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helahades · 4 years

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James and the Siren

(Prewar!Bucky x Black/WOC!Siren)

Summary: There’s magic in Brooklyn before the war. She takes the form of an alluring Siren with an appetite for predatory men. While at the beach one day, Bucky gets involved in something that draws Her attention. Will he live to tell the tale?

A/N: This is the surprise project! If you’re dead set on Greek Mythology accuracy, this is not the fic for you. I’ve definitely taken some liberties.

Im not sure if I’m planning to do a part two, but if y’all show interest in this, I’ll consider it! Quick shoutout to @xbuchananbarnes for being a lovely angel and betaing this and encouraging me all the way. Also to @invisibleanonymousmonsters for being the sweetest and helping me put my scrambled ideas together. ♥️♥️♥️Hope you enjoy!

Warnings: Two minor deaths. Creepy guy following someone. Injury. Blood mentions. Drafted, scared Bucky. Fighting. Drowning if you squint. Sad and confused Bucky. Overuse of cheesy water imagery. Me completely ignoring the reality of New York’s geography. I did what I wanted skskksk.

Word Count: 4.2k

—

Light.

Light like smooth honey.

Light like tree sap in glittering in the sun, spread across the sand in a broken mosaic, tumbling in waves to just barely provide the light Bucky needed to see his notebook.

The day feels so bright his eyes won’t open wide, and yet shaded in the trees, Bucky can’t see.

Shuffling with their branches, the leaves danced as the wind blew through them. Everything here seems to have its own rhythm, from the clouds stretching and inching across a leaden blue sky, to the filtered light leaping from one wave to the next.

These purities make Bucky feel like he can breathe, in a time that has been near suffocating.

He’s been sad.

Sergeant James. That’s all he is now. In a week or so, Uncle Sam will come to retrieve the body he is, and he will leave most things behind. It isn’t that he doesn’t want to serve—actually maybe he doesn’t. But is that so wrong?

He can’t understand why Steve wants it. He’s not foolish enough to think that punk has the same roots in Brooklyn anymore, not with Sarah gone, not with the way the guys around here treat him.. But Bucky can’t understand how Steve can be so…ready. He won’t say it to anyone, but he just doesn’t want to look Death in the eyes quite yet.

Bucky finds himself praying for some force to steal him away in the night. He dreams of things otherworldly.

Bucky finds himself trying not to think about how it will only be good news for his mother, who loves him, but whose wallet will breathe now that she’s not feeding a growing man along with her multiple daughters.

Bucky finds himself at the beach in Brooklyn, writing random things in a journal. He doesn’t know how to get the feelings out. He can’t write words on paper in a place his mother won’t eventually find and be heartbroken by them.

So he writes nonsensical things. He scribbles. He’s no artist like Steve, but it feels like it's enough. And he watches the glistening shores, waiting for what lies beyond—or at least what he hopes exists.

Jenny and Dot and Nancy and all the girls say there’s something big in these waters. Maybe it’s someone who swims. But maybe... it’s magic. Maybe it’s some sort of impossible magical creature that makes dreams come true.

That’s what they tell Bucky behind their giggles, but really they know She’s a protector.

—

One day, Jenny was walking home, and felt a strike of ominous energy in her heart. She had taken the long way, because she likes to see the clear waters of the ocean. Sometimes it feels like nothing else is clean in New York.

But as she came upon the beach she cursed herself for this choice, and hurried along the sidewalk that overlooked it all, for she felt someone walking towards her, and with intention. Hearing a chuckle from behind, that was closer than it should be, she realized the man must have noticed her change in body language and begun to advance upon her.

Step.

It took everything within her to refrain from breaking into a run, but she was wearing her fancy shoes, and wasn’t confident in her ability to run in them. She wonders if she’s out of normal step, and tries to walk to the beat of her heart, only to find that it’s racing. Clutching the sides of her skirts, she breathed in deep and let it out into the salty air. If he would hurt her, she certainly wouldn’t show him fear.

As if she could see into the time not yet passed, and knew all would be fine, she started to breathe again, tension beginning to unwind from her veins. Then a wave of it hit. It was power and reassurance, like a hug from a mother, like a proud smile from a teacher.

Jenny chanced a look behind her in the same moment. The man was frozen. He was desperately looking to the rocky shores in the distance below them, no longer pursuing her.

Somewhere inside was screaming to her that it was time to go home. But everything was heavy and light and fresh, and she was feeling the strange seduction of the waves too.

She took one—two scooping steps backwards in alarm when the man urgently began to move again. Only, he was stumbling down the bouldered bank in a rushed, yet somehow lethargic shuffle. As he finally got into the sand and clambered onto the rocks overlooking the ocean, a head breached the water!

Dark cascades of curly hair wrapped around and around in tight coils, and curtained the sides of her angelic face.

She was alluring, and glowing bright and faded, as living moonlight. Her skin was deep brown and cool, like driftwood or seashells, also washed by the sin she consumed.

Jenny would have been surprised at their breath holding skills, had her soul not already known the truth. For just a fraction of a moment, the being’s energy was focused on her, before the attraction released Jenny, and safety flowed through her and guided her home.

Then. They turned on the man, and he leaped into the depths.

No man bothered Jenny again after that day.

—

“—not a soul heard from that chump again!”

“It’s them canary lookers by the beach!”

Bucky sat and tried to process. The fellas that hung around the dance hall had all sorts of stories.

But he’s a smart kid. Smart enough to put two and two together.

When the girls all talked about this creature that supposedly lives in the beach waters, they speak of it—of her— as some sort of guardian angel, maybe a friend.

When the guys tell it, she’s a man eating broad that swims naked and eats innocent family men. Every guy knows another one who hasn’t come back after hearing a smooth song and wandering down to the beach like they were possessed with something wild.

A man of science, as Bucky believes himself, but a dreamer all the same, he wants to believe the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

—

Bucky can’t deny the beach has its magic.

He feels alone at school, at the diner, walking the streets, sometimes even with Steve.

At the beach though, things are alive and awake. He doesn’t understand why some guys can’t stand the place. Some guys, and Bucky sees no coincidence in it being the shadier ones, feel as though they’re being watched if they edge too close to the coarse sands.

To Bucky, there is energy, but it just feels like peace. Peace that is much needed as he reconciles maybe never returning home after shipping off. Notebook forgotten, Bucky looks out across the cerulean waters and tries to make out waves as far as he can before the blur of them mixes with the skyline. He’s already sweat out the gel in the front of his hair, and some of the growing strands are ruffling in the salty wind.

Just then, a couple guys from school waltz down the hillside behind him, and begin walking down the beach, laughing obnoxiously and making jokes all the way down.

Roy and Charles. Maybe the only two people Bucky's age in the city that match him for size and strength. They love to let the world know. They’ve given Steve one too many rough looks, and frazzled too many skirts for Bucky to be comfortable with them.

Roy has stick straight mahogany colored hair that never seems to be without a perfectly gelled style. He will abandon dates if he dances too long and fears he might have sweated it out. Standing just a bit taller than Bucky, he was stocky, blocky, and cocky. He will soon, like Bucky, outgrow the food budget of his parents.

Most kids from school think he’s been big since birth. He must have gone straight from baby to man, or been delivered here by a bone tired stork, some say. For all that muscle and size, there is not a bone of charm in him, or anything interesting about him. His skin is a dull beige. He tries to make up for all of this by being as loud and obnoxious as he can, filling up any room with his desperation.

Charles has all the charm. The whispers say that Roy follows him hoping to catch a personality. With loose blond curls and granny smith sweet eyes, he can turn on his games, and dames, in just an instant. He seems to have a permanent flush of the skin, enhancing the smattering of freckles across his nose. He is lean and lanky, and just as tall as Roy. Something about him unsettles Bucky. Charles seems to always be thinking something strange, and every girl who ever loved him has always regretted it.

They both thought it was a shame Bucky refused to hang with them, and held a strange reserved animosity towards him at the rejection. What are they doing here though?

They secretly feared the depths. It was only when Bucky noticed Roy’s sloshed stumbling that he felt dread wash over him. Once they reached the bottom of the hill, Charles patted Roy on the back and turned to leave, as if he had only come to escort his friend.

How strange, Bucky thinks.

In a moment of weakness, Bucky looked down, not caring to be caught watching the waves. He’s not sure why.

Bucky decides to leave the drunken Roy to his business. If he does something stupid wandering the beach, that is his own problem.

That is…until he saw Roy wasn't just relaxing or wandering. Jenny was further down the beach, standing just where the tide won’t touch her. Loose from her usual tight curls, her hair waved like a banner in the breeze as she stood watching every movement of the tide. She’s a liberated picture, like she found out how to breathe, like there’s nothing to fear, and Bucky would have kept admiring, had he not severely doubted the intentions of the meathead making his way closer to her.

He found himself on his feet, and followed after the young man. Now there were two suspicious gazes on Roy…and one on him.

Following carefully, he was slightly behind when Roy arrived at where Jenny was.

“Ya floozie,” Roy slurred before stepping closer, “think nobody knows what you did to my Uncle Kenny?”

Still watching the waves, Jenny made no indication she had heard him at all. Roy took a deep breath, like he was ready to yell. Before he did, she finally looked his way.

“What malarkey,” she spat, looking up into his eyes.

Stepping closer to the tide she kept her eyes on Roy, and noted Bucky looking at her just behind him, trying to decipher the intensity in her stare.

“No one did a thing to him that he didn’t already have comin’.”

Turning red, darkness bled into his stare as he lunged for Jenny. Running up just behind, Bucky tackles him into the water, falling in beside him.

Roy scrambles up into the sand and locks eyes with Bucky, standing bristled, like a cat given an unwanted bath.

“This ain’t your fight, Barnes! That tramp’s gonna learn!”

“Give it a rest Roy…”

“That lyin’ bat,” he continued to slur, “All these dames lie! Now somebody’s gotta pay, and it was this floozie who gave him up to—“

Roy vaguely gestured to the ocean and became distracted, considering something else for just a moment.

Then Roy turned to Bucky, who had put himself between him and Jenny. Shivering in the breeze that suddenly felt frigid, his eyes seemed to turn wild. Roy began to pat down his soaked slacks frantically, as if fearing he lost something in the gritty tide.

On alert now, Bucky prepared for a fight, moving himself in closer to block him from getting to Jenny. Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

“Leave him be, Bucky,” she pleaded, only now stirred by the thought that Bucky could be hurt. She didn’t know if her protector could stop this.

Bucky couldn’t stop to consider why Jenny didn’t fear for her own safety, because with a brash guffaw, Roy’s desperation blew away as he found what he had been looking for. A glitter of a threat gleaned off Roy’s shiny blade, and he seemed to sober up, drunk on something else. Bloodlust.

“Walk away, Barnes.”

“You first.”

Bucky started to take a deep breath of the salty air in preparation, but had to cut it short when Roy lunged. Instinctively throwing one arm out behind him to shield Jenny, Bucky left himself open.

One free arm and a bad stance in the uneven sand wasn’t enough. A burst of pain and heat stretched across his chest in an instant.

Grunting, he pulled both arms forward and shoved Roy. Hard. Roy stumbled, but managed to keep on his feet, throwing a crossbody punch that Bucky knocked out of the way, using Roy’s momentum against him. Using that opening, Bucky swung a fist into Roy’s unguarded side just under his ribs. That took him down.

From the ground, Ray scooted back as Bucky advanced on him. A wet blob of chunky sand sailed through the air, and Bucky coolly side stepped, evading it. It would have directly hit his chest wound.

Looking like a cornered animal, Roy stopped scooting away, and when Bucky got close enough, he swung his foot up right into Bucky's groin.

Bucky was down too now, and after catching his breath, Roy was the first to get back on his feet.

Trying to fight the fire in his nerves, and the rough sand tearing at his chest wound, Bucky yelled with all his might as he writhed in the sand.

“Jenny, RUN!”

She backed up in a daze, from where she had been watching with worry, and the gravity dawned on her, just a moment too late. Turning abruptly, having no choice but to take her eyes off Roy, her chunky heels pounded sloshing wet splashes through the soaked sand.

Four of her strides were one and a half of Roy’s. But now Bucky was up, and he ran after them both, intending to tackle Roy and wrestle the knife away.

It began like a change in the air. A frequency finding itself, humming with the tune of the moon pulling the tide, and adjusting to its prey. It was like the evening cicadas, until it rounded into something lovelier. It had a sonorous resonance, like the cry of a damsel worn by a widow sneaking around her net, waiting for entanglement.

It was rich like a church choir and seductive like sin. Both Roy and Bucky were frozen upon hearing the melody. The familiar feeling of protected comfort washed through Jenny, but she immediately felt dread at realizing Bucky was also in a trance at the siren song.

“Not him,” she breathed.

Then, She appeared.

The melody grew into a spiked honey of sorts, warming with command. The men straightened from their tense stances, and inched ever so slowly toward the water.

Her song grew sharper, and she rose higher from the water, scales like gold scattered on her arms, sensuality running down Her neck and chest like flowing oil.

Finally, Jenny ran to Bucky and threw herself into his arms with a shriek, pressing her cool palms to either side of his face.

“Not him!”

The song swallowed her pleading. It had been seen. The girl. Two men after her.

First it was Roy. He took big steps forward, Her allure magnetic to sin, and the ocean swallowed him suddenly, as it does.

She flipped back then, slick abdomen curling over the surface before a long emerald tail followed, entering the water silently, sending ripples that Bucky reached out to touch. Still looking desperately at Bucky's greying eyes, and trying to hold him back, Jenny began to cry.

“Oh please, Bucky, please. I never would wish this on you. I'm not sure what you’re hearing, but don’t listen! You’re too good.”

Bucky wanted to breathe. He’s been so tired. The waves call him.

When She returned, Jenny felt it before seeing it. She studied Jenny. Torn lovers had, on occasion, tried to rescue bad men from the curse. For just a moment, she reserves judgement, wondering if this is that. She studies Bucky. Sees the gash across his chest. Puts it together. Then she’s gone.

Bucky falls to his knees and the clouds seem to wash out of his vision, his familiar diamond eyes blooming back to their shade. He lets out a shaky breath, and Jenny throws her arms around him. They stay there, on their knees, startled in the sand, before Jenny pulls herself up, a funny look on her face as she looks at his wound.

“Y-You stay. Stay right here, James! I’ll get somebody!”

When the tide washes in and back, the sand and shells part to reveal the knife. Bucky snatches it up and presses it into Jenny’s hand without thinking, looking at her intently.

She shivers at the silent message, but knows it's not her who needs the protection. Then she runs, hoping to find someone who will know what to do. She wonders as she leaves... what life will be with Roy dead and gone. She wonders what Becca Barnes will say if she sees her at school if life never returns to her brother. Will Bucky ever tell what happened today? She sure won’t.

As Jenny disappears into the distance, Bucky realizes the clouds have eaten up all the direct sunlight. He stares in the direction Jenny left, still there in the sand, trying to process what happened. Where’s Roy? Is Jenny alright? Can he die from this cut? Would that save him from the war?

He absentmindedly looks to the water, before gasping and freezing in place. The creature is back. It had saved Jenny… sure. That was good. Bucky never liked Roy, but now he’s dead, maybe, and that’s a lot to reconcile. Now it’s staring at him again. Will it—She—sing him into another spell? What does She want?

Her eyes melt from whiskey brown to honeyed gold in an instant as she assesses his pain. Twirling where she is, she lies on her back in the water, with the slow fanning of her multi gem colored tail propelling Her languidly across his field of vision. This allows Bucky to take in Her captivating form. Now that She doesn’t deem Bucky a threat, everything about Her is warm from Her eyes to the undertone of Her skin. He can’t believe what he’s witnessing, and considers the fact that he may have died already.

Stretching Her arms behind her head, she paddled both arms in full motions until She reached the cool, flat stone She had been searching for. It extended from the sand into the sea, and was littered with weeds and grit from the high tide. With a casual turn of Her wrist, the debris parted down the middle and slid off into the water.

Twisting towards the flat rock, She planted two surprisingly human hands onto it and pulled Herself gracefully and easily atop it. Lying flat on Her stomach, She curled her golden emerald tail up toward the sky, then further toward her body. Finally deciding she was comfortable, after lying her head on crossed arms, she regarded Bucky again.

He felt a pull towards Her, like a silk lasso on his heart, but it was softer than before. She wanted him to choose. It was, of course, impossible for him to resist Her, and he was up, walking the stretch of the beach it took to close the distance. Coming to kneel next to Her, he was closer than he had ever been, and was transfixed by Her beauty. He also noticed that she seemed to be wrapped up in the water's surface tension, for it seemed to glide over Her skin, even when She was out of it. It parted for a moment though, when Her eyes flickered up to meet his, and She, once again, grabbed ahold of his soul.

A wave of sedative-like calm overtook Bucky, and he only watched as She assessed him. Rising off of her arms, Bucky rose too as She reached for his chest and placed gentle, and surprisingly warm, hands on either side of the gash. With sweetly sure and surely piercing golden eyes still on him, She rolled her palms against his chest, pulling sand from him and his skin back together in just a moment. Then, with a final palm in the center, where the gash had previously been, Bucky’s face twisted into something comical as he felt something beneath the newly healed skin shift, and the pain disappeared.

Propping Herself on one sinewy arm, She reached for his face with the other, gently pressing a palm to his cheek, gently curling Her fingertips, and rubbing small motions with a gentle thumb. She appeared somber for a moment, then almost mournful as She looked into his baby blues, reading something he couldn’t see.

“Thanks,” Bucky said softly, wincing at how croaky he suddenly sounded.

She hummed a small confirmation and it flowed easily through the air, like the sound of bells or wind chimes. Pulling Her hand back from his face, She lowered Herself mostly into the water, crossing Her arms at the edge of the stone and gazing up at him.

He had so many things he wanted to say, but the surrealism of this moment was making abstractions of his thoughts. It hits him. There's magic in Brooklyn, and there had been all along. It feels right, but wanting to believe, and being made to see no other truth are two different frames of mind. He is still having trouble processing. Is Roy dead? Is Jenny okay?

Will Steve be okay without him? Bucky knows he’s strong, hell, Bucky would say Steve is stronger than him. Steve has got enough determination and courage in one finger to win several wars. Put him in a healthier body, and that punk would be unstoppable.

Actually, Bucky is sure everyone will be okay when he leaves. He’s glad about that in many ways, but in many others, it just makes him feel like a grain of sand, respective to the universe. He knows everyone will be okay. Bucky is just not sure about himself.

As if She could read the focus of the lines of stress etched into his face, Her gaze focused intently, and She began to think of how to word Her sentiments. She reached to hold his icy hands in Her warm ones, and Her eyes darkened to an amber brown as She grew less playful, gently somber.

“Everything changes, James,” his name was a lullaby from Her mouth, and he could not help but to listen, “that sort of…”—

—she paused thoughtfully, trying to find the word.

“That sort of fluctuation,” she continued, “is the only thing that is sure in anyone’s existence.

Some part of him was melting into ease, but he still was not sure what she meant.

“You will not be afraid. Not forever. Even once you have...left. Nothing will stay as it is.”

She looked, sort of at him, but more so beyond, as if there were some greater picture, as if she could see his soul.

“What is forever, is the gracious creature you are. And not a soul can take that from you, James. Not a soul.”

She raised one hand out of his gentle grip, straight to his heart, where his old wound once was. Now calm, and entirely transfixed, he realized, She has now healed him twice. Then She pulled away.

He feels the finality of the moment, he tries to rush and say something else.

“R-Right now they say it should only be a year...or two. But then I’ll be back.”

Eyes falling shut, She pulls in and releases a slow breath, and Bucky can't tell if it's the water of the sea gliding down Her cheeks.

“You will be back. And we will see each other again.”

Reaching a hand to his face, She presses a couple of fingers to his forehead, and his eyes flutter closed. He slumps into a sleep, and before he falls, She raises both hands, bending the energy behind him, and She slowly lies him down in the sand.

“Goodbye, for now, James,” she whispers, trying not to mourn the pain of his future lifetime, before disappearing into the depths.

—

“—ucky, Bucky, Bucky, JAMES!”

Jenny shook him with all her might, tears threatening to spill. When Bucky’s eyes open, he becomes distressed too.

“Heya doll, easy! I’m alright, I swear it.”

She gasps in a shaky breath before they pull each other into a long hug. A few seconds in, he looks over her shoulder and out to the depths. Trying to get a grasp on the events of today, he hopes it all wasn't a dream. Then, he remembers Her words.. He suddenly feels warm, emotions rushing back in a flurry.

He gets the sudden ache to see his family, to see Steve, to go dancing. After all...

Nothing will stay as it is.

