed to see the face you would make and god, it was worth it. You think you could hold that face for a few hours to get a portrait made? I'd get it framed and hang it in my room." He was teasing him. Louie knew he was teasing him. And yet he still blushed bright red from the fragment of fondness blurred in the implication. "W-well, well I would--I'd--" He floundered, racking his brain for a retort. "You think there's any musical instruments that could replicate your dorky little hiccups? I'd hire minstrels just to have them play it for me! Y'know, for when I need a laugh." Ty's smug grin dropped and his eyes flicked about uncertainly. "I--..." He dragged the word out, face flushing at a rapid rate as he folded his knees up to curl in on himself. He crossed his arms. "I think they're gone now anyway." He mumbled. Hic. God, that never got old. "If you laugh one more time, I'm putting you in a tree and leaving you there." Louie laughed again, out of spite. "Nobody's fault but your own. Imagine you've just fought an epic battle and you think there's no more enemies to take on. But as soon as you say that out loud, boom! Second ambush! You would think a warrior like you would get that." "Your highness?" "Yeah?" "Shut your huge mouth." "No." "Okay. Dunno why I thought that would work. Never does." "Y'know I would offer to spook your hiccups away. But we both know that wouldn't work." "Yeah, probably not." Said Ty with a shake of his head. He perked up a bit. "Lottie gave it a shot once. Nothing." "Well, it's just like you said that one time." Louie shrugged, then faltered when the back of his mind took notice of the dimly glowing orange irises he was met with. His voice softened involuntarily. "You're fearless." He didn't know what he said wrong. Ty's face fell. He looked so utterly devastated that Louie, completely lost to why he was even upset, felt his own heart shatter to pieces. He wanted to start sobbing just from seeing him. "Oh..." Ty whispered. He clutched one of his hands with the other and began fidgeting with his fingers. "Well, see. Uh, the thing about that is--...." Concerned, Louie scooched in closer, peering at the face that had once again turned away from him. He hesitantly touched Ty's upper arm. "Hey. Ty. Are you--?" "HEY, LOOK AT THAT!" Ty blurted out, his voice nervously rising in pitch. He attempted to subtly clear his throat. Louie followed the direction of Ty's pointer finger which was gesturing out to the thick expanse of forestry. There was nothing there. But then he caught a flash of movement and noticed two figures tucked away in the shadows of the trees. A young man and woman, probably only a few years older than them. "The couple?" Louie asked, puzzled. "The what now?" Then Ty did a double take, then snapped to attention as if he had just noticed them. "Oh! Oh, yeah, them, sure. I mean, yeah, that's what I meant. Them. Uhhh....look at them!" "Uh. Okay? Why?" "Theeeyyyy're....cute? Gross? They're something. They're definitely something." Louie hummed, taking the two into consideration. The girl was letting out a peal of laughter and the guy was blabbing away animatedly, looking thrilled with himself that she was finding him funny. He was trying so hard.... Louie didn't know if he wanted to gag or coo out an "aww!" "Grossly cute." He decided. Ty snapped his fingers. "That's it!" "You know, I don't get why they're over there. There's tons of people around here. Why would you wanna show up to a party if you're just gonna hide away and hang out with one person the whole time?" "For real though." For the next few minutes, Ty and Louie observed the couple, keeping up a running commentary on the guy's obvious nerves and the girl's less than subtle advances. Ty and Louie learned a lot about themselves in those few minutes. Namely that they were both terrible at lip reading. "He said Pants." Ty was certain. "No, he said Nance." Louie countered. "Her name is probably Nancy." The girl clapped her hands together, nodding eagerly. "Then what's that for, huh? Clearly he just offered to tailor her a personalized pair of pants." "You are so dumb, that's not what's happening here at all." The guy took a dramatic step back and twirled his wrist an unnecessary amount of times before offering her his hand with a half-bow. She took it, giggling. The two them scampered off, out of the shadows and into the heart of the party, where other couples were twirling around as the minstrels played. He curled an arm around her waist, smiling as though this was his greatest honor and they spun into the motion, flowing so naturally amidst the other dancers as if they were simply another cogwheel in the world's most elegant clock. "Dance." Said Ty and Louie in unison. "Pretty sure we were close." "Pretty sure we're idiots." "Yeah, I know but just let me pretend." Ty suddenly snickered, his eyes glinting. "What was that thing he did with his hand anyway? And why did she eat it up?" "It's called flair, Tiberius." "Kinda dumb." "You're just mad that flair is not something you possess." "Bullshit, watch this!" Ty sat up straight and bent his arm into a perfect ninety-degree angle. "Prepare to be amazed." And then his entire forearm began to spin and spin and spin and spin and spin like a windmill in a hurricane. "Flair, flair, flair, flair," He was chanting and Louie had already collapsed in a giggle fit. It wasn't even remotely funny. It was dumb, it was so dumb. But Louie could admit to himself that dumb schticks get like ninety percent more humorous to him if there's a really cute boy performing them. He was easy like that. Ty was extremely committed to the joke as he kept spinning and spinning for over ten seconds. He kept shooting Louie glances and his grin got wider and wider every time he looked away. "FLAIR!" He let his arm go, throwing out an open palm and nearly knocked it against the side of Louie's head. "Hey!" He dodged. "Watch where you swing that thing, you could've whacked me!" "But I didn't!" Said Ty gleefully. He lowered his hand but did not withdraw. It remained unwavering and offered out to Louie. He took it. He didn't think, he just took it. It was only when they made contact that Louie woke up and his heart promptly spiked. But besides a light blush, he managed to keep his face neutral. "So, I guess it's not just that girl who's impressed by this stuff." Ty was nonchalant. His smile then twitched, as if aching to stretch wider but he was reigning it in. "You are too." They were still touching, which, by all accounts, should continue to fluster Louie. But as seconds ticked by, a sense of calm was settling over him. The very thing originally causing panic was now bringing him comfort. It was the weirdest thing, "I was laughing at you, not with you." He said evenly, catching Ty's contagious smile. "Ehh," He shrugged. "I'll take it." Louie would count this as a new domain for sure. Uncharted waters. As if he and Ty had stumbled in accidentally but now they were here, their curiosity was urging them to explore. Not to a dangerous extent, of course. But maybe just edge along the sidelines and see what they could discover. "Your hands are so tiny, it's crazy." Ty commented, tilting his head. Turning it over, he slid his thumb thoughtfully across Louie's palm. "How do you even hold anything?" Louie wasn't even eyeing their hands but was regarding Ty's pensive face. "It's kinda the worst. Whenever we find treasure and I get my cut, the fancy rings and bracelets are huge. I always gotta go to a jeweler and get them resized if I wanna wear them."' Ty was fiddling with Louie's fingers now, fixing him with a decisive nod. "I'll get you a ring for Christmas." "Woah, woah. For real?" "Yeah. I'll put it in one of those fancy boxes. But then you'll open it and see it's made out of grass and try to have me beheaded." As they were speaking, their hands continued to play around. Ty had flattened his own, aligning his palm against Louie's. Louie spread his fingers and Ty laced his through. "Uncle Donald says I'm not allowed to say "Off with his head" anymore or I'm grounded 'til I'm thirty-five. It "makes the people want to revolt."" Louie air-quoted with his free hand. "But I would fire you for sure." Ty snorted. "You would not and you know it." There would never be any proof that they held hands that day. Not a single eye witnesses, including themselves, as both boys had turned a blind eye to their own actions. They were afraid to look down, as that would be an acknowledgement. Louie had no mental image of the moment, fuschia fur intertwined with snow feathers, only a rush of heat and a hazy ponder if the dampness was his sweat or Ty's. And if the feel of Ty's touch was just an illusion of the mind, there was one poignant hint of the reality and that was how gentle their voices had gotten. "Oh, so, you're really gonna test me like that, Tiberius? Pushing me around, stealing grapes, calling me a little bitch. Is this any way to treat your liege? You don't think I'm at the end of my rope with you?" "Nahhhh...." Ty drew the word out, grinning. He twisted his muzzle into an exaggerated pout and batted his eyes. "You would never because I'm awesome and cool and smart and you love me." It was Ty's utter nerve that left Louie too astonished to even blush. Instead, he simply tilted his head, an eyebrow cocked. "Do I?" He challenged. To his credit, Ty did not relent either. However, the impishness gradually died from his eyes until he was left solemn. "Maybe?" He spoke softly, as though too much force would crack the delicate little word. He bore into Louie's eyes, like he was searching for an answer. Pleading for an answer. Louie felt his own hand squeeze Ty's. He inhaled. He knew he was going to say something, he was just leaving it up his own scattered subconscious to determine what. He would open his beak and whatever words wound up tumbling out would seal his fate. He didn't have a second to panic, to fret, as he was already speaking and he was petrified by how fast this was all going. "I--" Something shattered and a woman screamed in pain. Indistinct shouting and Ty cursed under his breath. Louie scrambled around to see the commotion and the last few things he registered were the gleam of sunlight catching unsheathed weapons, the girl he called Nancy with crimson pooling from her forehead, Ty demanding "Get down!" and knocking him stomach-down into the ground.

“Stay there and don’t move.” Then Ty had rushed off and everything went to shit.

___________

[OCTOBER 22ND, 7:13PM] Louie was well acquainted with that knock. Firstly, one firm rap against wood, proceeded by two more rapid-fire. He associated it with a twinge of annoyance, high sun beams streaking in his window and somebody near, dear and insufferable to his heart, pestering him from the other side to rise and shine already or his breakfast would go stale. This usually occurred around 9:30AM. If given a say in the matter, Louie would sleep til noon. But he didn't have a say in the matter because every morning, without fail, there was a retainer banging down his door. Something was off this time. Once he knocked, Ty had fallen uncharacteristically silent. No continuation of drumming out an obnoxious little tune and and no insisting he open up. Louie was hesitant to do much of anything. It seemed his door was the only thing protecting him from facing repercussions right now. If he fell deep enough into denial, he could pretend Ty wasn't there. So long as he kept his door shut, he could pretend everything was alright. Ty didn't almost die. It was a tempting thought. It resounded in such an appealing voice inside his head that Louie seized his latch before he could give in. The brass shocked a chill to the pads of his fingers as he held on tight. He had to open up. He had to. His hand fidgeted, stalling the moment. He thumped his forehead against the door, heaving a steadying sigh. "You don't wanna see me, do you, your highness?" He heard Ty say in hushed tones, his voice startlingly close to where Louie had situated himself. "Ehh, if we're being honest....not really." "Oh...." "Do you wanna see me?" "I mean....I kinda don't? The idea of seeing you right now is making me nauseous." The statement skewered Louie's heart. He shook it off. "Why'd you knock?" "'Cause it doesn't matter what I want, I gotta see you right now. It's important." An prolonged pause hung in the air, buzzing with a mutual uncertainty. Louie tapped his fingers to the wood and after a second or two, Ty did the same. Their respective rhythms aligned. "But..." Ty continued, his voice faltering. "If you don't wanna see me, I can go--" "Convince me." Louie was blurting out before he thought twice about it. "Huh?" "I need to open this door but, like surprise surprise, I'm scared. You've done it before. I get scared and you talk me into stuff. Do your big strong hero magic and get me to suck it up. Please, I need it." "Oh, uh, I--" He could hear how flustered Ty had gotten suddenly being put on the spot. "Well, I--...I guess you don't have a choice 'cause if you don't open up, I'm strong enough to barricade the door down. So, I figure we should just do this the easy way." Despite the circumstances and the scruple wrung tense in his stomach, Louie felt the corner of his beak twitch at the tentative touch to Ty's tone. He felt his stiff shoulders relax. "Is that a threat, Tiberius?" "Uh, no." Ty admitted, sounding sheepish. "That was just a joke. See, it was the first thing that came into my head and then suddenly I was saying it. Sorry, I dunno for sure if now is "joke time" and I figured it'd be kinda weird to ask so--" He didn't get to finish rambling. His hair whipped to the side with the rush of air that came with the swift swing of the door. Louie fixed him with a hard look, processing the sight of his retainer standing there, alive and bright eyed. Ty's hand was still hovering awkwardly in the air, where he assumed it had been resting against the door. He blinked back at him, puzzled and a little alarmed, as if caught under a spotlight. He didn't look angry. But Louie knew better than to lull himself into thinking he was in the clear. Whatever resentment Ty was feeling would spill out in time. Louie braced himself. "Hey, Ty." He said stiffly. "Come on in."

#ty cloudkicker #fairytale au

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k-llama-llama · 4 years

Text

Blue

TXT AU: 6th member

Sara x TXT

Sara has the worst anemic attack she’s ever had.

A/N: Please check out my PATREON (patreon.com/kllamallama) for exclusive posts you can’t get anywhere else, as well as lots of other cool benefits!

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“I can’t believe you’re wearing a crop top.” Hueningkai tugged on the back of Sara’s shirt. “It’s like a whole new you.”

“Haha,” Sara pushed his hand away. “It’s barely an inch of my stomach, don’t get too excited.”

“Ew. No, I’m just surprised you agreed to wear it.” He said. “Especially for promotions.”

“Zoey and Sumi said that it would look good.” Sara told him. “And I thought it would be okay. Why, does it look weird?”

“No, you look pretty, Noona.” He promised.

They were backstage at an award show, waiting to go on to tape their performance of Puma. To be honest, Sara had been skeptical of the whole crop top thing, but Zoey had promised that it would look good. And Sumi had insisted that because she’d never worn one in public before, fans would just talk about how good she looked. And so she hadn’t seen the harm in trying it out.

