#untouchable ch2
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IKIGAI | OSAMU DAZAI X FEM!READER
001. THE AZURE APOSTLE
CHAPTER SUMMARY: Y/N and Ranpo return from Kyushu in order to help solve the case of the Azure Apostle. At the agency, the pair meet their newest co-worker— Osamu Dazai
CHAPTER WARNINGS: None
WORD COUNT: 2.8K words
SERIES INTRODUCTION | CH2
DIM LIGHTS AND THE SMELL OF RAMEN made the atmosphere feel like home. Conversations among the customers in the ramen shop overlapped each other, so much that the distinct voices blended together. The busy atmosphere was oddly calming...
"Wah, why do babies cry so much?"
...Well, maybe not to everyone.
Y/N Kirino looked up at the man she was working alongside. He rested his chin on top of his palm as his head looked towards the right, a childish pout on his face. Y/N looked in the direction Ranpo Edogawa was looking in to see what he was talking about.
A couple of tables down was a little girl, who was no older than 3 years old, crying. She was amazed that she ignored the wailing until that point. She looked back at Ranpo with an answer to his question earlier in mind.
"Babies and little kids cry for plenty of reasons, but I think that girl burned her tongue by eating whatever was on her plate too soon. She was sticking her tongue out as she cried," Y/N replied before she ate more of her Hakata ramen.
Ranpo took one of his wooden chopsticks and stirred his noodles like a bored child, "She actually tried Sriracha. The bottle was right near her plate."
Bored and grumpy. Those were the two feelings Y/N could practically feel radiating off of Ranpo. She silently observed him as she ate her food. The slight furrow of his brows and the way he left the remains of his food untouched told Natsuo that he didn't want to be there anymore.
"Oniisan," she called for him, "don't tell me that the girl's crying made you lose your appetite."
"Nope!" Ranpo sat up straight and complained, "Why do we have to leave Kyushu early? We just got here! I want to stay, hmph!"
"We can come some other time, Oniisan. I'm sure Fukuzawa-sama would let us if we asked."
"They can just send you the details over text and we could stay."
"I was told that they wanted you nearby in case you were needed again. There are lives on the line in this case, which is also the newcomer's entrance exam. Oh, and we leave for the train tomorrow at 9 o'clock in the morning. If we leave the inn early, we can also go shopping for some snacks you want."
The Armed Detective Agency.
It was a licensed group consisting of almost entirely ability users who worked in Yokohama. They worked on cases that the police or military police couldn't handle either because it was too difficult, or they were already placing their staff's effort elsewhere. Most cases dealt with fellow ability users.
Not every case of theirs is dealt with in Yokohama. That's why Y/N and Ranpo were hours away from home. As members of the small group, they were sent out to Kyushu for a case.
Ranpo was the smartest detective in the agency, probably the smartest in the entire country. He solved many cases with his so-called ability called Ultra Deduction. In a blink of an eye, he'd identify the culprit from the evidence and explain the steps they took to commit the crime, if necessary.
The skill of his played a large part in keeping the agency running. If it weren't for Ranpo, there would've been plenty of cases either left unsolved or solved too late. Y/N picked up on some of the ways he thought as a detective, but it still wasn't near his level at all.
She admired him for it. Although Ultra Deduction was not an actual ability and just Ranpo's innate talent, it didn't make him any less admirable. If anything, it made him greater than an ability user in Y/N's mind. He was proof that an ability wasn’t necessary to be great.
The woman finished her ramen before she and Ranpo left. They checked into their rooms at a local inn after they got some onsen tamago to satisfy the male's stomach.
In order to go shopping as Y/N promised, she and Ranpo had to wake up early. Y/N was peacefully sleeping on her futon until a loud slam awoke her. Actually, she was sure that it woke up some of the people in the rooms nearby as well.
Y/N tiredly rubbed her eyes before looking up at the figure that stood by her side. It wasn't shocking for her to see Ranpo standing with his hands on his hips. It reminded her of how Ranpo used to wake her up for late-night snack runs when she lived with Akiko Yosano, her older sister figure and co-worker, while he was sleeping over.
"What time is it?" she croaked, sitting up.
He replied, "Time for you to get up! We got 3 hours until we leave, starting right now. Come on, I want to eat soufflé pancakes!"
Y/N knew better than to keep someone like Ranpo waiting. She got ready as quickly as possible before they checked out of the inn. Her hair blew with the breeze that passed.
"Hey, Oniisan," Y/N called for Ranpo during breakfast.
He licked the whipped cream at his lips, "Hm?"
"What do you think he's like? The new member," she inquired.
"Doesn't matter to me!" He took another bite before he continued, "I'm the better detective in the end. Nobody can match my Ultra Deduction."
'He's definitely still grumpy we're leaving early'
"Kunikida-san told me that 'He's a suicidal child in a grown man's body.' I wasn't sure what to say after that."
"Well then, don't go having a crush on him too like you did with Kunikida, N/N-chan."
The woman immediately cringed, "You said you wouldn't bring that up again! I don't even want to think about that." She buried her face in her hands after thinking about her past feelings.
Doppo Kunikida, another colleague of theirs in the agency, was quite a professional man. He heavily believed in his ideals and was determined to follow them.
Y/N was sure of the two reasons why she initially developed a crush on Kunikida. The first was how organized he was with his life. Kunikida had plans and the resolve to see them through. He worked hard for morals that she also abided by.
The second reason? Y/N was simply surrounded by family figures until she met Kunikida. Y/N lived in her family's estate until she was 16. After she was saved by the Armed Detective Agency, they became her family. Ranpo, Yosano, and Yukichi Fukuzawa were not only years older than her, but there was only room for familial bonds.
So since Y/N was drawn to his demeanor and didn't see him as a brother figure, she developed a crush. 3 months passed before she stopped seeing him that way.
"Well then, don't go having a crush on him too like you did with Kunikida, N/N-chan."
Y/N glanced out the window, "I'm used to other people's presence in my daily life now. I won't fall for him like how I did with Kunikida."
She'd fall much harder.
| 生きがい |
Y/N GOES ABOUT HER DAILY LIFE with a list of tasks to do. Although the days are different, the things on her to-do list for work continue to stay the same. She was not as strict about her schedule as Kunikida was, however. While he had every hour planned with something to do, all of it written in his small book, Y/N had a short list engraved in her mind.
-Get drinks for everyone before going to work
-Make sure Ranpo has snacks at his desk before he comes in (which is a bit late)
-Check any e-mails sent to the ADA
-Hand in any finished paperwork from everybody to Kunikida towards the end of the day
The list was not long or complicated, but it wasn't always completed by the end of every day. Urgent cases or cases far away were the main reasons that these errands would sometimes remain undone. The case Y/N followed Ranpo to Kyushu for was an example.
They returned to Yokohama about 3 hours before sunset, Y/N unable to do anything on her to-do list. The case of the Azure Messenger was too important to deal with. A bomb was planted somewhere in Yokohama, set to blow up and kill over a hundred people at sunset, and almost every worker had their minds running in circles until Ranpo made his appearance. They were sure that he would find out where it was the moment Kunikida and the new recruit returned with the files they were fetching.
Hell, Ranpo could probably deduce possible areas for the bomb without the files.
So Y/N sat at her desk, reading over what had happened so far. The news, written reports, and accounts from some of the workers here, Y/N wanted to be caught up to every detail. She spent about 30 minutes reviewing and theorizing before Ranpo asked her what she thought.
Ever since she started working at the agency, Y/N tried to challenge her ways of thinking. Ranpo helped her by handing her old cases that were already solved and letting her solve them with all the evidence provided. It was routine for her to explain her thinking to him.
"Well, I think it's safe to cross out major buildings. If those buildings exploded, it would take down many more in the process. The message they sent made it seem like they weren't aiming for victims exceeding... let's say three hundred people. Exploding towers and nearby buildings would kill way more than that."
Ranpo hummed, "Then what place would it be in? If it's not a major building, where is our bomb?"
Y/N leaned back in her chair, "If the bomb isn't found in time, people will probably blame the agency again. These crimes seem to be trying to make us look bad, so far. So if I were a bomber, I'd bomb some place with victims that have done absolutely nothing wrong. A popular park is a place I'd bomb, if it weren't a school... That's really dark of me, isn't it?"
"Kinda is. Final answer?"
"Yup, is it right?"
"Just wait and see, N/N-chan~ They'll be here in 5 seconds.”
Y/N was confused until she saw the door to the office open in her peripheral vision. 5 seconds later, to be exact. The first one to walk inside was Kunikida, who seemed relieved at the sight of Ranpo. Slowly trailing behind him was the man she'd never met before.
"Oh, Ranpo-san! How did the case in Kyushu go?" Kunikida greeted. He pushed up rectangle-shaped glasses with his finger.
"That? Took me one look at the body before figuring out who it was," He took another sip of his soda. "We heard what happened, Kunikida-Kun. Everyone's been running in circles over some little bomb, huh? I really wish my colleagues could take care of themselves sometimes. You know, I didn't get to slack off in Kyushu thanks to you. N/N-chan saved me from being completely bored there."
"Kirino?"
"Right here," Y/N popped up beside Ranpo's desk with a wave. "I was looking at everything that's happened so far before you walked in. It's quite a case we've got here."
"Yeah, and we've got to figure out where this bomb is, and we need help."
"That's why I'm here to help you out! After all, Ultra Deduction is the greatest skill in the world, so coming to me for help is only natural!" With a laugh, Ranpo patted Kunikida on the shoulder.
The blond wholeheartedly agreed. This, in turn, made Dazai finally speak up. "K-Kunikida, are you okay? You don't have to hold it in," he timidly said.
The glasses-wearing ability user only gave him a blank look. Y/N, on the other hand, found herself admiring Dazai's features. For someone her age, his face was devilishly handsome. Peaking through his bangs, Dazai's chocolate-colored eyes met hers.
"Dazai, give Kirino the files."
He held out the papers they'd gotten but retracted them the moment Y/N held her hands out to grab them. Dazai, instead of handing over the files, tucked them under his arm before he took a couple of steps closer. He clasped Y/N's hands with his own, their eye contact never breaking.
"If I'd known a beauty like you was hiding in the agency, I would've come to join sooner," he smiled at her, feigning innocence as Y/N's cheeks heated up. "A wonderful, young woman like you should partner up with a charming, equally young man like- GWUAH!"
Abruptly, Kunikida punched Dazai down on his head. Both Y/N and Ranpo watched the brunet get angrily pulled back by the blond.
The idealist scolded, "Do you seriously have no shame!? Kirino is your senior as a worker here, so don't go flirting with her at first sight! There is a time and place for-"
"Are you saying that because she crosses off a couple of requirements on your list?" Dazai smirked.