—

lovely darlings who are very inspirational:

@xbuchananbarnes @threeminutesoflife @invisibleanonymousmonsters @honeychicanawrites @thorsthot @avintagekiss24 @sapphirescrolls @jtargaryen18 @propertyofpoeandbucky @papi-chulo-bucky @tropicalcap @smollest-soybean

#bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #40s!bucky #40s!bucky x reader #30s!bucky #30s!bucky x reader #prewar bucky #siren #siren reader #enhanced!reader #marvel fanfiction #bucky au

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themisadventuresofmomtiri · 4 years

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Children of the Cosmos, Chapter 3

Hey, lookie what it is! An update! Finally! You can also read it on Ao3. Enjoy!

There is no lamp to give them light. The only light in the wagon is the irregular pulsing of Varian’s hair, faint and patchy and a far, far cry from its normal vibrancy. Thin threads of gold have started to appear, glowing and fading in uneven flickers. The magic he’d accidentally taken from Rapunzel was shining through, slowly burning him from the inside out.

Her child, her only son, is fading before her very eyes.

Fae should never have children.

“Rowena?”

She looks up, pulled out of her thoughts and grounded back in reality. Quirin is on the other side of the wagon, mere feet from her with only their fading son between them. She can see clearly how the last few days have aged him. Perhaps she shows it just as clearly, despite her immortality. They have many more years to live in the next few minutes, and the only thing standing between Varian and death is how long they’re able to bear it.

She takes a deep breath, offers him a small smile, and straightens her back.

“Hand me a few pieces of quartz and we’ll get started.”

Rapunzel jolted awake, heart pounding and a soundless scream already dying in her throat. Pascal let out a small noise of surprise as her sudden movement caused him to tumble. She glanced around, the lingering terror inciting paranoia until her mind was finally able to process that she was right where she’d been last night: in her sleeping sack, set up around the dying embers of last night’s fire. Kiera and Catalina had cuddled up to her over the course of the night, and both were disturbed by Rapunzel’s sudden awakening.

Catalina slurred out something incomprehensible, and Rapunzel shushed her.

“It’s okay, go back to sleep.”

Neither girl was apparently willing to argue, and Catalina dropped right off without so much as another sound. Kiera snuggled into her sleeping sack, but thankfully fell back asleep. Rapunzel took a deep breath of morning air and carefully shifted into a slightly more comfortable seated position. The world had already started to take on the gray hue of pre-dawn. Everything was quiet and still. Not even the birds had started singing yet.

The nightmare that had woken her was already obscured in her memory, just faint impressions of dread and terror and a blank, all consuming darkness. She’s suffered regular nightmares for nearly a year when she was little, and they’d been so severe that Mom had taken to lacing every scrap of fabric Rapunzel owned with dried lavender and slipping bits of amethyst carved with protective runes into her pillows. Which had done the trick, and over the next year and a half Mom had slowly removed the amethyst pieces and de-laced the lavender until Rapunzel could sleep through the night free of nightmares without magical assistance. Varian had been too young then help her, but she suspected that the reason her nightmares had made themselves scarce was because he was old enough and his magic strong enough to reach out while they slept.

Thinking of Varian brought back the memory of what she’d heard last night. Rapunzel shivered, though the chill of the early morning had nothing to do with it. The wagon was suspiciously still---and suspiciously dark. Not even one of the small lamps was lit, and Rapunzel couldn’t see any sign of Varian’s glow. Something horrid and leaden formed in her stomach; what if something went wrong? Mom had said binding someone’s magic was dangerous, maybe even life-threatening. What if Varian didn’t---

No. No, she wasn’t going to think like that. Varian was going to be fine. Whatever Mom and Dad had done last night, it was going to work and Varian was going recover. Everything was going to go back to normal and in time this whole thing will just be a bad memory.

A creak of wood caught her attention, and Rapunzel looked up to see her father stepping out of the wagon. He looked completely wrecked, as if he hadn’t slept a wink at all last night. Who knows, he probably hadn’t. Rapunzel stood up, mindful of her still-sleeping sisters.

“Dad,” she whispered, hesitant as she wrung her hands.

“He’s okay,” Dad replied, and it was a strange mix of dread and relief that washed over her. “The fever just broke, and both he and your mother are resting.”

She navigated out of the sleeping pile, steps becoming quicker the second she was clear of her sisters. “Did you have to…is he?”

Dad’s shoulders dropped as he took a deep breath. “We had to bind his magic, yes. He pulled through, thank god.”

“It’s not…permanent, is it?”

Dad hesitated, as if the answer was something he had to decide Rapunzel had a right to know.

“No binding is permanent, Rapunzel. But…they can be difficult to undo. And sometimes even more dangerous then.”

“So it might as well be?”

Dad sighed. “That’s not what I’m saying. Your mother and I plan to undo the binding once Varian is strong enough to handle it. The only sticking point is that we need a certain couple of tools to make sure the resulting surge of power doesn’t end up hurting him. The Moon’s never done things by halves.”

“What do you need?”

“Let your mother and I worry about that,” he advised, resting a hand on her shoulder and offering her a small smile that was meant to reassure. “For now, let’s focus on getting ready for the day. I doubt either Varian or Rowena will be awake for breakfast, but they may be hungry come lunch.”

“Da’,” a sleepy voice broke through the morning air. They turned to see Catalina and Kiera in the process of waking up, blinking and rubbing the sleep from their eyes.

“’s’som’in’wron’,” Kiera asked before a yawn split her face.

“Varian’s fever broke over the night,” Dad announced, and after a second, both girls were suddenly wide awake.

“Does that mean he’s gonna be okay,” Catalina asked, already jumping up from her sleeping sack and running over to them, Kiera hot on her heels.

“With some rest, yes.”

“Can we see him,” Kiera asked.

“When he wakes up, if your mother agrees,” he replied. “For now, let’s do her a favor and get the morning chores handled.”

Not even Kiera groaned at the idea of doing chores; ordinarily, she tended to do everything she possibly could to weasel her way out of them. Catalina didn’t seem to mind the work much, and Rapunzel honestly just loved any excuse to be active in some way. Varian was the only one who could convince Kiera to do her chores without complaining, and that was because he hated doing them, too. Any chores involving Philippa, the absolutely massive draft horse who had been pulling their wagon for as long as Rapunzel could remember, were his least favorite. Varian swore up and down the mare had it out for him, though Philippa had never done anything more than some teasing nips and a few well-timed swats to the face with her tail.

Rapunzel never thought she’d ever want to hear them complaining about scrubbing the wagon’s floorboards, or picking up the dungpiles left by Phillippa so Dad could sell them to farmers as fertilizer as badly as she did now. Anything resembling normal would be a blessing.

The fact that Varian’s fever had finally broken had drastically improved Catalina and Kiera’s attitude, even though they didn’t know about the binding. Throughout the morning, they chattered about pretty much anything and nothing at all, making stupid jokes and actually laughing again. And, true to his word,the sun was already high in the sky by the time the wagon’s door creaked open. Mom only looked marginally less wrecked than Dad had, though her usual bun was an absolute disaster the likes of which Rapunzel had never seen.

“Mom,” Kiera shouted, scrambling up to her feet from where she’d been sitting while helping Dad untangle a particularly knotted section of fishing line. “Is Varian awake? Can we see ‘im?”

Rowena chuckled as Kiera all but slammed into her, managing to mitigated the worst of the collision. “Good morning to you, too, darling.”

“Dad said he’s gonna be okay, so can we see him?”

“He’s still asleep, cygnet,” Rowena replied. “Your poor brother had a rough go of things last night; he needs to rest.”

Kiera stamped a foot and huffed in frustration, but didn’t utter any more complaints. After the momentary frustration faded, Kiera bit her lip.

“He…he really is gonna be okay, right?”

Rowena sighed, a knowing smile on her face. “Yes, sweetheart. His fever’s broken, and his breathing is almost entirely back to normal.”

“Did you have to do that binding thing?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” she replied after a beat, guiding Kiera back to the campfire. “Took every ounce of quartz at my disposal, admittedly, but that was expected.

“So Varian can’t do magic anymore,” Catalina asked

“Not until we’re able to reverse the binding.”

“How long’s that gonna take?”

Rowena exhaled, sharing a look with Quirin. A look Rapunzel didn’t like one bit. Anytime that particular look came around, it always meant something bad. Or, at the very least, something they weren’t going to like much. The last time she’d seen that look, they spent three months in a magical museum/archive with a high-strung archivist who apparently owed Mom an awful lot while Mom and Dad had been busy negotiating a series of purchases and trades with people they apparently deemed too dangerous to risk bringing their kids along. Calliope had been an…interesting babysitter. And maybe Rapunzel could have made the whole ordeal a little easier on her, but she’d been fourteen and totally convinced that she didn’t need a babysitter.

“With some rest, Varian should be back to full health in a few weeks,” Rowena began, the ‘but’ heavy in her tone.

“But…?”

“But, in order to undo the binding without hurting him, your father and I are going to need a couple of items we don’t have right now.”

“So where do we find ‘em,” Kiera asked.

“We, as in your father and I, will be locating them,” Rowena replied. “You four will be staying with the innkeeper and his wife while we’re gone.”

“What?!”

“This is not a matter which is up for discussion,” she added, both her tone and her expression offering no room for debate. “These items are dangerous to get a hold of, and I refuse to place you four in harm’s way if there is another option.”

“But we wanna help,” Kiera retorted.

“You can help by staying together and keeping an eye on Varian,” Quirin cut in. “This will only take a few weeks, if all goes well.”

“And if it doesn’t,” Catalina asked. “You said it’ll be dangerous…”

“We’ll manage,” he assured her, gently ruffling Catalina’s hair. “Just as we always have.”

Kiera slumped back into her seat, arms folded across her chest and the absolute picture of petulance. She’d been part of the family long enough to know when she’d been beat.

“Where will you guys be going, then,” Rapunzel asked.

The pair shared a look before Quirin replied.

“Rowena will be traveling to the Unknown, and I’ll be making the trek back to the ruins of Lumeria.”

“Wait, you’re not sticking together?”

Quirin shrugged. “Rowena is the only one who can reach the Unknown. I don’t have any Fae blood; the gates would never open for me.”

“And I’m sure Hector has yet to abandon the ruins,” Rowena added. “He might let Quirin explain before attacking; me, he’d fight immediately on principle.”

“Hector,” Catalina asked, tilting her head in confusion.

“Another former member of the Brotherhood,” Quirin explained. “We trained together when we were young.”

“How come we’ve never met ‘im,” Kiera asked.

“Because his vows to Lumeria were poorly worded, and as a result he’s been unable to tear himself away from the old kingdom,” Rowena replied. “There’s a reason I’ve always warned you four to be mindful of your words. Fae can’t break their promises.”

“Why would a friend of Dad’s fight you on principle,” Rapunzel asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Mom?”

The weak, but so very familiar, voice cut off any response Rowena might have otherwise given, and every head turned to see Varian, shaky but standing in the doorway of the wagon. Rapunzel inhaled sharply; while Varian certainly looked like he was on the mend from a serious illness, it was immediately obvious what exactly had to be done in order to get him there. His hair was no longer moon-white, the strands now a stark black save for the streak of teal that replaced the former moon-gray shade. He still looked pale and sickly, but he looked…more human? Like every trace of magic he’d had since birth had been systematically removed from every fibre of his body. He almost looked like a completely different person.

Catalina had reacted a bit louder, her gasp sharp and audible and followed by the sound of her hands covering her mouth in shock. Kiera’s reaction was even less subtle.

“Why is his hair black?”

“M’ hair’s wha’,” Varian asked, rubbing at his eyes.

Rowena helped him down from the wagon, and Varian leaned into her as she guided him over to the fire.

“A side-effect of the binding,” Quirin explained, grabbing a spare blanket from the laundry and draping it over Varian’s shoulders.

He took a seat next to his son, and Varian leaned into him, shivering under the blanket despite the growing heat of the day. Ruddiger perched himself next to Varian, offering sympathetic pats to the boy’s arm. Catalina got up from her seat and made her way across the circle, sitting down on the other side of her brother. She hesitantly placed a hand on his shoulder.

“How are you feeling, Varian?”

“Better,” he admitted. “A lot weaker than normal, though.”

“Your fever broke last night, thankfully,” Quirin added, pressing the back of his hand to Varian’s forehead as if he wasn’t entirely certain the fever hadn’t re-asserted itself. “But between the illness and the absence of your magic, I’m not surprised you’ve noticed some weakness. You should still be in bed.”

“I’ve been in bed for over a week, Dad,” he protested. “And isn’t fresh air supposed to help people get better?”

Quirin glanced over at his wife, who merely shrugged. He sighed.

“I expect you to listen to Uriah and Hermione while your mother and I are away. No sneaking out of bed, no matter how well you feel.”

Varian blinked, looking up at his father. “You and Mom are leaving? Why?”

“We need a few things to undo the binding once you’re well enough,” Rowena explained. “It will only take a few weeks at the most, by which time you should be recovered enough to handle it.”

“Oh. When are you leaving?”

“Either tomorrow or the day after, depending on how well you are to make to the trip to the inn.”

“Do we really need a babysitter,” he whined. “Can’t we just stay here and promise to listen to Rapunzel?”

Quirin chuckled. “It wouldn’t be fair to put all of the responsibility on your sister’s shoulders. Besides, you four will be safer at the inn than on your own. Bandits and highwaymen are becoming more active the warmer the weather gets. It’s for our own peace of mind as much as it is for your safety.”

“Then won’t you and Mom be in danger, too,” Kiera asked.

“Your father and I can handle ourselves,” Rowena assured her, taking a seat next to Kiera and giving her a small side hug.

“So can we!”

“Ordinarily I’d agree, but your brother needs to rest. Better safe than sorry.”

Kiera huffed, but didn’t issue any more protests. At least at the inn, they’d be more or less left to their own devices so long as they didn’t bother any of the patrons. It would be a few weeks of being bored out of their minds while their parents went on their epic quests. How bad could it really be?

#tangled siblings au #children of the cosmos #rta rapunzel #rta varian #moon varian

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a-table-of-fics · 4 years

Text

Oddworld: Conar’s Ambition, Chapter 1, Draft 1

It was another uneventful day in Slog Hut 1884. Little Sloggies were being raised and trained. Food was brought in by the Mudokon Scrubs, and sometimes they would act as surprise treats for well-behaved, or simply fortunate, Slogs. Of course, they also had to clean up after the animals. The Sligs were too busy training them and making sure the Scrubs knew their place. They had a place to fill and a payroll to maintain.

Conar sighed as he punched in. Not that he didn’t enjoy his job; the visor, gun, and mechanical legs were the dream of any Slig. He was also fond of the Slogs. They were vicious, loud, and smelled awful, but there was something endearing about them.

But was it really worth being a nobody in a glorified animal pen? Making next to nothing overseeing both the future guard Slogs and the Mudokon janitors?

Eugh. Maybe he’d feel better if he caught a Scrub doing something wrong. Physical therapy was relaxing, he heard.

He walked out to the pens, passing several ravenous Slogs. They seemed to stare at him intently, but Conar knew they’d be trained and focused killing machines soon, and would be shipped off to Rent-a-Cop stations everywhere.

And Conar would remain assigned here. Maybe he’d be lucky and get a promotion from Slog Hut Corporal to Slog Hut Sergeant, but he’d still be here, just with a shinier pair of Slig Pants and maybe a small raise.

He shook his head. Sligs were supposed to know their place; it was part of the deal. What could he even accomplish if he had his things taken away? Crawling around without Slig Pants to hold him up, totally defenseless against people who would squash him after one look at his hideous unmasked Slig face.

He came up to his coworker, and gave a standard, professional greeting.

“Whaddap, you slime-skinned bastard?”

“Piss off,” came the return greeting. Conar’s colleague turned around, and only a Slig could see a grimace on another’s be-tentacled face, rather than casual boredom.

“Whoa. What’s gotten into ya, Wiren?”

“You ugly AND stupid?” came the tart response. “Boss is comin’ for a visit.”

Conar groaned. He completely forgot, but Wiren was right. Their Glukkon manager Zeb was gonna throw his weight around some today. Their pay was likely to be docked, but maybe it would sting a little less as they all sucked up to him.

“Well,” Conar said, hopefully, as they did last-minute patrol rehearsals, “the Anum Press said that we were sellin’ more Slogs than ever before. That oughta impress ‘im!”

Wiren shook his head. “Stocks been takin’ a hit since the Rupture farms fire. I don’t get it either, but the boss said sales don’t matter.”

Conar thought about this. It didn’t make sense. Gazillions of moolah and the stocks were crap?

They were stationed by the front-facing pens, so there wasn’t much to their patrol routes. They just had to make sure the scrubs were doing their jobs. A few shouts at and smacks upside the heads of the hapless Mudokons seemed like it was enough.

Conar felt his worries melt away as he enforced some discipline on them. It was what he was born for, after all.

“You call that feedin’?!” he demanded, hitting the back of one hapless Mud carrying an enormous bag of Slog chow. “You ain’t eating until all o’ the Slogs have! Now MOVE IT!”

The Mudokon grunted, stumbling a little on his path.

Conar heard Wiren behind him, repeatedly beating on one of the scrubs with the butt of his gun. He sighed. He’d be called a Mud-lover for weeks, but he never understood why his coworkers went to town when a simple jab or smack would do. Not that he cared about anyone under his charge, by any means – no self-respecting Slig employee would. No; it just didn’t make sense. If the Mudokons were here to work, they should be in decent condition so they can get it done.

With that in mind, he shoved Wiren to the side.

“What the hell? I was getting’ ‘im good!”

“Yeah, yeah, save some for the rest of ‘em. Now c’mon, we got a pissed-off Gluk to worry about.”

Wiren grumbled, moving back on path. Conar heard him grumble something about “no fun” and “scrub softie”.

Anyway, there was also the matter of which Slogs to showcase in the front pens. Neither Conar nor Wiren were in charge of those decisions, but it was known that they would need to help get the loudest, most vicious Slogs to the front. Obedience was the real goal, sure, but nothing impressed clients more than a slavering maw on legs ready to tear them a new one, apparently. Maybe they fantasized about those teeth ripping apart those beneath them.

Conar couldn’t reflect on this. Not only did he have the boss coming in, but he had the more pressing issue of one of the escorted Slogs breaking off its chain, and it was making a beeline for him. Without thinking, he turned to flee. He’d seen what happened to those who shot and missed. He’d rather step into the Recycler than suffer that.

The guffaws from his colleagues echoed in his mind as he ran, even though he would likely be doing the same any other day if one of them got into this. The laughs were being drowned out by the furious barks of the Slogs, but it was clear the other Sligs weren’t about to wrangle the animal until he gave this show an ending. He just had to get to the ladder, and he’d be fine. Hopefully, his co-workers could help get the thing back into its pen.

The Slog was fast, but Conar had a head start, and was quickly able to get to the ladder. He started to climb for safety, but a sudden weight and cheers from the other Sligs told him the Slog had clamped itself onto one of his mechanical legs. He looked down and, yup, the thing had its teeth imbedded into his lower leg. His joint whirred as he tried to shake the red thing off, but it held fast.

“It smells the Mudokon on ya!”

Wiren’s crack caused ripples of laughter across the workforce. Even Conar heard a chuckle come out of himself. You had to have a sense of humor at work.

Finally, after much shaking, the Slog slipped off its own saliva, grunting as it landed on the floor. Conar quickly clambered higher before it could focus on jumping at him again. The Slog was still snarling and snapping in his direction, and no one was too eager to move close.

Conar sighed. Seemed he would have to do this himself.

“Open that pen!” he yelled to a Scrub who was on cleanup duty in it. Without question, the Mudokon opened the gate. So there was that, at least, but the Slog wasn’t exactly inclined to go into the pen. Okay, lessee…

Moving carefully around the second floor, Conar guided the Slog into the pen, and shouted for the same Mudokon (he believed the scrub’s name was Mike) to close it. Mike made a mad dash out as the Slog shifted its attention to him, and quickly slammed the gate back shut.

“Right,” Conar said, as the other Sligs groaned. “Show’s over. Let’s try to make the boss happy for once.”

The rest of the time was spent trying to get everything perfected. Of course, there were a variety of stains on the floor the Muds could not scrub out, no matter how many whacks and threats they got from their managers. The tiling was still an ugly green, the Recycler looked as rusty and bloody as ever, and the back room with all the Slog huts was just too poorly-lit.

Still, the facility looked…at least a little more presentable. The Slig patrol routes were memorized down to each step, their guns were full and ready, the Mudokons were compliant, and the Slogs were not only safely contained, but slavering for anyone stepping out of line.

Everything was set up just in time – Zeb’s valet had come, clad in cheap brass armor and wielding a sizable hand cannon, to announce the boss’ arrival. Every other Slig’s posture unconsciously straightened around this higher-ranked one as he said “All right, you slack-jawed Stunkz, listen up! Zeb is here, and he’s already pissed, so make his day!”