Of course, she’d skipped breakfast and dinner to make sure that she had a waist. She’d taken her pills and eaten an apple, but that was it. And she had to say, she felt like it was paying off. She’d never had the most defined waist, but there was the beginning of an hourglass shape, just barely displayed by her crop top.

“You’re feeling good, Soo-ji?” Soobin came over.

“Yeah, I’m good.” She grinned. “Just ready to get this over with.”

“You and me both.” He grinned, and spotted a staff member signalling them over. “I guess it’s our turn.”

An hour later, when they climbed down from the stage, Sara was absolutely wiped. She was sure there was sweat dripping down her forehead, and she wondered if the red flush of her cheeks was visible through her makeup.

Taking the first step down from the stage, Sara felt a familiar floatiness descend on her. It felt like her legs weren’t attached to her anymore, like she was a puppet-master just pulling on the strings. She couldn’t feel the movement, and her head began to feel cloudy.

She grabbed Yeonjun’s arm. “I need to eat something.”

“Yah, you and me-” He turned to look at her, instantly taking in the pallor of her face and the unfocused look in her eyes. “Right, let’s go.”

He looped an arm around her waist, hurrying her down the stairs. Sara slumped into him. She was still walking beside him, but he was dragging her in his hurry to get her back to the green room.

“Tae.” Yeonjun said sharply. “Grab her other arm, she’s going to go.”

Sara felt her other arm be pulled over Taehyun’s shoulders, and allowed her weight to drop.

“You’re going to be fine, Noona.” Taehyun said as they shoved through the door to the green room.

“Let’s put her here.” Yeonjun settled her onto the couch, and then disappeared.

“I have your pill and some orange juice.” He held it out.

Sara held out a shaking hand, her mind completely blank.

“Don’t worry.” Taehyun grabbed her hand. “We’ve got it.”

If she was in her right mind, she would have thanked them. Because there was no way she was capable of holding the glass right now.

“Open up.” Yeonjun placed the pill on her tongue, holding up the glass of orange juice so she could take a sip.

She swallowed the pill, feeling relief flow through her. She didn’t feel better yet, as it would take a few minutes for that to happen, but at least she knew that she would feel better soon.

“Just lay down.” Taehyun moved her so her head was resting on a rolled up sweater. “We’re going to go get ourselves some food, but we’ll be right across the room.”

She was pretty sure she nodded.

Soobin hurried over as soon as he was in the room. “Hey, you doing okay?”

“Just...resting.” She said, her voice sounding weak even to her own ears.

“She just took her pill.” Yeonjun informed the leader. “We’ll just give her a minute.”

“Okay. I’ll be right over there, okay Soo-ji?”

Sara had no idea how long she’d been lying there, waiting for her medicine to kick in. But it suddenly hit her with a start, it wasn’t kicking in. The sense of calm she was feeling wasn’t her medicine helping her, it was the fogginess descending over the rest of her body. It was getting worse.

The thought had just crossed her mind when her world went black.

The boys were busy collecting their food, arguing over who would get the last bagel and dividing up a bunch of grapes.

“Maybe Soo-ji should get the last bagel.” Beomgyu suggested. “If she’s feeling up to it.”

“That’s true. Sara do you want the-” Yeonjun turned to look at her. “Sara?”

There was no response.

“Yah, are you hungry or do you want- Holy shit.” Yeonjun gasped. “Soo-ji!”

“What’s wrong? Oh my god!” Soobin turned, his eyes landing on Sara.

She was lying on the couch where they’d left her, completely unconscious. Her face was deathly pale, and her lips were tinged with blue.

“Soo-ji! Wake up!” Yeonjun smacked her cheek, trying to get a response from her.

“I thought you said she took her pill!” Soobin shouted, shaking Sara to try and wake her up.

“She did! She should be fine.” Yeonjun turned, planning on shouting for help.

Beomgyu was way ahead of him, leaning out the hallway. “Someone call an ambulance! Please!”

“She’s breathing, right? Tell me she’s breathing?” Soobin felt at her neck for a pulse.

“I don’t...I don’t...”

“She is.” Taehyun felt her chest for the rise and fall of her shallow breaths. “But, it doesn’t seem like she’s breathing enough.”

“SOMEONE HELP!”

They weren’t sure how long it was before the paramedics rolled their stretcher into the room and they were shoved back. There were monitors strapped onto her, an IV put in, and then she was lifted onto the stretcher. All the while they just kept hearing words like ‘seizing’ and ‘shock’ and ‘lack of oxygen’.

Sara was wheeled out of the room, their manager taking off after her.

“Get your things.” Another staff member said. “We’ll take you home.”

“No, take us to the hospital.” Soobin said, grabbing his things.

“You won’t be able to see her right away. You don’t need to-”

“We’re going now.” Yeonjun pulled his and Sara’s bags onto his shoulders. “We’re going to be there.”

When Sara came to, she was aware of two things. The first, was that she was extremely cold. The type of cold that seeped through to her bones and made her instantly wish that she could drink some tea or something to warm her up.

The second things was that her legs appeared to be strapped down.

She opened her eyes slowly, blinking as the light agitated a headache that she hadn’t realized was there. Something tickled her nose, and she lifted a hand, feeling a tube that she realized was blowing air into her nose.

Lifting her head, she tried to take in the room.

The first thing she realized was that her legs weren’t strapped down. Instead, Taehyun and Hueningkai were laying across her legs, pining them to the bed.

She looked around the room. It was definitely a hospital room, but the lights were dimmed. Yeonjun was curled up in the chair next to her bed, wearing the same clothes from their performance. Soobin and Beomgyu was on the couch on the other side of the room, with one of them snoring loudly.

She glanced at her hand, finding an IV taped to it. What the heck had happened? The last thing she remembered was taking her pill, and she should’ve felt better. She couldn’t remember why she was in the hospital now.

The nice part of her wanted to let the boys sleep. But she was freezing.

“Yah, Yeonjun.” She reached out with her hand and poked his foot. “Wake up.”

“Not yet,” He grumbled, turning away from her. “I’m still-”

His eyes shot open, landing on her; sitting up in bed, staring at him expectantly.

“SOO-JI! You’re awake!” He shouted.

It was like a bomb had gone off, and the others boys shot awake.

“Noona!”

“Sara!”

Someone jumped on top of her, tackling her in a hug.

“I was so worried!” Huka squeezed her tightly.

“Get off!” Soobin pulled him away. “You’ll hurt her.”

“I’m fine.” Sara smiled at him, before remembering. “Actually, I’m cold.”

“Here, take my sweater.” Yeonjun pulled a sweater off the back of his chair.

“It’s the middle of the night, but I’m sure we can get a nurse to get you a blanket.” Soobin said. “I’ll go.”

“No, not yet.” Sara protested as Yeonjun wrapped the sweater around her shoulders. “Why are we in the hospital?”

“Do you remember what happened?” Beomgyu asked. “After the performance?”

Sara tilted her head. “I remember feeling faint, and Jun helping me take my pill, but nothing after that. I passed out?”

Yeonjun poked her in the forehead. “You did a little bit more than that. You were turning blue and barely breathing.”

“They had to give you blood and stuff, Noona.” Taehyun said. “The doctors said it was really bad.”

“Do you have any idea why it happened?” Soobin asked. “You didn’t feel sick in the morning? You were eating, right? The doctors said it shouldn’t have happened.”

Sara blinked, trying to clear her head. She did have a horrible headache, but she could vaguely remember. “My crop top?”

“Your crop top?” Soobin frowned. “Can someone page the nurse I think she’s-”

“No, I didn’t eat dinner or breakfast because of my crop top.” Sara remembered. “I just had an apple in the morning. But I was taking my pills so I should’ve-”

Something smacked her in the back of the head.

“OW!” She shouted, lifting a hand to feel where she’d been struck. “What is wrong with you?”

Yeonjun just crossed his arms. “You deserved it.”

“I have a headache! I’m literally in a hospital bed right now.”

“Yeah but you’re stupid.”He scoffed. “How come you get to nag us about picking up our clothes and everything else you could possibly think of when you can’t even remember to eat dinner.”

“I can-”

“It’s literally the one thing you have to do!” He insisted. “I almost had a heart attack because you wanted to look good in a crop top?”

“I’m fine, and it’s not going to happen again.” She promised.

“Obviously not.” Yeonjun turned to Soobin. “Because we’re supervising your meals now.”

“You are not.” Sara went to cross her arms, but then remembered the needle and thought better of it. “I don’t need you to make me eat my vegetables.”

“Yeah, you’re not getting out of this.” Soobin shook his head. “We’re supervising.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“We’re serious.” Huka said with a bright smile.

“Urgh.” Sara groaned. “Whatever. I’m freezing and I have a headache, so can I go back to bed?”

“Sure, we’ll turn the lights off.” Soobin smiled obviously feeling like he’d won.

Sara lay back down, resting her head on the uncomfortable hospital pillow. She saw Yeonjun settle back into his chair, and felt the weight of her blankets grow as sweaters were piled on top of her.

“We’ll be right here if you need anything.” Soobin said, moving her hair out of her face.

“You’re seriously all sleeping here?”

Taehyun and Hueningkai each rested their heads on one of her legs. “We’re pretty comfortable.”

“Whatever.” Sara snuggled back into the pillow. “Night everyone.”

“Goodnight!”

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myidlehand · 3 years

Note

Writing Prompt: Geralt/Jaskier/Eskel - fluff / hurt/comfort please - Jaskier gets hurt somehow, Geralt & Eskel take care of him - you can decide on details :)

Hello!

And here it is this blog has hit 1000 followers! So here is another prompt! This one is prompt 3/7 for my followers celebration.

I originally went with Jaskier burns his hands but it was turning way too dark and bleak so I wrote something fluffy instead. I hope you’ll enjoy this silly piece anyway.

Thank you @simeramise for helping and finding me a pun for the title (apparently every prompt in this series gets one, oops)

Cold you feel the love tonight?

“Ar-r-r-re w-e-e-e-e close… clos-s-s-s-se ye-e-e-et?” Jaskier stutters, burying a little bit more against Eskel’s front. Eskel tries to readjust his cape around Jaskier as best he can with only one hand free, the other holding on to the reins.

“The cave is a bit further ahead.”

“I’m so-o-o-o co-o-old”. Jaskier’s teeth clatter too loud for Eskel’s sensitive ears.

“I know”, he says, kissing the top of Jaskier’s head. “You need to hold on just a little bit more, sweets.”

Jaskier doesn’t answer but shivers violently. Eskel tries his best to lead Scorpion as safely and quickly as he can to get Jaskier somewhere comfortable, but the sun has almost completely set by now and the path is narrow. Geralt rode ahead of them, to clear the cave they passed by that afternoon. Jaskier’s head falls slightly forward and to the side and Eskel holds onto him a little tighter.

“Stay awake, Jask.”

“‘M tired.”

“I know, but you can’t sleep right now, we need to get you warm first.”

“Sounds nice”, Jaskier replies sleepily.

“Come on, I can smell a fire, we aren’t far.” Eskel pushes Scorpion to just go a little faster. It’s not safe but Jaskier won’t last a lot longer like this.

Finally, Eskel sees the light of the fire and exhales loudly, relieved to finally find safety for his bard. The cave isn’t a cave per se. It’s more of a deep nook in a cliff, but it’s dry and protected from the wind and the cold rain. It’s not ideal, but it’ll be much better than sleeping on the humid ground. Eskel dismounts first then helps Jaskier get off the horse. A small fire is already going, and clothes have been laid around it, just close enough to make them warm. Geralt and Jaskier’s bedrolls have already been pushed side by side on the ground as well. As soon as Jaskier is off Scorpion’s back, Geralt emerges from the forest with an armful of wood, hopefully dry enough to last them the night.

“The wood’s clear,” he says immediately, dumps the woods and goes to them. Eskel pushes Jaskier towards him a little, enough for Geralt to grab him close and start rubbing his arms up and down.

“How are you feeling?” he asks gently.

“So-o-o-o co-o-o-old“, Jaskier answers, trying very hard to keep his teeth from clattering and shivering.

“I know, let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

“Oh Geralt if I kn-e-e-e-e-ew you wanted me naked I’d… would have fall… fallen into a frig-i-i-id river so-o-n-n-n-er”, Jaskier answers with a chuckle and a wink, shivering uncontrollably. Eskel snorts and leads Scorpion away, to secure him for the night and get the rest of their stuff to the little fire camp.

“You’re such an idiot sometimes”, Geralt answers with a fond eye-roll.

“But you love me anyway”, Jaskier grins at him, and Geralt takes his hand to lead him to the fire.

They go in stages. As soon as his soaked doublet and shirt come off, Geralt dries him off with warm rags he’s put near the fire and wrestles him quickly into a warm shirt and gambeson. By the time his boots, pants and underthings are off, Eskel is back by their side, putting his own bedroll next to theirs. When he’s settled, Eskel comes to help dry Jaskier’s hair as best they can then leads him to the bedrolls. Jaskier goes down, immediately going under the blanket and grabbing at the nearest Witcher he can find. Eskel joins him easily enough and Geralt is not far behind, joining them as soon as he’s done laying out all of Jaskier’s wet stuff. Eskel rearranges the blanket on top of all three of them, while Jaskier presses his back to Geralt’s front. Geralt throws an arm around his middle and kisses Jaskier behind the ear, where he knows it will earn him a little appreciative noise he loves. Even in warm clothes and between his two big Witchers, Jaskier is still quite cold and keeps on shivering.