"Huh!?"
"Oh, come on~! I've just met this Kirino-chan and I can tell! She looks polite, well-mannered, organized, someone that'll always fight for what's right-"
"Dazai," Kunikida glared.
It was an interesting dynamic to watch, to be honest.
"What's going on out here? You guys are awfully noisy," a feminine voice joined.
Everyone glanced to the side to see the agency's doctor outside the infirmary's door. Yosano's heels clicked as she walked towards Y/N. Her arm draped over the younger one's shoulders as she stared at Kunikida.
"So hey, what's this list Dazai was talking about, Kunikida? Last time I checked, listing attributes about Y/N had nothing to do with the bomb," Yosano interrogated.
They all stared at the woman.
"Oneesan's right," Y/N spoke up. "Lives are on the line with the bomb. Dazai-san, may I have the files?"
"Right, of course. Dazai Osamu, by the way. Nice to meet the both of you, Kirino-chan and Ranpo-san." He got up from the floor and handed Y/N the files.
"So, newbie," Ranpo called out to Dazai, momentarily forgetting his name. "Uh... Dazai, was it? Where did you work prior to coming here?"
Thus, an awkward, short conversation occurred between the two. Ranpo had asked Dazai what he was doing before the agency, to which he replied that he was merely roaming around. It was an awfully convenient excuse for someone who had no information in the police database's records.
The pair had a short staredown before Ranpo moved back to check over the papers Y/N and Yosano had laid out. He digested the information before he put on his black-framed glasses. Dazai stepped behind him to watch closer.
Ranpo's bright green eyes sharpened before he supposedly activated his ability. He set his glasses on his desk, "I've got it."
"Wait, seriously?" Dazai held his breath.
"N/N-chan," Ranpo pointed at the bookshelf, "get the map for me?"
"Of course," she turned around to get the map on the bookshelf behind her. She spread it out over the papers.
"The bomb is..." everyone else leaned closer to the map in anticipation. Ranpo then lightly pressed his finger on top of the map, "...right here. The bomb was set up in this fishing-gear shop."
"Then I guess my theory of it being a popular park was wrong," Y/N commented. She didn't dare to say anything about what Dazai did.
Amazed, he urged Kunikida out of the agency by pulling his sleeve. Ranpo remarked that Dazai was simply amazed by his ability, but the two women present knew otherwise.
Osamu Dazai figured out that Ranpo Edogawa was not an ability user.
The moment the senior detective activated his "ability", Dazai held a piece of his hair from behind. His ability nullifies the effects of any ability he touches, so Ranpo shouldn't have been able to figure out where the bomb was if Ultra Deduction was an actual ability.
"He didn't seem like the type to be that amazed, but I get it," Y/N murmured.
Ranpo, however, caught onto her words, "He should be amazed! Ultra Deduction is the best ability out there for cases."
Yosano patted her co-worker on the shoulder, "Of course it is. What would the Armed Detective Agency be without you solving many cases for us?"
"We just have to hope that they disable the bomb in time," Y/N began to fold the map. She asked Ranpo, "Do you think they'll make it in time?"
The oldest of the trio only sat back on his desk's chair, "I know they will."
WRITTEN: 01/02/2023
AUTHOR'S NOTE:
first fic i’m bringing to tumblr!! i hope you guys enjoy it, and any reblogs will be greatly appreciated <33 ily guys mwah
@seneon @chuuyrr @kentopedia @cloudwisp
#୨୧ [ ikigai ]#bsd x reader#bungou stray dogs x reader#bungo stray dogs x reader#dazai x reader#dazai osamu x reader#osamu dazai x reader#dazai x you#bsd x you#bsd#bungou stray dogs
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Until Death Do You Vow Ch2 A Saving Plan
(EDIT: None of the things in the beginning of this chapter is cannon to The Groom of Gallagher Mansion. It's just made up for the story for Y/n's college scenes.
Warnings for mentioned murder, death, and illness.)
"Class, turn to page one hundred and thirty two. Today we'll be reviewing the foundation of our town and the roll it had in the battle of-"
The sounds of many pages turning in the large room as at least fifty students turned to the appropriate places in their textbooks. Others took out note books lined with lots of notes from previous lessons with room for future ones. Pencils and erasers at the ready for the task ahead of taking down important information. Highlighters in bright yellow ready to highlight any very important details hidden in the professor's speeches. Lights dim as the first slides showed in time with the words the professor spoke.
"Now this here is General Markus G. Tuttle. He was one of the founding fathers of our city and first established it with five other men back in sixteen hundreds under the orders of the current reigning monarch of the time."
The current slide showed up a picture of an old painting taken at the city's local museum. It's old pain chipping away but still held together enough to show the picture of a man in his late fifties in a war uniform. The professor looked up at the slide before adjusting his glasses and looking back at the younger crowd.
"Who here can tell me who the reigning monarchs were?" Murmurs and coughs were circulated around until one hand raised up in the very back row. He pointed at it after a moment of straining his eyes to see around the dimly lit room. "Yes. You, Y/n!"
"The reigning monarchy during that time was lead by King Cedric Roland Jackson Snider the Forth and his wife Queen Stacia Emily Snider." Your hand slowly lowered after your answer and the professor nodded in approval.
"Excellent! Yes! Both King and Queen during that time funded their exhibition out to the area where our town would first be established. Who can tell me what the original purpose of the exhibition was?" Again unsure looks were given around until once more your hand raised in answer. "Miss Y/n?"
"The original exhibition was to survey the area and establish a trading route halfway through the path leading to the next country, but the fertile grounds and booming wildlife changed their minds into establishing a large farming and hunting community instead."
"Right you are! Yes! The booming wildlife untouched by most of mankind is what drew them to that idea when first coming to the area! After discovering most of the untouched riches that lay within the surrounding forests and the nutrients in the ground, General Markus Tuttle had it in his mind to return and convince the reigning monarchy into establishing a community and improving the agriculture of the country's economy. Now who can tell me the original name of the town?" You waited to see if someone else would raise their hand and someone else did. A boy in the very front row. "Yes, Charlie!"
You didn't bother interrupting and only listened to the professor continue his lesson and turn to the next slide which was a picture of some old relics from the same time as the founding of the town. You busied yourself by writing down words in the notebook you always took with you during these classes. The words forever being inscribed upon the surface of the paper with ink- Something poked your arm making you pause.
"Psst. Hey, Bud. I gotta tell you something."
Tired f/c eyes deadpanned looked at the mitchmatched eyes of the man sitting next to you blinking behind glasses. A head of red hair met you as he again poked your upper arm.
"What, Taylor?," you whisper hissed back to him voice low to avoid drawing attention. "I'm trying to take notes here. You should be taking notes too! You have no idea if this'll be on the finals!"
Taylor, your best friend and dorm buddy, didn't seemed phased by your words in the slightest and only whispered back. "We need to talk about the OHSIC. It's important!"
"We're having a meeting anyways tonight. You can wait until then."
"WHAT?! BUT THAT'S STILL HOURS AWAY-"
"Mr. Potts." The professor gave a look of silent disapproval as the lesson paused. A good few heads also turned to stare at the seemingly frozen red head next to you suddenly in the spotlight. "Is there something so important that you have to disrupt my lesson? If so please share it with the class."
In an instant Taylor's face went an embarrassed red and he shook his head no. "N-NO! I was just-...Uh. A-Asking to borrow a pencil! Yeah!"
The professor narrowed his heads. "Well then next time ask quietly or better. Next time actually come prepared and not disrupt the class. Now then. " He turned back to the board. "As I was saying, most of the earliest population consisted of farmers and their families and their farm hands and their families. However there was a couple dozen larger plantations usually owned by the wealthier families of the time. One of the most famous ones being-"
Taylor gave a sigh of relief as the faces of their classmates turned away from them and focused back onto the lesson the professor was giving.
"I told you. Just wait until all our classes are finished and we'll talk at the weekly meeting. Ok?" You looked back to the notebook after giving Taylor a quick reassuring pat on the hand.
His cheeks turned back to the faint color of pink before he pulled his hands back and looked away. "F-Fine. But don't take too long."
You only smiled at his pouty tone. You were used to it by now though. It's just how Taylor was ever since you both met two years ago in your first year of college. You both just happened to be taking the same classes as each other two of them being Local History and Folklore Studies, also known as Folkloristics. It was the study of all aspects of culture, particularly material culture or the products of a society. Or in other words local folklore, myths, and legends. And in this city there was certainly quite a lot. You weren't sure why but you were always fascinated by the paranormal and fantasy sides of things. You supposed that's what drew you both together as friends. Granted Taylor was WAY more into the cryptozoology parts than you were but it was still a thing you two could bond over. Local History and Folklore Studies were the best ways to find out about any spooky happenings that were around the city and a way for you to study for that job you wanted. You were hoping to get a job ast the local museum and become a writer on the side. What better way to achieve both your passions? Which was also why you took the Language Art classes the University offered.
But you weren't expecting to make a friend in Taylor but it was easier when you both realized you had a lot in common and you saw each other so often. Taylor may have been eccentric, quote 'nerdy', and over passionate about everything he was passionate about but he was honestly one of the easiest guys to talk to you've met.
Other than Ia-.....
Anyways- It was sorta hard not to be friends with him and hang out with him especially when you both stayed in the same dorm building on campus. It was halfway through the first year of college that he made his club and by the second year you agreed to joining after he practically begged you to. It was a pleasant distraction after all you've been through, and you could rely on Taylor to at least be there for you. Even if he could be a lot, he was a good friend you could count on.
The rest of the classes were spent on collecting notes as usual with each one but you noticed that Taylor seemed more anxious and impatient about something the more time had passed. Guess whatever it was was eating at him a lot. So when you're last class ended for the day and you gathered your things, it shouldn't have surprised you when Taylor grabbed your arm practically dragging you behind him pushing past people and giving you both dirty looks as he pushed through the crowds.
"Taylor! What the heck?! You dug in your heels and yanked your hand from his with a frown. "What are you trying to do? Pull my arm outta socket?"
"Y/n, class is over! You gotta-"
"Stop by my dorm room and put my books away!" You frowned. "Not to mention I left the notes for the next meeting on my desk."
"That can wait! We gotta talk NOW!! It's a matter of life and death for the club!"
Your brow rose. "I doubt that but fine. I'm gonna go put my stuff away and grab the notes. Just go and I'll meet you at the library as usual." You turned away and began walking.
"I- You- BUT- ...RRRRRR!!" He gripped his head before stomping off making you roll your eyes at his antics.