Behind the valet/bodyguard, the unmistakable silhouette of a Glukkon stood. Orange eyes looked around, scowling as they searched for problems. Waddling forward, into the light of the Sloghut’s lobby, he revealed his unfeatured, deep blue suit, with a pin at the lower stomach area signifying his recent favor with the Magog Cartel.

Conar remembered the ceremony – very boring if you weren’t a moneymaker.

Zeb’s unusually thin mouth chomped on a small Sickly Smooth cigar – not a super-premium choice, but a far cry from the cheap Lungbuster cigarettes the middle management and security forces used. He waddled through the facility on a pair of shiny black dress shoes, barely acknowledging the saluting and bootlicking from his security, or even the cowering and sniveling from his Mudokon Scrubs.

He walked all the way to the back, and went up to the bulletin board, humming tunelessly as he assessed the personnel numbers.

“Oy!” he finally shouted, turning to the nearest Slig (Gurol from Slog training). “Explain why we have retired employees!”

“Ah, erm, sorry, boss! Some of the younger Sloggies are still teething, but…”

Gurol looked up at the board, reading the numbers.

“…That can’t explain all of ‘em, boss,” he noted. “We only ‘ad one Slig and a coupla workers get attacked back here…”

“You serious?” Zeb asked, shaking his head. “You lot don’t know how much it costs to replace ya – you can’t even keep track of each other?”

“Sorry, boss, but I’m in Slog trainin’. Maybe one of the front-facing guys can explain it.”

The Glukkon turned to his valet and nodded. There was a little bit of spring to the Slig’s step as he marched back to the front of the facility, where the guards were patrolling once more.

“You there!” he called out, grabbing the attention of the nearest Slig, who happened to be Wiren. “Boss wants answers!”

Conar was about to follow as well, but he bumped into the valet’s outstretched hand.

“Yer not desertin’ your post, Scrub-watcher. I just need the one.”

“Yessir…”

Conar couldn’t help but to chuckle a little as Wiren tentatively followed the high-ranking Slig. At least he wouldn’t be facing the boss’s wrath. He just hoped his co-worker wouldn’t cost him any of his pay.

In the meantime, he knew that if anything worsened up here, it’d be on his head. So back to patrolling it was. He had to make sure the Mudokons didn’t relax just yet. Besides, he needed to keep his mind off the risks he might face. He could have his pay cut, get a reassignment to one of the worse Slog Huts, or even be fired and sent to Skillya as a soup ingredient.

None of that. Focus on the job.

Step, step, turn, step, step, step, hit Mudokon, step, turn…

He had to give the Scrubs credit; the floor was less rough and grimy than it should have been.

Step, step, hit Mudokon, turn, step…

The Slogs up front seemed calmer, though the one that harassed him earlier still faced him at all times. It was less intimidating, but at least they were all still alert.

Step, step, turn, step step…

Okay, what was taking Wiren so long? He couldn’t keep concentrating on stepping and smacking Mudokons upside the head. He was supposed to start on his break ten minutes ago, and he really needed a Lungbuster, but if he left now, no one would be watching this Odd-forsaken floor, and he’d get chewed out for that. He just had to keep focus for a little while longer, that was it.

Not like anything ever happened…

The minutes stretched on and on, as did Conar’s need for a smoke. Nothing was happening, as usual, and his mind screamed that his break should happen now, if not sooner. Normally he wouldn’t have an issue just lighting up on his patrol, but it wasn’t technically allowed, for reasons Conar had trouble understanding. Everyone did it when the boss wasn’t around, and he wasn’t around often at all.

Screw it. He was going to step outside. The Scrubs could take care of themselves for a minute.

He was almost to the door when he felt a presence behind him. He turned, and winced as he saw those dress shoes tapping impatiently under that suit. Conar could hear that valet snickering behind him.

“Uh, hi Boss. Just goin’ on break.”

“Mhm. And I guess you’re leaving the Scrubs on their own, when there’s A KNOWN TERRORIST ON THE LOOSE?!”

The secondhand smoke as Zeb leaned forward to get into Conar’s face wasn’t enough to satiate his needs, but it did help clear his head for a moment.

“…But boss, that Abe guy was last seen at Rupture Farms, right? That’s nowhere near here!”

“FEECO IS ON A COMPLETE LOCKDOWN RIGHT NOW!”

“What?! When did that happen, boss?”

“Watch the news for once, you insignificant ! It was just on an hour ago!”

“Sorry, boss,” Conar said, shaking his head. “I was workin’ then. Couldn’t watch the tube.”

“Well,” Zeb sneered, “the ‘tube’ says that that blue Mudokon bastard’s gonna try to break into Soulstorm! Is that close enough for you to take your job seriously?!”

A cheer came from behind Zeb, cut short by a hand going over his mouth. It was one of the Scrubs, and Conar recognized him as the one he called “Slim”. Yeah, he probably had a name, but he was noticeably lankier than other Mudokons, and a little bit taller and thinner for it. Even his cap looked a little taller on his grey head. His yellow eyes quivered as Zeb’s valet spun around in an instant.

“Y’see?” Zeb said, over the sounds of punches and grunts. “We gotta keep ‘em in line in these trying times! If someone like that Abe guy shows up, who knows what’ll happen?! Moolah’s already tight as it is!”

Conar had, just the other day, saw in the Daily Deception how Zeb and his associates at other Slog Hut chains gave themselves sizable bonuses this quarter. He silently thought about this.

“Now, since your worthless co-worker couldn’t answer me, maybe you can …WHY ARE WE HAVING EMPLOYEES RETIRED!”

“It ain’t my fault, boss! Idiots keep stepping into the Recycler!”

He pointed to a giant fan of rusty blades that was on the wall opposite them. It was an effective way of making Slog chow, but all it took was one wrong step for the blades to start, and the suction power of the machine was insane. There wasn’t any way to turn the sensor or the fan off, either.

“Well maybe if you bums didn’t try to sneak outta work, accidents could be prevented!”

“It was past time for my break, boss…”

Conar immediately winced, realizing who he said this to.

“With your pay, I’d think you’d need the extra work time… LIEUTENANT!”

The valet stopped beating Slim and was at his boss’ side in an instant, holding a notepad. “Yes, sir!”

“Take a note! This incompetent Slog Hut is getting half pay.”

“Already on it, sir!”

Conar sighed. He could already guess who was going to have to deliver the news.

“Oh, and there are gonna be some longer hours ‘round here… these upstart Mudokons need some closer watching. All hands on deck, at all times.”

“Yes, sir,” Conar said, trying his best to keep his voice neutral.

The lieutenant finished writing down everything, humming to himself the whole time. He pulled out a rubber stamp, signing the note on his boss’ behalf, before handing it to Conar. He read everything over, and his tentacles sagged as he saw Zeb nod at him. He started to walk over to the back, as he heard the boss and crony start to walk out the door. He overheard a little bit of their conversation as they left.

“Smart way to save Moolah, sir!”

“Just a few more cost cuts and Ma’s sure to be proud!”

Slim gave Conar a weary look and slowly got to his feet. He was shaky, but he walked over and extended a hand for the note.

“Wha…?”

“C’mon,” Slim sighed, “I know you’re gonna have me tell ‘em anyway.”

Conar looked at the note in his hand, then back to Slim. The guy already took a wallop, and such news would make him an outlet for Slig rage. Conar would enjoy the view as much as the next guy, but really, they were down enough workers as-is, and delivering news like these pay cuts was a good way to get a Mud thrown into the Recycler. Besides, the guy still had to clean up after the Slogs.

“You tellin’ me my business?” Conar demanded, slapping the Scrub in the face. “Ya still gotta get the Slog crap!”

He watched Slim carefully. The Mudokon’s eyes were wide as he rubbed his cheek, and it looked like he was trying not to smile from gratitude. Conar couldn’t stand it; he was a supervisor, dammit, not a caretaker!

“And pick yer hat up! We got uniforms for a reason, and I don’t wanna see your ugly bald head!”

That seemed to snap him out of it. Slim nodded and ducked to get his cap back on.

The other Sligs reacted as well as could be expected. A lot of groans and pointing fingers echoed across the back room. Several Lungbusters came out and the room was quickly full of little red lights. The foul-smelling Slog Hut barely changed its smell. The Scrubs winced instinctively before the Sligs began to resume their duties their way. If the boss wasn’t around, why not? And they had a lot of stress they needed an outlet for…

***

It wasn’t much longer until quitting time anyway. Conar didn’t mention that they were just being used as a ploy for Margaret favor; what would be the point? He was pretty sure everyone already knew. He simply waited in line to silently clock out. His fellow Sligs were already chatting as if nothing had happened, talking about different kinds of guns, grenades, and liquor. Not that Conar didn’t enjoy those things, but the boss had given him a lot to think about.

No one noticed as Conar hailed a cab home. He’d normally hit the bar with his colleagues on days like this, but he wasn’t really up to the hell he’d get for delivering the news. He remembered the laughs he had when some other chump had to give the update. No Scrub was available, so the sucker was stuck paying on top of being raked over the coals after work was over.

Conar was sure he’d still have to do that, but he wasn’t in the mood today. He just wanted to lie in bed for a bit, maybe watch some Name That Trauma, and get himself ready to endure another day. Thankfully, the Mudokon driving the cab knew to drive fast. Yelling at Scrubs was great, but it wore at the throat after a long workday.

The cab stopped at a part of the city where a lot of Sligs lived. It wasn’t hard to tell, what with it looking like a barely-controlled war zone. Scorch marks, shrapnel, and bullet holes were everywhere. There was the smell of not only gunpowder, but also chemical weapons that were tested here. Even the Mudokon that dropped him off had a rag over his face ready. Conar never got it; every Slig knew the gas weapons were weak stuff. The Mudokons were just chumps, but that was no surprise.

Conar pulled a keycard from a compartment on his pants’ waist, stepping over a broken mask and a discarded blunderbuss on his way to the apartment gates. He shouldn’t have bothered; he could see that someone smashed the lock again, and a couple of Sligs were working on it. One of them nodded absently while Conar just strolled in through the gate. Obviously, they weren’t security detail. They didn’t have the guns for it.

No, once again the guy at the front desk had a pistol ready, loudly demanding to see the keycard of anyone coming in. Conar rolled his eyes as he showed his. The clerk grumbled, but let him in. Conar could tell the offending Slig was already taken care of; the clerk grumbled about “only gettin’ to take one shot” as he climbed the stairs.

It was otherwise uneventful getting to his apartment, but Conar groaned as he opened the door. Ratz had gotten in. The place was more of a mess than normal, and green glowing eyes gave him a shudder. He knew it was a real load, but he couldn’t shake the feeling they were watching him, and taking mental notes for… something. He just wished they took notes of the gunfire that came their way when he came in. It was getting expensive for multiple reasons.

And there was a reason outside of the bullets – this time he blew a hole into the wall. He could see his neighbor shooting out of bed with a start, turning towards him.

“What the hell?!

“Ech, Ratz,” Conar explained, taking another potshot.

His neighbor rolled over, reaching for something.

“No, don’t,” Conar said, shaking his head. “They’re already gone.”

The neighbor sighed, carelessly dropping his gun again, and pulled the sheets over himself again.

Conar walked over, and dragged his gun locker to cover the hole he made. He did not need this after a pay cut. What he needed was to unwind and turn the tube on. It took time to find the remote and dig through the fridge for some Paramite Pies, but it would be worth it for the season finale of Name That Trauma. It was always fun to see the Mudokons squirm and scream, and this one promised to have the most exciting and elaborate tortures.

Thankfully, he got the TV on in time. Just at the end of the title card.

It was a fine season finale, but Conar felt it was less creative and exciting than last season. It just wasn’t as fun when the Mudokons passed out before anyone could even answer.

Still, it was good for taking his mind off things. He was able to guess along with the contestants, and more correctly than they were. He wished he was there on one of the podiums, because obviously none of the Glukkons, Sligs, or Vykkers they pulled from wherever worked security detail. He’d be able to retire a happy Slig. Hell, he could probably host. He’d put up with wearing that stupid fake toothy grin and gaudy wig if it meant he had moolah to throw around because people guessed things right.

The Terminal Trauma round arrived. Conar was hopeful; they always saved the craziest and most challenging torments for last, and he hoped this would live up to expectations. Last season involved four different assaults on the Mudokon, one on each limb. How would the ante be upped this time?

The hapless Mud shivered in the spotlight. His eyes darted nervously, as the crowd waited with bated breath. Two Sligs emerged from either wing of the stage, and the curtain came down…

And that’s when an emergency bulletin from Magog on the March came on. Conar groaned; he knew that they’d be selling the season finale at an inflated price, and wouldn’t be doing reruns.

“Special bulletin from the Magog on the March – news you can’t abuse!” the newscaster began. “Mudokon terrorist Abe was seen in Slig Barracks. General Dripik declares martial law!”

The broadcast cut to a shot of the Glukkon general, surrounded by microphones at a press conference. Any Slig who graduated the Barracks could recognize him.

“No mamby-pamby Mudokon meat puppet’s gonna make me look like a fool!” he barked. It was a similar inflection to the one he had at Conar’s class graduation speech, which was surreal to say the least. “We’ll have that traitor Abe in no time, or my name ain’t….uh…”

All the brave resolve and vicious spittle stopped, as his one real eye looked around nervously. His brow furrowed.

“Er…”

“Dripik, sir,” Conar said, automatically. He could hear a chorus of the same coming from other apartments.

Apparently, someone there reminded him too, as he perked up and repeated “DRIPIK! …I knew that, I-I did…”

Conar sighed as the broadcast’s sponsor came on, M.O.M. ended, and it abruptly cut back to the credits of the game show. There went that highlight of the day.

Amazing how some random Mudokon could have the big shots shaking in their expensive dress shoes. Abe had to have had that effect; why else would M.O.M. deal with this? Yet, such a powerful figure would be a humiliating way to be ruined? Sure, he was a Mudokon, but he’s the one who caused the Rupture Farms fire!

“…gonna make me look like a fool!”

Those words echoed in his head as Conar turned off the TV. He hadn’t put his mask or Slig Pants away yet; he was too distracted with the gears slowly turning in his head. Zeb seemed to be pretty scared of any of his Scrubs following in Abe’s footsteps, even as he and everyone else called them inferior.

He looked at his pistol. He realized that Zeb might have the Moolah, but Conar might have the power to take it away.

Of course, he mused, pacing around, he couldn’t do it alone; any Glukkon worth his suit had loyal security of some kind, who would eliminate any threat, no questions asked. He might become a very rich Slig, but he’d also be a short-lived one.

The scary thing with that Abe guy is no one knew how he did it. How did he cause the Rupture Farms fire with nothing but a loincloth and a feather to his name? Surely if one Mudokon could cause such a ruckus, another could help him raise hell, too…

#oddworld conar's ambition #draft 1 #chapter 1 #Oddworld #fic #oddworld conars ambition full chapter

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jujywrites · 5 years

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WIP Challenge

I got tagged by @kikithedeceiver to do this!

Challenge: post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous.

Here’s the thing. I don’t have many separate WIP files; most of them are in one huge doc. and most of the separate wip files are... pretty dead? but ok whatevs. under a read more since it’s long...... and my ego won’t let me skip snippets hjkhkhk thanks for the idea Kiki

From my main miscellaneous folder:

50 Grades of Steele. 1 and a half chaps of a role-flipped 50 Shades of Grey rewrite (i haven’t read the books so I extra don’t care about the characters lol). why do i still have it i’ve lost interest.... *side eyes her entire wip ecosystem* ...Then I see my interview subject, seated at her desk.

"Mr. Grey. I'm pleased to meet you."

And I stop breathing. [end CH1]

[open CH2) I forgot to mention something: I exaggerate occasionally. But I'm not now. I literally stop breathing for a few seconds. A thousand thoughts are racing through my mind, which doesn't help my chest stop seizing, but the main problem here is that Anastasia Steele is quite possibly the most beautiful woman I've ever seen.

Fanfic idea masterlist. my most active file and where I keep most of my WIPS, unless they get too “large”. Organized by fandom. lotta stuff i keep passing by & may as well be dead but don’t wanna delete. here’s a zero-draft snippet of probably the next chapter of my G-rated yukyoru fic collection

He grabbed a pillow and placed it to his chest, grabbed her arm, and yanked her to him, praying his idea would work.

Seconds passed and he didn't transform. He put his arms around her gingerly. Should he try to immobilize her or would that make it worse?

She made the decision for him. "Mom," she sobbed, clutching him with an iron grip. "N-Need to help...!"

His stomach dropped to his shoes.

Thudding footsteps announced Yuki's arrival. "What's wrong?! Honda-san--"

He didn't say "What did you do?" The thought raced by and Kyo said, "Grab a pillow and help me!"

As Yuki positioned the pillow and himself without having to ask, Kyo said, "She won't wake up. I don't know what to do!"

"Night terror," Yuki said tightly. He was too close but it almost didn't matter. "Not much you can do besides wait."

MayxWard BDSM fic agents of SHIELD. mix of notes and actual writing. kind of a half AU. Melinda climbed into the driver's side and buckled in, then started up the car. "If you've not ridden on the left before you might have motion sickness. It's normal. Just close your eyes until—" She paused as she looked at him; his hands shook so much he couldn't manage the seatbelt. "Here, let me."

"Thanks," he muttered with a sigh, looking rueful.

Modern AU Zelink. What it says on the tin~ Teenage-ish Zelink, with a mash of supporting characters from other games. another mix of notes and fic. Link wasn't sleeping tonight. Tonight was the night he'd been planning for and awaiting for weeks. He was going on a quest: the quest to meet Princess Zelda.

She wasn't really a princess, of course. That was just her nickname. Zelda Nohansen was Hyrule's sweetheart, the most sought-after young actress in the movie business. And Link had fallen in love with her the first time he'd seen her, two years ago in a tiny theater in Kakariko.

PMMMfic homumado. Madoka Magica. AU, been around since about an hour after I finished the series (5 years yikes, still gotta watch Rebellion). Homura's time power still somewhat involved, but Mami's an adult, everyone's at a boarding school (I think?) where ~things aren't as they first seem~ and Madoka has mysterious powers and night terrors. just notes at the moment.

SoubixHitomi. Loveless. 3 unfinished/dead first-person Shinonome-senseixSoubi snippets, all of ‘em spicy.

yvy abo. Yuri On Ice. Yuri (Katsuki!!)/Victor/Yuko(!!?!), my attempt at. well. omegaverse(!!!!!!!). orignally started as part of a “bad YOI fic” bigbang and now I’m taking it seriously dgdgfg. Alpha Yuko. “Please, please stop,” she whispered, like saying it aloud would make any difference. But the pressure in her head kept building. Her limbs had begun to itch restlessly.

And Victor wouldn’t let go of her hand.

With the last scrap of her control, she straddled him quickly and kissed him awake.

Even in half-sleep he arched to meet her, and when he opened his eyes sapphire blue had already turned stormy with lust.

yvy canonfuturefic. Yuko-focused following of canon, or: how canon can I keep YOI while still rareship OT3ing it. She and Yuri fall in and out of love, in between falling for Victor. Victuri is still my life I swear

“You have got to watch this,” she tells Yuri. She watches Yuri’s face instead of the video, having seen it at least forty times by now.

Yuri’s eyes transform into beacons of awe, and Yuko swallows around her rapid heartbeat, breaths coming too short. She sees everything she’s feeling and more on his face. She remembers that she loves him, that he’s real and here and more important than the beautiful boy on her phone who’s trying to pull her under to a scary new world.

ZnT ot3 bdsm AU. Zankyou no Terror, 9/12/Lisa. mix of notes and fic, not just PWP. in heavy need of editing bc a lot was inspired by a non-spicy book.

“But it’s not just me. It’s everyone. You need everyone because you have no idea how to need yourself. Or even how to be yourself.”

“You’re wrong.” The force and volume of her voice shocked her and pushed her onward. “You and Touji. I don’t need anyone except you and Touji! Because you both taught me how to be myself-- no, how to find that on my own. I know exactly who I am, and that me isn’t complete without both of you!” She could feel the tears streaming down her face, yet somehow her voice didn’t waver. She felt so full of conviction she could burst into flames. “Don’t you understand, Arata? We’re all meant to be together.”

From my SnK folder:

Cave of the Crystal Maiden (working title). Aruani. Modern AU. MMORPG shenanigans with a dollop of magical realism/supernatural. Just notes. @portraitofa-girl suggested “meeting online” and it’s been there literally for years oh lord im sorry. no fic yet, just notes.