“Try to relax”, Geralt says. “You’ll shiver less if you do and your teeth will stop clattering.”

“That doesn’t sound right", Jaskier responds dubiously.

“Try anyway“, Geralt whispers in his ear, breath hot on his skin and a very different kind of shiver seizes Jaskier’s entire body.

But Geralt is right, of course. After a while, the shivers stop coming, and Jaskier starts to feel better and a little tired again. It’s nice being surrounded by his lovers heat and smell, wearing their clothes. Jaskier his pretty sure the pants are Geralt’s. They are quite narrow at the waist so definitely not Eskel’s. The smallclothes and one of the two pair of socks he’s wearing feel like they are his, but the shirt is a little rougher than what he’s used to. It’s quite big in the shoulders, and it’s either dark red or black, Jaskier can’t quite tell in the low light. It’s probably Eskel’s shirt, but it smells like Geralt. Geralt must have grabbed whatever he could find in Roach saddlebags. It’s quite late in the year, and the three of them have been travelling together since mid-summer, so most of their stuff is mixed together by now. The gambeson is definitively Geralt's, it’s the warmest he has, and he was wearing it that morning. Jaskier has a pang of love when he realises Geralt must have changed into something thinner just so Jaskier could wear the warmest top they own.

“How are you feeling?” Eskel asks quietly when Jaskier’s scent turns a lot less miserable and a lot more content.

“I’m much better. But my hands and feet hurt a little still.”

Eskel grabs one of Jaskier’s knees under the blanket, inviting him to slide his legs up so his feet can come rest between Eskel’s parted legs. Next, he takes Jaskier’s hands in his and starts massaging every finger and blowing hot air on them. Geralt presses a kiss on his neck and Jaskier sighs contentedly.

“Thank you-”, he says after a little while when his fingers are warm and tingly. Eskel doesn’t release them, but instead, he presses them lightly against his chest, his thumb gently stroking small circles. “-for taking care of me tonight. And for…” Jaskier hesitates a second. He takes one of his hands away to link his fingers with Geralt’s on his waist and the other comes to stroke Eskel’s cheek. One of Eskel’s hand finds both of theirs as well. “And for making me feel happy and loved even when you have to fish me out of a stupidly cold river. I love you, both so much” he adds quietly.

Eskel kisses the inside of the hands Jaskier has on his cheek and shuffles closer, putting Jaskier’s hand on his chest again.

“Love you too, sweets”, he answers, content.

Geralt doesn’t reply, but Jaskier doesn’t need him to, the small smile he can feel at the back of his neck is loud enough.

***

I know it’s not the best and it’s a bit silly and it’s been done a million times, but I hope you’ll still enjoy it a little. I'm putting these in AO3 too cause Tumblr won't format right.

Now the thing is, I messed up. Cause I thought I would have loads of time to fill the seven prompts I received before hitting this milestone. Which I didn’t so this is only prompt 3/7 when I should have posted the last one when I got to 1000.

I will definitively answer all 7 but the I’ve been having a rough time lately and while the first 3 prompts came quite easily I haven’t had the mental energy to sit down and properly think about the other 4. I have an outline for 2, I just need to find the words. So please be patient with me if you sent a prompt? It will get answered I just can’t say when exactly. Sorry about that.

#jaskier #eskel #geralt #geralt of rivia #geraskiel #the witcher #the witcher fanfiction #fluff #tumblr prompt celebration

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peaceoutofthepieces · 4 years

Text

Sink Or Swim

tag list: @cleocc @feeling-kinda-so-so @hopelessromanticvirgo @dreamy-slytherin @adora8 @lockerfivethreefive @painfully-oblivious @poeticinemaa @jjustonemorething @saraben00 @wedarkacademia @coolguyssyndrome @hischbabe @suckerforsobbe @tayspots @starmansander @theah0lt @zoenneforever @invisibleme @chibibanane

~^~

Tuesday, 18:47

Song: EDEN - how to sleep

Lucas seizes up as the front door opens, gathering himself up and pushing to his feet. If he does it naturally, he can probably slip to his room without his father protesting too much. He can probably excuse himself with homework. He won’t have to interact, not properly.

His plan would work perfectly, in normal circumstances. Normal circumstances just usually don’t involve running into a moving skeleton three steps into the hallway.

He’s mildly embarrassed by the squeak he lets out, and by the pitch of his voice as he screeches, “What the fuck?”

His father curses under his own breath, moving the skeleton flapping in his arms out of his face, and mutters, “Language.”

“Dad,” Lucas sputters as the dummy is shoved into his hands. “What the hell is this?”

Hugo ushers him back into the sitting room, following behind with shopping bags hanging heavily from his hands. He dumps them on the coffee table and takes the skeleton out of Lucas’s arms to prop him up on the couch, watching them with a gaping, toothy grin. “Halloween decorations.”

Lucas bites back the urge to sarcastically thank him for stating the obvious and chooses to further his question. “Why?”

After the scoldings Lucas has gotten over the past few weeks, watching his father turn to him with his hands on his hips is a rather nerve-wracking thing. The smile on his face, however, turns out to be the most disconcerting. “So we can decorate.”

“We?”

“I thought it would be something nice to do together,” Hugo shrugs.

Lucas blinks at him. He feels the need to tread cautiously. He’s very worried that he’s somehow being played, in an oddly surprising way. “But...Halloween is in four days.”

“Exactly.”

“Everyone else has had their houses decorated for weeks.”

“Yeah, but we’ve only been getting moved in. We have the best excuse.”

Lucas continues to stare at him.

Hugo sighs, rubbing his hand over his brow, gesturing at the skeleton. “Do you have to be such a moody teen over everything? I bought a skeleton, buddy.”

The old nickname softens Lucas a little bit. Just a little. He looks at the skeleton once more. Flimsy, about three-quarters the height of Lucas, black smudges dotting his gray-toned bones. The right number of ribs, missing a tooth (with another cracked), eye sockets deeply sunken. Just on the realistic side of cartoonish.

Lucas asks, “What’s his name?”

His father grins proudly. “Tim.”

“Tim?”

“Same as one of my old-coworkers. Piece of work himself. One of the know-it-all types. Even worse than a moody teenager.”

Lucas can’t help it. He snorts. “Poor Tim.”

His father waves a hand at him. “Well, he’s a member of the household now. A blessedly silent member.”

Lucas raises his brows. He examines the skeleton once more, then leans forward and gently picks up its left arm. He presses the small button on the inside of its wrist.

Tim’s eyes flash red as his jaw drops open in evil, mechanical laughter.

Hugo jumps and curses under his breath again and Lucas lets out a laugh, delighted. He leans back in to grip Tim around the waist, picking him up and drawing that same arm around his shoulder, playing with the skeletal fingers. It’s unexpected. To be turning to his father with a grin, to feel the remnants of laughter settling cosily in his stomach. He likes it, and he likes the soft smile that lightens his father’s eyes, and he likes the comfort of the small space when it lacks the tension and the animosity of the previous few days, of the past week.

He asks, carefully, “What else did you get?”

His father beams. He moves to the bags on the table and begins pulling banners out of the way, followed by a packet of bats and pumpkin lights and various other witchy products. Lucas feels his pleasure grow at each new item and nods approvingly.

“Good idea?”

Lucas nods, humming. “You’ve definitely had worse.”

The man accepts the jibe with nothing more than a small shrug. “You happy enough to take an hour to do it now? I’ll start hanging these around the place and you can get Tim situated. Maybe somewhere around the door?”

“Sounds good,” Lucas agrees. He grips Tim’s arm tighter and carries him out into the hallway, making sure to press the little button once more as he passes his father. He chuckles at the swears he receives in response.

It’s almost therapeutic. Even as the desire to let Tim’s bones scatter on the street grows, there’s something simplistic and soothing about decorating the place. Something that makes it feel a little more like it’s his. A little more like a home. It helps that he loves Halloween. He loves the spookiness, the eeriness, the beauty in the horror. It’s satisfying, watching the angry little pumpkin faces emit a stunningly bright glow. There’s a sort of poetry to all of it, he supposes, to the veil around the world becoming foggy, to the masks people wear becoming visible.

There’s an artistry, too, that he appreciates more than anything. The sharpness, the otherworldliness, the darkness. The meaning under it all, of the in-between.

Beauty in the horror.

He supposes there’s a little beauty, too, in doing it together. They work together to hang the string-lights up in the hall, and the silence isn’t strained or uncomfortable. It’s companionable, filled with little huffs of laughter as one or the other gets caught, or trips, or drops the line. The usual simmering anger that sits in his chest is entirely absent, just for these few moments.

“You used to love Halloween when you were a kid,” his father says suddenly, and Lucas glances over at him. “Your mom always avoided buying stuff she thought would scare you, but you never flinched at any of it. You wanted all the weird loud things that used to make Kes bawl his eyes out. The only things you didn’t want were the spiders.”

Lucas laughs at the idea of little Kes, terrified, and Lucas enjoying scaring him as he had with his dad today. He remembers how his friend would retaliate, finding the biggest fake-spider in the place and sneaking up to set it on Lucas’s shoulder. He’d only stopped at the age of twelve, when Lucas had given him the silent treatment for a week in response. “I did notice you didn’t bring any of those back.”

“I do pay attention, sometimes. I also remember that you liked it most because of all the sweets.”

“You could have just brought back a cake,” Lucas agrees lightly, shooting him a grin.

“Yeah, but we couldn’t have shared that. You would’ve eaten it all yourself.”

Lucas laughs quietly, realising he can’t argue, that there’s plenty of proof in the past to refute anything he would say. There’s a calm that has settled over him, and he relishes in it.

For a moment.

“Hey, Luc,” his father starts slowly, and some of the tension in Lucas returns. “I know this hasn’t been easy for you. It’s a big change, and a bad age to be making it, and I don’t know how many times I can apologise for it before you’ll forgive me.”

Lucas tacks his end of the lights to the wall and listens carefully.

“I should be making it easier for you, but I think it’s pretty obvious that I just have no idea how. It used to be so easy for us, too, you know? I used to know you so well. Now I keep stuffing up.”

Lucas slowly lowers his hands to his sides and turns to face him. “Dad,” he starts, but the man shakes his head.

“I was harsh on you the other night. And the week before that. I know that. I just don’t know what else to do. You don’t let me in. I can only react to what I see. And maybe I overreacted, but I only do what I think is right. I think what worried me most, about the weed, is that it didn’t surprise me. And now, I know, it’s probably natural to all of you nowadays and it might not surprise many, but it’s more that—well it didn’t surprise me that you managed to hide it from me. It was just another nail in the coffin.”

“I don’t hide everything from you,” Lucas says quietly. “You surprise me a lot more often.”

“I know,” Hugo says, just as gentle, abandoning his task to turn to Lucas too. “I know, buddy, and I am sorry. I’m trying to do better. But I need you to try with me.”

Lucas swallows thickly, averting his gaze to his feet for a moment. There’s a war going on in his chest, the childish urge to hold onto this leverage over his father and the desperate desire to give in, to claw for some semblance of harmony. Beyond all of it, canceling out all the rest, is the whisper that whatever answer he gives won’t matter. The harmony could never last, and he’s stupid to hold onto that tiny bit of hope, a tattered little shred he hadn’t even realised he held.

But it’s this little whisper that strengthens his resolve, that makes him return his gaze to the man before him and give a tiny nod.

“Okay. I will. Promise.”

His dad squeezes his shoulder, and none of his anger returns at the contact. He leans into it, and he lets himself hope.

Hugo lets him go and moves to tack up the middle of the string-lights. “So as it’s my proposal, I feel like I should make the first move, and say if you wanted to have a few friends or something over for Halloween, that would be okay.” He pauses. “You have friends here, right?”

Lucas huffs. “Yes, I have managed to make friends here. But everyone will be going out for Halloween. They know I’m not allowed out, so they probably already have plans, or whatever.”

The realisation settles in that this may very well be true, and it’s another sting settling in his heart. He’s still too invested, much too invested, and he still hasn’t figured out what to do about it. Managing his emotions felt a lot easier when he was pretending—even with himself—that he didn’t have any.

Now every time he sees Jens without him, he aches, and when he sees Jens with Jana, he breaks, and when he sees Jens at all, he has various emotions that he really doesn’t want to think about in such close proximity to his father.

His father, who is currently frowning at him in genuine concern. “You really think so? Surely good friends would make the effort to include you.”

Lucas thinks of Jens messaging him about meeting up even while thinking he was in a different country. Of Jens dragging him to the party a few days before that. Always of Jens.

He directs his gaze back down to the ground and shrugs. “Maybe. But I wouldn’t ask that of them. I haven’t even known them that long.”

Hugo sighs and makes his way back to the kitchen, leaving Lucas to stand alone for a moment before following. They hang up half a packet of bats before the older man says, “A curfew is still kind of a punishment, right?”

Lucas whips his head up to look at him. He’s focused on the bat in his hands, unwilling to look at his son and the excitement suddenly building in him. “Yes, definitely. Better than grounding, really. More embarrassing. Will definitely get me laughed at.”

“So, say, if you wanted to go out with these friends of yours. That would be okay, as long as you’re back by midnight?”

Lucas nods quickly. Much too quickly.

Hugo’s eyes narrow. “Midnight’s too good, isn’t it?”

“No, of course not, midnight is super lame.”

“No, make it ten.”