Always so dramatic about things. You were sure whatever it was it wasn't as bad as he was making it out to be-
"THEY'RE GONNA SHUT DOWN THE OHSIC!!!"
Ok. Maybe you were mistaken.
You had just arrived with the small notebook you set aside just for OHSIC meetings and you were just expecting to go over your failed attempt to pull in more members by handing out homemade flyers and go over more ways to get members when Taylor grabbed you by the shoulders when you first stepped foot in the University library. His panicked voice echoed in your face.
...You blinked. "What?"
"The Union Chairman said he's going to take away all the funding and space for the club because we haven't been retaining members!" Hr finally let go of you and began to pace as you blinked shaking your head. "'The space is being utterly wasted on us'. Can you believe that stupid pig faced jerk?!"
"Taylor, keep it down. We're in the library. Do you want us to get kicked out of here too?"
Your frown seemed to cut through his rambles because he sighed and rubbed his face. "No. Sorry I guess. B-But we gotta do something!"
"Ok. Time out!" You held up your hands in a 'T' shape making Taylor once again as a hand pointed at him. "Back up to the beginning. What's going on?"
Taylor blinked before groaning which turned into a sigh. "This morning. I-I got called into a meeting with the Union Chairman." He motioned his hands around with a scowl. "He basically said he's going to shut down the club if we don't get members soon and FAST!"
Your face contorted into one of shock . Well you couldn't say you were too surprised by the outcome. The club has had trouble retaining membership for a while now with the only consistent members being Taylor who was the founder and you being the vice president of only because you were the only other member who showed up. Mostly only because it was a good distraction for what happened two years ago (even if you had gotten over it by now) and because you felt bad for Taylor putting in so much work into the club.
"Really? I wasn't expecting it to happen this soon. I thought they would've waited at least until this Christmas break before deciding to drop funding."
"You knew this would happen?!"
"Not so soon but eventually. The club's been in in hot water for a while now Taylor."
He growled again running his hands over his face and messy red locks screwing up his glasses. "They said they wanted to use our space for the JUGGLING CLUB!! THE JUGGLING CLUB!! Can you believe that?!"
You rose a brow at Taylor's logic. By his logic clowns juggle things. Clown are scary and evil. Therefore by default the juggling club was scary and evil. Maybe that's what had gotten to him the most and made him so angry? Either way you just shook your head and sighed.
"Well the whole point of today's meeting was to figure out new ways to get new members anyways." You lightly waved the notebook in your hands. "So do you want to start the meeting now and see if we can figure something out?"
He lit up fixing his glasses and turning. "Right then! Vice prez, let's get brainstorming!" You rolled your eyes and followed Taylor to a hidden table in the back between a few shelves where he sat down. "Alright! Roll call! Say here if you're present!"
"Taylor, we're the only ones here. *sigh* But here."
"Here! All members of the OSHIC are accounted for. As club president I dub this meeting started! Now that's out of the way, it's time to get down to business!" He pointed at you . "We need to start finding new members to save the club fast! Any ideas?"
"Not a single one." You dropped the notebook on the table and gestured to it. "We've tried everything and nothing's worked. At least nothing long term. I've written it all down here and we've been through it over and over again."
He groaned slumping over to press his face against the table. "Great. This is just what we wanted today....What if we put an ad on the University's web page?"
"We tried that. Ten times in the last two years." Taylor groaned muffled by the table again. "What if we do a ghost story contest? Maybe that might attract a few people from the writing classes."
"Not a bad idea but what would we use as a prize? Between us both we both got like twenty bucks to spare and I don't think hand me down furniture and broke college kid ramen is a very enticing prize."
It was your turn to sigh. He was right about that part. "It's too bad we don't just have something cool like a magic wand like Cinderella's fairy godmother or something really cool like some alien tech. We'd be getting hundreds of members and some money offers too. But that only happens in movies."
"Yeah...Hey. Wait a sec." Taylor's head lifted up from the wooden table as his eyes widened, glasses crooked. "That's it!" You jumped as he suddenly leaned back up smacking his hands onto the table. "That is it!"
"Uh...What is?"
"Most of the people leave the club because it's not enticing enough or they get bored, but if we can actually get some actual proof that the paranormal exists then that'll make more people more interested!"
Your brows rose again. "Uh huh. And how exactly are we supposed to do that? We haven't actually been able to get anything besides some muffled audio recordings from the ghost investigations you had us do. And even that won't be convincing to most people."
Taylor laughed awkwardly looking away nervously. "Ahaha. Rrriiiight. *Ahem* Anyways-" he quickly changed the subject. "This town's huge! There's gotta be at least ONE paranormal hotspot that we can take advantage of! All we gotta do is find one and get some proof and BINGO!! CLUB'S SAVED!!"
"That's your plan?"
He placed one hand on his hip frowning. "You got any better ideas?"
"Touche. But how are we going to get proof? It's not like we can just waltz into the woods and ask Bigfoot and the forest elves to pose for us."
Despite chuckling at your words Taylor spoke with a serious voice. "We'll just have to do a little research! And lucky for us we're in the best sort of lace for studying!" He gestured to the walls around him as if to answer his own words. "C'mon! There's not a moment to lose! I'll check out the computers and see if there's anything interesting we missed! You scan the shelves!"
Your face deadpanned as he was already standing up to make his way to the nearest computer. Of course you'd get the harder job. You sighed and with a roll of your eyes you stood up to go browse the shelves. By now you already knew where most of ghost stories and haunted history books were so it was so easy to walk over towards the shelf and pulled out the first book that might be useful in your search titled 'Real Hauntings and Unsolved Murders'. Cue ten minutes later of you flipping through the pages as Taylor was... somewhere around here also assumedly researching.
"... Hey! There's a bus station where someone was murdered twenty years ago. They say his face was pale and looked like he saw the devil himself before he died." You called out looking up at the rows of shelves. "You wanna try and have a seance there? Maybe we can conjure something up."
There was a moment before Taylor leaned back in his chair to poke his head out three shelves down from you. His nose crinkled as he shook his head. "Nah. It'd be weird if we just lit candles up and used a ouija board at a public bus stop. Someone might even call the police and get us in trouble. Besides it's too noisy and crowded there. Even if we did get anything it'd be hard to make out from the noise mess." His head disappeared and you sighed.
Unfortunately he did have another good point. Back to the books. You skimmed through the rest of the book which was mostly uninteresting old murders and legendary ghost stories from around the world which weren't helpful to you. So you placed it back and picked up another book titled 'Cryptids of The Century.' You flipped through the first chapter talking about the author and her experiences before skimming the stories told.
"..Taylor!"
"Yeah?," his voice called back to you.
"You remember that old pond that used to be by the park?"
"Yeah?"
"They say a siren lives there. You wanna try and see if we can get anything from there?"
Another small pause. "Didn't they drain the pond and fill it in to expand the park's playground on top of it?"
You wanted to smack your face. Instead you sighed. "Right. I forgot about that. I'll keep looking. Any luck on your end?"
"No dice," he called back, "I've been scanning through every search pop up in our area but most of it are things we already checked out, proven to be fake, or don't have enough backing to be worth the effort. UGH! I didn't think finding at least one good haunting experience would be this hard!"
"Keep looking, Taylor. I'm sure we'll find something." You looked back to the book. "Even if we gotta dig through the boring haunts, we'll find something to use."
There was more silence as you flipped through a few pages talking about an alleged unicorn sighting from over a hundred years ago when Taylor hummed again loudly in thought.
"Boring haunts. Hey. I think you might have something there!" You looked up from the book but didn't see him. "It just crossed my mind!"
"What did?"
The sounds of a chair scraping could be heard before Taylor appeared standing up and smiling excitedly. "Something we've never done before!" Your face looked even more confused so he continued to explain excitedly holding up his hands. "Okay, okay. Here's the plan! You know that old house way out there on the corner of town? That old Gallagher place where all those deaths and murders happened ages ago?"
You paused for a long moment before you understand what he was talking about. "Wait. You mean the old Gallagher Mansion?"
He nodded excitedly with a bright smile. "Don't you see? We've never checked it out! We all thought it was too boring. Too bland. Too.. vanilla. But no! Maybe we made a mistake trying to find new things when we've left the biggest stone in town unturned!"
You hummed again at his words before staring down at the book you still held in deep thought. That... wasn't a too bad of an idea. You both really hadn't been there before as everyone knew it's reputation quite well around here. It's a hot spot for college dorks to drink and hope no one notice, an occasional haunted house for paranormal investigators, and home to a few basic ghost stories a lot of the older locals take pride in. Heritage and horror in one neat package. Other times it was an attraction for the tourists' haunted tours during Halloween but mostly it was just one of the older abandoned houses around here. There was a few but most were in the woods where the forest drew over the abandoned parts of the earlier town.
"That's an idea I'll give ya that." The book closed before you pointed at him. "But there's been TONS of investigations done there and no one's really proven anything's there. Plus people use that old place for parties all the time and no one's really came back with ghost encounters. Even if they did, it just could've easily been a hallucination from the booze they always have at those parties."
"I know but isn't it worth at least one shot?" He countered back. "We've never even tried to see the place before and who knows. Maybe the ghosts never revealed themselves to anyone partying because they don't like it. Would you want to talk to a whole bunch of drunk college jocks if you were a ghost?"
"Probably not. But I guess that's a fair enough point. There's no harm by looking at it I guess."
Taylor happily lit up with a wide grin and held up a hand. "Right then! Vice Prez, tonight we're hitting the books! Research like your life depends on it!"
You sighed placing your book back on the shelf. It'd be a long night you could see. "You're lucky you're my friend. Go look up the mansion on the computer, I think I already know the book I need."
"Right! This will be what saves the club! I just know it!"
You rolled your eyes as Taylor disappeared again and went to pull out the book you needed. A book titled 'Unusual Murders and Mysteries.' You remembered there was two whole big chapters dedicated to the Gallagher Mansion when you skimmed through it once trying to research good ghost hunting spots for the club. You opened it up and turned the pages until they got to the parts you needed. Stopping and carefully beginning to read the words written there. Meanwhile Taylor typed away at the keyboard quickly. You just turned the first page when Taylor shouted again.
"Eureka! I found them!" Taylor's shout caught your attention enough to walk over and peep around the shelf at his smiling face. He smiled at you before looking back to the bright screen where a web page was open to a black and white old photo of a grand mansion and the article under it. "According to this...The Gallaghers were a well off military family from Europe who came to America in the mid eighteen hundreds." He scrolled down more giving you the summery of the large article before stopping on another article next to two old black and white photos of an older couple. "Archibald Gallagher, the family patriarch, found success as a cornmeal Barron. He married a woman named Mildred and together they had a total of.." He paused again to scroll down more until he stopped on a bigger black and white photo. It was the older couple again and seven younger men and women whom looked about your's and Taylor's age. "Seven children."