Falling Anthem (working title) Modern AU Levihan, art student Hange and young professor Levi. just notes. fic one in a planned series. also has been years ;_;

Raindrops and Soft Steps. Jearmin. unsurprisingly, modern AU. One morning, when Jean looks out of his bedroom window, he sees a boy dancing across the street. In the street, to be exact. There wouldn't be anything unusual about that, Jean supposes, except it's raining cats and dogs outside.

In my IAMXfic folder (fff i almost skipped this):

2ndPOVCalberto (DO NOT CORRUPT WITH HET) ChrisxAlberto? not much to say?? yes i know they’re real people??? which applies to everything after this oh my god *crawls under desk* Of course she knows; she is annoyingly perceptive when it comes to romance. The only thing preventing you from asking her (like a fucking lovestruck teenager) if Alberto likes you back is emptying that beer bottle. By then the only thing on your mind is ordering another.

CalbertImmi. i can’t even keep my poly shit outta RPF ahaha omhg Imogen has a conversation with her lover's lover. (AlbertImmi, sequel to...) Imogen finds herself in an unenviable position. (emerging CalbertImmi)

Alternate summaries (CC POV, first fic?): Chris loves two people. He doesn't want to choose. Chris has fallen in love a few times in his life. But he's never fallen for two people at once. (Chris also isn't good at choosing.)

ChrisxJ. several self-insert fics bc CC is just that powerful, apparently. haven’t looked at the file in a long time,,,,,

He started calling people to the stage with him, and one by one, my row emptied.

"Come on, yeah, come on," he was saying, waving his hand in an inviting gesture and grinning like a little kid. "Hey, you want to?" I did a double take.

"Me?" I mouthed, pointing at myself just to be sure. He nodded, smiling wider.

So it was that I walked unsteadily down the ramp and waited in line, feeling like I didn’t belong there. Soon I was next in line. What would I say? What would I do? I was sure if I opened my mouth I’d either burst into tears or faint.

Genderswapped IAMX sci-fi. The sci-fi was inspired by a word prompt, genderswapping by my own brain. (play spot the Immi lmao) Across the aisle, Sam rolled his eyes. “Leave Chris alone; she’s nervous.”

“And put on your own seatbelt, Johann,” shouted Jess, two seats back and in Sam’s aisle.

Patrick turned to look at Chris. “Subspace travel is a bitch,” he said simply, and turned back to his book.

“Oh, I feel much less nervous now,” Chris said with a sardonic grin. “How do you know that, anyway?”

"I'm not exactly what I seem to be." He didn’t look up.

Chriimmi (While I Was Gone inspired). Chris/Imogen, inspired by scenes from Sue Miller’s While I Was Gone.

"You really ought not to do that, you know," he said softly.

"Do what?"

"Sneak up on me."

My eyes slid from his face. "I didn't mean to. It just... happened."

"Mm." I glanced back at him; he wore a lopsided smile. "Not that I minded." The tension was so strong the air nearly vibrated with it, yet I held my tongue, terrified that I was the only one feeling it. He took a breath, deep, nearly rising on his toes. "No. I didn't mind at all." He took my hand, circled his thumb over the back. My breath caught as I felt it, as I watched him looking down at our hands.

Chriimmi bathtub dream. dream inspired Chris/Immi smut.

Chriimmi twitter. twitfic plus some, inspired from an actual tweet iamx made that i’m still not over.

@ imogenheap Come sing your lovely lyrics with us in London. @ IAMX misses you. CCx

ChrisxImmi main. grab bag of Chriimmi I was too lazy to put into separate docs.

“What do you think?” She grinned, twirling.

He cleared his throat. “Ah, I-Imogen, what are you wearing?”

“Well, I didn’t want to clash with your theme… Janine helped me. Does it work?”

Scandalously short skirt, midriff-baring top, knee-high boots.

“You’re trying to kill me, aren’t you? You’re trying to fucking kill me.”

Her grin only widened, even though a blush had started.

Fic edit chriimmi ver. yeah. editing someone else’s original fic to be chrimmi. either never posting or editing the frick out of. ~_~

He kissed her neck, whispered into it, “I love you.”

Imogen laughed. “Bollocks,” she said lazily.

”I do!” Chris protested. She looked down at him, nestled on her shoulder. He looked back, open, a little adoring. “I fell in love with you halfway through the show; I sang every note just for you.”

”Oh, please. You couldn’t have seen me.”

”No,” he said. “But I knew you were out there… I knew it had been you the minute I saw you backstage.”

Hospital Chriimmi. In which my guilty feeling over RPF are even worse bc of the inspiration ^_^U “Ms. Heap. What a pleasant surprise.” It’s surprising, how well she remembers his voice.

“Mr. Corner, what have you got yourself into?”

“Oh, just a bit of lingering insomnia. You know how it is.”

She takes a seat in the chair near his bed, crossing her legs. “Well, I’ve certainly had a sleepless night here and there, but I’ve never ended up in hospital from it. So no, I don’t suppose I do know.” Her tone is light, but her smile has begun to crack.

ImmixChris genderbend smut. the my secret friend video is... fertile material. have not actually written the smut yet.

...he saw us as characters– we put on those clothes and become separate from ourselves, removed. Whereas I simply felt like myself in men’s clothes, and instead of feeling what He felt for Her, I just kept right on feeling what I felt for Chris, amplified to a distracting level.

ReluctantdommeImmixSubCC. ...shrug emoji? notes and uh. visualizing.

Vampire Chriimmi. based on a dream. smutty. inspired by True Blood so wow that’s old.

From my Markipairings folder:

demon dream. markiplier self insert...... ughhhhhhhh o///o

"You can have me," I tell the creature. "But this one," I jerk my head toward Mark, "comes with me. He's mine, you see." A bold proclamation to make, but in the moment I know that the truth in those words surpasses everything I've ever said. He is mine, and saying the thought out loud fills me with courage. He squeezes my hand, two short and a long one so strong I think he might break it.

I know we’ll win.

DommeJujY. same as above, same as the next four. smutty.

Fight team AU. i forget where i got this one from. vaguely inspired by loveless i guess. The first clear thought I had was, He shouldn't have gone ahead of me. The second one was, I should have been able to protect him. But these came later, after the rage went away, after I hugged him and apologized, after I bandaged him…

Gaming meetcute. i win some contest or whatever to secretly tagteam w/ Mark. stuff happens and yeah......

The adrenaline surges through my veins as I take in the scene. Mark's avatar is flailing around, backed into a corner by some Eldritch Abomination and holy shit, the graphics in this game are amazing.

"This is not good, I can't move, I can't move…"

There's a voice in the back of my head screaming to shut the game down, to get that horrible thing off the screen. I ignore it.

Markinpanties. .......smut.

shifter-slight sci-fi AU. shrug emoji.

I looked up from the ground and saw I was heading straight for a brick wall. There was no time to slow down. I braced for impact...

It didn't happen. I opened my eyes and found myself in a café.

What.

Looking behind me, I saw a door. On impulse I walked over and opened it; the tree-lined street I could see through the glass was indeed there. No brick wall to smack my face into. Bewildered, I turned around and looked for a seat, choosing one near a window.

Gouldiplier~. master doc of ficbits of my cracky mccrackship, MarkiplierxEllie Goulding.

I check my phone during break time again. My selfie has been liked and retweeted thousands of times, and I shake my head in disbelief; I don't think that will ever stop surprising me, deep down. To make things even better, Mark's liked it! I'm in the middle of a happy jig when I realize there's a text from him and a squeak of joy slips from me.

hellooo gorgeous

looks like you're having fun. Hope the shoot's going great! <3

I quickly send a reply. it has been. Be glad when it's done tho. Missin u lots xo

Markipicbunnies. fanart of Mark for Gouldiplier insipration. photographer au.

"Ms. Goulding, I'm really not sure about this…"

"I produce pictures that are intimate because I'm an intimate being, Mark." Ellie looked at him directly, a hint of a smile shaping her lips. "Deep down, I think you are too. We just need to draw you out a bit."

showersexgouldiplier. WELP. IT’S SMUT.

Also I have folders for my 2010/11 nanowrimo novel that are kinda still WIPs but also kinda not

i’m gonna tag.... @kippielovesyou @kiridork and @mistergrass and anyone else who wants to do this can too :3

#JujYwrites #Mintyblather #i have too much stuuuffffff

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chaoticwiitch-blog · 5 years

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Guidelines

Hello Everyone! My name is EISH and I am the person behind this here blog! I am 25 years old. I live in the Canadas, timezone is EST. Just in case anyone finds these rules familiar I have scooped them off a friend, and she does know about it. So without further ado let’s get in to this.

This blog is HIGHLY SELECTIVE AND PRIVATE meaning I will not be interacting with anyone I do not follow and who does not follow me. I want to write with people who actively want to write with me. This being said if we follow each other and there has been no effort made to interact ( i am trying to get better about this myself ) i will unfollow after a few weeks.

Let’s talk about Asks! My ask box is open for any IN CHARACTER interactions. I don’t like ooc asks unless it’s a meme. Anon is turned on for now but if it is abused, it will be shut off. Hate of any kind will not be tolerated, at all. IMs are for plotting and chatting, though I prefer discord! Which is only available for mutuals. Feel free to ask for it!

let's make one thing very clear. I am NOT a meme source? don't treat me like one. if you don't think you can send the meme in to me, reblog it from the source, PLEASE. or --- and here's a thought, just send me the meme

Wanda is sortacanon. I have seen all the movies. I have googled the comics more than actually read them. One day i’ll get to it, but as of now i can’t be bothered. I have read through countless wiki pages tho, so i mean — i get the gist of it all. THAT BEING SAID she's not exactly the same. i pull from what i know of comics and movies and hell, even the tv shows. i also have many verses available, they might take some time to get up and posted, so just like ask me about them.

Let’s talk about my following back-ness. I can take seconds, or like weeks. I look at my followers as the come in usually, unless life is busy. If life is busy I tend to forget? Which means that when I finally look at them it could be a little while later. But I do look at everyone (aside from porn blogs and personals) who follows me. If I think we will mesh well then I’ll follow back, if I don’t, I don’t.

Now, some basic things I look for to follow back — how old is the blog and how much actual writing is there. If the posts only go back like a week and there is minimal to no writing, I will look at the rules and the muse(s) and determine if I want to give the blog a chance. If the blog is like month and months old and I can’t find any writing within a few weeks, chances are I won’t follow. I wanna write! That’s the whole point of being here, right? Next, rules! Whether they are simple or more complex I will read them all! As long as you are above the age of 18, and I feel like we will be able to write well together, chances are I will follow. Which brings me to my next point. I will NOT be following anyone under the age of 18. That is more so because of the content of my own blog more than anything, but also peace of mind. As I will get in to I am a shipping fiend, I love me my ships, and I don’t want any with any minors. So ya know — there’s that. also if you don’t cut your post I’m not even getting in to that okay, I just can’t. I won’t. Please cut your posts! on that note. Move continued asks to a new post, or don’t continue them, kthnx.

Not Safe For Work & Triggering Content — *sigh*. With tumblr doing it’s dumbass bullshittery — clearly there will be little to zero nsfw images on the blog. BUT that does not extend to written smut, or violence, or — well whatever else one wants to consider not safe for work. Please don't confuse triggers with squicks. if you have a legit TRIGGER, i will gladly tag everything and anything as long as you tell me. (i keep a list in my drafts, so like ask nicely, and i'll add it). squicks are a wholly different thing, and if i go around tagging every single thing that people don't like my tags will be a mile long. I will tag common triggers and if there is something you NEED tagged, just NICELY (ffs) let me know!

THE SHIPS THEY ARE COMING. oh lord. Okay. so I am like — shipping traaaaash ask any one who talks to me for five minutes. If I can find a way to ship the muses, I will. And nine times out of ten, I will straight up tell you. NOW it doesn’t ALWAYS have to be romantic shipping, but still ships. I love them. I captain them. I want them all, so like come at me bro. Wanda is DEMISEXUAL/PANROMANTIC. I don't personally ship wanda & vision, but i mean --- it's part of her mcu canon thing, i'll include it as like a PAST thing, if anything.

I am a slow ass replier-er. This isn’t my only blog. I also tend to be busy sometimes, so like I just don’t have all the time to write, ya know? I am also hella selective and private so that I can keep a calm and slow environment, ya feel? I am also working on using the queue more for replies and junk instead of just filling it to the brim with gifsets and shit. So there is that.

I am a mother. I have a five year old daughter she takes up a lot of time and energy, as any parent will tell you, so sometimes I am simply too drained to be here. I am 9/10 more available for writing on discord, than I am here, for simple fact of I can do it mobile, and formatting is less of a thing.

I DO COMMISSIONS, talk to me about them.

My theme credit is in the lower corner. Graphics were typically designed by me! Images taken mostly from google. Icons were found in packs and edited by me. I have PSDs from VenusCommissions which are GORGEOUS, and I have a couple others from various other places. Some purchased some not. Some I made my own ass self.

DISCLAIMER I am not affiliated with any show/movie or actor/actress in anyway. NO copyright infringement was intended. This is for fun, nothing else.

These Rules Are Subject To Change Without Notice

#rules

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ratgirly · 6 years

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love is a lie ; bangtan

"Love is cruel, a stupid lie, I know this, damn im sure of it! But please, don't leave me alone, don't say goodbye..."

❀ Bangtan ❀ Homosexual and heterosexual content ❀ Yoonkook (main couple); Taejin; Jihope; Namjoon ❀ Angst & Smut

chapter list

"This road may be long and rough but will you stay with me? We may fall and sometimes get hurt but will you stay with me?"

Prologue

The sun shined in his face and it wouldn't let him open his eyes completely, but that didn't bother Jungkook, nothing could do it while the head of his boyfriend rested on his chest, his deep and slow breathing along with the sweet sound of the birds around.

A smile formed on the lips of the youngest while he looked the other one sleep peacefully, the blue hair recently dyed shined with intesity and his hand holded Jungkook close to him; how was it possible that Yoongi could sleep with the light of the sun hitting his eyes with such force? It would always be a mistery, Yoongi had a gift, he could fell asleep anywhere and everywhere without any trouble.

Jungkook felt his heart full, even though he had at least one hour in this position and the arm under his head was starting to go numb, he was sure he had ants in some part of his leg and he was starting to feel hungry.

He felt his phone vibrating in his front pocket, Yoongi shifted closer to Jungkook's body, a growl falling from his pink and thin lips when his cellphone started ringing after Jungkook's stopped vibrating. His hand went to his back pocket and he extended the phone to Jungkook, who answered without questioning.

— Hello—Jungkook could hear the familiar voices in the background of the call.

— ¡Kookie! I thought I called Yoongi—he bited his lip in an attempt to quiet down the complain about the nickname that was used.

— What's up Jin hyung? Yoongi is sleeping now, he couldn't answer.

— Please wake that lazy brat up and come to the den, we have things to talk about and s'mores.

— Are we really gonna call it "the den" hyung? is just an abandoned parking

— I'm the leader, I decide how are we calling the place—in the background Jungkook could hear how Namjoon yelled to Jin about him not being the leader of anything. Somehow, even when Jin was the oldest in the group, everybody ended up bullying him— Just come.

Jin ended the call.

He bit his lower lip one more time, so annoyed at being interrupted by his friends and uncomfortable to have the task of awakening the blue haired man now, how could he do it? Yoongi was not known to enjoy interrupting his sleep no matter how serious the situation was, and really the situation was not serious at all this time.

Even when the apartment they shared with Taehyung caught fire, his first words to Jungkook, once they were out of danger, were: "Why did you wake me up? Couldn't you just carry me and take me out of the apartment in your arms while I was still asleep? " Now it was funny, but at the moment it had set Kookie's blood on fire.

— Yoongi...—he placed his fingers gently on the arm that rested on his torso, deciding not to take longer with the issue—Baby, wake up...—he shook the arm again gently earning a grunt of disapproval.

— No—Jungkook snorted wanting to hit Jin for putting him in this situation, was it really necessary to be together all the time?

— Please, hyung says he needs to tell us something important.

— Jin never talks about anything important—his eyes opened softly adapting to the light, he rebounded clumsily, using his arm to maintain balance, with his free hand squeezed his eyes, frowning and tight lips, he was so beautiful that Jungkook could not resist. He rested his weight on his elbows, lifting himself up enough to kiss him on the lips, Yoongi grumbled against his mouth, moaning like a baby.

— I'm sorry, but he was not going to leave us in peace in any way—Jungkook smiled at his annoyed but huffed look because he was just awakened.

— You drive, I'll sleep more on the road—he finally said standing up and walking to his new car, a black Audi A7 2015 to specify, that he had bought a few months ago after a band that was at the peak of his success bought one of his compositions and he was payed a good amount of money for it.

Yoongi was an excellent composer, at least that's what his friends and the music publishing house he worked for repeated, he just tried not to let everything go to his head, after all he wrote music not only for money, although this was a great reason, but also because it was his passion, the only thing that didn't gave him a great desire to complain.

Once inside the car, Yoongi did not keep his word of returning to his dream, choosing instead to hum and beat his knee with energy to the rhythm of the songs on the radio.

— I did not mention anything to you because it's not finished yet, but I have a little draft for a new song, I'll need help with the track—Jungkook mentioned while still looking at the road.

— We can see it when we're done fooling around with the others—Kookie looked quickly at Yoongi, seeing a small smile adorn his face.

Sometimes, very repeatedly, Jungkook wrote songs too, usually they were only small parts like chorus or some verse and he gave them to Yoongi to give them shape, if any of these were commercialized Yoongi always gave Jungkook a percentage of the profits, although the youngest one used to refuse and ask him to take him out to dinner at an "expensive" place instead of handing him the money directly.

For Kookie making music with his boyfriend felt amazing, the way they connected, as Yoongi always managed to capture exactly what Jungkook wanted to express, it seemed really fascinating, he did not know how to explain it but he imagined that it was very similar to touching the clouds.

They arrived at "the den" when it was getting dark, from outside you could hear the laughter and the screams of the boys, Yoongi interlaced their fingers before entering the abandoned parking lot, which was comfortably —well, not really— arranged with a series of old and dilapidated sofas, a bonfire in the middle and many graffiti that Taehyung and Namjoon insisted on calling "art".

Jin was very focused on putting the marshmallows in chopsticks for everyone, Namjoon and Jimin were listening to something from the latter's cellphone while Taehyung and Hoseok kept the bonfire alive.

With the night the cold began to increase and Jungkook felt the urge to approach the warm fire, but did not want to let go of Yoongi until both were facing Tae who greeted them with his characteristic enthusiasm.

— If you do not have a good reason for calling us here, I'll hit you—were Yoongi's words to Jin when he came to distribute the chopsticks with the marshmallow.

— When will you remember to formally speak to me?

— Never—Yoongi smiled fleetingly, however, he soon apologized with a small ovation.

— Jimin! Namjoon!—They both approached after Hoseok's call.

—Why did you call us here?—Jungkook insisted, of course it bothered him a little that he had interrupted the solo moment he shared with Yoongi, with the week of tests in college and how busy Yoongi had been composing they had not really had A lot of time to be together in the last days.

— I was thinking that maybe we should have a road trip together, the seven of us, what do you think?—everyone watched Jin in silence for a few seconds, this was so typical of him, always wanting the group to "unite" more, how much more closer could they get after 4 years of friendship? However, the idea sounded interesting for everyone, it would be nice to have a break from the monotonous life they were leading and even though most of them wanted to pretend otherwise, the seven loved spending time together—Come on! It will be fun.

—Sounds great!—Tae was the first to speak with his rectangular smile plastered on his face, then Jimin followed with equal enthusiasm.

—Perfect—concluded Jin without waiting for the answer of the others—Friday of the next week then, you will have time to request permission in your works and to advance anything of the university—he shook Jungkook and Taehyung's hair as if they were puppies, Jungkook hated being the youngest and being treated like a baby all the time, however Taehyung enjoyed the gesture—I'm in charge of planning where we'll stay and all that—he smiled with clear emotion finally delivering the marshmallows to each one while the silence of the night was interrupted by the voices of the seven boys, talking about completely trivial and random topics.

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pongpalace · 6 years

Note

oooh how about “Is it too early to have a breakdown this week?”“It’s Monday.”“That doesn’t answer my question.” Maybe erm...Zimbits orrrrr NurseyRans, or Camilla/George? Any ship you want, really

ooooh, im always in a Camilla/George mood also on ao3)

George isn’t ashamed to admit it, but she’s cried over her job before.

The first time was when she got the Assistant GM position and became one of the first woman with such a high level management position in the NHL. Those were happy tears and came after years of fighting tooth and nail to get recognized for her hard work. Those tears happened in a bathroom stall of the rink she’d been at when she got the news, and also got her kleenex handed under the stall when the woman next to her heard and worried. Those tears make her smile now when she looks back on them, not least because she still has coffee with Tai when they’re in the same city.