“Ten?” Lucas tosses his hands up. His dad turns to look at him, now raising his brows in challenge. “Eleven,” Lucas counters.

The man considers him. “Ten-thirty. Final offer.”

“Midnight was your first offer!”

Brows are raised further.

Lucas blows out a breath and turns on his heel to collect more bats. “Ten-thirty.”

It takes ten more minutes of hanging decorations before Lucas chances asking.

“So, does this mean I can have my weed back?”

His father stares at him. “Buddy, I might not be able to stop you from smoking it, but I can’t just give it to you. I have some parenting skills, you know.”

“It could be bonding! We could share that too.”

“Nice try. Give me that orange tinsel. We’ll give Tim a little sparkle.”

#van der stoffels #vds #wtfock #skam nl #sink or swim #vds season fic #sos clip

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ilovehallas · 3 years

Text

Can it not just wait til morning

Relationships: Anders & Justice, Anders & Varric Tethras

Summary:

Anders wanders the streets of Lowtown at night to try and recover from a disturbing nightmare, but the implications of what he dreamed won't let him go and Justice only makes matters worse. When things reach a fever pitch, Anders rushes to the Hanged Man in need for friendship and reprieve.

Tags: Night Terrors, Mental Health Issues, Pre-Dragon Age II - Act 3, Friendship saves the day

Warning for graphic violence

[One of my favorite relationships in Dragon Age 2 is the friendship between Anders and Varric and the change in tone in their banter between Act 2 and Act 3 always gets to me. So I wrote a self-indulgent piece about it that completely went out of hand! There's a lot of other stuff I still wanted to get in there, but I did actually try to keep it brief. This oneshot takes place a short time after the Legacy DLC, between Acts 2 and 3. Please enjoy and let me know your thoughts!]

Read on AO3

Acrid fumes hung heavy in the air of the tunnels. The stench almost had its own physical presence in the way it crept into his air ways and made it hard to draw breath. It had made them all quiet as they tried to avoid stepping on the strange fleshy growths covering parts of the ground and the walls; if Anders looked too long he could swear they were pulsing slightly, feeling every pulse like the beat of his own heart.

Something lived here that Anders didn’t want to see. He tried to keep his eyes fixed to the back of the Warden-Commander, on the familiar griffon heraldry emblazoning her shield. Nothing in the way she moved betrayed whether she could sense it too. Her hand rested easy on the hilt of her sword.

The winding tunnels got progressively more difficult to traverse, forcing them to walk on the growths as the ground became uneven. They would give ever so slightly under Anders’ weight with a sickening, squelching sound. Everything was damp and warm, and Anders hoped that it was sweat that ran along his brow as his breathing grew more and more shallow.

Soon they were in place that Anders recognized well. They were in one of the many tunnels sleeping deep beneath Vigil’s keep, walking past long abandoned dark spawn barricades. How long had it been since they had walked these halls together? Sigrun smiled at him with understanding when she glanced over. When they reached a fork in the road, Anders found a weight finally lifted off his chest. Two massive holes were gaping in the stone, the one on the right side leading down another cramped path, and the other opening up to the inside of a large structure illuminated by an odd blue glow. The walls there were of solid stone adorned with careful geometric designs of lyrium, reaching up so impossibly high that Anders couldn’t even make out a ceiling when he entered. From far away, the soft echo of running water called out to him.

A flicker of hope lit him up like a spark in dry kindling. This was it! The place they had been looking for! The exhaustion of their grueling eternal march fell off him like opened shackles as he turned and ran back to the others, cursing the way his robes would slow him down. When the canal spat him out, he was back in the deep roads. This time there was not an inch that was not covered in organic matter. The walls were infested with empty egg sacks sprouting from the flesh and Anders’ blood rushed in his ears, whispering to him in clicking and chittering sounds that whatever had nested there was watching him. His body and chest seized up around nothing in anticipation of a threat he couldn’t see, his limbs stiff and useless as the paralyzing poison of panic set in. But no, he could see it. When he looked down, through the grate of the drain under his feet, the thick tentacle of a broodmother emerged from the dark in greeting. When he lifted his head, he looked right into the bulging humanoid face of one of her Children, perched on its grotesque legs.

“We need you, Grey Warden” it spoke with a calm voice. Its claw-like appendages poised, it jumped at him baring its needle teeth and buried them deep into his neck. He didn’t even get to scream, his blood pooling in his mouth as his skin tore. He could feel the way the creature sucked the rest of it right out of his veins. His legs gave in, crushed by the weight of the childer now feasting on him.

“Why can’t I help you?” Justice wailed mournfully from Kristoff’s body, half swallowed by the wall. “I’m stuck here. Anders, what can I do? This isn’t right!”

“I don’t know!“ Anders forced out, his hands pushing fruitlessly at the darkspawn burrowing itself in his body. The fade was silent and sliding away further and further the deeper the teeth went. “Get off of me!”

“I apologize for what I must do to you” the childer said. “But the Father says we need your blood.”

His arms were getting weaker, he still tried to dig his fingers into the creature’s eyes.

“It’ll make us free. Wouldn’t that be just?”

Anders sought Justice’s eye, his own despair reflected back at him. Justice opened his mouth as he struggled, his words coming out as a death rattle. “Why can’t I change this? Why aren’t you letting me?”

“But it’ll hurt us too. It’ll be sad.”

Everything was becoming blurry, colors and sensations mixing together in agony. He couldn’t see, couldn’t smell, couldn’t move, couldn’t feel. There was only the sound of this voice.

“We’ll miss the song. Oh, the beautiful song! How we’ll miss it!”

“I can hear it too, Anders” a woman whispered. The Warden Commander! She had to do something! He had watched her cut down dragons, why wasn’t she doing anything? Why wasn’t she helping? Nothing had ever stopped her before, not archdemons, not self-preservation, not reason. “It’s heart-wrenching. There is a part of me that understands the darkspawn now. Why they long to hear it so much…”

She began to hum an unfathomable melody that was alien and familiar at once, like the impression of a song he’d forgotten in his childhood. Blindly he tried to reach her so he could make her stop, somehow, whatever it took, but there was nothing, only a great expanse of nothing where her voice became a drop in the ocean of the song.

It thrummed in his chest like it came from inside his bones—

“They call to us! They need us! Please! Grey Warden! Oh, Grey Warden!”

The whole world shaken by the song calling—

Anders awoke drenched in sweat with a sob. Eyes unfocused and mentally still entangled in the images of his nightmare, his hands shot up to touch his neck to convince himself that there was no darkspawn there. Relief when he felt that his skin was intact but it was running hot, crawling with something that weren’t there. He was trembling all over, couldn’t stop gasping, his stomach was rolling, there was a flash of blue. Quick, quick where—

Scrambling to get up, Anders managed to take a few steps before he had to lean against the wall for support and retched once, twice. The nausea was still there, but it receded just as much as Anders needed it to so that he could reach for a cloth and wipe the saliva and vomit from his mouth.

He looked around frantically, taking a moment to recognize he was in his own clinic. It was pitch dark in the room save for a little lantern and it slowly dawned on him that he must’ve fallen asleep in the evening, only to wake in the middle of the night from a nightmare. And how lucky that he did wake.

A nightmare… Anders always kept a bowl or two of clean water around when treating patients. Knowing this place better than the back of his hand, he found one of them even in the relative darkness and splashed his face with the water. For good measure he rubbed his hands over his face, hoping that if he convinced himself enough that he was awake, the sick sense of dread looming over him would disappear. The scratch of his stubble was oddly grounding, but his hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

It had been so visceral. Even now he felt little aftershocks of the “song”. And if there were not the usual noise of a night in Darktown, he was certain that he would be able to hear a faint melody from deep underground.

Maker’s breath, he had to get out of here.

As Anders headed for one of the exits to Lowtown he passed the faces of people he’d seen too many times. There were children that were growing up before his eyes in the dirt. He hastened his pace.

To wander the maze of Lowtown alone at night as a mage was among the most stupid things one could do in Kirkwall. Anders could not find it in himself to care, feeling himself embraced by the night’s chill when he reached the surface. It soothed his burning skin much like ointment did to a wound. A sigh came over his lips as he tipped his head back to gaze upon the stars. See? he thought triumphantly to himself. No ceiling, no stone. Only sky. Just a regular night in Kirkwall, whatever that meant these days.

He drifted in and out of alleyways he’d never seen in the years he’d lived here to stay out of the templars’ sight, along streets he’d last walked before he’d met Hawke. There was no one place he really wanted to be in right now, he was simply grateful for the quiet in his skull that the movement and the cold afforded him. Hadn’t really had much of that lately, or ever, since he’d let Justice in. He looked down from a ledge of a dead end to the docks, his gaze sweeping across to where the few lights of the Gallows gleamed. It was a bit strange, if he thought about it. Justice made it hard to remember dreams usually. Somehow Anders had assumed that if he were to experience a nightmare again, it would involve a templar. It would have been kinder.

The wind tugged at Anders as he stared transfixed at the circle, strands of hair falling into his eyes. The longer he looked, the louder his heart thumped in his chest, the muscle squeezing like a clenched fist as images flashed before his eyes. He tried to push them away, but Justice would not relent. When Bethany’s face entered his mind, Anders pressed the heels of his hands against his closed eyes.

“I was just going for a walk” he muttered, bracing himself against Justice’s reproach. “You know, I thought it was you who said that there’s beauty in this world and now you won’t even let me appreciate the moonshine. That’s more than just a little unfair.”

He raised his head again to the one moon shining bright tonight, hands trembling once more. Something in him stirred at the sight so that even Anders had to smile a little. The serenity of night. The gratitude of a mage holding up pieces of their broken phylactery. The relief when the fever of a patient finally broke against the odds. Finally storming the baroness’ estate. The amulet Hawke had given him that he kept under his shirt, just out of sight but he always knew it was there. Darkspawn blood gleaming on the Warden Commander’s blade. A cat purring on his lap. The granite fortifications of the keep. A ring, a ring made of lyrium, she’d given him a ring. The people of this plane couldn’t hear it, but he could. Like the fade woven into sound, a beautiful song that calls…

Ander’s stomach lurched unexpectedly and he managed to clasp his hand over his mouth before he threw up this time. With great effort and his insides still twisting he swallowed it back down, coughing and gagging as he stumbled away from the ledge.

A spike of irritation. It’s not that kind of song, Anders thought. He retraced his steps to an intersection, taking a path that lead left through a narrow alley as his restlessness returned with a vengeance. And it wasn’t his memory for sure. A rat squeaked in panic when he nearly stepped on it and he cursed as the critter hurried past him. He darted out of the alley, then down a flight of stairs hewn directly into the stone, starting to feel as though something was lurking right behind him.

Why was he angry? The Warden Commander had never wronged them. Because it wasn’t about her or about wrongs. Anders’ coat nearly caught on one of the iron spikes jutting out from the ground. The problem was that he had never wanted to go back there, but Hawke had taken him anyway. And what did he do? What did he hear?

He’s not Vengeance. Or wasn’t he? He’s not a demon. But we’re an abomination. Anders gritted his teeth. Fenris was right on that account at least. He had become an abomination long ago, even if the process wasn’t as sudden as the Chantry would think. Justice wouldn’t like to be reminded, but if it weren’t for Hawke and the others, they would have slain that poor girl they’d meant to protect. And underneath the Vimmark Mountains they’d turned his magic even against his friends. All because—

Anders’ throat was beginning to hurt even though he wasn’t even running. Feverishly he touched his neck to prove to himself once again that there were no teeth. A piece of himself had never left the Deep Roads. And what remained of Justice now? Some memories and a rage that seared him to the bone. Behind him he heard footsteps and the rattle of armor.

What if it was a templar?

Yes, what then?

Somehow the question didn’t come with enough fear. Or any. The truth was that right now Anders almost hoped a templar would come and find him. He didn’t need a staff anymore to defend himself, thanks to Justice magic would pour all too readily through the veil. One dead templar, one dead mage, Anders feared that at this point it didn’t even make a difference anymore. Anders peered over his shoulder. A guardswoman stopped in her tracks when she noticed him, narrowed her eyes, and then continued to walk her round without a second glance. Likewise Anders picked up his pace again as well.

He wasn’t an abomination. Vengeance was angry now. He was spewing Chantry propaganda at himself because it was difficult to care about this world, beautiful and broken as it was. He couldn’t give up now just because it was difficult. There was too much here that had gone unpunished and not a day would pass without more suffering heaped onto the pile unless this whole damn system crumbled. He wasn’t an abomination.

Anders recognized the area they were in now, the streets broader to accommodate the crowds that usually mingled here. There were people shrouded in darkness in the corners of the market, but none of them looked his way. His nails were digging into his arm and he wondered if maybe he could...

It was a trap; every mage lived in a trap. Push a little to pull your head from the noose and the rope around your neck only tightens, every single time. Vengeance prodded, reminding him of Karl until Anders had to bite the inside of his cheek. Thousands of voices in Thedas were crying out for Justice! Somebody had to answer the call, even if it was a losing battle, even if he was going to try to hold back a tidal wave by himself! He wasn’t an abomination!

He was a liability! Anders took two stairs at a time, his blood boiling despite himself. Chill had turned to cold in the time he’d wasted running around, but he was pretty certain there was a passage back to Darktown nearby. If he was lucky he could get another hour or two of sleep before the daily grind picked back up.

Was he running away again?