"Wow. Quite the large family." You commented looking at the large family portrait.
Taylor shrugged. "It was normal during those days to have large families. But all of the Gallaghers were quite exceptional except for-"
"Elias right? That's the ghost that's rumored to haunt the mansion."
Taylor nodded. "He would be.." His eyes squinted at the old family Portrait before pointing out one person that stood behind who you assumed to be one of his sisters sitting in a chair and between two tall men who must've been his brothers. You could barely make him out from the crowded photo. "That one there. Elias was born the black sheep of his family. All of his other other siblings were born healthy and strong, but Elias's birth came with a lot of complications."
"He was bedridden for most of his childhood right?"
Again Taylor nodded. "Pretty much the epitome of the sickly Victorian child trope."
You frowned. "I don't think it should be talked about like that."
He shrugged before moving onto the next paragraph of the article. "They all died under mysterious circumstances other than Elias who's death was arguably the most normal out of all the family deaths if you can count murder normal."
"How though?"
"Well a lot of rumors say it's cuz of a curse, but nobody can agree why they were cursed to begin with. The eldest died in a freak accident involving a horse and from there it's a chain reaction of freak accidents in short susession, completely unrelated to the previous deaths but without fail it would kill the next eldest child like a couple of dominoes hitting them in some pretty gruesome ways." Taylor looked almost pitiful at the dates of deaths and the causes of the deaths listed next to the names of each Gallagher family member.
"That's got to be so hard on the family dealing with so much tragedy."
"I don't think Archibald and Mildred were too happy to write Elias down as their sole heir after his brothers and sisters all passed on but somehow he managed to dodge the curse. At least until his own death when he was murdered but he still managed to outlive his parents too." He squinted at more of the deaths listed in the article. "Also not too long after rewriting the will both of them died during a bridge collapse on what was supposed to be a calm carriage ride. Same energy as scented candles setting fire to your apartment."
"That part about him surviving for so long is a big strange." You hummed. "Why would the curse skip the youngest sibling and go after his parents only to then come back for him?"
"There was and still is speculation about Elias spinning elaborate murder schemes to take down his family but here's the thing." Taylor rubbed his chin in thought. "Elias had few people to write too and even fewer people who'd write back. According to this, Elias became a permanent shut in after becoming head of the entire Gallagher Estate. I'd probably do that too if it was me."
You nodded in agreement. "Who wouldn't after something like that happened to you? But..Elias was killed himself wasn't he?"
"Yep! Murdered."
"By who?"
"That would be.." Taylor scrolled down more. "Gerald and Violet Dupont. According to this, Gerald Dupont was the Gallagher's groundskeeper and after the death of the rest of his family he introduced Elias to his sister, Violet Dupont, as a fellow heiress without a partner. You can guess what happened after that."
"The whole courting thing, proposing, and a romantic fairytale wedding right?'
He waved a hand. "Everything but the wedding part. According to these old newspaper clippings-" He again gestured to the screen. "Elias died the night before his wedding ceremony while the Duoonts were caught red handed tearing the mansion apart looking for the family's fortune."
"Wait. I know this part." Taylor looked up at you as you flipped through the still open book in your hands. "He was found with his head decapitated from his body using an axe and the Duponts were arrested on charges of murder. Without anyone else to claim the property it was soon abandoned after Elias's burial."
"What a way to go huh?"
You nodded. "And selfish. To murder just to steal a poor man's family legacy. They must've taken advantage of his own grief."
Taylor nodded before looking back at the screens. "Which is why besides ghost hunting, we'll also see if we can find out where the fortune is. Treasure hunting isn't our primary goal but it's still worth looking out for."
You nodded. "Good idea. Even if we don't find any ghosts, finding a legendary fortune would also make us famous but are you sure there's even any treasure? I mean wouldn't someone have found it by now?"
"All these old newspaper clippings keep mentioning how big the inheritance was but some assets were never accounted for in the banks. Rumor has it that the Gallaghers kept some of it hidden on the estate."
"Alright but those are just rumors. That doesn't really mean there's a treasure and that doesn't necessarily mean there's a ghost either."
Taylor hummed. "Maybe but we have to try."
"That's another thing." The book closed with a thud and pointed at him. "If no one's ever seen the ghost, or at least recently-" The rumors had to have started from somewhere. So there might've been a ghost at one point or a long time ago someone THOUGHT they saw the ghost of Elias Gallagher. "-how are we going to get him to show up for us? No other investigation has ever been successful and no one else has claimed to see him."
Taylor legitimately looked shocked at the revelation before again he hummed and a hand rubbed his chin. "That's... Actually a fair point. Even if he's there he might just want to be left alone and not talk to anyone."
"So there's no way we could get him to talk even if he supposedly was there? Great. That's another dead end." You turned to leave but stopped when Taylor's hand grabbed yours.
"Wait a sec. ... Maybe it's not WHY. Maybe it's a matter of how and when!" He turned to you as you blinked confused. "Think. Why would Elias want to talk to anyone? Drunk people party in his home and investigators usually come demanding he show himself. So maybe it's just how we go about trying to communicate with him, and when. And it just so happens that this week happens to be one of the best days to do a ghost hunt! What's the last day of this week?"
"Um...Friday?"
"Friday THE THIRTEENTH!," Taylor corrected you with a bright smile. "Paranormal activity increases more on Friday the Thirteenth more than any other day of the year except for Halloween! And not only that! This Friday the Thirteenth is supposed to be a blood moon! Which also increases paranormal activity. And on top of BOTH of those it's also gonna be a FULL MOON too! How lucky can we get? The moon being in its fullest cycle is said to increase in power. This is like the best combination possible!"
You blinked at him before slowly nodding. "Ok. That's all really good conditions. But even with all of that and even if we ask him really nicely, all that stuff still doesn't guarantee anything. If that was true then that crew who did the investigation on All Hallows Eve, which is arguably more powerful than Friday the Thirteenth, would've gotten something."
Again Taylor hummed in thought looking you over, then back to the computer screen, then back to you gears whirling in his head. Before he smiled very widely and in a way you didn't like. "Oh I think I have an idea. Get ready, Bud! We're gonna investigate the old dump! I just know there's something we can find in there. It's our last hope!"
#Until Death Do You Vow#the groom of gallagher mansion#thegroomofgallaghermansion#taylor potts x reader#taylor potts#elias gallagher#elias gallagher x reader#tgogm
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I really love the way you analyze the text and I was wondering if you could help clear some fog over a puzzling line that is, for me, well, puzzling 😅 in KR, ch2 (Laurent POV), what do you think he means when he says to Govart :”you always wanted to be on the other side of the door-and now you are”? Coz I’ve always read it as ‘govart was outside the door during the abuses and he wanted to be in the Regent’s place’ but I’m not too sure, maybe I’ve missed some nuances… or is obviously that? Thank you for your time anyway 😘
Oh that’s a really nice thing to say thank you @nonome-art! 🌸💕 I’ll try my best though a lot of Pacat’s wording puzzles me too!
That is an interesting line and it definitely is ambiguous in my opinion, so I can see why you asked!
If you look at the line in context, at first glance, it’s all about Laurent trying to prevent Govart from cutting his tongue out. Laurent needs to stay intact, needs to try to survive without getting maimed or raped or killed and his best weapon is always his mouth.
The Regent doesn’t really see a man like Govart; he’s just a blunt instrument to be used tactically, and he assumes he can manipulate Govart into killing Laurent easily and quickly enough.
But Laurent can see that Govart isn’t as easily manipulated as that. We already know from the rape of Erasmus and the duel with Laurent, that he is vindictive and sadistic, filled with a petty machismo, and also from the way he treated Laurent when he was his captain, loves especially to lord his power over others. Laurent knows he would be burning with revenge after Laurent humiliated him and injured him so grievously during the duel, and that what Govart wants is to enjoy torturing Laurent which includes hearing him “lie and wheedle and suck up” to him, as well as scream and beg for mercy.
I do think the line is ambiguous and can be read in more than one way: perhaps Govart was, as you say, aware of the Regent’s abuse of Laurent and wished he had been in his place, and now he gets to be. If so, Laurent knows that Govart knows also. That does bring up lots of questions including whether Govart would have been trusted by the Regent with knowing that (and who else at court knew? Who would the Regent trust with that?) or whether he truly would have kept quiet about it and wouldn’t have used it against Laurent verbally in some way before now and so on- but I do agree the line could plausibly read like that!
Alternatively, perhaps all Laurent meant by to be ‘on the other side of the door’ was a metaphor for ‘being in the room where it happens’ in a broader sense- to want to be as powerful as these royals he serves, to be as powerful as the Regent who exercises power through cruelty. Both the Regent and Govart, in fact, share a brutal sadism which they express in different ways, but only the Regent gets to hurt royalty, gets to hurt Laurent. And now Govart does too, and even more directly than the Regent. What a power trip.
Certainly what we do know, is that Govart is going to enjoy every cry of pain and every word that spills out of Laurent’s mouth, because that way, he gets to revel in his power over him. A thug or hired murderer is there to obey orders and dispatch someone quickly; Govart wants the special privilege of enjoying himself, to prolong and torture Laurent, to get his revenge and to hurt him slowly- to feel just as powerful as the Regent.
I was struck by this line though:
The word ‘untouchable’, suggests that Govart has always thought of Laurent as fenced off, someone who no-one was allowed to touch. That doesn’t quite vibe with him seeing Laurent as the Regent’s former victim, perhaps? Even when Govart accused Laurent of only being “hot” for his own brother in PG…it somehow doesn’t seem to quite work with him knowing about the abuse. I could be wrong though and I think this is definitely open to multiple interpretations.
I do have one final thought on Laurent himself using the phrasing ‘the other side of the door’ as a metaphor. Perhaps to Laurent, the times when he was hurt the most was behind closed doors. Therefore, that is the imagery his mind immediately conjures up to explain Govart’s motivations of wanting to be in a powerful enough position to hurt him.
Or maybe not!
Sorry I can’t give you a definitive conclusion but thanks for asking an intriguing question 🌸
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Hi!
Your writing is so beautiful! Your characterizations of Wylan and Jesper are incredible in your oneshots and especially in Everyday, Just a Little or a Little Bit. Seriously, I think about that fic all the time. It's perfect. Sweet and angsty, domestic and wholesome. Are you interested in writing more for Wesper? Do you have any more ideas or WIPs that you'd like to write?