She’s cried over trades, over wins, over loses, over shitty interns and shittier men who think they can do her job better (they can’t). She’s cried in the bathroom nearest her office, the ones down by the ice and locker rooms, and she’s cried in the car on her way home. George is an emotional person and managing a hockey team takes a lot out of her and her way of dealing with the emotions is crying.

Today’s tears are angry; borne from frustration with the job, on top of a day where everything that could’ve gone wrong has; a textbook case of the Mondays.

First, George came into work without coffee because she got distracted last night before she set the coffee maker and then Camilla distracted her again this morning, so George had to rush through her morning routine which left no time to wait for the coffee to percolate. Her regular Starbucks’ parking lot was under construction so she drove around it twice looking for the entrance to the before giving up and giving into the arena coffee that’s never very good, no matter who makes it.

She got to her office to find that something happened to her computer over the weekend, causing most of the files saved to her hard drive to corrupt. This wouldn’t normally have been such a big deal—she backs everything up onto an external hard drive daily—except last Friday’s hadn’t saved properly, so she lost all the progress she made on the quarterly players reports that are needed for tomorrow’s front office meeting. She had to work through her lunch to redo everything she did on Friday, forgoing the player development analysis that she was actually looking forward to working on. It was such a stupid, ridiculous, busy morning that she had to eat a cold, premade sandwich from the canteen during a business call with the league’s other assistant GM’s about new concussion protocols, a call that was basically a giant waste of time that could’ve been spent on one of the other many things on her to-do list because the league still doesn’t take concussions seriously enough.

The biggest catalyst for the tears happened after the business call though, at an afternoon scouting meeting. It took twice as long as it should’ve because one of the newer scouts hadn’t listened when George said she was looking for a two-way, fast blueliner to balance out Tater’s hard shot and his tendency to pinch up as a fourth forward, and instead brought in yet another big D-man who’d need to spend at least a season in the AHL developing his game before he’d be quick enough for the show, but “at least he used his body and had a good shot.” The scout argued with George about the poor kid’s chances in the NHL in front of the entire scouting team, management, and half of the coaching staff until other George, the Falcs’s GM, snapped at him and the meeting finished as quickly as possible. George has spent most of her NHL career sweating and bleeding to make the men in this stupid league take her seriously, and she’s been mostly successfully what with ten years as an Assistant GM under her belt. It’d been a while since someone had questioned her scouting decisions though, so the meeting knocked her back on her heels, and off balance in a way she hasn’t been in a long time.

George feels justified in kicking off her shoes the moment the door to her office closes behind her and she’s alone. They might scuff the wall a little bit, but it’s nothing that a purposefully placed plant can’t hide. George locks the door and leans back against it just as the tears spill over; a culmination of an absolutely shitty day, coming out in quiet tears and an unfortunate runny nose.

The Falconers have been a great organization to work with, and other George and the owners have made it clear that they have George’s back since she started with the organization, even before the team started playing into the postseason more often than not. It’s when new people are hired on into roles that technically make George their boss that she’s reminded what a boy’s club the NHL can be. It’s exhausting when her every move is questioned by people who don’t know half as much as they think they do, especially because George has the degree and the experience that makes her really good at her job, but no one seems to count her playing on while managing a Div-I hockey team through college, and winning an Olympic gold because it’s women’s hockey.

There’s kleenex on George’s desk, the extra soft ones for moments like this, so when she’s done crying, she crosses the room to pull one from the box. She dabs it under her eyes, making a face when it ends up black from the mascara that was advertised as waterproof. She grabs a clean kleenex to scrub all over her face, hoping to rub away the salty tear tracks that have dried on her cheeks.

The clock on the wall only reads 2 o’clock, and George still isn’t done with the player reports so she settles into her chair to finish them after unlocking the door in case someone needs her. She hopes the glare that she left the scouting meeting wearing will discourage that though.

George is left alone until 4, but then is called into an emergency managers meeting when news breaks that one of the players they’d been ready to trade draft picks for broke his ankle. It’s a long debate about whether or not it’s worth going through with the trade and rehabbing him in Providence or trying to find someone else to play on Jack’s wing without putting them over the salary cap so it’s after 8 o’clock by the time George leaves the office and then there’s traffic from an earlier pile up accident on the way home so George doesn’t actually get home until 9 o’clock.

The house smells like pizza and the candles that Camilla insist smell like the beach, but actually smell like clean laundry. It’s a weird mix, but comforting and a reminder that George has more outside of taking care of the hockey team, though she still feels like she could sleep for days and still not be ready to face to face the rest of the week.

She finds Camilla in the master bathroom, her laptop balanced precariously on the toilet seat and blasting some spotify playlist while she showers. George lowers the volume, her way of telling Camilla that she’s home, and shucks her dress pants and underwear in one go, kicking them off while she fights with the buttons on her blouse. She’s already got the shower door open when she unhooks her bra and throws it over her shoulder. She doesn’t see where it lands.

“You’re home late,” Camilla says, turning to rinse out her hair. George nods and waits until she’s finished to trade spots with her, getting her own hair wet, but mostly just trying to see if the hot water relieves some of the tension of the day. She rolls out her neck and tries to get the water on the knot that seems to have been steadily growing since this morning. Camilla finishes running the conditioner through her own hair before she steps into George’s space for a kiss, hooking her arms around George’s neck and pressing in exactly where the knot is.

“Is it too early to have a breakdown this week?” George asks when they break apart. Camilla raises an eyebrow, reaching to squirt shampoo into her hands. George lets her turn her so she can massage the shampoo into George’s hair, scritching along her hairline. Her eyes fall shut.

“It’s Monday,” Camilla replies. She taps George’s side so George leans back and rinses out her hair. Camilla gets more conditioner into her hands and runs that through George’s hair.

“That doesn’t answer my question,” George says.

“Aw babe.” Camilla’s eyes are big and concerned. “It’s a little early to have a breakdown, but I’ll support whatever you want to do.”

She drags George in for a hug and George tucks her nose into her neck, willing herself not to cry again. She won’t have to explain her day Camilla; she’s been in sports for as much as her life as George has so she gets it, gets having to fight to have her voice heard over the shouts of men who think their voices are the only ones worth listening to. She’s been so loud as a sports journalist, covering women’s sports and bringing attention to how amazing these women athletes are, with little to no reference to their male counterparts because women’s sports can, and should, stand alone. George loves her so much.

They stand pressed together, swaying slightly to the beat of whatever song is playing, until the water starts to go cold, and Camilla reaches around George to adjust the knobs.

“There’s leftover pizza,” Camilla says. She slides past George so she can rinse out the conditioner in her hair before George does the same. “You wanna eat that before your scheduled breakdown, G?”

“Don’t make fun, we were having a moment.”

“Can we finish the moment in bed? My fingers are starting to get pruney.”

George huffs out a laugh; shutting off the water and letting Camilla bully her out of the shower and into a warm towel. She pulls on the team USA sweatpants she’s been using as pjs recently and a soft t-shirt that mysterious made its way from Camilla’s side of the closet into hers. Camilla’s fingers are gentle as they comb through her hair, and George tries to be just as gentle while she braids Camilla’s hair.

They climb into bed, under separate blankets because they both learned a long time ago that they’re no good at sharing when they sleep, but they find their way to the center of the bed to cuddle.

“D’you want pizza though? You must be hungry,” Camilla says, tucking herself under George’s arm. Her shampoo smells like home and her the weight of her body on George is comforting in a way that little else is.

“I just want you,” George replies, though she really hasn’t eaten more than a couple power bars and one of Jack’s gross protein shakes since her late lunch. She’s comfortable right now and unwilling to move if it means having to stop touching Camilla.

Camilla twists and stretches so she’s right in George’s face, propping herself up on her elbows. “You have me, you giant cheeseball.” She’s slow to lean down for a kiss so George surges up and mashes their lips together, swallowing down the amused sound that Camilla makes. The kiss manages to be light and teasing until Camilla nips at George’s bottom lip so she licks past the seam of Camilla’s lips, hands coming up to frame Camilla’s face. George runs her thumb a long Camilla’s jaw and wants to flip them to deepen the kiss even further but then her stomach growls and Camilla pulls back with a wry grin.

“Okay, pizza would be nice then too,” George admits. Camilla presses another kiss to her lips and then to her cheek as she kicks off her covers.

“I love you and I’m sorry you had a shitty day,” Camilla says seriously once she’s standing. George’s heart swells with a fondness that’ll never get old.

“Love you too,” she says, and follows Camilla back down to the kitchen.

They eat the leftover pizza at the sink, trading tomato-y kisses between bites, and this time George sets the coffee machine before Camilla distracts her more so tomorrow is probably going to be better than today.

(It is.)

#omgcp #georgia martin #camilla collins #georgia x camilla #femslash #angryspace-ravenclaw #checkplease #this got outta control though i meant to do like 500 words and then i got on a rant #also completely unbeta'd so here's to all the typos i'll find when i wake up #i either beat or tied my record for fast prompt filled #so that's good i guess

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wanna1things · 7 years

Text

Radio DJ!Kim Jaehwan

the idea came to me because for like a good 3 years of my life i wanted to be a radio dj and idk jaehwan fits this au well...

Genre;; fluff +radio dj au is that a thing idk

Warnings;; unless you hate jaehwan, his laugh, and music then none lol

Pairing;; Kim Jaehwan x reader

Requested;; no this is just another thing from my backlog lol

Summary;; Jaehwan is the radio dj for your university radio station, and he’s looking for someone to present with him… maybe something more?

Style;; bullet point

Word Count;; 1913

UH requests will be done by the end of the week!! just clearing the backlog of posts while i revise for my uni tests lol

jaehwan is pretty well known in your university for his job as a dj for the uni’s radio station

nobody knows what he’s studying, everyone assumes it’s music (they’re right), they just know he’s the guy with the weird laugh who hosts the midnight to 2am slot

aka when everyone is cramming

he plays pretty funky music at the start but by the end it’s chill tunes to help everyone wind down and actually get some sleep

you’re an avid listener

you stay up until 2am every day, not even to study just to listen to his show lol

you always make notes of the songs he plays because he seems to have almost the exact same music taste as you??

by the time it’s 2am your hand is aching from writing down all the songs he’s played lol

at 1am he always has a 5 minute gap where he covers a popular song on guitar and sings it too and sjhgfsjd it’s amazing you’re in love with his voice

it’s just…

you have no idea what he looks like

all of your friends know about your crush on the dj with the satanic laugh and they tease you 24/7

like lol how can you be in love with a guy you’ve never seen before

but theres some sort of;; connection that you feel with him lmao

anyway, as you walk into your class one day in the middle of the semester you notice a poster up on the pinboard

in handwritten bubble letters (you know the ones) it says

“kim jaehwan is recruiting!! send a playlist to my email [email protected] and i’ll rate you and decide on who will be my new co-host!! entries close at the end of the week!”

your heartbeat speeds up

now you have an opportunity to possibly meet the guy you’ve been crushing on since that one time you pulled an all nighter at the beginning of uni lol

you take note of his pretty stupid email address and take your seat at the back of the class

instead of listening you spend the whole time brainstorming your playlist sdhfhds

as soon as the lecturer dismisses you, you leg it out of the room and to your flat

but in your rush you accidentally run into someone

and by run i mean like you slam into this really cute guy

and you spill his drink lol

they seemed uh… pretty mad but honestly you were in such a rush to get back and sort out the playlist you just opened your bag and gave him a $5 bill to cover the costs lmao

as you walk away you swear you hear a familiar satanic laugh coming from the guy you just ran into but

you chalk it up to you just hearing things

you stay up until midnight sorting out the playlist and brainstorming

after trying to come up with themed playlists and stuff but losing motivation after a while

you decide to roughly follow the structure he uses in his show, funky and louder at the start and gradually getting softer

you put all of your favourite songs in there, and make sure to sprinkle a couple of ones that jaehwan plays regularly in there

and once you’re pleased with the result you send it to the email,, at exactly 11:59

before you know it jaehwans show is starting

“Hello fellow students!! It’s everyone’s favourite midnight dj Kim Jaehwan!! Thank you for all your submissions so far, i’ll be reviewing them tomorrow! For now let's get on with the show!’

you realise straight away the first song hes playing is the one you put first on your playlist

and you’re a bit creeped out but you just think its a coincidence i mean you two have the same music taste

but by the time the 5th song is playing eXACTLY the same as your playlist you realise

he’s literally just playing your playlist

you open up your email again and begin drafting a new email asking for an explanation like really why is he using your playlist??

within seconds you get a reply

“hello;; y/n;; yeah sorry about that you’re the only submission so far… i took a look at the first 3 songs and i decided i trust your choices enough to use your playlist for this show… hope you don’t mind??”

OF COURSE YOU DON’T MIND

you type a speedy reply because uh oh don’t want jaehwan thinking you’re mad

“hey jaehwan! i don’t mind at all!! does this mean i got the job lol??”

again in the space of 3 seconds you get a reply but this time it’s just two words

“no comment”

the next day you head into uni and you realise all of the posters jaehwan put up for recruiting have been taken down

honestly you’re a bit shook like does he not need a partner any more??

that is until halfway through your day you’re sitting in the library studying when you receive an email from the one and only worlds best dj kim jaehwan

“hey new partner! you’ve officially been recruited! meet me in the cafe in 20 minutes;; here’s my phone number _______!”

the first thing that comes to your mind is what do you save jaehwans number as dsjfgdfjh

you decide on ‘worlds no.1 dj’ and then pack up your work and make your way to the cafe

when you get there you see a guy sitting at a table on his own, looking at his phone suspiciously and sipping on his drink

when you look a bit closer you realise uh oh its the guy you bumped into yesterday don’t get noTICED

but after about 5 minutes of trying to hide from the guy you ran into, you still can’t spot jaehwan so you decide to ring his number

you’re mortified when you see the guy you ran into pick up his phone sjfhjs uh oh

you stay on the line and gradually make your way over to the table he’s at and sit down in the chair opposite him

he is honestly just as shocked as you

“okay y/n i have so many questions first of all why did you give me $5?? why were you in such a hurry?? what is this”

you can’t even process his questions because ok you just fell in love a litttttle bit more

i mean like this guy i mean jaehwan has the cutest cheeks and a really cuTE SMILE and really soft looking fluffy hair oh my god;;;

you’re almost about to grab your phone and call all of your friends like HA i fell in love with someone i’ve never seen and he turned out to be good looking as hell anyway LMAO

when he realises you’re not going to answer his questions he stands up and orders you an iced coffee lol

as he puts it in front of you, you thank him graciously and suddenly blurt out

‘thank you so much honestly i’ve been a fan of yours for a long time and we have the exact same music taste and i really admire you and you’re an amazing singer and musician an-’

‘woah okAY y/n i didn’t hire you just to hear compliments i mean i’m not complaining but you don’t need to thank me lol you have a gift with playlists that's whY i hired you’

he smiles at you really wide and you realise like you had nothing to be so nervous about he’s not got a grudge against you and hes also super nice?? at least he seems it

and so you’re welcomed to the radio family

at first everyone is so confused when your voice appears alongside jaehwan’s at 12am

but after a while everyone is very attached to your shows

you pick amazing songs together, you have gr8 banter and sometimes;; just sometimes you join in singing with jaehwan

after the show he always compliments you on how good you are at singing but tbh he’s so whipped he doesnt know

thats right

jaehwan was interested you from the moment you gave him instant compensation for running into him

and now, after spending all this time with you, he’s just like

so in love

like;; not only do you have mad talent but you also can deal with him and his annoying laugh like lets be honest most of his friends give up after an hour or two

even his best friend the business major minhyun can only handle him for so long lol

but you two are so in tune and theres some sort of connection between you two that words can’t explain;; one that you’ve been feeling for a LONG TIME

it doesn’t help that now there’s mad gossip going around

“that person that djs with jaehwan for the midnight slot?? yeah them i heard they’re dating jaehwan as well lol”

minhyun, who sometimes comes and sits to watch live action midnight slot, has also noticed that you both have pretty obvious feelings for each other

he’s noticed how when you look at jaehwan it’s like you’re looking at the whole damn universe

and how jaehwan can’t help but smile to himself whenever you smile

and he starts up a plan

a plan to convince jaehwan to confess

one night after the slot they walk you back to the dorm together

minhyun feeling like a bit of a third wheel lol

but as soon as you’re safely inside minhyun whispers to jaehwan

‘heyyyy jaehwan…. I know about your crush on y/n’

jaehwan turns briGHT RED

‘haha what do u mean i have no idea what you’re talking about buddy sorry’

‘bro;;; are you blind she likes you back’

nobody has ever seen jaehwan whip out his phone quicker

in a moment of madness he dials your number quicker than lightning and calls you down to the courtyard

minhyun makes his way back to his dorms on his own because he already knows this is too cheesy to watch i mean he could record it for blackmail but jaehwan would probably kill him if he did lol

as soon as you get downstairs with your dressing gown wrapped around you jaehwan kneels down on the floor like romeo-style

‘jaehwan if u have something to say please hurry up my hot chocolate is getting cold-’

‘y/n~~ i have loved you~~ since you gave me five dollars~~ im glad i walked into you~~ or technically you walked into me but still~’

is he really singing his confession? yes. this is jaehwan we are talking about

you’re not sure if it’s because of embarrassment or happiness but you can feel your cheeks heating up

‘jaehwan if this is you asking me to date you, i accept, but please come inside it’s cold lol’

of course he comes in and you share your hot chocolate

from that day on you were the cutest and most EXTRA couple ever

you announce your relationship in the show by playing the cheesiest love songs for an hour

at the end of the year makeshift awards you win the cutest couple award (and jaehwan wins weirdest laugh award, as expected)

you also win best duet award for your daily singing sessions at 1am

all in all you two are super cute and super extra

everyone is jealous but you’re still their fAVE COUPLE

listen i love jaehwan so much okay this made me so soft for jaehwan uGHH anyway i hope you enjoyed and that this wasn’t a disaster lol i’m going to SCHLEEP

#jaehwan #kim jaehwan #wanna one #wanna one imagines #wannaone #wannaone imagines #wannable #produce 101 imagines #Produce 101 #radio dj au #au #kjh #wanna one kim jaehwan #wanna one jaehwan #or should i say park jaehwan LMAOOOOOO

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heartowrite-o · 7 years

Text

hrghgh okay this is long as shit so i’ll be uploading it in parts as i finish (i actually have several parts like immediately done but whatever. i might post them immediately after this idk) SO UMM i want to like clarify some stuff first! because im a jerk and i didn’t do it in text lol

Its a soul mate au for Dragon Age! featuring my Inquisitors and my friend’s! So im a loser and really into soul mate aus so in this particular one, basically when people are kids they get words on their arm that are the first words their soul mate ever says to them, and the words disappear when you meet them. CHEESY but its one of my fav soul mate AUs i ever saw so im using that.

so. only one of the Inquisitors is actually Inquisitor in this, the rest soooort of take the place of companions kind of?? I actually did put a lot of thought into who it would be so...It wasn’t chosen at random or anything! Also, if any characterization of your Inquisitors is wrong TELL ME! I am more than happy to rewrite things! In fact I would love to do so! i have so much fun writing for our Inquisitors that tbh i would be perfectly happy to change things to make sure i get it right!

theres also a lot of time skips in this. sometimes they aren’t clear. This is a rough draft! I have to go in and change how much time passes in certain parts, and also change up the tense. I wrote a lot of it in present tense but sometimes i slip into past (i tried to make it like, when characters are thinking, its past, when its actions, its present, which is not at all proper BUT LMFAO i was experimenting and trying to get in some present tense practice so idk it was fun!)

anyway hi. btw when i say its long as shit, i mean it.

The Trevelyan sisters are still just little girls when their markings show up.

Huddled beside the fireplace, Lana and Ariadne roll up their sleeves, exposing their forearms to the glow of the flames. Their parents stand in the doorway, eyes soft and smiles gentle as they watch their daughters giggle and compare the newly printed words on their skin.

“Hm...At least its not 'Hello'.” Lana muses, running her small finger along the length of her arm. “I was really worried. Mother says Aunt Lucille's soulmate mark was just 'Nice to meet you', and it took her nearly four years to figure out Uncle was meant for her.” She holds her arm up just a little higher, speaking the words on her arm slowly. “'Is it? I hope they're right about you'...I wonder what I'm right about!”

Lana erupts into another fit of giggles, and Ariadne can't help but release a sigh of relief as she looks at her own arm. She's just glad she has one at all.

“Mine says...'Perhaps you can talk some sense into her then.'” Ariadne tilts her head slightly as she speaks. “Interesting.”