He wasn’t running. Wasn’t he? The Warden Commander smiling at him, one of her rare smiles. In war, victory. In peace, vigilance. In death, sacrifice. Anders or Justice remembered her reciting the motto to herself in a light-hearted tune before leaving for Amaranthine to defend it. This was his chance to remedy his cowardice.

Anders didn’t have the energy left tonight to argue. He knew, yes, he knew there was no turning back and that he had chosen this. There was no escape from the Wardens, no escape from the Calling, from Justice, from himself, from the path he’d chosen, from the path the templars were forcing. But wasn’t he allowed to be angry to know this for a little while? Wasn’t he allowed to mourn that for all the freedom he fought for, Anders had forsaken his own? He hadn’t wanted to be an abomination.

Vengeance didn’t understand anymore. It would be the most beautiful thing of all to see the circles fall, no matter what it took. No more Ser Rylocks, no more Ser Alriks, no more Merediths.

Anders frantically looked around—

It’d be beautiful but it wasn’t all that Anders wanted. He’d wanted to be free, and now he’d never be. He had made a demon out of Justice, he couldn’t trust himself to make the right decisions. All of this had been a mistake. And even if he succeeded, one day the taint would come for him.

Don’t think like that! It wasn’t his fault that the world had made him like this! This was worth every price! He knew that!

There had to be something to get him out of this, change of course—

He couldn’t be trusted, couldn’t be relied on! He didn’t know what to do!

He would find a way, he had to! The circles had to go! They had never cared about the suffering they inflicted on mages, generation after generation! Whatever he could do it would be justified! They had sealed their fate centuries ago!

They had to go, but—

IT WOULD ONLY BE JUST!

Anders winced, the words booming in his skull with terrible finality. Something in his mind was burgeoning against his defenses, the veil around him straining and warping under its stress. Anders hissed, stemming against the tide of righteous fury and frustration that incensed Vengeance. The pressure abated not long after, but the damage was done. His heart and head were pounding, everything in him was reeling as it had when he’d woken, but suddenly he remembered: he knew where he was. Down this street past the merchant’s stand, one more set of stairs, then turn right. He was nauseous with resentment, though he couldn’t say if it was his own or who it was aimed at. He almost stumbled his way up. It was embarrassing that it felt as though he would be okay if he just made it there, maybe, but he’d lost all of his dignity already running through Kirkwall like a madman. Might as well act like a child and pretend the bad things can’t get him so long as the candle was burning. He rounded the corner, his heart skipping a beat. When he saw it, relief washed over him warmly and he couldn’t help but laugh.

Somehow he’d made it to the Hanged Man just in time.

Not giving himself the time for second thoughts he pushed past a drunken patron through the entrance door, praying that they weren’t closed yet. With a creak the door swung open for him, allowing him to step inside, the tavern reeking of desperation and hundreds of beers and ales spilled over the decades. Barely anyone was still here. The old man who was always muttering to himself was sitting at one of the tables by himself, apparently only half-awake, and a man was leaning on the counter where the tired bartender Corff was already eyeing Anders. No Isabela, no Varric. Shit.

“We’re about to close.”

Anders paused and dug through the pocket of his coat for coins. “Enough time left for me to get a drink, right?” He gave the man a strained smile and slid the silver he’d found across the counter, hating the way he couldn’t keep his hands still. The man caved.

With his freshly-purchased drink in hand and a view to the door Anders plopped down on one of the benches in the back of the room, sinking in on himself a little. He hadn’t planned to actually drink anything, but the longer he sat the more he became aware of how drained he really was. A dull ache spread through his whole body from exhaustion and his throat and mouth were parched while hair stuck uncomfortably to his forehead with sweat. His mind was suspiciously quiet when he raised the bottle to his lips and drank. The sense of doom and the heat of anger however still formed a tight knot in his chest that kept him tense, so he knew it wasn’t over yet. Static buzzed in his ears.

When the entrance door creaked once more, Anders perked up.

Sheer dumb luck, Anders couldn’t believe it, it was sheer dumb luck that the person who entered really was Varric. When he spotted Anders he raised his hand in greeting and made a beeline to his table.

“Varric, we’re closing!” Corff yelled in dismay, but the dwarf only waved him off.

“You know, you should probably consider listening to him” Anders commented as Varric took a seat across from him against the bartender’s protests. “One day he’ll stab you in your sleep.”

“Oh he’s harmless” Varric said. He opened his mouth as if to elaborate, but something in his expression changed when he looked at Anders. Then after some apparent deliberation with a bit too much sincerity: “…You look like shit.”

The corners of Anders’ lips twitched up reflexively, unsure yet if he wanted the concern. “And here I was thinking I only felt like it!”

Anders didn’t feel like joking, he hadn’t felt like it in weeks but there was something soothing about when they both broke out into nervous chuckles over his quip. A bit like a reassurance that oh right, so he could still talk like a person.

“Did you run into any trouble?”

Anders made it a point to yawn. “I just fell asleep in the clinic. I wouldn’t recommend it.”

Varric didn’t inquire further even though Anders could see that he knew it was a bit more than that. There was a twinge of disappointment and unease. Usually Varric would fill moments like this with empty talk but for some reason he was holding off on it. So they sat suspended in unnatural silence until Anders had drunk the last drop from his bottle. He licked his lip, waiting for Varric to strike but nothing came. The only quiet sounds came from the bar and the fire crackling nearby, the static in Anders’ head grew louder. He was getting ready to abandon ship if this was how it was going to go, when it occurred to him what Varric was doing.

Anders studied his companion’s face, who was pretending to read a letter he’d pulled from one of his pockets. It would be terrifyingly easy to tell him about everything that was troubling him; really, a part of Anders yearned to let it all spill out of him in the hope that maybe once it was out this pressure in his head would be gone. That used to work. But there was too much to put to words by now, steeped in too much shame, and too much that Varric for all his kindness simply wouldn’t understand. Or shouldn’t have to hear. Once he said it, he would never be able to take any of it back. But, Anders didn’t want to leave. He desperately didn’t want to leave and be alone with himself. And there was something that he knew would be safest with Varric. It would be a compromise.

“I should come back in the evening when the others are here” Anders ventured.

Varric didn’t even look up. “Oh come on. You don’t come by the Hanged Man much anymore, would be a shame if you left so soon. You must’ve missed the filth.”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Don’t be so serious, of course you have! It goes great with your look right now. So, are you staying?”

Corff was glowering at them now. “Sure.”

Varric stuffed the letter back to where it came from with less care than one would a handkerchief and got up. Anders hesitated one last moment before he followed suit, swallowing his reluctance as he took the familiar path up to Varric’s room. In all the years he’d known Varric, somehow the room had stayed mostly the same. Much of that was probably to blame on the tavern itself, but it still struck Anders now that it had been some time since he’d last been in there. The biggest difference he could make out was that there were now chairs to accommodate a human or an elf; there were little traces that friends had left. It was weirdly cute.

Anders sank on the chair closest to Varric’s favorite little throne, stretching out his legs. For a room at the Hanged Man it was really quite nice, even if the lack of windows was depressing. He felt a bit out of place.

Varric took his seat and wrung his hands. “So what are you in the mood for? Need an editor for your manifesto, or do you want to brainstorm—“

“No” Anders cut him off sharply. “Not tonight.”

“Somebody’s touchy” Varric scoffed. “But alright. What is it then?”

Anders tried to collect his thoughts, frustrated with himself that he was so out of practice that he couldn’t be like Varric and talk about things without mentioning them. His gaze lingered on the vase with wilted flowers Varric kept on his desk next to an unopened bottle of a Tevinter vintage. “I’ve been thinking about how I’ve gone into the Deep Roads twice now since leaving the Grey Wardens.”

“Oh? You’re not getting nostalgic now, are you? I know I said you should reconsider your career but…”

“No. No, not at all. I absolutely despise the Deep Roads. I’m still angry at Hawke for asking me to come along at all. I thought he knew better than that” Anders admitted, the words bitter on his tongue. Acrid fumes, the unnerving feeling of another creature in his blood. “But it’s hard to say no to him, so guess I’m the idiot.”

At that Varric’s expression briefly turned serious again. “It’s just our luck that whenever the Deep Roads are involved, we either get screwed over or somebody’s got it out for Hawke. But I could also live without ever having to go down there again.”

“That isn’t the point. But it’s actually a bit funny. Hawke reminds me at times of the Warden Commander.”

“How so?”

“Charismatic bastards that attract a special kind of trouble and surround themselves with the worst kinds of people” Anders deadpanned, relieved when Varric relaxed again.

“We’re just a bit rough around the edges” Varric replied. “But go on, I’m interested in hearing this.”

“How much have I told you before?”

“Aside from the story of how you were recruited and how mad the templar was that the Hero of Ferelden and the King were both telling her off? A story here and there. If I didn’t already know the Order is fishy, I’d have guessed as much from how you talk about them.”

Anders clicked his tongue. “Well then. Care to hear about my dark past?”

“Sure” Varric said with a wink. “It’ll come in handy if I ever need inspiration for unrealistic Grey Warden characters.”

Anders grinned. “So have you heard this one before: the Hero of Ferelden, a drunk dwarf, an apostate and his cat, a member of the legion of the dead, the son of the disgraced Howe family, a slightly homicidal Dalish mage and a rotting corpse walk into the Deep Roads…”

“A corpse?!”

“And yet somehow the dwarf smelled worst” Anders joked. “Oghren was a complete pig. At first I didn’t really understand why we were bothering with him, but apparently he’d traveled with the Warden Commander during the Blight. Turned out he really had a hand for cutting down darkspawn. So much so that he left his wife and unborn child to go kill more of them. …Thinking about it, I’m sure he would have loved the Hanged Man. Filthy, barely any sunlight during the day, cheap alcohol…”

“Ouch, that was unnecessary” Varric grumbled. “But I’ve heard that name before. Maybe he should’ve just stayed in Orzammar, Maker knows they’re always trying to get their hands on lunatics like that. A corpse though—”

“The strange thing is that they were all like this” Anders insisted. “And if they weren’t from the start, they would be by the end of it. Nathaniel made the classic mistake of trying to assassinate the Warden Commander in revenge for daddy dearest and got recruited as thanks. He was a terrible grump about it too and said he'd rather be hanged. But give it a little time and before you knew it he was fully indoctrinated. So maybe what Orzammar really needs is better recruiters.”

“I’ll let them know somehow” Varric snorted and rose from his seat. Anders watched him grab a bottle and pour its content into a glass. He was beginning to feel as though a string that was cutting into his flesh was threatening to loosen, only a little bit. Varric placed the glass in front of him and settled back into his own chair, keeping an expectant eye on him. “Go on.”

Anders nodded to Varric in silent thanks and eagerly drank the watered down ale. “She’d recruited really anyone who seemed half-way capable and was unlucky enough to cross our path. So that’s how we ended up with Velanna and Sigrun. I think Velanna only listened to us because the Warden Commander was Dalish herself. When we found her she was having a grand time burning down trade caravans because she was convinced her sister had been abducted by humans, when it was really darkspawn. Sigrun got recruited after we fought our way through a thaig together. She was an awfully cheerful lady for someone who was supposed to be dead. Pick-pocketed me at least six times for sport though.”

“And it kept working?”

“She was really good.”

“I’m sure she was. And…?”

“And then there was Ser Pounce-a-lot, the best kitten anyone could ask for. There isn’t much to say about the corpse, Varric.”

Varric put his hands up defensively. “Excuse me, but you can’t drop that in there and expect me to not be curious!”

“That was Justice’s old host” Anders explained, overcome with a shiver that wasn’t his own. “He doesn’t want me to talk about it. Just know that he was there.”

“Oh.”

Anders’ vision zeroed in momentarily on the wine bottle. Another bottle just like this always stood in Hawke’s study where he needed it most. “But I think that gives you a pretty good idea of what we were like.”

Varric hummed and scratched his chin. “Should I be worried that you’re comparing us to that little cult you’re describing?”

“In our defense, we were a pretty fun cult sometimes.”

Anders set his glass down softly before he crossed his arms, leaned back in his chair and frowned at the ceiling in thought. He’d always kept to the stories that didn’t require context or detail beyond the way the hurlock had tripped over his staff and off a cliff. He hadn’t thought before about how to convey personalities or meaning while leaving the important things unspoken. The Warden Commander wiping blood from her cheek, bent over the dead body of the ogre she’d killed. Hawke breathing hard, checking to see if he had killed the Arishok for good.

“Think about it: If it weren’t for Hawke, none of us would given the other a second glance” Anders began. “That’s what it was like with the Warden Commander as well. They’re the kind of people that draw others to them and make you want to stick around just to see what they get up to next.”

“That… puts it well actually.”

“How many times has Hawke asked you to join him to do something that is obviously a bad idea? And you went along anyway? That happens practically every other week.”

“Like all the times he decided he’d pick a fight with every gang in Hightown? Or maybe when he took us to the Wounded Coast and got involved with hunting down an extremely dangerous criminal? Everything involving the Qunari? My personal favorite is the time he went to kill some dragons with us in the Bone Pit.”

“Exactly—“ Anders had to swallow, “but you always expect things to go well just because he seems so convinced that it will.”

“And it usually does.”

“It does. Every time we go into a fight I can’t help but trust him.”

He stopped himself there. Why had he agreed to come with to the Deep Roads? Because so long as Hawke was there, it was as though there was a lifeline. The inevitability of this world seemed to hold less power over him and it was eating Anders up with envy and admiration. He had no choice but to want to stay near. Varric waited patiently. Perhaps he understood what Anders couldn’t think.