-sixofcrowdaydreams
I’m crying? This is incredibly sweet thank you so much 🥹💖
Wesper and the crows literally got me through the last year and are still my main source of serotonin atm so I promise I’m not even close to done writing about them yet!
I also think about Everyday… every day lol, I really do. I have a handful of offshoots and bonus scenes from that fic I still want to write/finish (Jesper’s pov of a few moments, his talk with Nina after Wylan leaves in ch3, so much with the bookseller from ch1 etc), along with a few wips and a giant list of ideas I haven’t even started.
Currently I’m working on my gift for an exchange we have going over on the @i-can-read-to-him server (which is becoming both incredibly stressful but also so so exciting with every scene I write) I wish I could talk about it but it’s a surprise™️ for the moment. It will hopefully be ready to start posting next week!
Until then, here's a snippet from one of the bonus scenes in Everyday. It's from the part in ch2 where Jesper comes back to the Slat after being jumped by debt collectors. (Fun fact: the original scene was supposed to be this version, but when I actually went to write it it was feeling too clunky with the rest of the chapter, so I changed it to the posted version)
Wylan wakes up alone one morning.
He knows, immediately, that something is wrong. The only disturbance of the covers has been made by himself; the other side of the bed is untouched, except for where his hand had landed on Jesper's pillow during the night. The rest is left unruffled and empty.
He hadn’t come back.
Jesper had been sent on a job the night before that hadn’t needed a demo man. Wylan told him he’d wait up, and Jesper told him he didn’t need to. Wylan had planned to wait up anyway.
Apparently, it hadn’t worked. Wylan does not remember falling asleep, and yet it’s undeniably morning now. Still early enough that the sun isn’t quite peeking through the curtains, but he can tell it will soon.
He tries not to get worked up. He gets worked up anyway. No matter how much he tries to rationalise it, there is a deep pit growing in his stomach, convincing him that something is very wrong. He gets out of bed and leaves the room. He doesn’t bother with boots, just creeps down the hall in his socks.
It doesn’t take long to hear voices. They filter out from Kaz’s office, freezing Wylan in place.
“You still might need a medik,” he hears—Nina’s voice. She sounds tired. “How many times do I have to tell you two I wasn’t trained for proper healing?”
“You're doing fine.” Jesper. Jesper’s voice. He sounds… dim is the only way Wylan can think to describe it. Tinny. Like the rich, mellow timbre of his words have been syphoned off into something thinner. He coughs wetly. “Gold stars all around Neens, really.”
“I’m not above knocking you out, you know,” Nina says, but even without being in the room he can tell there’s no real threat in it. It’s soft, fond, and concerned.
Wylan’s heart feels like it’s detached from his chest. Like it’s somewhere else entirely, and wherever that is, someones squeezing it very tightly. He walks closer, almost hovering outside the threshold. He places a hand on the knob.
It’s been a very long time since Wylan has felt out of place with the Crows, but as he opens the office door, he cannot help but feel—not unwelcome, but uninvited, and left out of the loop.
Unnecessary, his mind supplies, and he tries very, very hard not to give it a chance to amend, worthless.
He balls up the cuffs of his shirt—it’s one of Jesper’s, though Wylan can’t remember when he’d taken it up as his own. Long enough that it doesn’t smell like Jesper anymore, just Wylan, which is a tragedy—and casts a look around the room, feeling awkward and out of place and comparatively underdressed in only his sleep clothes and socks.
Kaz looks as he always does, except worse. His hair is falling uncharacteristically messy over his face. He turns sharply from where he’d been facing the window when Wylan enters, eyes even darker than usual.
Nina looks worried, a deep weighty frown on her face as her hands press against Jesper’s abdomen.
And Jesper looks—
“What happened?” Wylan balks.
Everyone is staring at him now, and Wylan hates it, hates this, but it all pales in comparison to the awful feeling tearing itself through his chest at the sight of Jesper, Jesper’s face—
“Jes—” Wylan’s voice breaks.
“I’m fine,” Jesper assures quickly. Nina scoffs. She takes her hands away from Jesper’s stomach to cross them over her chest. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be fine!”
“You’ll be fine when I say you’ll be fine,” Nina mutters.
Jesper tries to smile at Wylan, tries to give him a surreptitious thumbs up with the hand farthest from Nina, tries to wink of all things. It doesn’t make Wylan feel any better. It also looks like it hurts, because both Jesper’s eyes are puffy and red, and the side of his face sports an angry mark that’s still bleeding sluggishly from his eyebrow. His jaw looks sort of swollen too, and he grimaces at his own smile, so it must hurt.
Looking at it makes Wylan want to cry, so instead he looks at Kaz.
“What happened?” he asks again, very quietly.
“Debt collectors. And an idiot.”
“Kaz!” Jesper protests. Kaz shoots him a glare that pierces slightly duller than usual, which makes Wylan worry even more. “It’s not as bad as it looks.” Jesper tries again.
Wylan doesn’t respond. He keeps looking at Kaz.
Kaz sighs. He sweeps his hair back in its usual style and pushes up from the window. “He’ll be fine. It’s not good, but nothing with debt collectors ever is. I’m working on it.”
This ask was such a lovely thing to read on a very tough day, so again, ty 🥰
#wesper#shadow and bone#six of crows#wylan van eck#jesper fahey#jazzy writes fanfic#jazzy writes#wesper fanfiction
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[half agony, half hope]
ch3: the memories linger
ch1 | ch2 | ch3 | ch4
Read on AO3
Pairings: Warden!Carver/Merrill; some side M!Hawke/Anders
Rating: M
Chapter Summary: The news of Warden Carver's impending arrival spreads throughout Kirkwall, reaching new ears and leaving Hawke busier than ever. Speculation, new bedding, the long-standing feud between Aveline and Hawke, some tenderness, and... wait, has anyone heard from Merrill lately?
Note: I had a lot of fun writing this chapter so I hope y'all have fun reading it!
-x-
A week passed since Hawke’s announcement.
Just barely afternoon, a lull ran through the Hanged Man. Only a handful of patrons occupied the tables and bar, with one man passed out in the corner in a pool of ale. Or maybe piss. Hard to tell.
Corff practiced his poetic prose on Norah, whose critique nearly shattered any hope the man had of abandoning bartending to pursue a career in writing. Usually he tried it with Isabela, but she ran off to visit some hat shop she found in Hightown. As if she needed another hat.
Amongst the dull, Varric sat by the hearth alone with a full glass of wine in his hand. Not that he had any intention of actually drinking the stuff, but the weight kept his hand occupied as he lost himself in thought.
He didn’t usually care to keep track of the days, not unless he needed to or when something was wrong, and indeed: something’s wrong with Daisy.
Maybe it was as she said, and the piss-poor ale of this place got to her the last time she joined in for cards, but Varric had his doubts. The first ale she barely touched, and the second she didn’t finish. Now, Daisy could be a lightweight but not that much.
They all played a couple rounds of Wicked Grace with no problem. Nothing outta the ordinary with her usual bright, cheery self.
But then Hawke told them about Junior, and barely a word outta her. That alone could raise an eyebrow, but now she doesn’t show up for cards and drinks for a whole week?
She’s done this before, and Varric would bet you a whole shiny sovereign that Daisy’s locked herself away with that creepy ass mirror again. Shit.
But now? Of all times? That can’t be coincidence.
“Hawke!” A muted echo of slurred patrons announced the arrival of the man himself, raising their glasses to him and drawing Varric’s eye to the doorway. Hawke and Fenris entered the tavern in the midst of conversation.
Heh, no cane. Must’ve snuck out before Blondie could shove the thing in his hand. Hawke walked well enough, though the limp remained noticeable.
Varric raised his glass to greet the duo as they approached.
“Look, when you and Donnic play cards next, will you just have him tell her?”
“You’re plenty capable of going to the barracks. Tell her yourself.”
Hawke’s shoulders slumped. “I would, but that’d require talking to her. And hobbling up all those steps. Everyone there will want to stop and talk. They’ll all ask me about my leg, and heap praise upon me for the whole Champion thing, I’ll tell them about Carver, and I’ll be there forever! By the time I make it to Aveline’s office, I’ll be far too tired to deal with her. There’s too much to do, I simply can’t be bothered.”
The elf studied Hawke for a moment, then deadpanned, “Your stubbornness is only rival to hers.”
“Thank you.”
“That’s not a compliment.”
Hawke waved that off, turning his attention to the dwarf.
“Haven’t seen Isabela around, have you?”
Varric shrugged. “Hat shop.”
“Hat shop? What does she need another hat for?” asked Hawke. “She barely wears the ones she owns. Or is ‘hat shop’ code for something?”
The dwarf ignored that question; Isabela’s unnecessary hat collection didn’t interest him, but Hawke and Aveline’s recent spat—yeah, right, “recent” as if it hasn’t been over a year—did. He offered the untouched wine to Fenris, who knew Varric’s taste didn’t include any of the Hanged Man’s swallow and accepted, and asked Hawke, “So, you still haven’t told Aveline?”
The man crossed his arms over his chest, almost defiantly. “Anders forgot to remind me.”
Fenris gulped down the wine with a grunt. “I fail to see how the fault is his and not yours.”
“Defending him, are you?” Hawke placed a hand over his heart. “He’ll never believe me when I tell him.”
“Don’t distract from the point, Ed.” The elf tilted his head back with a sigh, looking like he was searching for some bit of patience left hiding up on the tavern ceiling. “The very least you could do would be to send a note.”
“A note,” Hawke grimaced as if the word itself was bitter, rubbing at his brow. “And why should I? She’s never sent me a note. I’d like a note for once.”
Right, like Hawke didn’t get a plethora of letters every day from every self-important prick in Kirkwall looking to leech off his influence.
“Because it’s not about you.”
“You say that as if Carver’s thrilled with her.”
The elf shot Varric an irritated look, one that said, “Do you want to tell Hawke he’s a pigheaded ass, or should I?”
That’s the tricky thing. Aveline and Hawke were two wild rams butting heads on the same cliff, snarling and kicking up dust. Neither were willing to back down and talk it out, perhaps too intimidated by the amount of shit to sort through. Eventually they’ll tumble off that cliff, and Varric had no idea if they’d be able to climb back up.
Then to throw Junior in the mix… oh boy.
“Look, I don’t have time to go argue with her today,” Hawke sighed. “I’ve still got to visit Gamlen and let him know; that’s more than enough fun for me. Then I need to go pick out new bedding for Carver’s room. Isabela said she’d help but alas, she’s nowhere to be found. The whole room needs to be cleaned, and the other guest room—Oh, right, hey—” Hawke pointed at Fenris. “Remind me to stop by the Chantry to talk to Sebastian when we get back to Hightown.”