“'Interesting'? That's it?” Lana feigns outrage, pulling her sister's arm closer to her face to inspect the words with a grin. “Its so specific! Mine is too though, we're very lucky, I think.”

“Lucky indeed, but its time for bed, girls.” Their mother finally says from her spot in the doorway. Lana opens her mouth to protest, but their mother gives her The Look, and continues on. “You'll have all the time in the world to gossip about your marks.”

Reluctantly, the girls rise to their feet, little hands clasped together as they follow after their mother. They whisper about what they hope their soulmate is like as they make their way down the hall, heads ducked low and hands raised to their mouths to hush one another's laughter.

For the next year of their life, the marks are a frequent topic of conversation, as the girls wonder and daydream about where and how they'll meet their future partners. Ariadne pictures a life growing up with her sister, being the first to hear the news when her sister finally meets whoever's words are on her skin.

Her magic manifests just two years after the arrival of their marks, and two months after that she's made to leave home, and spend what she assumes will be the rest of her life in the Circle. Lana and her write to one another, with the topic of soulmates dying out after her third year away from home.

-------

Ashala and Adahlen are just two of the many Clan Lavellan children who discover their marks on the same day.

Ashala stares down at her arm, like sheer willpower alone would make the words change. 'Greetings. My name is--' but it just stops there. It could be worse, she knows that deep down, but that doesn't change the fact she can feel tears beginning to sting at the corners of her eyes. She wants to know the name. That would make it so much easier...Why did they cut themselves off? What if something terrible happens to them when she finally finds them?

Beside her, Adahlen seems completely oblivious to her distress, and is looking down at his own arm with a knitted brow. “Mine just says 'Dragon!'...” The young elf suddenly pales. “Oh no. Do you think my soulmate is a dragon?”

Adahlen's brother—still too young to receive a mark of his own, yet old enough to not want to be left out of the loop, rolls his eyes. “Dragons can't talk. Why would a dragon shout 'dragon' at you anyway?”

Adahlen glares at him, but he visibly relaxes.

“Maybe,” The younger sibling continues. “Its a warning. Maybe you get eaten by a dragon when you meet them.”

Just like that, Adahlen tenses again, but the sibling's strange back and forth was enough to make Ashala giggle, and lighten her spirits.

After the initial excitement of the markings die down, the Lavellan clan children go their separate ways, except for Ashala and Adahlen, who linger beside the halla pen.

“You didn't say what yours was.” Adahlen notes with a hint of curiosity. “I bet its something embarrassing, isn't it? Was it as bad as Taren's said? I've never seen his face that red before.”

“No, it's...” Ashala clasps her hand over her arm, teeth worrying into her bottom lip. “Nothing like that. Its just a little strange, that's all.” When Adahlen raises his eyebrows at her, she shows off her mark with a resigned sigh.

“...That's hilarious.”

Ashala scoffs at him.

“No, not in a bad way! I mean, thinking about it is funny, isn't it? You meet your soulmate and they can't even get their name out. Isn't it fun to think about what they're interrupted by? Could be anything.”

“But what if its something bad?” Ashala looks down at her arm again. “What if...I don't know. Something goes wrong? You're right, it could be anything.”

“Anything. Sooo...why focus on the bad stuff? Maybe they can't finish their sentence because they trip, simple as that. Or maybe you talk to them first, and they're so nervous about meeting their soulmate they...throw up on their shoes, or something.” Adahlen grins at her, and Ashala can't help but smile in return.

“Creators, I hope not.” She giggles. “But...I guess,” Ashala eyes Adahlen slyly, “That's better than them being eaten by a dragon.” At that, Adahlen gasps, and although the two of them try very hard, they can't contain their laughter.

The two children spend a few more minutes discussing their future soulmates, before the Keeper calls Ashala away for training.

Over the years, the two come up with many more theories behind the words on their arm.

-----

Lana's head is swimming.

The dull throbbing pain she had awoken to had faded, but her hands were nearly numb with cold, and the bright green mark on her palm would send occasional stings through the entire arm. She shudders, mind still reeling as it desperately attempts to catch up to the situation at hand. She hardly notices another person has joined her newly formed entourage.

Cassandra seems to know the blond man who approaches, but Lana hardly pays him any mind. She's too busy staring down at her hand, at the glow that slices through her palm. It still feels unreal, like she'll wake up at any moment and find herself at home, waking up just before her trip to the conclave, when things had been normal...Or at least, a single thread of normal, among the tapestry of absolute chaos Thedas had become.

Lana vaguely processes that Cassandra has singled Lana out. Closing the rifts was hers, 'the prisoner's', doing.

“Is it? I hope they're right about you.” The man--Cullen--says. “We've lost a lot of people getting you here.”

Lana forces a thin smile to her face. “Well, that makes two of us then, doesn't it?”

There is little time for chatter after that. Lana finds no respite until after the fight against the Pride Demon, when she wakes up in a strange little cottage. From there she's ushered to the chantry, where her world continues to be thrown upside down. The mark on her hand, the Inquisition, the rift...It's all too much.

Its not until nearly a week after the incident at the conclave that Lana realizes her mark is gone. She's rolled up her sleeves to run through some training exercises with the soldiers (one activity that gives her a semblance of normalcy), when she sees her forearm is blank, the words she had stared at nearly every day since she was 9 years old suddenly gone.

Her training partner knocks her to the ground, and Lana doesn't get up, mind racing as she tries to remember all the conversations she's had with the dozens and dozens of new people she's met in the past week.

Cullen, she finally realizes. Her first conversation with Cullen. She'd been so busy being the 'Herald', she hadn't noticed...Did he know yet? Had he realized?

Lana accepts the soldier's hand, and pulls herself to her feet. She immediately scans the training grounds for Cullen, only to see him already staring at her. Another soldier is talking to him, but she's too far away to hear.

She is, however, close enough to see Cullen's face redden as their eyes meet. Close enough to watch him fumble and drop the stack of papers he had been handed. Definitely close enough to watch him scramble to pick up the papers, turn around, and flee up the stairs towards the chantry, while the soldier left behind scratches his head in confusion.

He definitely knew.

-----

The conclave had been a disaster in the most literal sense, yet Ariadne had managed to walk away from it not only unscathed, but with a new friend.

She had arrived with her Circle, and left with the only other survivor she had seen, an elven girl by the name of Ashala, who had gone with a few members of her clan. The chaos at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been...unimaginable. The strange green gashes in the sky, that spit out an endless supply of demons...it felt like something the templars would have made up to scare mages into behaving. Stay in the Circle, or the sky itself will split apart because of you, naughty mages.

Ariadne was sure she had survived only by running—quite literally—into Ashala, who had been nearly as terrified and disoriented as her. The two mages had fought their way out of the temple together, and after not being able to find any of the parties they had arrived with, decided it would be safer to put off parting ways.

They put it off for days, then weeks, then a month, as the girls wandered the Hinterlands, and avoided the templars together. Ashala should have been safe from them, but the templars camping along the roads didn't seem to care if a mage was Dalish or not, as the two girls had discovered the hard way. They had escaped, however, and now tread a bit more carefully through the woods.

“I think we can reach Redcliffe by tomorrow.” Ashala smooths the map out along the ground in front of the fire Ariadne was attempting to tend to. “We're somewhere around here, so if we get up early, and don't make any stops, we could get there before sundown.”

“Thank the Maker.” Ariadne sighs, leaning back onto her heels now that the fire was steady. “We can get more supplies before we keep going north.”

Ashala nods, and for an hour the girls sit in a comfortable silence with one another. It isn't until the flickering of the fire casts light onto Ashala's arm that Ariadne breaks the silence.

“You've still got your mark...Is it weird that I was worried about meeting them at the conclave? I didn't talk to anyone while I was there.”

Ashala turns to look at her. “I don't think its weird. Nobody was expecting it to go as badly as it did but...I don't think many of us thought it'd end well, either.”

“I was so worried about it being a mage from another Circle. If things went badly, I never would have gotten to see them again...But my mark's still here. I suppose I've still got a chance to meet them.”

“I'd say you have a better chance now than you would have before, wouldn't you? You're not stuck in one Circle anymore. They could be anywhere out here.”

“It feels silly, doesn't it? What happened at the conclave, us just trying to make it back to the Free Marches...yet I keep thinking about my soulmate. I've got much more important things to be doing.”

Ashala laughs, and pulls a blanket out of her pack. She nestles down besides the fire, the flames flickering in the reflection of her eyes. “Its silly, but silly can be good. I'd rather feel silly than hopeless...We should sleep though. We need to be up early to get to Redcliffe tomorrow.”

Ariadne hums her agreement, and after a few more minutes of silent contemplation, she drifts to sleep.

------

Lana had only returned to Redcliffe to grab a few supplies needed for Skyhold repairs, but the sight of the lake and the cool air wafting off of it was a welcome change from the heights of Skyhold, beautiful as it may be. Weeks of overseeing rampart repairs and breaking up arguments over just how many pots the garden really needed, could certainly make even a fortress begin to feel cramped. It was nice to be at sea-level again.

She hadn't come alone, of course. Now that she was Inquisitor, it would just be too dangerous to wander about on her own, she was far too important. Not, however, important enough to avoid manual labor, or personally picking every single elfroot in the Hinterlands for the garden back at Skyhold.

Vivienne, Varric, and Sera had all accompanied her, a party that she had regretted nearly the moment they had left the gates. Sera and Vivienne could hardly be expected to be civil to one another for more than thirty seconds at a time, with today apparently being an especially bad day, as they couldn't even make it five.

Now the four of them stood on Redcliffe's docks, bags full of plants and minerals Lana couldn't be bothered to scour the hillsides for herself. Its uncharacteristically quiet for her group, but she figures that Vivienne and Sera have finally run out of insults for one another. It only took them fourteen hours.

Sera finally breaks the silence, not with insults towards Vivienne, but to stand beside Lana as she overlooks the lake, and offer her a sly grin.

“You avoided Cullen when we left.” She says.

“I didn't.” Lana replies.

“Did too. I saw it. You two looked right at each other, didn't say anything, then left. Cullen nearly fell down the stairs.”

“The soldiers caught him.”

“Yeah. So whats wrong? Why are the lovey-dovey soul mates not talking?”

Lana pinches the bridge of her nose. “We keep trying to talk about it but its just...Its weird. I hardly know him at all, but I know I'm supposed to be with him.”

“What, you don't like him?”

“No, that's not it. I like him a lot. When we do talk, hes very sweet. He just gets weird when I bring up the soul mate thing, then he always finds an excuse to leave. I'm the Inquisitor, you think I'd be the busy one, but Cullen can make anything into an emergency.”

“Ha.”

“Its not funny!”

“It is.”

“Alright, sometimes its a little funny. I just don't know why he's so nervous. We already know we're each other's soul mate, that cat left the bag awhile ago—the bag is in absolute shreds. I just want to talk to him about it without him getting up to leave, or spitting up on his shoes.”

“Lana?” Both Sera and Lana lift their gazes from the lake, turning with mirrored curious looks to see who had called out to the Inquisitor.

Lana stares at the two girls standing on the dock, one human, one elven, both with red hair. The human girl's hair was a much brighter shade of orange, framing her freckled face and her wide blue eyes that were beginning to water.

There was no way.

After the conclave, Lana had refused to believe her sister had been among the casualties. She had given Leliana a description of her sister and begged the spymaster to find her, because she had to be out there somewhere still. Lana wouldn't let herself think otherwise, no matter how many times Leliana returned to her empty handed. She couldn't believe her sister was dead, but over time, she had begun to lose hope of the possibility of ever seeing her again.

The red-haired woman in front of her—Ariadne, her sister, opens her mouth to speak again, but Lana rushes to her, pulling her in for the tightest hug she could manage. Ariadne wheezes at the sudden contact, but quickly squeezes Lana just as hard.

“What are you doing here?” Ariadne says, her voice wavering.

“Me? What are you doing here?” Lana huffs out a laugh. “I don't even care. I'm just so glad you're okay. I thought I'd never get to see you again. After all the Circles...I just didn't think I'd ever find you.” She finally pulls away, but she keeps her hands on her sister's shoulders, studying her at arms length. “Are you alright? Your clothes are so dirty! And whats that scratch on your face from?” She glances at her sister's companion, who is looking a touch uncomfortable to suddenly be scrutinized by both Lana, and Lana's friends who are all still lingering on the dock, who watch with expressions in different stages of 'befuddled'. “Who is this?”

“This is Ashala. We ran into each other at the conclave. I don't think I would have survived without her help.”

“Oh. Well then, thank you, Ashala.” Lana says sincerely. Ashala squeaks out something unintelligible in response, nods, then quickly averts her gaze again. Lana doesn't push her for more—Ariadne was shy around strangers too. She knew when to back off.

“Lana, what are you doing in Redcliffe though? I thought for sure you'd be back home. I was going to make my way there, we could have just barely missed each other.”

Lana blinks, now hit with the realization that Ariadne has no idea about this messy Inquisitor business. “Its...a very long story, Ariadne. I've got a camp set up, how about I tell you on the way there? Your friend should come too...”

-----

When Ashala had decided she and Ariadne should stick together, she wasn't sure exactly how things would end up. She had assumed they would travel together until they reached the Free Marches, then go their separate ways in search of their families. Of all the possible outcomes to their fateful meeting, she certainly hadn't pictured winding up at an old fortress, with Ariadne's sister leading a literal army, to be one of them. It wasn't really even on the list.

She was grateful nonetheless, even if she felt terribly out of place in Skyhold. After they camped outside Redcliffe and heard Lana's tale, they had made for the mountains immediately. The air was much thinner than she was used to, but she'd learn to deal with it.

Ashala was overjoyed for Ariadne, she really was, but she did miss her company. Ariadne had spent the last few days trailing after Lana, while Ashala mostly stood around feeling and looking rather awkward. She'd eventually made herself cozy in the library, where she met a few member's of Lana's Inquisition—Dorian, in particular, who was quite nice, and despite how nervous and out of sorts she was feeling, he could still get a chuckle out of her now and then.

The rest of Lana's friends had been out running errands for her, so aside from the advisers and the trio she had met back in Redcliffe, Ashala and Ariadne were both still waiting to be introduced to the rest of the essential members of the Inquisition.

Ashala was currently passing her time in the library, nose buried in a book. She glances up over the top of it just as Lana pokes her head into the library, beckoning Ashala over once she catches sight of her curled up in a plush chair.

“There you are! Should have figured,” Lana grins at her, and Ashala offers a much softer smile in return. “The rest of the gang is back. I sent them to look for stuff in the Fallow Mire, so they're all just a tiny bit crabby I think, but come on, I'll introduce you.”

“What about Ariadne?”

“Oh. I accidentally let slip that I've got the arcanist working on something, and she left to go check it out. I'll grab her in a minute, but come on.”

She was a little reluctant to leave her chair and book behind, but Ashala slowly unfurls herself from her seat, and sets the book gently onto the table beside her. Lana gives her another smile, and although her enthusiasm couldn't be called 'infectious', it does help ease Ashala's nerves, just a little.

They don't have to go very far before the first bit of introductions were to be made. The two girls merely go a single floor down, to the rotunda that had been empty during Ashala's initial stay here. Now it containes a single occupant, who was standing on a wooden scaffold, paint brush in hand, staring intently at the wall.

“Welcome back.” Lana says. The elven man on the scaffold glances down at them at first, but then turns to regard them directly when he sees Lana has someone with her.

His hello takes the form of a simple “Inquisitor.”, and a nod.

“We've got some new guests. My sister and her friend.” She pats Ashala on the back. “This one is the friend. Her name is Ashala.”

“Greetings. My name is--”

He doesn't get the chance to finish, as an interruption in the form of an absolute cacophony of bird shrieks erupts from above them. All three crane their gaze up towards the spymaster's third floor, where crows flit about, and dive down towards them.

Sera runs out from the stairway soon after. “Didn't do it!” She claims as she sprints past them, Leliana hot on her heels.

Its chaos after that, agents running this way and that, trying to corral the birds back into cages. The painter from before has come down off the scaffold, and is busy trying to pry a bit of parchment from a bird's beak.

Ashala is ushered away from the scene of the crime, and is given introductions to the rest of Lana's team, but she doesn't process any of it. Her mind is still back on the man with the paintbrush, of his words to her, his unfinished introduction. She still doesn't know his name, but she knows who he is now. Ashala knows that when she next rolls up her sleeves to look at her arm, the words she had spent her whole life pondering over will no longer be there.

Once she had met everyone, Lana says her goodbye, then leaves Ashala alone with her thoughts in the library. Her face is still flushed with embarrassment, and excitement, and although she already knows what will be there—or won't be there, Ashala pulls up her sleeve to look down at her arm anyway. She can feel her heartbeat in her throat when nothing but bare skin is underneath the fabric.

-----

“Tomorrow I want you to meet everyone then.” Lana says, chin resting in her palm, her elbow against the arm of the chair she's pulled up next to the fireplace.

Ariadne is seated on the other chair beside her, practically mirroring her sister. “Of course. Sorry, I just got kind of carried away. Your arcanist is amazing.”

“Amazing, hm?” Lana wiggles her eyebrows.

“Not like that!” Ariande laughs. “I admire her, but not in that sort of way. Besides, my marks still here, and I exchanged plenty of words with her.”

Lana moves her gaze to the fireplace. “I met mine.”

“Your...? Oh!” Ariadne leans in close. “You did?! When? Who? Just recently? Awhile ago?”

“Temple of Sacred Ashes. Cullen. Just after the conclave.”

Ariadne stares at her. Lana has no clue what else she should say. Cullen was an ex-templar after all, maybe Ariadne wouldn't approve. Lana couldn't make them get along, she wouldn't even try, because that wouldn't be fair to her sister, but--

“Cullen? The blond sweaty one?”

“Sweaty?!”

“Every time we went to talk to him, he'd sweat like Andraste herself had descended from the sky and told him she didn't like his attitude. I honestly thought perhaps he's been grievously ill all this time, Lana. It makes much more sense now.”

“Oh. Well. Yes. The blond sweaty one.”

“So...how is it?”

“Hows what?”

“I don't know. Whatever happens when you meet your soul mate, I suppose.”

“We...haven't talked about it much. He gets a little weird when I bring it up.”

“Hence the sweat.”

“Yes. I don't know, Ariadne, maybe he doesn't like me? Maybe that's why he's so uncomfortable with all of this. I didn't even think it was possible to not like your soul mate, but what if I'm just the exception to that? What if he's so upset that I'm his soul mate that he can't deal with--”

“Lana I think its probably the opposite? He's likely just anxious.” Ariadne leans back into her chair again, crossing one leg over the other. “Like... he meets this girl, his soul mate, and she's also the Herald of Andraste? Maybe...Don't bring it up anymore. At least for awhile?”

“Are you sure that's a good idea?”

“No.” Ariadne shrugs. “But it makes sense, don't you think? If you're soul mates, you'll always be soul mates, even if you don't talk about it. You're meant to be together, so maybe get to know each other first. Then everything will fall into place.”

“Aw.” Lana reaches over and ruffles Ariadne's hair, her sister letting out an indignant squawk as she did so. “You know just what to say to make me feel better. You always do.”

------

Ariadne had spent the morning in the library with Ashala, who seemed more quiet than usual. She had been perfectly polite of course, greeting Ariadne with a smile, and a pat against the empty chair beside her to welcome Ariadne's company, but hadn't said anything further.

Ariadne was curious, but wouldn't pry into Ashala's affairs unless she was invited to. If something had happened, Ashala would tell her in time.

They read in silence most of the morning, until Ariadne began to grow restless, thinking that Lana would have come to get her to introduce her to the rest of the team by now. Ashala had already gotten the grand tour—which, now that she thought about it, might be the reason her friend was so quiet. Perhaps the rest of Lana's friends were...not great?

She excuses herself, offering a goodbye to Ashala before returning her book to the shelf, and descends the stairs to hunt down her sister. Her days in Skyhold had yet to be enough to really give her any sense of direction in the place, and Ariadne ends up wandering through the halls, finding the kitchen, the garden, the stairs up to Lana's room, and even winds up going through Cullen's office (where the two of them awkwardly nod at one another before Cullen flees from his own room), until finally Ariadne finds herself in the courtyard's training area.

Lana was there, luckily, talking to a tall woman with dark hair cut short to her head. Perhaps 'talking' wasn't the proper word for it, since both of their faces were contorted into scowls—with the woman Ariadne didn't recognize having a much more impressive one.

“Inquisitor, its not that easy.”

“I didn't say it would be easy.” Lana retorts. “That doesn't change the fact I think it needs to be done. Or do you still not believe what I saw?”