Eventually he asked: “So what did the Hero of Ferelden do that gained your trust?”

“Oh, I saw her do a vertical leap and ram a sword straight through an ogre’s skull.”

“…You’re shitting me.”

Anders shifted for comfort, glad to direct the conversation into a different direction. “I’m serious. And she made it look easy, too. It was equal parts disgusting and impressive.”

“What did that look like, exactly?” Varric asked, sounding casual but Anders recognized that curious glint in his eyes.

Anders felt another grin pulling at his mouth. “We were harmlessly traipsing around the Wending Woods killing darkspawn, when suddenly that big stupid beast charged at us. All the Warden Commander did was to jump straight up and angle her sword right and the ogre practically impaled itself. She braces herself against the ogre that is still barreling forward, yanks her blade out and blood explodes everywhere. We’re all hit by the spray while she manages a perfect landing as the ogre collapses behind her.”

“Do you have more details by any chance?”

“She had her sword enchanted with a rune that imbued it with electricity, so it smelled of smoked darkspawn in the whole clearing. Is that graphic enough? If not, I can go on all day. Grey Wardens kill a lot of darkspawn.”

Apparently delighted by what he was hearing Varric sat straighter, his hand hovering near a quill but not grabbing it. Anders took it as an invitation anyway, blowing the spider webs off memories he’d kept stowed away. He started off with the easy things, stories like the ones with the ogre. Violence was mindlessly entertaining after all. Gesticulating dramatically he told of encounters with sylvans, of blighted wolves, of the ghosts of dwarves conjured by stone hacking at impressions of darkspawn, reenacting their deaths until the end of time. He regaled Varric with all the darkspawn heads that had exploded from shield bashes, arrows and magic blasts. Whatever bound him was unraveling. His heart beat fast in excitement whenever Varric interjected and needled him, when they both laughed at the absurdity of it all. Nathaniel once shot a genlock with its own arrow. One hurlock was so confused to see its fellow darkspawn beheaded in one swing of Oghren’s axe that it suffered the same fate. Velanna’s fireballs had singed Ander’s robes on more than one occasion. Soon Varric began to share his own tales, giving Anders the space to remember the little things quietly by himself. Taking a week to learn that the Warden Commander’s name was Serket because nobody ever used it. Sigrun proudly showing off the brass telescope she’d been given. How he smuggled Ser Pounce-a-lot along on missions and had to chase after the cat through half of Amaranthine. He was feeling more like a person, more like himself than he had in months.

Vengeance’s ache continued to sit with him through it all but it was different now. What had split his head in half hours ago with every heart beat was just the occasional throb behind his eye. The separation between then and now may only be paper-thin but it was there. No, so maybe he wouldn’t tell Varric of the Architect with his intelligent darkspawn and that Hawke and Serket thus had more in common than immunizing against common sense. He wouldn’t talk about the children or how he was being eaten alive by his choices. But with Varric he didn’t have to for the pressure to ease.

By the end of it Anders was curled up in his chair, his coat hung over the backrest for cushoning. The conversation had trickled away somewhere along the way. The stasis wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was tinged with the melancholy of knowing that morning had come. There was a sliver of light coming from under the door. Varric had gotten up and laid down out of sight from him some time ago. Anders scratched his neck in anticipation, static back in his head as he bated his breath. This silence wasn’t empty yet, the way it was when people decide to go to sleep. This was the twilight hour in between. The backrest dug into his cheek.

“Why did you leave the Wardens then?”

And exhaled. “That’s complicated.”

“So?”

“I was a different person back then.”

“Well yeah, people change. That’s what being a person is like.”

Feeling the fade touch his mind when he agreed to take Justice into him, believing with all his being that this would be the key. A queasy mixture of joy and bitterness accompanied the memory as he and Justice couldn’t agree. The water had only continued to rise around him. What did he have to show for the person he was now?

He could hear Varric turn over. “Listen, Blondie. So maybe you weren’t a good Grey Warden. But you’ve picked another battle that’s about as insane and that unfortunately seems to be working for you.”

Anders stared into the darkness of the room wordlessly, blinking as though stunned. He waited until he was certain that Varric was asleep, listening close for his breathing. “Thank you, Varric.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Of course he’d say that. If he were to mention it to Varric later anyway he’d brush it off and find a way to paint it as the most incidental thing in the world. Anders curled in more on himself even though would become painful soon, finally closing his eyes. A deep calm crept into the space the tension had left behind.

Varric’s friendship was so often understated like that. It made it so easy to want to confide in him, simply because he didn’t ask too much. Nothing had to be serious. He cared in a way that Anders hadn’t had enough mind to appreciate lately. Maybe you couldn’t trust him to keep all your secrets, but you could always trust him to remind you that you were only a person. Varric was a good friend. He’d have to find something to give to Varric, something that would leave a trace of him, something to express… He’d find something… something…

Hours after Anders had left, Varric noticed a single tawny feather on the ground under one of his chairs. He picked it up, held it between his fingers briefly before he placed it gently among his other keepsakes.

#dragon age #dragon age 2 #dragon age fanfiction #anders #varric

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drabbles-of-writing · 4 years

Text

Bad Days

This is part of my Four Years AU

AO3

Masterpost

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

They say time heals all wounds.

They never said how much time it takes.

Hours? Weeks? Months? Years?

Luz hoped that ‘time’ meant a long, long while.

Because it’d been three years, and she still didn’t feel any better.

Every now and again, Luz would have one of ‘those days.’

A day where, at any point, everything weighed down on her like a pile of trucks. She’d feel like she was being crushed into the ground, emotionally and physically.

Sometimes she’d wake up feeling like that. Sometimes it’d hit her when she went to bed. Sometimes she’d feel it in the middle of the day.

There were no real triggers for it. They seemed to switch up every now and again.

There was a difference between feeling down and wanting to curl up in a hole and lay there for the rest of your life.

It’d just happen .

It was a lot more frequent the first year in the Isles. Having to call off plans or school because Luz could barely muster enough strength to get off the floor was an occurrence everyone was prepared for.

They became rarer, eventually. Luz could go more days her happy-go-lucky self, pretending her sudden mood swing hadn’t ever happened.

But they never went away. Not completely.

The worst part was that Luz barely got any warning beforehand. By the time she realized what was coming on it was already too late, and she was struggling to keep a straight face as those dark thoughts tore through her mind like starving piranhas.

Luckily for her, she rarely ever had them alone.

“Alright, King, Luz, pack it up.” Eda sighed, looking around at the empty market. “It’s too cold to be out with no good customers.”

“Finally!” King exclaimed, pulling his scarf closer around himself and hopping off the table into the good few inches of snow that had stuck to the ground.

“Gotta say, you and Lilith are getting more...experimental with the junk you find.” Luz said, setting down a box on the table and beginning to pack away the items.

“Lilith made a few of them, take that out on her.” Eda said with a wave of her hand. “She’s lucky I took pity on her and said she didn’t have to come and suffer with the rest of us.”

“Don’t lie, you just wanted to spend time with us,” Luz grinned, pulling her coat tighter around herself as her palisman, Snowy, picked up a bendy string with googly eyes and put it in the box.

“So sue me,” Eda shrugged, eyeing Snowy as she flew to the other end of the table to grab at more junk.

“Call it a thank you present for my kid,” Eda said simply, inspecting a weird wrench-like object. “Been a while since we had time to sell at the marketplace again.”

Snowy suddenly snapped up, letting out a loud chirp and flying frantically across the table, ruffling Eda’s hair.

Eda, confused, turned towards what the palisman was panicking about.

Luz was suddenly stumbling back, knocking against the table and her hand clutching her coat tightly.

Her eyes had gone wide and glazed, staring at nothing.

Eda knew that look.

“Luz!” She exclaimed, rushing to the girls side as Snowy nuzzled up to her neck, trying to bring the girl back to them.

King jerked up from a pile of snow he was making on the ground, worried.

Eda came up behind the girl and gently grabbed her arms, turning her slightly as she worriedly looked over her expression.

“Another one?” Eda asked quietly.

Luz blinked, looking like she’d forgotten Eda was there. Her breathing was heavy, like something was crushing down on her chest. She looked up, and Eda realized she was beginning to shake.

“Yeah,” Luz said quietly, leaning her head against the witch. “Sorry,”

“Don’t you dare apologize, kid.” Eda said firmly, catching King’s eye as he stood by Luz’s feet, looking up and placing a hand on her leg.

Eda raised a hand and summoned her staff. She gently held Luz’s shoulders as she guided her to the floating staff, setting her down in front of her, where the witch could see her.

“I can clean up, if you want.” King said, pointing to the stand.

“Eh, that stuff was never gonna sell anyway,” Eda said, getting onto the staff behind Luz, who looked like she was in a comatose-like state. “Come on,”

King nodded and climbed onto the staff behind Eda, rarely taking his eyes off of Luz.

The girl’s head was at eye-level with her now, making the rise off the ground and into the air a little difficult, since she had to peer over her to see.

Eda didn’t complain.

She kept one hand on the staff and another around Luz, holding her in place. Thankfully, Luz only seemed to be in a state of shock this time, instead of a meltdown.

This did little to comfort her.

The ride felt too long and too fast at the same time, and when they landed, Eda was quick to rid herself of her staff and keep her hold on Luz, like the girl was going to fall over at any moment.

“Hi guys--”

Hooty’s cheerful smile fell slightly, and for once, he shut his mouth and let both of them in.

Probably from the beat-downs everyone else in the house had given him when he decided to be a pain during one of Luz’s episodes.

Luz suddenly jerked once they entered the threshold of the house, squeezing her eyes shut and pressing closer to Eda, hands shaking.

“Your okay, kid,” Eda said quietly, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Took you long enough to return,” Lilith scoffed from the kitchen, poking her head in. “Being stuck here with Hooty is a night--”

From Luz’s expression, and the death-glare Eda was giving her, Lilith was quick to shut her mouth.

“Again?” She asked quietly, frowning sadly.

“Go put away the stand,” Eda demanded, gently guiding Luz through the house. “I’m taking her to bed.”

Lilith didn’t argue, for once.

Eda led Luz up the stairs, keeping her slightly ahead. King stuck behind them, nearly getting kicked in the face by accident multiple times.

Eda opened up Luz’s door and led her inside. She had outgrown her sleeping bag a while ago, so Eda had finally allowed a mattress in the old closet, with thicker blankets for the winter.

Lilith would tease that she spoiled her.

Snowy flew off Luz’s shoulder and landed one one of the coat hangers, silently watching the trio.

Eda walked Luz to her bed and slowly lay her on it. Luz cracked open her eyes and curled into a ball, hands behind her head as she drew her legs close.

Eda sighed, chest twisting painfully at the sight of Luz. She was fully trembling now.

‘The coat!’ Eda remembered, feeling even worse as she slowly reached out again.

“Sorry, kiddo, you probably don’t want that coat--”

Luz peeked out for a moment and seized Eda’s wrist. The witch froze, still as stone as King hopped up onto the mattress and hovered by Luz’s feet, unsure.

“Please don’t go,” Luz whimpered, crossing her free arm across her chest. “Please don’t leave…”

Eda let out a breath, shoulders relaxing as she sat on the edge of Luz’s bed, stroking a finger over Luz’s hand.

“Of course,” She said quietly. “I can stay.”

King crawled up behind Luz and lay with his back pressing against hers. She relaxed a bit at this and closed her eyes, murmuring her thanks.

If you told Eda three years ago that she’d be holding the hand of a traumatized human kid in the closet of her own house, feeling more helpless than the day of her first curse, she would’ve asked why you were so specific and call it a trick.

Point was, this wasn’t exactly where she thought she’d be.

To be honest, she was expecting to be bound in jail or petrified by now, having died knowing all she’d done was be a nuisance and waste her life away. Just like her father said.

She definitely preferred this alternative.

“Eda?” Said a hoarse voice.

Eda looked back at Luz, snapped out of her thoughts. She hadn’t noticed that Luz was crying, since she had been hiding her face.

Now her cheeks were streaked with tears and she was sniffling.

How long had they been there, again? She couldn’t remember.

“Yeah?” She replied softly. “Do you need something? Water?” She suggested.

“No,” Luz croaked. “I-I wanted to ask you something,”

“Ask away,” Eda said immediately.

King flicked his tail, but didn’t move. Eda genuinely couldn’t tell if he was awake or not.

Snowy definitely wasn’t. That owl couldn’t relax for the life of her.

“What...what did you mean when--” Luz took in a rattly breath. “When you said that taking us-us to the stand was...a thank you pr-present?” She asked, twitching her fingers around Eda’s hand that she still refused to let go of.

“...oh,” Eda said, clearing her throat and glancing around before looking down at Luz, who was giving her wide, searching eyes.

“Well, it was what I said it was. A thanks,” She said. “For...well, everything.” Eda shrugged. “You may not like staying here, but I like having you around, y’know?” She chuckled weakly.

“I wasted all my magic before you came along, but you already knew that. You make living like this...not so bad. No offence to King,” She added, glancing at the demon.

“You mean a lot to me, Luz.” Eda said, squeezing the girl's hand. “And I missed having the little moments where we didn’t have to worry about, well, all this.” She said, vaguely gesturing around them with her free hand.

“So...I just wanted to say thanks. You deserve a calm moment,” She said softly. “But that kind of went out the window, didn’t it?” She shook her head. “Ah, well, we can try another day…”

Luz kept her eyes on the witch the entire time she spoke, trying to soak in all her words, even in her current state.