“…I take it your mage also forgot to remind you to tell him, as well?”
“Perhaps.”
The elf gave a firm nod, then turned on his heel and strode toward the door. “I’m going home.”
“What? Hey, no, no, nooo—We still have to go see Arianni in the alienage—"
“You may disturb me when you’ve finally dislodged your head from your ass.”
“Ha!” Hawke trailed behind the elf, loudly proclaiming, “My head is comfortable where it is, thank you!”
“Ugh.”
Varric cracked a smile despite himself. He considered joining them; Hawke would need another tag-along if the elf was serious about returning home, but the dying fire in the hearth begged him to stay. He had other shit to mull over.
“Kirkwall’s a mess,” he muttered. “Hawke and Aveline can’t get their shit together, Blondie’s overworking himself, Junior’s coming home… and then there’s Daisy.”
Varric waved for Norah to bring him an ale, one he might actually drink this time as his mind grew plagued with worry over his other elven friend.
Of all the people at the table when Hawke told them about Junior, he expected Daisy to bounce with just as much glee as Hawke. If anything, she should be running around with him to prepare, yet nothing.
Carver and Merrill were real buddy-buddy before they lost him to the Grey Wardens. An odd match, one Varric never would’ve guessed, but didn’t disapprove of. Sometimes he worried that Daisy got too lonely in that alienage, and Junior was… well, the kid was an ass, frankly.
But she mellowed him out, and according to her, he made for a good friend.
He’s less of an ass now, to be fair. Being with the Grey Wardens did some good, even if the way he joined was less than ideal. Varric could hold a conversation with him during their time in the Vimmark Wastelands without wanting to kick him in the shin, and he could actually take a joke now! Could’ja believe it?
He and Hawke got along in a way that Varric never did with Bartrand, the bastard. He’s confident neither of the Hawke brothers ever needed to worry about the other leaving them to face a slow, agonizing death over greed.
A pouty brat he could be, but Varric once watched Junior threaten Fenris, who they all knew could use those markings of his to brutally tear the hearts out of men. All for questioning Hawke’s intentions as a mage.
“If you have a problem with my brother, you have a problem with me.”
Ah well… maybe they were a little rough on him before. Easy to forget Carver was so young.
But after they all came back from the Deep Roads without him, Daisy spent most of her time in front of that mirror of hers, doing… whatever weird shit mages do to make their magic work on things. Was a real pain in the ass getting her to go outside, get some fresh air, and especially to visit the Hanged Man for drinks and cards.
And she’s doing it again.
Varric drummed his fingers on the table.
Daisy didn’t want to go with them to the Vimmark Wastelands to confront the Carta for attacking Hawke, either. Even after she heard Junior would meet them there. Something about being busy with that mirror. Again.
Now that he thought about it… when she heard they ran into him and other Grey Wardens during the qunari attack, she acted… well, weird about it, too. Varric figured she was just sad she didn’t get to see him.
Actually… Junior sure had no interest in talking about her the last time Varric saw him, either…
“Well… shit.”
-x-
A new stack of applications was piled neatly at the center of Guard-Captain Aveline’s desk, among the other mounds of paperwork she opted to ignore after an entire morning and afternoon of it.
Most of the applications were easily declined due to histories of criminal activity, or obvious lies to cover up such pasts, or being generally unsuited for recruitment. A handful of men from wealthy, noble families put in applications, and only two survived the wastebin.
Some may call her picky or unfair, but Aveline preferred to think of herself as overly cautious. After the qunari invasion, and all events leading up to it, mistakes were unacceptable. She needed men and women in her guard who could be trusted, who wanted to protect their city wholeheartedly no matter the danger.
But one application stood out amongst the rest, one sent in with a familiar name. Aveline pondered over it thoroughly, taking in every bit of detail to memory.
Yes, she remembered Lia. Aveline once encountered the young elven girl while out with Hawke. Magistrate Vanard lied to them about his son, Kelder, in order to keep him from facing justice for his crimes. Lia was Kelder’s last victim before Hawke killed him.
Now she wanted to join the guard, and made a damn good case for it, too.
Only two things held Aveline back from approving her application, and to the surprise of no one, one of those things involved Hawke.
“Always bloody Edgar Hawke…”
The two of them hadn’t spoken in months, not since her last visit to the Hawke Estate. Still on bedrest for recovery, he refused to speak to her. It’s an odd thing to get the silent treatment from someone who never knew when to shut up. It’s understandable that they needed a break from each other after Leandra passed, and while Hawke recovered from his injuries, but now it’s just become childish.
If hard pressed, she might admit that part of her missed Edgar and his bullshit. She might even be willing to sit down and work things out between them. Maker knows she had plenty to say after bottling it all up for so long.
The other part remained obstinate and insisted good riddance.
So, to see Lia’s note about how Hawke inspired her to take up a sword, and to defend the other elves so they might never experience what she had with Kelder, was simultaneously admirable and worrisome.
And that led to Aveline’s other reason for hesitating; an elven woman in the guard would definitely put a target on Lia’s back. All of her guardsmen knew the risks of duty, and if Lia’s application told her anything, it told her that the elven woman understood just as well.
In fact, not only understood, but accepted fearlessly and with great determination.
But…
With a disgruntled sigh, Aveline rolled her stiff shoulders and rested back in the chair, application still held firm in her grip. She eyed the wastebin full of other discarded applications, but her gut told her that wasn’t right.
No, Lia’s application rattled her with the realization that, if accepted, she would be the first elven guard recruited since Aveline’s joining five years ago. Knowing this city’s history, she may even be the first elven guardsmen.
She wondered if there was a reason elves never joined before, aside from typical prejudices. Maybe if they had more elven guards patrolling, then…
“Is it true?”
“There… have been rumors—"
“What!?”
But was this particular girl the solution? If this were an elf like Fenris whom she knew the skill of, she might not hesitate—
The door swung open without a knock, hitting back against the wall and breaking Guard-Captain of her concentration. She didn’t bother standing or offering more than a glare as a greeting; none of her guardsmen were defiant enough to enter her office in such a manner.
“Oh, Captain~” Isabela cooed as she sauntered in. Aveline might’ve laughed at the obnoxiously gaudy hat she wore; damn, those feathers were hideous. “I’d like to report a missing person! A woman about this tall; mannish, a goodie good ball-crushing prig. Ginger hair, terribly awkward. Haven’t seen her in weeks, we’re all starting to worry!”
Ah, there’s the headache.
Unfazed by scowl she received, Isabela hopped up to sit on the desk, comfortably crossing one leg over the other. If she weren’t the bigger person, she might’ve kicked the pirate off with the pointy end of her boot, but that’d only egg her on.
“Oh wait, I think I’ve found her buried under all that paperwork.” Isabela stuck out her bottom lip in a sad pout. “I’m afraid I was too late. I always knew she’d have such a lackluster demise.”
Then came the shit-eating grin.
On second thought, forget being the bigger person.
“Shut up, whore.”
Isabela threw her head back in a laugh, the ugly hat nearly toppling off. “There’s my girl! You had me worried.”
Aveline set Lia’s application down and stood from her desk, arms folded over her chest. “Alright, why are you here?”
“What, I can’t just stop in for a friendly hello?”
“No.”
“Maybe I’m here to show you this—” Fingertips ran over the silky, red brim. “—lovely piece of art I found.”
Aveline eyed the black and brown feathers and golden accents. “I’m surprised you fit through the door with that… thing. But if that’s all you came here to do… It’s horrendous.”
“Horrendously beautiful?”
“Terribly criminal.”
Isabela cracked a frisky smile. “Then arrest me, big girl.”
Ugh. Maybe if she threw a pocketful of coins outside, the pirate would dive for them, and she could effectively lock her out. That might cause a scene, though. And Isabela would make up some unsavory explanation. Or pick the lock.
That’s all she needed.
With a hard look, she said, “Goodbye, Isabela,” and started going through her paperwork again.
“Oh, come now.” Isabela plucked the papers from her hands and set them aside, only for Aveline to pick up the next stack. “Fine, I admit it. I didn’t just come here so you could admire my hat.” To the Guard-Captain’s alarm, Isabela’s voice lost all teasing. “Has Hawke come by to talk to you, by chance?”
Aveline paused her shuffling, gaze unmoved.
Of course.
Why was she even surprised? Of course Isabela’s here to talk about Hawke. While she didn’t expect the pirate to barge into her office to inquire about Kirkwall’s recovery from the qunari—an attack she’s arguably responsible for, by the way—Aveline at least hoped there was a greater reason than to talk about Hawke. But when was anything not about Edgar bloody Hawke?
“No,” she said sharper than a fine blade. “What’s he done now?”
He couldn’t have caused that much trouble given the state he’s in, but Aveline learned early on that Edgar didn’t need much to make a mess.
“He’s done plenty, but that’s not the point.”
The headache continued to spread, intermingling with the irritation building in the back of Aveline’s neck. She steeled herself, and impatiently said, “You know what? I don’t care what he’s done. I don’t want to hear about it.”
With a long, drawn-out sigh, Isabela slid off the desk with graceful ease, dragging her hand across the wooden edge as she circled around. “He forgave me, you know.”
Aveline ignored her, picking up Lia’s application for what felt like the hundredth time, but the words bled together meaninglessly now.
“For running off with the relic,” Isabela stressed, resting a hip against the edge. “He could’ve just handed me over to the qunari. Would’ve been easier, and he wouldn’t be…” She chewed on her lip, head lowered. “Well, he wouldn’t need a cane now, would he?”
An uncomfortable sensation prickled at her insides. She’d heard about the cane. That Edgar could walk again. He could even engage in light combat, though whispers said Anders ensured that was a rare occurrence.
A question rest at the tip of her tongue, but Aveline remained guarded, committed to silence.
“Point is,” Isabela prattled on. “If he can forgive me, he can forgive you, too.”
Forgive her?
Hang his forgiveness.
There’s nothing Aveline could say to Edgar that he’d accept. He only wished to needle her and take advantage of her position as Guard-Captain, then lash out when she didn’t bend to him.
Leandra’s death wasn’t her fault. He could spin it however he liked, but it wasn’t. Just as it wasn’t…
“Did you even try to look into it? At all?”
“I knew him, Edgar. Every guard here could attest that he was an honorable man.”
“I’m sure he was! Except for when he preyed on the elves, right? Or are we overlooking that bit?”
“There was no concrete evidence—”
“Ahh, just like how there was no evidence linking that ‘random’ string of murders to Quentin or Gascard, right?”
A glance at Lia’s application. Gritted teeth.
Aveline already jeopardized too much for him and his antics, either because she felt he was in the right or purely out of loyalty, and look where it got them all.