“I read the report, Inquisitor, I believe you. That does not mean we should--”

“Cassandra, I've talked to the blacksmith and Dagna, they both agree that its the strongest--”

“I'm aware of the strength of dragon scales, but the dangers outweigh any potential--”

“--So if we can just get even a little bit of dragon scale or bone, we could craft weapons to give us the advantage! I think its worth it, Cassandra. You and I have fought demons countless times, we both know how strong some of them can be. I saw that future Corypheus created back in Redcliffe, I want any edge we can get.”

The woman Lana was arguing with—Cassandra, apparently--throws her arms up in the air with a frustrated sigh. “So we risk our life, your life, for this? Slaying a dragon isn't--”

“Haven't you already done it?”

“Which is exactly why you should listen to me!”

Lana was ready with an argument, Ariadne could see it on her face., but her sister's mouth snaps shut at the sight of Ariadne lingering just a few feet away. There is a moment of tense silence, where Lana and Cassandra quietly fume and glare at each other, but eventually Lana waves Ariadne over.

“Cassandra, this is my sister, Ariadne. Ariadne, this is Cassandra.” Lana says through clenched teeth.

Cassandra looks Ariadne up and down, before sighing. “Perhaps you can talk some sense into her then.”

Ariadne's spine goes rigid. Lana doesn't seem to notice, and barrels ahead to resume her argument. “Really? Cassandra, you can stay here then. I'm going after a dragon, we need the materials, but I don't need your help to do it.” Lana pats Ariadne on the back. “Ari, come find me in the tavern. I'll introduce you to Bull.”

Lana leaves after that, and with the way she had worded things, Ariadne assumes she does not intend for her to follow right away, and needs time to cool off.

Which leaves Ariadne standing alone in the courtyard with the woman her sister had just been arguing with. A woman who was apparently her soul mate. Ariadne didn't spend days in the Circle staring wistfully at the words on her arm just to forget them now.

“I apologize. This was not very becoming of me. Your sister...She's a good leader. I do not want you to assume I disrespect her decisions, I just...”

“Question them?” Ariadne finishes.

Cassandra nods, then her eyes suddenly light with an understanding that Ariande was sure had been flickering on her own face just moments before. “Oh! You--”

“Yes. Um...”

Cassandra seems to have been just as aware of her own markings as Ariadne had been. She steps a little closer, and for just a split second Ariadne is sure she's going to go for a hug, but Cassandra sticks out her hand instead.

Ariadne takes it lightly, and shakes. She giggles a little, feeling like they're sealing a deal, agreeing to some sort of contract instead of meeting their soul mates.

“I'm Cassandra Pentaghast. I should have introduced myself properly earlier, rather than wait for the Inquisitor to do so.”

“Its fine! Please don't worry about it. Um...Well, Lana already said so but, ah, I'm Ariadne. Its very nice to meet you, Cassandra.”

They fall silent, but their hands remain in one another's grasp. Ariadne isn't sure how its possible, but this meeting is managing to be both more awkward than she had imagined, but far better than she had predicted. She's uncomfortable, but in her usual sort of way that she is around strangers. Yet there is this underlying feeling in the pit of her stomach, a spark of understanding that yes, this is her soul mate, she doesn't even know her, but Ariadne already loves her. Or she will. She knows she will.

“Lana is waiting for you so...” Cassandra is looking down at their hands.

“Oh. Right.” Ariadne still doesn't let go. Some spell might be broken once she does.

“We can talk about this later.” Cassandra says it, but Ariadne can detect a hint of hopefulness in her voice. She's asking for permission, this isn't a statement.

“Yes. Of course.” Ariadne replies, and both of them relax, finally letting their hands fall back to their sides. Cassandra nods at her as she turns to leave, and although Ariadne is still excited to meet the rest of Lana's friends, she's pretty sure none of them will top this one.

-----

Ashala ends up going along with Lana to find a dragon. After hearing the rundown of the argument from Ariadne, Ashala and her brainstorm a way to get supplies the safest way possible. There was no way for it to be entirely danger-free, but the two of them had come up with a plan to possibly get at least a small amount of scales without confronting a dragon at all.

A large portion of the Hinterlands was dragon territory, one that was predominantly active during the day. If they camped out on the outskirts the night before, they could possibly make it to the nest early in the morning, when the dragon was out hunting. If they were lucky, perhaps the dragon would leave a few shed scales behind.

Ashala was not prepared, mentally, to fight a dragon, but she had jumped at the chance to go when Ariadne said she would be accompanying her sister on this ridiculous task—she kept the ridiculous bit to herself, but she really did think going out of their way to trek through dragon territory was a phenomenally bad idea, even with their plan in place.

So it was her, Ariadne, Lana, and Lana's friend Iron Bull who set out to the Hinterlands a few weeks after the plans had been made. Iron Bull was another of Lana's friends that Ashala already liked—He was a little crass, yes, but funny at times, and willing to keep conversations going even after Ashala and Ariadne ran out of practiced niceties to say. He and Lana led the group, chatting to each other once the two mages had become obviously exhausted by conversation.

Ashala's time with the Inquisition was now numbering at roughly two months. In that time she had gone on a few missions with Lana, and had spent some time with all of her friends by this point. A few, she got along better than others, but she didn't dislike any of them, not really.

She had yet to talk to Solas. At all. She wasn't sure what to say, and was worried too much time had passed. It had started out as her just wanting to think of something good to say to him, since it would be the words that define her as his soul mate, but all that time stressing had led her to putting it off for weeks, and now here she was, nearly two months after meeting him, and still had yet to say a single word. He'd probably be so upset with her, wouldn't he?

Ashala had plenty of opportunities, too. Lana had brought the both of them on missions together, yet Ashala still couldn't bring herself to say anything. Lana had stopped putting them on teams with one another altogether, likely under the impression that they didn't get along.

Her self loathing followed her out to the Hinterlands, and stayed with her even as they made camp. Their two tents housed Iron Bull in one, and the three girls shared the other, with Ariadne lying in the middle, and Lana and Ashala on the edges. It was cramped, but oddly cozy, and it was nice to chat with the two sisters before falling asleep. It helped take her mind off things at least for a little while.

In the morning they were up before the sun, and making their way to the dragon nest. Ashala was embarrassingly jittery, jumping at every little rustle of bushes, or snapped twig.

By the time the nest was in sight, the sun was up just enough to cast the valley in a pink glow.

“This would be pretty, if I wasn't expecting a dragon to swoop down and eat us.” Lana comments. Iron Bull snorts in response.

“We...aren't the first ones here?” Ariadne sounds astounded, and Ashala follows her line of sight up towards the nest itself. There is one lone figure up there, crouched down and examining something in the dirt. There's a bow strapped to their back, and for a moment, Ashala tenses, wondering if they were in for a fight if the stranger was feeling particularly territorial about whatever spoils the dragon left behind.

When they stand upright, and turn around to regard the group below, Ashala gasps, and the elf up on the nest does to.

“Adahlen, what could you possibly be doing up there?” Ashala asks incredulously.

“Looking for you.” He says, then glances behind him. “Well. Not looking for you here, but I was scouting the area when I noticed the dragon leave, so I went to check it out.”

“By yourself? What if the dragon came back?”

“I didn't think that far.”

“Wait, you said you were looking for me?”

Adahlen nods. “Well, yeah. Lots of us are. After the conclave we went to the ruins to find, well, you know. Remains. But we didn't see any sign of you, not your body, or your staff. The Keeper thought you might have survived, so she's been sending out search parties all over.”

Ashala's eyes begin to sting. She had been so caught up in the Inquisition, she had forgotten all about her original goal of getting home. She hadn't even remembered to send a letter, or any kind of sign she was okay. But they'd been out here looking for her, even though its been months, because they still thought there was a chance for her to be okay...

Her stomach turns. She feels guilty. And happy. So happy, that they all cared enough to search for her even after all this time.

“I take it you two know each other?” Lana says, regarding Adahlen with uncertainty.

“Oh, yes. He's another member of Clan Lavellan, we grew up together.” Ashala answers quickly. From up at the nest, Adahlen waves. “Adahlen, this is Inquisitor Lana Trevelyan, um...Well, have you heard about--”

“Yes.” Adahlen says before she can finish. “We looked in all the major cities for you, and the Inquisitor is all anyone's talking about. So you're working for her?”

“Its kind of a long story, but yes.”

A horrendous shriek bellows from above them, bringing the conversation to a screeching halt. The sound of large, flapping wings fills the air around them long before the beast soars into view.

“Dragon!” Iron Bull calls up towards Adahlen, who immediately heeds the warning and scampers down off of the nest, just barely escaping before the dragon slams down where he had been just seconds before.

He runs over to them the moment he's on level ground, bow drawn in one quick movement and aimed up at the dragon, which has its eyes trained on the five of them. Iron Bull has his ax out as well, stance screaming for a fight. Ashala is horrified and a little impressed that the qunari is actually smiling.

“Nope, no, put it all down, we are leaving,” Lana is already backing up, with Ariadne mirroring her at a much faster pace. “I planned for sneaking in there, I didn't bring enough potions, I wasn't expecting—just--just go, lets go!”

Ashala sprints after the two girls who are already fleeing the scene. Just before she's out of earshot, she hears Adahlen laugh and say to Iron Bull: “Your friends aren't much fun, are they?” but the two of them are soon following close behind her.

---------

Lana is amazed they make it out of there in one piece, but they somehow manage. The only bruises they bring back to Skyhold are on their pride.

They cross through the gates of the fortress with nothing to show for their trip—Aside from an extra person. After a little bit of discussion, they decided it would be best if Adahlen returned with them to Skyhold, where they could send word back to Clan Lavellan about what happened. Lana very pointedly does not look in Cassandra's direction, not wanting to see any sort of smug satisfaction, or worse, genuine pity. Apparently not even weeks worth of planning was enough to get dragon scales without actually fighting one.

They're greeted in the courtyard by a few soldiers, and from there, the five of them go their separate ways. Ariadne and Ashala walk side by side up the stairs, seemingly no worse for ware, since they're chattering with a surprising amount of gusto.

Iron Bull puts a hand on Adahlen's shoulder. “We've got a lot to talk about.” He says, and Adahlen laughs as he agrees. They head towards the tavern together, leaving Lana alone with her thoughts, which is the last thing she really wants to be alone with right now.

She has little time to stew before she sees Cullen walking towards her, hand on the back of his neck, a nervous tick Lana had noticed weeks ago. He rarely initiates conversations with her, so her desire for a distraction, as well as her curiosity, keeps her rooted in her place as he approaches.

“Can we talk?” He asks, and Lana nods. He leads the two of them up to the ramparts, just to the side of his office, where they look out over the mountains surrounding Skyhold. He doesn't start to speak right away, which doesn't surprise her, but she is surprised at herself for not starting up a conversation in his place like she normally would.

“I'm sorry.” He eventually sighs.

Lana looks at him. “For what?”

“I've been...a little foolish. Which Leliana and Josephine have told me many times. I've been unfair to you, avoiding you, refusing to talk about—about this.”

“No, Cullen, its fine. I know I keep pushing you, and that's not fair of me. I shouldn't force you to talk about if if you're not comfortable.”

“I do want to talk about it. I just don't know how. I think I can, but then I see you and I'm at a loss for words. I keep thinking I'm not worthy of you, that there must have been some sort of mistake.”

A little voice in the back of her mind wants to comment on how cute it is that he's blushing so hard, but she knows her face is just as red right now. “I...was worried for a long time too. That you didn't like me, or something had gone wrong, but, Cullen, I do really like you. When we talk, I always feel so much better. Anytime we spoke about strategies, or our friends, it felt so natural. I just have this idea in my head of how soul mates--” She doesn't miss the way his face flushes to an even deeper pink color the moment that word leaves her lips, “--are supposed to act, but...I'm pushing it. I want to get to know you. I want it to be real. So can we talk more? Not about what we're meant to be, but just normal conversations first? We don't have to rush it. I'm sorry for making it seem like we should.”

Cullen smiles at her, a small but sincere one, and Lana's heart skips a beat at the sight of it. “I'm sorry too. For avoiding you. But, yes, I'd like that.”

“...Can I ask though, what made you change your mind?”

She's not sure how much redder Cullen can get. “When you left to fight the dragon. I was angry. At you, at anyone who didn't stop you. The thought of you never coming back left me so empty inside...I realized I felt the same way back at Haven, when you went back out there to give us all a fighting chance. I had just met you, but I still couldn't imagine a life without you.”

Lana stares at him for a long time, struggling to think of anything to say to that confession. It was unfair, to be told such a thing, when she didn't have anything nearly as mushy in return.

She responded by burying her face into her hands, and murmuring that that was a sneaky move on his part.

-------

Adahlen had been with the Inquisition a grand total of two days, and he already forgot where the room Lana had given him to use was. He hadn't actually set foot in it since thanking Lana for her kindness, and probably would not be able to find his way back to it if you threatened him at knife point.

“Oh shit,” He murmurs. Lana. Lana was supposed to introduce him to everyone else today. She had stopped by the the tavern yesterday afternoon to tell him the rest of her friends would be back, finally all in one place again.

The light shining in through the hole in the ceiling let him know it was late morning. Lana probably went looking for him in his room, only to find it empty.

Adahlen literally rolls out of bed, uncaring of the amount of noise he made, since he knows Iron Bull is already awake—it had only taken two days to learn his soul mate was a light sleeper. “You ass. You didn't wake me up.”

“Whoops.” Iron Bull does not sound very sincere.

It takes him a few minutes to get dressed, delayed by the amount of time it takes him to find his shoes. When he's finally clothed and finds them, he's out the door, still pulling his boots up as he stumbles out onto the ramparts—he's honestly amazed that Bull's room has three doors into it.

“Oh, Adahlen, there you are!” Ashala was apparently part of the search party, as she finds him first, and jogs over to him. “You weren't in your room, we've been looking for you all morning. Are you alright? We thought something might have happened--”

“I'm fine,” He reassures her. “I was with Iron Bull.”

“This early?”

“It was late when I got there.”

He can practically hear the gears in her head turning. When it finally clicks, Ashala gasps. “Adahlen! You didn't.”

At that, he doesn't bother to suppress a grin. “I did.”

“I mean, its fine of course, I just wasn't—I didn't expect you two to get along so well so quickly!”

“Oh,” Adahlen rolls up his sleeve, showing off his blank arm. “Soul mates. Found out right after we met. We decided 'fun bits now, important discussion later'...I don't have any idea where that room Lana gave me is anymore, by the way.”

“You're not exaggerating that conversation at all, are you? Well...Congratulations, really. I'm very happy for you. Lana's still looking for you though, to introduce you to the others. Are you still up for it?”

“Yeah, lead the way.” He lets Ashala take the lead. “So...how exactly did you get wrapped up in all of this, Ashala?”

“Creators, its a long, long story.”

“Then lets walk slower.” He smiles when Ashala slows her pace, falling in to step beside him. “I'm glad you're safe. We were all really worried about you.”

“I'm glad you're here, honestly. I've made friends, but its nice to see a familiar face. Anyway, I met Ariadne first...”

#heartowrito fanfic #heartowrito word count: 7825

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cyborgrhodey · 7 years

Text

So uh. Im not sure where Im going with this. The endgame is a Lila/Suzi/Rhodey team up to parallel Riri/Pepper/Tony, but. Yeah. Anyway heres 2k of meandering present tense thoughts.

Suzi Endo thrives on information. Getting access to hidden information, analysing and synthesizing it on the go, whether from command or in the field—that was her superpower, her occasional use of her superpowered suit of armor notwithstanding.

Accumulating information is accumulating power, so that’s what she does. She keeps backups of everything, details and reports meticulously filed away and stored for later use. She keeps the universe she once beheld in her hands in her secure servers.

The first time Rhodey died, she transferred his consciousness from his old patchwork body to his brand-new one. But she also kept a backup, because that’s what she does.

For years and years the file gathered dust, a complete snapshot of who Rhodey was at his lowest. She forgets that she has it for a long time; or, well, not forgets, but it certainly wasn’t in the forefront of her mind. She hasn’t even talked to the actual man in so long.

And then she turns on the television one day and sees War Machine go down, sees Captain Marvel scream, sees the empty tributes of the media, and she is violently reminded of the information (the power) she holds.

At first she figures that apparent king of being not actually dead Tony Stark, who had only months before suddenly turned back up after the entire world believing he was dead, would help Rhodey cheat death this time; after all, he already has before. She knew that Tony would probably do everything in his power to make this one not permanent, and if anybody could do it, it’s him. (At the back of her brain, though, she explores plans and possibilities, telling herself that they were just hypotheticals. She could upload her backup to an LMD. She could probably even grow a new organic body for him like Tony did; while she didn’t have Jim’s DNA sequence, it was probably on Stark servers somewhere. Getting it wouldn’t be easy, but she was Cybermancer. Or she can just leave the consciousness without a physical body: an AI, essentially, except not artificial at all.)

And then he gets decommissioned on national television, after a long few weeks of tension with Captain Marvel.

All of it reminds her of why exactly she left the business so long ago. Not that being a tech personality and private military consultant was any less stressful, but it tended to be less drama as long as she keeps out of superheroes’ ways. She still remembers meeting alternate her, taming an ancient robot, feeling the entire universe compressed in her brain. As much as she wanted to help people, all of that did not make for a sustainable life. So she cuts them all off, burying all those ties in her past. Her tech helps people too, she tells herself, if indirectly.

Tonys death jolts her, though. Suddenly all the plans she had told herself she was not making all become very real.

She thinks of calling Jake, or Parnell, or Beth, or maybe all of them. Get Team War Machine back together; have drinks, maybe. Remember their fallen friend. (She watched the national telecast of the funeral from her office; none of them attended.)

In the end, it’s Glenda Sandoval she calls. She figures she was the only one who’d understand that cold metallic taste of almost when it comes to Jim.

Suzi takes a week of leave, leaving projects and contracts hanging, and flies to Philadelphia.

They meet one weekend mid-morning in a big chain coffee shop in downtown Philadelphia, just across the hospital where Glenda worked.

They greet each other with a hug like old friends, and Suzi asks after Parnell, but they are quick to run out of small talk. Rhodey--Jim--was the only thing they ever really had in common. Maybe she should have called Beth instead.

“You weren’t at the funeral,” Suzi finally brings up.

“No. Neither were you.”

Suzi tilts her head to the side in agreement, and brings her coffee to her lips as she muses on what next to say. She should tell her about the backups; if she was being honest, that’s the reason she wanted to meet up, anyway.

“That wasn’t really him at all, though, was it?” Glenda says.

Suzi takes a too-big sip in surprise. The coffee leaves a stinging line down her throat that she’s sure she’ll feel later.

Glenda raises her eyebrows in concern, but continues. “His mother told me about it. Jim, the real one—he died back then. The one they buried was just his clone. They had the same memories, sure, but those weren’t the fists that saved me from my bullies, or the hands that helped me up, or even the cyborg we fought alongside in Santo Marco. No, I’ve done my mourning for Jim long ago.”

Suzi knows she’s staring, but she can’t help it. She cannot fathom the reasoning in Glenda’s head. The information that made up the Jim Glenda knew—the memories, the DNA, everything from the map of his neurons to the color of his eyes—was the exact same information that made up the Rhodey who died. Thinking of them as two different people was just plain wrong.

But something tells her that she wouldn’t be able to convince Glenda of that. And that she shouldn’t, not when Glenda has already put Jim in her past. So, instead, she asks, “Can you give me Roberta’s number?”

Glenda eyes her distrustfully, probably knowing that Suzi is completely capable of getting it through other means, but still she takes a pen out of her pocket and copies a number from her phone onto a paper napkin. “I haven’t talked to her in a long time, so I don’t know if this is still accurate, but here’s what I have.”

“Thank you.”

Glenda watches her carefully fold the napkin and put it in her pocket. She checks her phone for lack of anything better to do, and then clears her throat. “Well, I have to get back to the hospital now. My break is ending soon.” She starts gathering her things and stands up. “It was good seeing you again.”

The statement is not as empty as Suzi expected. “Yeah”, she says, “it was.” She stands up and gives Glenda a hug that was marginally less awkward than their hello hug, and she knows that this is probably the last time their paths will cross.

Suzi sits at the coffeeshop, staring at the holographic screens projected in front of her. Outside, the sun is already at its highest point in the sky, and its reflection from the hospital windows is enough that she has to set them on maximum brightness. She could feel herself being watched by the other coffeeshop patrons, but she ignores them.

She drafts and redrafts an email, each one sounding worse than the last. Dear Mrs. Rhodes, I am writing to inform you that--. No. Dear Mrs. Rhodes, I heard about the--. No.

Dear Mrs. Rhodes, I was a colleague of your son. I could also bring him back to life. Would you want me to?

Her fingers hang in the air, hovering over SEND. It was wrong. She can’t even imagine what she would do if she received something like that. She deletes the draft. This is something she had to do in person.