“You...you think I don’t like it here?” Luz asked, near silently.

Eda blinked down at Luz, head tilted ever so slightly.

“Aren’t you at least anxious to be here?” Eda questioned, confused. “I mean, you're always worried about going home and even now, you still search for any ways to get back to the human realm. Aren’t you...impatient?”

Luz’s eyes widened, dismayed.

“I love it here,” Luz said sincerely, her voice scratchy. “I...I’ve always loved it here.”

Eda watched Luz for a few moments, surprised. Then her face softened into a smile.

“Of course you do, it was silly of me to think otherwise.” She said. “I just thought--”

“I want to go home because of my mamá,” Luz cut her off, drawing her gaze downwards. “There’s nothing else in the human realm for me...just her.” Luz said mutely.

“She only sent me away because she was worried about me. I,” Luz swallowed thickly. “I miss her…”

Eda sighed and leaned back, running her free hand through her hair.

“I know you’ll make it back to her, kid.” Eda assured her. “You’re stubborn, you get it from me.” She teased lightly. “I know if anyone can find another way to the human realm, it’s you.”

Luz offered an incredibly small smile, but it quickly fell again. She exhaled and pulled Eda’s hand closer, resting her head against it and shutting her eyes.

She had calmed from her episode, though it was clear it hadn’t truly left yet.

“You're not gonna leave, right?” Luz asked quietly.

“I don’t have anything going on, I can stay as long as you need.” Eda reassured the girl.

“N-no, I meant,” Luz shook slightly. “You're not gonna leave me alone, are you?” She asked, beginning to tremble again.

“I...I lost my mom...and-and I almost lost you, too. I-I don’t...I can’t--”

Eda turned, placing her other hand on Luz’s shoulder. The girl cracked open an eye, tears already forming at the corners.

“I’m not going to leave you anytime soon, okay?” Eda said, smiling down at the girl. “I’ve still got a lot left in me. I’ll always be here, for however long you need me.”

Luz sniffled, fresh tears spilling from her eyes as she sat up. She wrapped Eda up in a hug, pressing her face into the witches shoulder.

Eda stiffened for a moment before relaxing and reciprocating the hug, one hand cradling the back of Luz’s head.

“It’s alright, kid. It’s alright.” Eda murmured, holding the girl close as she shook with muffled cries.

“Thank you,” Luz choked, nearly suffocating the woman. “For-for everything,”

“Hey, don’t mention it,” Eda said, nuzzling the girls head. “Call it a show of good will.”

Luz hiccuped and curled tighter. King woke up with a ‘weh’ and looked around, sleepily crawling over to the two and leaning against Luz’s side with a yawn.

“No ‘thanks mom?’” King mumbled, opening an eye with a smug little face.

“That was one time,” Luz muttered, though she didn’t move from her place.

“I know, and I’ll never forget it.” Eda chuckled, Luz shaking slightly from her light jostling. “You’re not immune to torment.”

Luz snickered slightly, and Eda felt her heart swell.

“I love you guys,” Luz murmured. “I know I’ve said that before, but…”

Eda rested her chin on the teenagers head, rubbing circles on her back. King mumbled something intelligible as he tucked closer into Luz’s side.

“We love you too, Luz.” Eda said softly. “I love you. Don’t you ever forget that, okay?”

“Okay,” Luz nodded, her body finally relaxing.

Eda stayed like that for a long while.

She pretended the pit of worry in her chest wasn’t there.

That she wasn’t worried Luz could face an early end by the Emperor's Coven.

That she wasn’t worried Luz might get cursed, at any time.

That she wasn’t worried Luz would face Emperor Belos again.

That she wasn’t worried about the fact that if Luz made it home...would she really come back? Would she go out of her way to visit the Boiling Isles?

Would she decide making her own life in the human realm was better than whatever this barely-functioning family had?

Eda had never worried about the outside world all that much before. She never even worried about being caught. If she was finally subdued by the Coven, then so be it.

Now every little thing scared her. Terrified her that she’d be forced to leave Luz early, petrified that Luz could be the one leaving her.

Loving a kid like Luz was bound to end in a bonfire.

And yet, Eda couldn’t bring herself to care.

Whatever the future may bring, these last few years were worth it.

If only to love and be loved by people she could truly, finally, deem worthy of it.

#four years au #drabble post #my writing #the owl house #toh #luz noceda #luz #eda clawthorne #eda #king #hooty #lilith clawthorne #lilith #hurt comfort #angst #mom eda #she deserves so much

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linkysmommy · 4 years

Text

The Time That Came Between

PART I

Part II link here

Fandom: It Lives in the Woods

Pairing: Noah Marshall x fem MC

Words: 3,057

Summary: What happened to Noah after Jazmyn Park sacrificed herself and he fled Westchester?

Warnings: Some minor swearing, topics of drug use and addiction

Author’s note: This is basically my imagination of what happened to Noah after he left Westchester and before he realized that MC was still somewhat cognizant as the shadow monster. I definitely have some creative liberties and my own thoughts on the dark path Noah went on after everything went down. It shouldn’t be too long, but I’m splitting it into parts. It’ll probably be between 5-6 parts when all is finished.

The first thing he noticed was the overwhelming stench of sour, rotting garbage.

Then came the God-awful pain.

It felt like there was a bonfire burning in Noah’s back. The muscles in his body screamed and throbbed, and his body shook violently. He weakly opened his eyes, and could barely see because they were so watery. It was like this every morning when he woke up. But somehow, that didn’t make it any better.

He managed to push himself into a sitting position as he tried to put together where the hell he was. He rubbed the film away from his eyes and glanced around himself. He was sitting in an apartment parking lot, his back pushed up against a huge dumpster bin. A trail of gooey water dripped from the trash can and trickled down the cement pavement. The morning sun shone in colorful rays through the filth, and he could hear the morning hum of cars and commuters as the responsible population began their days. A street cat hissed and rustled through the trash, and one of the windows in the building across from him burst open as yells from the people inside drifted out into the morning.

Noah sighed and leaned his head against the metal trash bin. He didn’t even care that his shirt was soaked with trash water, or that the side of his face was still covered with gravel from the ground. All he could focus on was the pain and discomfort. His burning back, his aching muscles, his runny nose, the wave of nausea that crashed over him.

He should get up, go to his apartment, take a shower, get dressed. He should get to work on time and save some money so he’d be able to go far away and leave forever. But no. Instead, he woke up in front of a dumpster and the first thing he did was reach for his phone. He hated everything about himself as he turned on the screen and dialed the person he simultaneously hated most and needed most in this entire world.

But he was too weak. So he called Reynold anyway.

The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Terror seized through him and his hand began to shake uncontrollably. What if Reynold didn’t pick up? What if—

Before Noah could think much, a very unhappy voice on the other line answered.

“The hell you want? It’s 7:00 in the morning.”

“I need some,” Noah said. “Where can I meet you?”

The voice on the other end scoffed. “Are you serious? You already blew through what I sold you two days ago?”

“It’s been… a rough couple of days.”

Reynold fell silent, which pissed Noah off. He was the one funding this guy, yet Reynold acted like he was the nuisance. Finally, Reynold let out a long sigh. “I’m busy today Malcolm. I don’t have time to—”

“I’ll pay you double. Hell, I’ll pay you triple. Just tell me where to meet you and when.”

Reynold grumbled something under his breath, but then he agreed. Soon, Noah had the place and information typed into his old, cracked phone. Now all he had to do was survive six more hours until they met up. Even that long seemed like more torture than he could stand.

Noah didn’t know how long he sat there, feeling like complete and utter shit. It could’ve been minutes, or it could’ve been hours. All he knew was that when two middle school girls crossed in front of him to head to their bus stop, chattering excitedly about some TV show, the expression on their faces when they saw him was enough to make him want to kill himself.

There was fear in their faces. Fear that the dirty, grimy man sitting by the dumpster would hurt them. Noah lowered his gaze and they hurried past. And he wished, for what must have been the thousandth time in the past twenty-four hours, that his life had never been so goddamn awful that he felt the only way he could survive was through losing himself to heroin.

He wished that it had been him who took Redfield’s place, and not Jaz.

Never Jaz.

***

The bell jingled as Noah stepped into the gas station where he worked. A handful of customers browsed the shelves, and crouched in one of the aisles was his supervisor, Russ, probably doing inventory.

The door clattered shut behind Noah and he tried to sneak past Russ. But, like some freaking bloodhound, he looked up the moment Noah took a step. Russ’s eyes narrowed and his face flushed with anger. He stood, the item scanner hanging loosely from one hand.

“You’re late again, Johnson.” Russ glanced pointedly at the clock, then back at Noah. “Twenty-two minutes late, to be exact.”

“I’m aware of that,.” Noah said, fighting the urge to roll his eyes. “I ran into some… stuff.”

Russ did roll his eyes. “That’s not an excuse. Not when it happens every day.”

“Yeah, well. I’m here now so let me get to work.” Noah shouldered past Russ to the employees only area. It wasn’t much, but there was a wall with hooks where he could hang his jacket, and shelves and shelves full of supplies.

Noah hung his jacket and took a deep, calming breath. He hated this job. He hated how Russ thought he was worse than dirt, and he hated how much he resented that. After what he’d done, he didn’t deserve to be treated well by anyone. He deserved every ounce of hatred every single person had to spare.

He brushed his fingers over the scarred skin on the inside of his elbow. It was rough, and still tingled with his most recent dose. He was a coward for trying to find something to ease the pain, to make him forget. It was only fair that the drug no longer made him feel anything other than normal. Where it once had left him feeling powerful and nearly happy, now all it did was make him need it when he wasn’t using, and when he was using he just felt normal.

And normal… wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

The one good thing about Jaz sacrificing herself for him was that at least she didn’t have to live to see him like this. This pathetic shell of a man she thought was worth enough that she decided to die for him.

Noah squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his hand into his forehead. Forget about this. Don’t think. Just get out and do your job, go home, shoot up, go to sleep, repeat. Keep going. Just survive.

He took one last calming breath, took a moment to steel himself… and then stepped back into the front.

As he approached the counter to take his position for the day., the girl standing behind it glared at him.

“Finally. You made me stay late, you jerk. I’ve been here since 12 AM!”

“Yeah… sorry Diane,” Noah said sheepishly, fumbling awkwardly with the edge of his beanie. “I’m here now though, so you can leave.”

Diane peered up at him from behind the counter and her scowl melted away into a grin. “I’m just teasing, Malcolm! No need to be so serious. Of course I’m not mad at you.”

“Oh! Right. Of course.” Noah forced a laugh and sidled behind the counter.

Ever since the cops found Jaz’s broken body last September and Noah had become the prime suspect, he’d been on the run, never staying anywhere for too long. He spent time in Montana, Idaho, Utah, and Nevada. He never finished high school, and instead took to getting himself fake IDs and socials just to find work wherever he could get it. But now, he was back in Oregon, a mere three hours away from where it all started: Westchester.

Noah had only been working at this convenience store for two months, but no one in any of his other jobs paid attention to him like Diane did. She knew nothing real about him—she thought his name was Malcolm Johnson and that he moved from Missouri to live with his aunt—but she always invited him out, always found ways to tease him, always tried to make him smile.

And she was cute and pretty and sweet, but she was no Jaz. No one could ever even begin to compare to Jazmyn Park.

“Well now that somebody’s here, I’m gonna go get changed and get the hell out of here,” Diane said with a smirk, nudging Noah as she sashayed out from behind the counter.

“I said I was sorry,” Noah called after her. She just waved and disappeared into the employee area.

Noah let out a sigh and leaned his elbows against the countertop. The store wasn’t very busy right now, so he’d just get to stand there for hours, doing nothing. Doing nothing was hard because when you were doing nothing, there wasn’t anything to distract you from the terrible things you didn’t want to think about. He much preferred busy days to slow days.

The door jingled and Noah heard footsteps as people entered the store. He couldn’t see the door from where he stood. He hoped it was a munchy druggy or a parent with kids. Those people always bought the most stuff, which meant more time to be occupied.

“…Been a whole year now,” a familiar voice drifted over to where Noah stood. “And nobody knows where he is.”

Noah’s eyebrows shot up and he glanced furtively around the store. The newcomers to the store stepped out from behind a row of shelves and then, standing across the room with his back to Noah was a man with a flannel shirt and shoulder-length blond hair. A man Noah recognized all to well. Connor Green.

“Shit,” Noah muttered. His heart pounded in his chest and his mouth felt dry. “Shit shit shit sh—”

Connor started turning, so Noah did the only thing he could think of. He dropped to his hands and knees behind the desk, disappearing from view. Diane exited out of the employees-only area just as he did, and he saw confusion flit across her face.

“I miss Jaz,” Connor said. “She was really… somethin’ else. I still can’t believe she’s gone.”

A very unjustified but burning hatred for that man flared up inside Noah. He remembered being at the hardware store, shopping for supplies to go up against Mr. Red—Jane. He remembered how Connor flirted with Jaz and how she flirted right back. And he remembered the day Andy asked them if they wanted to go to homecoming. Noah had said, “Seems kinda pointless to go without a date. And I’m… not really in a good place for that. Dating, I mean.” Then he asked Jaz who she wanted to go with and she turned around and went straight to Connor.

He knew he had no right to be angry about it. He’d told Jaz that he wasn’t in a place for dating, and he probably would’ve said no if she’d asked him. But when she decided to ask Connor and Noah responded with “Good luck,” he really had just wanted to clock Connor in the face.