“Why should I seek his forgiveness?” Aveline finally snapped. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”
The words hung heavy in the air.
Isabela gave a sigh that managed to sound condescending. “Oh, sweet thing...”
“Don’t.”
She fully expected Isabela to quarrel with her, even if just to entertain herself. The silence proved her wrong, but Aveline felt the other woman’s golden stare fixated on her, studying and debating.
Weariness overtook her, voice hushed. “I have nothing more to say to him.”
“I don’t know how aware of this you are, Aveline,” Isabela started, frowning. “But mothers aren’t like lovers or husbands—Eddie can’t just pick out a new one.” Before Aveline could argue, the pirate silenced her with a gesture. “Look, normally I wouldn’t give a tit about this whole… mess of yours. Not my business to interfere, no coin in it, and it’s not even an amusing squabble to watch. By all accounts I shouldn’t even be here.” The woman pushed away from the desk, readjusting her hat, exasperated. “But here I am because it’s you two, and you’re both being stupid. And… Oh, I don’t know.”
“So you thought you’d come here in your hideous hat and, what? Talk me into conceding to Hawke as if I haven’t already tried to talk to him?”
“Scolding him while he’s bed-ridden and delirious hardly counts as trying, man-hands.”
A step toward the pirate. “Shut up, you poxy tart.”
“Griffon-lips.”
“Scurvy tramp.”
“Ooh, that’s a new one,” Isabela smirked with a step forward, leaving the two dangerously close. “Frigid bear-sow.”
“Just—” Aveline pointed at the door. “Get. Out.”
As fun as it was to spit insults at each other, her limit’s surpassed. Work needed to be done, and any thoughts of Edgar demanded to be put out of mind.
Isabela boldly held her stare, thin brows knitted, and lips pressed into a firm line.
“…Fine.”
The feathers of the hat hit Aveline’s nose with a swift turn, and Isabela headed to leave. About damn time.
Except she hesitated in the doorway.
A beat of contemplation.
“By the way…” A glance over her shoulder. “I did come here for a different reason.”
And what could that possibly be? Other than to be a thorn in her side?
“Little Hawke’s coming home.”
And just like that, all tension within Aveline melted away, replaced with disbelief. Her features softened, eyes wide.
“What?”
“He’s taken a month of leave from the Grey Wardens,” said Isabela. “Don’t know when he’s coming, exactly. Eddie’s all over the place about it.”
“He didn’t tell me.” The realization dawned on her. “And he had no intention of telling me.”
Isabela gave a half-hearted shrug. “I… thought you’d like to know.”
“…Right.”
The last time Aveline saw Carver was fleeting.
Somehow the Grey Wardens got caught up in the qunari fight, too. The Hawke’s always did have absurd timing.
Carver was damn near unrecognizable until he approached the group; equipped in Grey Warden issued armor, hair unkempt, and with a full beard. She could’ve mistaken him for Edgar if the height difference was disregarded.
A tired demeanor. A reluctance to leave his brother again, who struggled to tell him about their mother…
He looked like a man. Not that he was a child before, just… young.
“That’s not the best part, though. Carver won’t be alone.” She wiggled her brows suggestively. “He’s possibly bringing a lover with him.”
“Is he?” Well, somehow that’s a strange surprise. Before thinking, Aveline asked, “How’s Ed handling that one?”
“As well as expected,” Isabela snickered. “Don’t know anything about her, but the imagination does wonders.”
Aveline rolled her eyes. “Already concocted an entire story, have you?”
“Mmhmmm~”
“You’re setting yourself up for disappointment, you know.”
“So little faith in Little Hawke’s tastes? Shame on you.”
“I mean…” Look at who his brother moved into the Hawke Estate, and where he found him. Not to mention Carver’s previous infatuation with Merrill, of all people. The Hawke brothers had questionable taste at best. As long as this new woman in Carver’s life wasn’t another foolish or selfish mage, Aveline would wish him happiness.
Assuming she saw him at all.
“Speaking of Little Hawke and his lover~” Isabela drawled. “I better go. I have new bedding to pick out for their room. They’ll need something comfortable and a little… silky, but strong and flexible; have to account for all that warden stamina.” She winked. “We all want them both to enjoy their visit to the fullest.”
Aveline wrinkled her nose. Maker, she didn’t want to think about Carver doing… ugh.
“If you’d like some suggestions for you and Donnic—”
“I don’t.”
“Prude.”
“Whore.”
With a toothy grin, Isabela did a fluid, sarcastic bow, and waved goodbye. “Don’t be a stranger, and at least consider talking with Eddie. If you can’t find your big girl pants, I’m sure Donnic would hold your hand through it. Just hold tight—Eddie might charm those mutton chops right off.”
Aveline didn’t dignify that with an answer.
At least the pirate had the consideration to shut the door behind her.
Once again, the Guard-Captain was left alone in her office amongst a mountain of paperwork.
“So…” she mumbled. “Carver’s coming back to Kirkwall.”
And she’s the last to know.
Unbelievable.
To think, she thought better of Edgar. They were in an argument, yes, but to withhold that from her? Did he think she wouldn’t care to see Carver again? That’s nonsense. Of course Aveline cared, she cared a great deal! And he knew that!
“I shouldn’t have brought him.”
“No. You shouldn’t have. But he knew the risks.”
“It was either bring him, or lose him… but what did it matter? I lost him either way, didn’t I? …Shit. Shit!”
“Hawke…”
“He just… collapsed. Aveline, he collapsed, and he was so pale—I’ve never seen him that pale, it was—and his eyes, and his breathing—”
“I know. I know, Edgar. I’m sorry. At least… at least you found the Grey Wardens. Maybe they can save him. That’s more hope than Wesley had.”
“Oh, Maker…”
Aveline dropped back into her chair with a huff, yanking her gauntlet off to rub at her face.
For the briefest moment, she considered storming out of the Viscount’s Keep and marching down to the Hawke Estate. She wouldn’t bother knocking or having Bodahn fetch him; Edgar would damn well know it’s her by the stomping and bellowing of his name.
Then… what? They’d talk it out like mature adults? Edgar Hawke was incapable of such behavior.
No. Perish the thought.
Now that she knew, Aveline could keep an ear and eye out for any Grey Wardens arriving in the city. When Carver arrived, she’d know, and then…
“Flames.”
The paperwork living on her desk was messed up thanks to Isabela’s visit, but Lia’s application still occupied the forefront of it all. Hard eyes darted over its entirety, resoaking in the passionate penmanship and dedicated promise.
With an incensed groan, Guard-Captain Aveline tossed the application in the bin with the other denials.
-x-
So much to do, oh so much to do!
Already too much wasted time! Edgar has yet to prepare everything for Carver’s arrival, which he still had no exact date for, and resorted to being a busy body that tottered all over the Hawke Estate. The cane he used for support remained in the bedroom, despite Anders’ insistence that he still needed it. Bah! He had no time to think of his leg, not when his dear baby brother’s room was in shambles! He meant to clean it up sooner, but too many things required his attention.
He demanded a free evening. Edgar told Bodahn to send away all visitors, save any of his companions, so he could have the entire evening to himself to get things done. The only visitor so far was Isabela, whom he’d already spent a good portion of the afternoon searching for. He would’ve scolded her, but she brought the new bedding they were supposed to pick out together, and he shooed her away before she could make any more warden stamina jokes.
Edgar didn’t need to think about his dear brother and this companion of his “mastering each other’s taints.” Did he not hear enough of those when he and Anders first got together?
“So, Eddie, have you explored his Deep Roads yet? Did he thrust his mighty sword at your archdemon? How about cup your Joining? Did Anders serve his justice all over you?”
“What does that even mean?”
“You know~”
Oh, Maker help him.
Dust covered every surface of the bedroom, and spiders build cities of webs in every corner. The old bedding hadn’t been touched in Maker knows how long, the armoire had a missing door, and the fireplace overflowed with ash.
Crates stuffed with Carver’s belongings sat on the musty bed, all things Edgar packed himself when they departed Gamlen’s home. Mother couldn’t bare to do it, like she couldn’t bare to do a lot of things.
It fell to him to fold every piece of clothing, to stack every book, to gather every small trinket Carver collected in his pockets and forgot about. He bound every letter he received with twine, wrapped a nearly empty cologne bottle in protective cloth, tucked away with a knife passed down to Carver after Father died. Edgar had to sort through everything of Bethany’s that Carver kept close. All of it to be put in crates and hidden away in a bedroom that his brother never even saw.
Well, no longer would that be the case! This time, Edgar could take the time to unpack and sort through things with delight instead of grief.
Though after Bodahn delivered a stack of letters to his desk this morning, he considered making a sign to hang outside the estate; ‘I AM BUSY. CARVER’S COMING HOME. WILL BE UNAVAILABLE FOR AT LEAST TWO MONTHS. POSSIBLY LONGER. SOLVE YOUR OWN PROBLEMS.’
Too many requests, too many dinner party invites, and far too many letters from nobles looking to court him.
“Hawke this, Hawke that,” Edgar grumbled from where he knelt down before the dresser, shoving Carver’s old clothes in. “’Hawke, raiders stole my cargo, get it back for me!’ ‘Hawke, my wife’s sister’s cat ran away, can you find him?’ ‘Oh no, Hawke, my baby’s stuck in a tree again and the guard won’t help! Please get him down for me!’ ‘Knight-Captain Cullen looked at me funny! Do something, Hawke!’” Edgar scoffed, closing the drawer with a strong thud. “What do you expect me to do? Cullen looks at everyone funny!”
A soft chuckle from the doorway.
“Making fun of imaginary people again, love?” Anders asked, leaning up against the frame. A lovely sight he was, except for the damn cane in his grip. With the usual robes discarded, the exhaustion of a day’s work in the clinic clung to him like the blood stains on his shirt, and fatigue shone in those handsome, warm brown eyes of his.
“It’s never-ending.” Edgar used the wooden dresser as leverage to stand back up. “Don’t they know I’m busy? Surely all of Kirkwall has heard by now that—" A sharp pain shot through the back of his thigh. “—mmph—that Carver could be here any day now?” He stumbled, hip hitting the knob of the top drawer.
Ouch.
Anders probably didn’t notice that.
Except he absolutely did, waving the rune-decorated cane with a knowing look. “I don’t think they care about Carver or that you’re busy, just as they don’t care that you’re still in recovery.” Anders approached, handing him the cane before smoothing out the front of Edgar’s maroon robes. “And you don’t seem to care either.”