She called the number Glenda gave her, half hoping that it wouldn’t work, but it goes through. Mrs. Rhodes still remembered her from that time all those years ago, which was surprising, but did simplify things. She said she had something to talk about in person, and Mrs. Rhodes (call me Roberta) invited her over for dinner at the Rhodes residence, which is now where she finds herself.

Entering the house felt like intruding on a part of Rhodey’s life that she was never a part of. She had known him as a superhero, as a soldier, as a fellow engineer. She didn’t know what to do with the childhood photos on the walls, or the flowers from loved ones and admirers that still littered the house.

Suzi thought she was prepared for the conversation. In the five hours between the call and getting to their house, she rehearsed all the different scenarios she can think up in her head. She hadn’t expected to be sitting across Rhodey’s niece (Hi, I’m Lila!) at the dinner table, though.

She didn’t even know Rhodey had a niece.

“So, Suzi, you said you wanted to tell us something?” Roberta asked, setting her fork down for a moment.

It feels cruel, now, to bring it up. Maybe she should just play it off, make some empty statement about how great a man Rhodey was. It would make her look callous, but the alternative was also pretty callous anyway.

But that wasn’t her call to make, and they deserved to know.

“I—”

Like peeling off a band-aid, Endo.

“I might have a way to bring Jim back.”

Suzi studiously ignores their gaze in favor of staring at her food. She has to resist the urge to play with it.

“When we transferred his consciousness to the new body, well. I kept back-ups. And, it’s not going to be exactly the same, it’s going to be like him losing, what, five years? But.” Suzi hazards a look up, and she takes in Robertas ashen face and Lilas confused and slightly intrigued one. That makes her lose her train of thought. She can’t help but feel like she’s made a huge mistake. And really, she has, in not deleting her copy a long time ago.

“Whatever you decide, I want you to have the file. And I’ll delete it from my servers, so you’ll have the only copy.”

The silence drags on, and Suzi braces herself for Roberta throwing her out in a fit of rage. What right did she have, after all, to burst into their lives after weeks of their moving on, to offer them a second chance with too many catches?

She never should have kept those files.

“Grandma?” Lila wraps her hand around Roberta’s, which was clutching her fork a little too tightly.

When Roberta speaks, it’s strained. “He rebounded from that whole thing really fast, you know. I’m pretty sure he just pretended it didn’t happen. And it seemed to work. But I don’t know if—I don’t think that—”

Her words trail off, and Suzi wishes for the ability to disappear into thin air.

She takes a couple more bites and then she can’t take it anymore. She sets down her utensils on her half-eaten plate of pasta that she was sorry to be leaving. “Well,” she says, “I’ll, um. I have to go. Take your time to decide and talk it over. You have my number.”

Roberta just nods dumbly. Suzi sees herself out.

#sometimes i write #did i write this instead of studying? the answer is yes

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zeonghan · 7 years

Text

aaaww heck yeah time for mod velvet to S H I NE BITCHESS - mod kimchi :’)))

lmao sorry i have totally strayed from the prompt and wrote a really angsty short fic lmao it gets fluffy in the end

p.s. sorry this took ages i didn’t see it in drafts until today rekt also this is so scrappy im sorry times three lmao - Mod Velvet

Remember Me In A Year

Seventeen: Minghao Type: Fluff / Time Skip Scenario Fanfic Ship: Minghao x Reader / Jun x Reader Word Count: 1833

ft. seventeen members, sehun, minhyuk, shownu, jungkook, bambam, yugyeom, lalisa, jisoo, tzuyu, nayeon, seungjun

Mod Velvet

January

Minghao remembered how snow dotted your hair and coat. Gently he had brushed it off, but you hadn't noticed. Your eyes were glued to your cell phone screen, rapidly typing with only your thumbs. The name at the top read: JunJun.

"Is he coming?" Minghao had leant over to get a better look but before he could even catch a glimpse of the conversation, you pulled your phone to your chest with an alarmed expression. "Junhui, I meant."

Minghao had felt attacked. You weren't the type to hide things, especially from him.

"He's busy today, he asked to take a rain check," You replied with a smile that seemed to ease the tightness in his chest. "I have to go as well, right now. I'm helping my mum prepare for new years. See you, Monday?"

"Yeah, it's okay," Minghao smiled, small creases forming around his eyes. "See you then."

Minghao stood patiently as he watched you take off in the other direction because every now and then, you would turn back and give him another wave with a wide smile plastered on your face; he lived for that smile.

February

You never turned up that Monday. And Minghao hadn't seen you since.

No one was to blame, work was always in the way and besides, both of you had other friends. A lot of other friends as it seemed.

Now, it didn't happen often, maybe once or twice a year, but by luck or by sheer determination, the whole group would find a time, day and place to all gather together. Minghao recalled this day as crystal clear because the snow was beginning to fade and he bought expensive, red shoe laces that he never used.

First, he arrived early at the bowling alley and the staff told him he couldn't enter until the one who had made the reservation arrived. That was Jun.

While he was waiting, a few others arrived; Jeonghan, Minhyuk and Sehun. They were all tall and handsome, walking with a kind of confidence that made them untouchable. Minghao envied that, perhaps if he had been more like them, you would have noticed sooner.

The next group to arrive was a few of his colleagues; Soonyoung, Seokmin, Seungkwan and Jihoon. Whilst the former three were joking loudly, Jihoon had earphones in and his hands were in his pockets. Typical. The next were Jisoo, Hansol and Seungcheol, then Jungkook, Mingyu, Wonwoo and Yugyeom.

Then the two of you arrived. Minghao remembered because he was happiest to see the two of you. Jun had his arm around your shoulder and you were wearing his scarf.

Minghao had given Jun that scarf as a Christmas present, but he didn't mind.

While you and Minghao sat, waiting for your turn, he showed you the shoelace he bought. They were red and thin. You play around, tying one end to his pinky and the other to yours. Then you had taken his end off of his finger and slipped in into Jun's.

The shoelace broke when you tried to untie the ends.

March

For two nights you had stayed over at Minghao's. You wouldn't tell him why but he didn't need to know because you were happy.

On the last night, both of you leant out his window together to try to get a glimpse of his neighbour's cat. It was sleek black and green eyed. The two of you joked that it looked like Jun. That night, Minghao noticed that everything went back to Jun.

And he should have seen it coming.

April

Minghao had begun to think that summer was on its way.

The two of you strolled down the park, a drink in hand from a cheap coffee shop. You had your arm wrapped around his and he was holding your shopping bags. Between yourselves, you shared jokes and stories about how your life had been as of late.

That was when you told him.

"Minghao," your steps faltered as you began with an edge to your voice. "I like somebody."

"Who?"

"Promise you won't laugh?" You held back an embarrassed grin.

"Just tell me," Minghao smiled back.

"Jun."

Minghao told you he was happy, and he was.

That night, snow fell again; an April miracle. But Minghao had a cold nose all night.

May

Minghao had put in a good word or two, but the relationship wasn't budging from friend zone.

He was happy that month.

June

This was the first time Minghao understood the magic of summer as he watched you fall in love slowly with Jun,.

You and Jun had shared a kissed and you had gushed to Minghao. He responded with the right reaction, the right kind of cheerful smile, the right kind of racy jokes. And yet the two of you knew that something was beginning to feel awkward.

Minghao thought it'd be best not to address this and move on. The following week, he asked Jun if he would want to go watch a movie with some friends. Minghao called "sick" last minute, and you and Jun watched a movie. But it was an action film with a shitty plotline and romantic subplot.

Late at night, Minghao answered a call from you.

"I wish you were there."

His heart sang so loud the heavens could hear.

July

Minghao and Jun had met for drinks one Friday night.

The two talked a lot about you. Minghao talked about how kind you were and Jun told him about how pretty he found you.

"They've got a great body, you know? Like, it's just like my type," Jun laughed. "I like them, you know?"

"You've got a funny taste," Minghao joked. "Yeah, though. They're pretty, I guess. Good to hang out with."

"I'm going to ask her out."

August

It was still scorching hot, Minghao remembered because he had sweat through two t-shirts in one day.

You and Jun had been dating for a month now. It made Minghao wonder if it could have been him.

September

"I haven't seen you in a while," Minghao pulled you in for a hug.

You, Minghao, Jun, Lalisa, BamBam and Mingyu were supposed to have dinner together.

Shyly you had pushed away, eyes darting towards Jun. "Sorry."

Minghao remembered the time you had hid your cell phone from his eyes. The feeling stung as much as it had the first time.

October

Minghao was okay with just being your friend.

Until it happened.

November

He doesn't remember the smell. Everyone says they remember and hated the smell, but he doesn't.

What he remembers are your hands that twitched and your face that paled. He remembered sleeping in fold-out chairs beside your hospital bed and the feeling of resent towards Jun.

Jun had called it quits with you after a week of your comatose. Minghao had never punched anyone until the moment he had said, "I can't deal with this. I can't take care of her if she's fucked up somewhere."

Smack.

The whole ward had fallen silent except for Minghao's heavy breathing. Soonyoung who was usually a joker had stepped up to scold both of them. Tzuyu drove Jun home and Minghao stayed at the hospital for five days straight. The last Minghao heard was that Jun had moved to live with his uncle Heechul in Seoul with a job in politics.

You woke up on the last day of November.

December

Minghao had patched it over with Jun through a few texts and facetimes. Mostly because Mingyu insisted.

"I don't want to be blunt, Minghao," Mingyu began. "But I think you like them."

"Who?"

"You know who." Mingyu said. He looked over his shoulder and look towards Minghao’s couch where you were wedged between Jisoo and Hansol watching Drake music videos and creating Tupac theories.

January

You and Minghao kissed on New Years.

You were in his room. Everything was hushed and softened by the dark. Minghao took your hand in his, there was something about the moment that let both of you know it was alright. It was awkward and weird but it made Minghao feel like he was flying.

The two of you never talked about it afterwards.

February

Minghao held your coffee and his own, standing on the edge of the park, waiting for you. The snow had begun to thin out and Minghao remembered because his shoes were soaked in the melted puddles.

He had finished his coffee and trashed your cold one by the time you walked around the corner, tightly wrapped in a coat. When your eyes met, a smile spread across your face and Minghao thought the wait was worth it.

You began running and Minghao opened his arms. When the two of you had collided, you kissed him.

How could he forget that?

March

You held each other's hand underneath the table during dinner. Nayeon sitting next to Minghao noticed but Shownu sitting next you didn't - he was too busy eating.

Many things had changed since last time they all hung out at the bowling alley.

Jun was not with them, Mingyu and Wonwoo were engaged, Jeonghan and Sehun had had a falling out over a boy named Johnny and Chan graduated university. Seungcheol moved to Seoul, Seungkwan finally got his driver's license and Chanyeol moved back from Seoul.

And you were all his.

April

Minghao couldn’t help but keep count of the days.

The day you shared a bed, the day you bought him flowers, the day you watched a movie all day, the day you tried to exercise but had ice cream instead, the day you met his parents and the day he met yours.

Summer was on it’s way.

May

Three months.

Minghao remembered the first time you two had sex. He was twice sure to be careful. For the sake of the mood you had tried to put on music but it was only distracting.

Minghao still remembered being happy.

June

Jun came back from Seoul for summer. It was awkward at first, but Minghao had missed Jun.

After all, they had been best friends.

Beside, Jun had started seeing someone in Seoul. A pretty, tall boy named Seungjun. Minghao remembered seeing a picture of him briefly on Jun’s background.

You weren’t upset, and Minghao remembered thinking that was all that mattered.

July

Summertime was magic. Minghao remembered thinking the same thing the year before.

When he told you this, you laughed and it was like a weight was lifted from Minghao’s chest.

“You remember thinking that from a year ago?” You asked.

“I remember a lot of things from a year ago,” Minghao replied with a toothy grin.

“Will you remember me in a year?” You leaned in.

“Without a doubt.”

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rebeccahpedersen · 5 years

Text

What Is Anticipatory Breach?

TorontoRealtyBlog

You never know what legal troubles are going to sprout up, until you’re neck-deep in one.

As I write this, I’m dealing with a new issue; one that you will all suggest I should have seen coming, but one that I have never experienced before nonetheless.

I sold a condo in December that went through a series of sign-backs, and as those of you who have been through this before know, the paper is almost illegible by the time you’re done.

Almost illegible, that is. Lots of words, prices, initials, and items crossed out, but at the end of the day, you still know what the final agreement said.

One day before the closing of this condo, the buyer’s lawyer called the seller’s lawyer to ask what the final sale price was.

The final sale price was $725,000, of course. This should never have been in doubt. But the “$715,000” price that’s written under the $725,000 price on the Agreement of Purchase & Sale hadn’t been crossed out with a thick-enough pen, or a dark enough line in an electronic signature program.

A case could be made that the Agreement of Purchase & Sale showed two possible sale prices.

This was all much ado about nothing, since the two parties had agreed to $725,000, and the sale price had been reported on MLS as $725,000, but it still didn’t stop the buyer’s lawyer from making a fuss.

I have no doubt that the buyer wasn’t making this an issue. Consider that if you are the buyer, and you’re 24 hours away from closing on your first condo, you have packed up your apartment, and you’ve booked a moving van for Saturday, you want your deal to close! But is it possible that the buyer’s lawyer told him, “We could try to squeeze out some money here”?

As the son of a criminal lawyer of 40+ years, I know the way lawyers think. They don’t ever want to see anything as clear; there is no black and white, everything is grey. Everything is up for discussion and debate. I actually felt that the seller’s lawyer (my client is the seller), rather than nipping this in the bud right away, fell back into his lawyerly ways and started to debate the merits of “two sale prices.” It’s just habit for most lawyers, who love to debate, and whose favourite word is “could.”

“Well, there could be a case here that there are two sale prices agreed upon.”

“The buyer could have a viable objection in this case.”

Even though the seller’s lawyer knows he works for the seller, it’s just second-nature to want to look at possibilities, and scenarios, and potential situations, ad nauseam. Not all lawyers think like this, but only lawyers think like this!

After speaking to my seller’s lawyer directly, my beliefs were confirmed; this was more of interest to the lawyer as a case study than it was, in practice, working for his client.

Frustrated as I was, I kept everybody in the situation cool, and ultimately the buyer did want to close on the transaction, and the buyer’s agent did confirm that we had agreed on $725,000, and all worked out in the end.

But looking back on this as I now am, I can’t help but give my head a shake. How could I not see this coming? How could I not look at that faint line crossing out the “$715,000” and think that, perhaps, it could be challenged?

I’m being partially facetious here, but I’ve always felt that learning from your mistakes not only enables you to use real-world experiences as a guide, but also ensures you don’t replicate your failures.

So in the spirit of trying to look ahead and anticipate future legal squabbles, let me introduce you to a concept called “Anticipatory Breach.”

I feel that this is a subject we might see and hear more about in the 2019 market, and my solution to the issue is one that I think many of you will benefit from.

When you sell your property, you will always require a deposit in consideration of the agreed-upon offer.

An agreement without consideration is not an agreement.

And thus we routinely submit a deposit cheque with the offer, or thereafter.

Different market conditions call for different procedures with respect to the deposit. For example, in a red-hot market, where you have a property listed with a specified offer date, and where there are multiple offers, you would expect that any offer submitted is accompanied by a certified cheque or bank draft for 5% to serve as a deposit. In a cool market, there would be no issue with making an offer without a deposit, waiting for an agreement, and then delivering the deposit the next day.

It’s that latter situation that I want to talk about, because I feel as though many people have been burned in the past year by not addressing this properly.

In every Agreement of Purchase & Sale, there is a section that describes how the deposit will be received. There are three options:

1) Herewith – meaning that the deposit is in hand when the offer is made, and in practice, the cheque is often paper-clipped to the physical offer.

2) Upon Acceptance – meaning that a deposit will be delivered after the offer is accepted, in accordance with the provisions laid out thereafter in the APS.

3) As Otherwise Described – meaning that the Schedule A will outline how the deposit is to be delivered, and we see this when there are multiple layers to the deposit, ie. the deposit is $50,000 but only $25,000 will be provided “herewith” and a further sum of $25,000 will be provided within three business days.

So if you’re a seller and you receive an offer on your property, pull the trigger and sign the APS, and the deposit is to be delivered “Upon Acceptance,” what should you expect?

Well it’s outlined pretty clearly in the Agreement:

There you go, they even put “Upon Acceptance” in quotations!

“Upon Acceptance” shall mean that the Buyer is required to deliver the deposit to the Deposit Holder within 24 hours of the acceptance of this Agreement.

But what’s missing here, folks?

The lawyers among you, tell me what you see here. Tell me what we’re missing, and why this can become troublesome?

Anybody catching on here before I divulge?

Okay, so after that last section, “…within 24 hours of the acceptance of this Agreement,” it’s missing anything pertaining to what happens if the deposit is not delivered within 24 hours. And unfortunately, the Realtor community is not up to speed on this.

I sold a condo last year, representing the buyer, where the listing agent threw an absolute fit that we didn’t have the deposit cheque “on time.” Technically-speaking, he was right. We did the deal at noon on a Tuesday, and he wanted the cheque on Tuesday morning. I may have been too cavalier about it, suggesting that “one day” was essentially “24 hours,” but my buyer-client had the deposit cheque and was going to drop it off at the listing brokerage at 5pm after work.

“Not good enough!” I was told by the listing agent, and again, he was right. Technically-speaking. I’m not trying to give myself a pass here, but for a condo that had been on the market for three weeks, and an offer that took four days to turn into an agreement, forgive me if we were 4-5 hours late.

The issue was, the listing agent decided that at 12:01pm, the offer was null and void.

But it wasn’t.

It doesn’t work that way.

And for those of you that caught on to the verbiage (or lack thereof…) in the deposit section from the Agreement of Purchase & Sale above, there is no explanation of what happens if the deposit isn’t received within 24 hours.

The listing agent in this case was a drama queen with an over-inflated sense of self-importance, who thought he was on Million Dollar Listing, and decided he would play fast and loose by suggesting that we “top up” our offer price in lieu of having the deposit delivered on time.

In the end, my client dropped the deposit off at 5pm, received a deposit receipt, and once the two brokerages had all the paperwork and the transaction was processed, the listing agent just faded away.

But what if the situation were different?

What if the buyer just never showed up, and was never heard from again?

Would the offer be null and void?

Could the seller then enter into another Agreement of Purchase & Sale with another buyer.

No, and no.

What happens in reality is you need to unwind the transaction. Legally-speaking, you, the seller, are still bound by the Agreement. Even though the buyer never produced a deposit, you are still tied to that Agreement, and cannot sell the property to another party until a Mutual Release has been signed.

And that is where the anticipatory breach comes into play.

If you, as the seller, anticipate that a breach is possible, then it’s best to get out ahead of it.

Again, we’re talking about a very small fraction of deals here; to suggest this is 1% would be overstating things.

But if you’re a seller, and you have two interested parties, and agree with one of them, you want to keep the door open to dealing with the second party if the first party neglects to show up with the deposit.

If you simply enter into the Agreement as most do, with the deposit delivered in accordance with the verbiage above, then would need a mutual release to be signed in order to sell to the second party.

How do you get around this?

Simple. Make the offer conditional upon receiving the deposit.

This Agreement is conditional upon the Buyer delivering to the Seller or the Seller’s agent a negotiable cheque to serve as a deposit for the real property stated herein, within 24 hours of acceptance of this offer, failing which this offer shall be null and void.

There.

I just wrote that off the top of my head. It’s not rocket science, and I’m sure we could clean that up a bit, and/or have a lawyer actually draft it, but you get the idea.

A buyer who intends to show up the next day, or even that evening, with a deposit cheque has no issue with this condition. And it allows the seller to keep the door open to working with a second party if, and only if, the first party never materializes with the deposit.

Through fifteen years in this business, I have only come across this situation twice. The first time was when my client, after purchasing a condo, called me the next day and started with, “You know, David, last night I sat down with a scotch and got to thinking…,” and suffice it to say, he pulled out of the deal. He did so illegally, but basically said, “I’m not giving them the cheque, so figure a way out of this for me and let me know when it’s done.” The second time was when I represented a seller of a Corktown condo, and the buyer’s agent told me his client “got cold feet.” I had another buyer waiting in the wings, and had resold the property conditional on the first party being released from the existing Agreement. We got the mutual release from the first party, and the sale to the second party went through.

I don’t expect that this is going to become a common theme in this market, but it’s good to have this in your knowledge-bank, as a seller.

And if you’re a buyer and you see this condition, just know that there’s nothing funny about it. So long as you bring a cheque as required, you have nothing to worry about.

The post What Is Anticipatory Breach? appeared first on Toronto Realty Blog.

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