“Do you think they’ll ever catch Noah?” another voice—a woman this time—asked. Noah’s heart nearly froze at the mention of his own name and he frantically tried to place the voice. Then he realized—it was Stacy Green, of course.

Another pair of hands and knees fell onto the ground beside Noah and he started, jumping back and nearly slamming against the back wall.

Diane watched him with an amused expression. Her short black pixie cut was messily styled and her dark makeup made her features stand out against pale skin. “What’re we doing down here, Johnson?” she asked.

“Uh…” His mind raced frantically, trying to come up with some sort of explanation. Some sort of truth and lie mixture that could get him out of this mess. “I know those people from high school. And, uh, they were snobby assholes who hated me. So, I just don’t want them to know I work here, okay?”

The amusement faded from Diane’s eyes and she nodded solemnly. “I understand. I know I already clocked out, but… I can cover for you until they leave.”

“Really?” Noah couldn’t hide the relieved smile that stole onto his face.

“Oh yeah,” Diane said. “But you owe me.”

“Okay yeah, that’s fair. What do you want? I can cover your hours or—“

“A date,” Diane said with a smug smile, and before he could protest she bounced to her feet and pasted a winning smile onto her face.

“Hiiii,” she greeted. Noah wondered if she was talking to Connor and Stacy. All he could see was the gross tile, front counter, and Diane’s legs. “Can I help you with something?”

“Hey,” Connor’s voice said. “Cute shirt, by the way.”

Noah wanted to barf. Flirting with random strangers was so Connor.

“We just wanted to buy a few things and ask a few questions, if that’s all right?” Stacy said. Noah could practically hear the smile in her voice.

“Okay, shoot!” Diane said.

Noah heard the sound of items being dropped on the counter, and then the register creaking like it did whenever anyone leaned on it. He could imagine Connor leaning against it now, looking at Diane with the stupid flirtatious smirk he always used on Jaz.

“We were wondering—” it was Connor again “—have you heard of anyone… suspicious running through these parts?”

Diane let out a sharp laugh. “Is that all you’ve got to go off of? I’m sorry, sweetie, but if I told you all the suspicious people I’ve seen around here I’d be listing names ‘til midnight.”

Noah snorted silently. Leave it to Diane to handle a situation like this so perfectly.

He heard Stacy sign in aggravation. “Connor, maybe I should handle this.” There were shuffling footsteps, rustling of the contents of a purse, and something being slapped onto the countertop. “Have you seen anyone who looks like this man? About this tall, almost always wears a beanie? His name is Noah but he probably goes by something else?”

All traces of a smile evaporated from Noah’s face. His heart started to race with panic. He chanced a look up at Diane’s face, and her eyes were narrowed, her mouth tugged into a frown.

Silence. No sound besides a ticking clock and Russ shuffling around the aisles. Diane stared at the counter, at what Noah was sure was a picture of him. He held his breath, waiting for her to jump aside and say, “Oh you’re looking for this guy? Here he is, take him!”

But instead, she shook her head. Her voice was tight. “Nope, never heard of a ‘Noah.’ Also never seen this guy. Sorry.”

Relief flooded through Noah, almost as satisfying a feeling as a heroin high. Diane wasn’t giving him up. At least not yet.

Connor sighed loudly. “Do you have any idea who might know something? This is important. We got a tip that he moved to this area recently but so far, we’ve found nothing.”

“I don’t know,” Diane said. “Why’re you looking for him? Maybe if I knew I could point you to the right people.”

Noah frantically grabbed her foot, trying to somehow signal to her to not ask these questions. But she shook him off and kept staring straight forward.

“It’s kind of… a personal thing,” Stacy said.

“Well I can’t help if you don’t tell me anything,” Diane countered.

“Look,” Connor interceded. “The police are after him for something he actually didn’t do. We think we might be able to help him, but he’s dodging us.”

Diane glanced down at Noah for a fraction of a second. Then she shrugged. “A person on the run? I’d look for them in Lensgate Park. Or maybe check out the baseball field on eleventh. Tons of shady people hang out there. They might know something.”

“Lensgate Park…” Stacy repeated slowly, probably entering it into her phone. “Okay. And you said eleventh?”

“Yup,” Diane said dryly. “Is there anything else I can help you with?”

“Nope,” Connor said. “You’ve been great. I hope you have a great shift.”

Finally, finally, the footsteps sounded once again, the bell rang as it was opened, and then the door slammed shut. Noah barely had time to reorient himself before Diane reached down and pulled him roughly to his feet.

“Malcolm, what the hell was that about? Who were those people? They weren’t high school bullies, this was something else entirely. And Noah? The cops? What. The. HELL.”

“Diane, Diane,” Noah said, grabbing her by the arms. “Look, those people are from where I grew up, and they… they can’t be trusted.” His mind scrambled to come up with some sort of excuse, but all he could see was Jaz, over and over again. Her terror when she realized he tricked them, her body, broken in his arms… “Um, they, want to frame me—”

Diane scoffed and glared into his honey brown eyes. “Do you expect me to believe that? Are you just one big lie?”

Noah fell back a step, the color draining from his face. “I—”

“Save it, Malcolm. If that’s even your real name.” Diane skirted around the counter and headed for the door. “I backed you up because I liked you, but whatever you’re involved in, I don’t want any part in it. You can forget about the date.”

Noah’s eyebrows knit together as he watched her head out the front door, never looking back. Russ came out from one of the aisles, glancing between Noah and Diane.

“What happened with you two?” Russ asked.

Noah skirted around the counter, removing the name badge he wore on his shirt. “Sorry, Russ, but consider this my resignation.”

He dropped the badge on the counter and shouldered past a shocked Russ.

“Wh—what?” Russ sputtered, chasing after Noah. “Johnson, if you leave it’s just me and Tom. I need the coverage, at least wait until tomorrow—”

“Stuff came up,” Noah said, pushing the glass door open with his shoulder. “I’ll see you around, Russ.”

Russ watched helplessly from the sidewalk as Noah slid into his old beat-up car. He turned the radio on high as he backed out of the parking lot.

He was going to Lensgate Park, or maybe the baseball field on Eleventh.

He was going to figure out what Stacy and Connor knew.

***

Post-note: I wrote this a while ago and wasn’t going to finish but that fic by @isometimesplaychoices inspired me to continue and finish this fic, ily friend!!

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tarithenurse · 4 years

Text

Stolen - 7

Pairing: Loki Laufeyson &/x fem!gifted!reader Content: The feels. The feeEEEEeeels! And some plot-thickening/motivation. A/N: Wow....I’ve actually gotten quite a bit of writing done the last couple of days! Also: I hope y’all don’t mind but the story here is sprouting a lot of extra “stuff” so it’s going to be a longish series. Hopefully worth it!

7. The Reflecting God

… Loki …

The people of Midgard once revered him as the God of Chaos and Mischief and while the latter might be true he hadn’t always considered himself fitting of the former. However a sharp mind capable of thinking several steps further ahead combined with a somewhat impulsive desire could disguise even the coldest of logic and eventually Loki grew to hone his role as the unpredictable, self-serving character people viewed him as – within the confinements of his own moral code.

Morals.

Favoured by Frigga during his upbringing, Loki had abandoned everything she had taught him when his world came tumbling down. Lashing out in anguish, he gleefully embraced the role of a monster. Wrecked havoc. Thought himself a true menace unworthy of love.

Unworthy.

As despised and feared as the Jotun came to be, he soon found the real meaning of “monster” in someone else but by then it was too late to flee. Caught in a cage made of his own flesh and mind, Loki remained standing by sheer stubbornness and twisted pride while trying to outsmart not just the proclaimed master but himself too.

Stubborn.

The woman lying listless is another than last time just like the resting place is different too: the Midgardian lies on a simple bed with dark purple covers. The tool he stole under the watchful eyes of the damned Avengers and Loki’s own brother who cares strongly of the mortals and their pitifully brief existences. A dullness has stolen over her skin and smothered the lustre of her hair. Her breath is shallow, barely enough to lift the chest.

She should’ve stopped earlier. It would’ve been the logical thing to do, to preserve enough power to keep standing. Clearly the Priestess was already well on her way to recovery and there would have been other reason to continue healing. Why would -? “You still have to convince me.” Loki’s own words ring mockingly in his mind.

“I told you to seize,” he hisses at her without expecting an answer.

Lashes flutter, creating dancing shadows upon the cheekbones. “Call him...off.” The words are barely audible, and the Jotun would have missed them if not for his inhuman senses. “Don’t let...A-arox...kill them.”

Foolish woman! Scared of the toll simply speaking must take, he shushes [Y/N]. “They’re safe.”

They have been all this time because Arox should still be on board the ship, having never received an order of the kind she fears. What good would it serve me to kill them even if you did not comply? She would never have known for sure until the day she returned home – if that ever happened again. Of course, Loki has no intention of telling her this.

... Reader ...

The words come from far off at first. A meaningless jumble of sound that comes and goes together with your consciousness, but you know the voice and the familiarity is soothing as your body makes its mind up whether to wake or sleep.

“It was...not my proudest moment... ...emotions clouded... ...no excuse...”

Finding no sense without the beginning of the tale, you begin to pay attention to other things such as the soft matres, the scent of leaves and flowers. Something cold occasionally strokes your forehead, soothing a throbbing headache you would love to get rid of.

You almost move your hand when memories start hitting you like hail. Sharp and cold, they pierce the state you have been floating in. Loki. The coldness on your skin belongs to him. The priestess. You know that somehow you managed to do as the ass hole of a god wanted, the pretty elf-like alien should be alright and maybe, only maybe, your loved ones home on Earth are too. But someone always dies. You remember New York and the horror Loki had brought to it.

“It was my fault.” Softly spoken, you barely believe what Loki just whispered. “I allowed my rage and hatred to blind me. Perhaps I thought...it was better than the pain but I soon learned I was wrong...a theory which my so-called father confirmed even as I was hanging above the abyss.” You could be mistaken, but it sounds like your abductor’s voice is cracking. “I fell, thinking that would be it...only to find the nightmare had just begun.” He pauses briefly to play with your hair. “He is still coming...for the stones...for me, maybe. I cannot let him. Pray I have time, my dear. That I can rebuild Jotunheim and enough warriors will find their way there to stand against the evil that awaits.” Again, his fingers soothe your forehead, trembling slightly as the hand drifts to cup one of your cheeks. “I must find somewhere you can be safe...”

A loud knock on the door startles him and you grab the opportunity to pretend being woken up, knowing full well what Loki said hadn’t been meant for your ears. He’s glaring at the door as if he could explode it just by staring hard enough or at least guarantee silence. Of course, he isn’t successful in either. Sighing, he glances at you as he gets up and a flicker of something warm lights up his bottle-green eyes for a split second.

“Fear not,” he urges softly before stalking to the door.

Rather than killing any of the knockers, Loki bows and moves aside to allow a veritable entourage to enter with the Priestess in the middle – though she’s not revealed before everyone begins to spread out around you in the bed and Loki who’s slipped between the many beautiful people to stand as close to you as possible. Scrambling to sit up, you are actually thankful for his nearness as he reaches out to steady you.

The Priestess steps forward, her purple eyes on you, and begins to talk. She goes on for a while before finally stopping to look at you expectantly.

“Allow me to summarize,” Loki offers, “she thanks you for what you’ve done and says you’re special because you possess the magic of the ancient Älfir.” Quickly he adds, “Her words, not mine. Furthermore, she says that anything she and the people of Alfheim can offer is yours.”

You don’t have to look at him to know what the Asgardian wants. “Gracious words, your...eminence. The honour is mine. My companion here is the one to deal with practicalities, I request that he speaks for me because I’m weary after...everything.”

It’s not even a lie – well, maybe the “companion”-part – but otherwise it’s spot on: you only had one purpose here and having lived up to the expectations you are absolutely wasted in a not fun way.

... Loki ...

Leaving the council chambers where they had gone to discuss the options, Loki knows he ought to be happy. Elated. Thrilled. Still a tendril of worry, unconnected to the Älfir compensation for their Priestess’ health, keeps him from enjoying the moment of victory. His steps beat a rapid tattoo, rushing him along the hallways – their glory lost on him – until he reaches the door to the chambers [Y/N] and he have been appointed.

Slipping inside, chest heaving from something else than physical exertion, he goes as far as to toe off the boots before continuing from one room to the next. Good. Curled onto her side, [Y/N] is sleeping fast. One hand clutched gently around the corner of the pillow while the other lays empty, palm upwards as though she half expects something to fill it.

Lowering himself to sit cross legged on the floor, Loki studies the serene face carefully. A bit of life’s glow has returned to adorn the cheeks and lips (slightly parted and letting out gentle, snoring puffs of air). Behind the eyelids there is movement. Perhaps she’s dreaming. It’s tempting to give in to curiosity yet he refrains. Let this be my one good deed towards you.

As if in silent answer, her empty hand twitches, fingers stretching towards him, and Loki now sees a furrow between the brows that deepens as the Midgardian’s body tenses. The barely audible snores from a moment ago twist into heartbreaking whimpers. A nightmare.

Instinctively, he grasps hold, memorizing the softness of her palm against his own cold skin and hoping against experience that his presence can bring peace for once. “Have no fear...I won’t allow anything to harm you ever again.”

Any other assurances are silenced as [Y/N] pulls his hand close to her chest and sighs in relief, apparently content and the monsters of her sleep have been chased away.

The Jotun, on the other hand, sits frozen in shock as his body is taken over by a soft, warm sensation.

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