“I’m recovered well enough.” Edgar gripped his shoulders and planted a quick kiss on his lips. “There’s too much to do to not be.” The cane was tossed onto the bed, and Anders’ displeased sigh was ignored as Edgar continued to rummage through crates. “I wish Rose had given me a proper date, or that Carver would write—which we both know he won’t, especially if he’s sore about my letter. It’d make all this planning much easier on me, but we’ll make do.”
“There’s no rush,” Anders said.
“No? What if he shows up tomorrow?”
“Then he can tell you there’s no rush.” The heat of his lover’s hand smoothed out over Edgar’s shoulders before settling at his lower back. “If you don’t slow down, you’ll hurt yourself again, and then where will you be?”
With a quick, dismissive wave, Edgar sorted through the rest of Carver’s old books, letters, and other small baubles. He’d need to wipe down the bookcase in the corner before displaying all of this.
What did he do with his cleaning rag?
“I need to draw up a list for Bodahn, we’ll need extra groceries,” Edgar said, twisting around to search the room. “If his appetite is as great as yours, you’ll both eat us out of house if we don’t plan ahead. And I need to go downstairs and look through the wine in the cellar. Carver’s not one for the stuff but there was this one he liked—what was it called? Something, something burst?"
“Burst?”
“Yes… oh, what was it?”
Wonderful, now that would bother him until he thought of it. It’s the same wine he once caught Carver and Merrill drinking together shortly after the Great and Absolutely Necessary Viscount Garden Break-In of 9:31. Edgar had gone to visit Merrill only to find her and Carver on the floor, drunk, in a fit of giggles, and almost finished with their second bottle. Strong stuff, whatever it was.
“You’re a terrible influence.”
“Are you talking to me or her?”
“Both of you. It’s only noon!”
“Don’t look at me. Wasn’t my idea.”
“Merrill…”
“Hehe~”
The rag sat discarded on the floor, picked up to hastily wipe down the bookcase as Edgar continued, “Oh, just add it to the list. Orana’s washing the new bedding—Isabela brought it over. It’s rather shiny, and I don’t know how he’ll feel about red.” Another ache stretched through his muscles as he knelt down to get the bottom shelves. “Sandal’s supposed to come in and do something about the fireplace—logs, we need to bring logs up, remind me to remind him—"
“Ed—”
“—and Bodahn needs the grocery lists, and I should start a guest list for the dinner party. And how is the clinic’s stock? You’ve everything you need?”
Anders, who stood almost a head taller, came around behind his lover to wrap his arms around his waist in an effort to keep him still, though Edgar just wiggled about anyway.
“Love, you’re stressing yourself.”
“I’m not stressing,” he insisted, holding the rag out of reach when Anders tried to take it from him. “I’m planning. He’s only here for a month, and that’s so little time to do everything, and there’s still so much to do and…” he trailed off, leaning back against Anders’ chest. It felt dangerously nice to be held, but the distraction tactic wouldn’t work. Smoothing out his beard with a frown, he admitted, “…Alright, maybe I’m stressing, but only a little.”
“You think?” Anders smiled, brushing the long, dark locks away from Edgar’s face. “Do you want to talk about it?”
What was there to talk about? Aside from everything?
Actually, one thing did weigh on him...
“Who do you think Carver’s bringing?” he asked, turning in the embrace. “You served there, too.”
“Years ago.” Anders shrugged. “And things have changed. The only women in the Grey Wardens at the time were Velanna and Sigrun. And Rose, but given she’s practically married, I doubt it’s her. Unless other women have joined, or she’s not a warden at all, those two are the only ones I know of.”
Well, that narrowed it down, except those names meant nothing to him. Did Anders ever mention either of them before? He didn’t care to speak on Grey Warden matters when pressed to begin with, what with all the secrets of the order. The most he ever got out of him, and Carver for that matter, was when they all went to the Deep Roads for the second time to find Corypheus, everything he learned disturbing at best.
Then a wince twisted at Anders’ mouth, and his shoulders tensed. “But if they’re our options, we should probably cross our fingers for Sigrun.”
“Why?” asked Edgar. “What’s wrong with Velanna?”
A beat of silence.
That didn’t settle any unease nagging at Edgar’s insides.
And neither did the explanation of, “When we first met her, she killed a bunch of merchants and then brought trees to life to kill us. And she once told me she found human’s repulsive. Then there was the time she stashed slugs in Alistair’s socks. Overall, just an unpleasant woman. She used to make fun of my fireballs.”
Oh no, not his fireballs.
“…So, she’s a mage, I take it?”
“And Dalish.”
“Oh.” …Oh.
Would Carver… no—Well, if she were kind to him—
“But…” Anders hesitated, as if debating on if he should continue. “…she and Rose had a, let’s say, disagreement on human-elf relations when Velanna found out she and Alistair were more than just Commander and Lieutenant… among other things.”
“Well, last I checked, Carver’s human.”
“So we may have nothing to worry about.”
“And Sigrun?”
“Ah, she’s a lovely little thing,” Anders said. “Dead, though. Kind of. She had a funeral before joining the Legion of the Dead.”
“The what of what?”
“Legion of the Dead. It’s a dwarf thing.”
Oh well, that explained everything. Except not at all.
Edgar took all that in the best he could, decided he didn’t want to think on it any longer as the anxiety of it made his stomach upset, and cleared his throat.
“Well, regardless. Whoever this ‘beloved companion’ is, how am I supposed to know what she likes? What if she doesn’t like the wine? Or the food? Or the bedroom or the sheets?” he huffed, turning with his hands on his hips. “Maker, what if she doesn’t like me?” Oh, no. Oh, no. “What if she’s terrible and I hate her, Anders? Then what?”
The laughter of his lover was usually contagious, but Edgar thought nothing funny of the matter!
“You say that as if Carver doesn’t hate me.”
“He doesn’t hate you.”
“Mmhmm.”
“He doesn’t,” Edgar insisted, gripping his lover’s shoulders. “If he truly hated you, you’d know it.”
Anders rose a brow. “You mean like when he said, ‘I hate you, mage’ directly to me?”
“…Well, he left you unstabbed, didn’t he?”
Alright, fine, Carver may have disapproved of Edgar’s affection for Anders from the start, and he may still. He never worried about that; Anders had no intentions of coming between them.
But who knew what this companion’s intentions were? Was it that silly to worry?
“Edgar,” Anders coaxed him to meet his eye. “What’s really bothering you?”
Where did he begin?
“I worry that…” He faltered. “…that if something goes terribly wrong, or he doesn’t enjoy his time here, or if this companion of his doesn’t like me, Carver will never want to come back.”
“Oh, Ed...”
“I know he’s dedicated himself to the wardens,” said Edgar. “He’s always wanted to strike out on his own and forge his own path and have a life that wasn’t about hiding or worrying himself sick about me or—or Bethany. I’ve always wanted that for him, too, but—” Anders’ forehead came to rest against his. “—but I still want a part in his life.”
“Some wardens completely cut ties with their other lives. Give up their names, their families, all for the order,” said Anders. “He still writes to you, and still wears the Hawke name with pride.”
“I know.”
With only letters tying them together now, he felt as though he simultaneously did and didn’t know his brother. Some things never change, but the rest always do.
Neither of them would’ve chosen this, though. The Grey Wardens lived with the looming presence of their hourglasses draining, more aware of it all than everyone else. Carver had a calling, just as Anders did, and Edgar knew one day he’d lose them both to the bloody Deep Roads and the darkspawn… because losing Bethany to them wasn’t enough.
They both lived with the consequences of the Deep Roads expedition, and sometimes when Edgar was left alone with his thoughts for too long, he’d wonder how different things would be if he hadn’t brought Carver.
“I’m going. I have to, Ed. It’s just as much my expedition as it is yours! This is our only chance, and I won’t let you do it alone. If you make me stay, I—I will never forgive you.”
With everyone else gone—Bethany, Father, and now Mother—Carver’s all Edgar had now.
Well, and Gamlen, but he’d rather not count his uncle unless he absolutely had to.
He also had Anders, who grounded and loved him more than any other man Edgar’s been with. He was well-known in the city even before he was titled Champion of Kirkwall, and that status kept Knight-Commander Meredith from dragging him to the Gallows by his ear. He had the Hawke Estate, and enough money to live comfortably. He had Varric, Merrill, Isabela, Fenris, Seb--
“Anders!” Edgar gasped, jerking away from his lover and to point an accusatory finger at him. “Sebastian! I forgot—Fenris didn’t—You were supposed to remind me to go talk to Sebastian!”
“I was?” the mage asked, startled. “Since when?”
“Since… since when I last asked you to remind me!”
“Oh,” Anders said, thoughtfully, then shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t forget to go talk to Sebastian. I hear he really wants to meet Carver.”
Edgar adored Anders dearly. Loved him to the moon and back. Would fight an endless pit of darkspawn for him if he asked.
But sometimes, he really knew all the wrong buttons to press.
Oh well. At least Edgar wasn’t above finding the humor in stressful situations, so he snorted a laugh.
“Right, thank you.”
“Always happy to help.”
“In that case,” he tossed him the rag, “enough mushy talk. Clean the windows, would you?” Using the break of the moment to compose himself, Edgar imposed a return to his usual charm and upbeat attitude. “We can’t mope about! Carver could show up tomorrow! Or the day after!”
While Anders went to the window with a shake of his head but also a fond grin, Edgar took to placing books on the shelves. There weren’t a whole lot, and all of the titles were ones he recognized. He made a mental note to make a trip to the bookshop in town; Carver might appreciate some new ones to take back with him, if he even had time to read anymore with all the world saving he’s apparently doing.
But an old, worn novel gave him pause; The Adventures of Prince Briaron Ambrose, written by an author whose name was nearly rubbed away from the cover, leaving only “Bo” behind.
Bethany’s favorite.
It’s one of the few things Carver brought with him from Lothering. Before he got sick, Father used to read to them every night before bed. Whenever Bethany’s turn to pick the story came, she always picked this one.
Prince Briaron’s grand quest to find his true love, but every woman he met who he thought could be this true love usually turned out not to be. Until the ending where it turned out this true love of his was right under his nose the entire time—a serving girl the prince knew his whole life who was revealed to be of noble blood. Bethany knew the story by heart, and Father had far more patience for the tale than he or Carver did. Too much mushy, gushy kissing, not enough dragon battles.
Edgar flipped through the yellowing pages with care to where a dried, pressed daisy marked the page Carver last left off.
A pinprick in his heart.
…and as Briaron stands atop the hill overlooking the wilderness of dark and vibrant greens that surround his kingdom, he admires the spring flowers in full bloom. Wild rose bushes of blushing pinks and scarlet scatter about. Elfroot grows in thick patches, the occasional wildflower flourishing alongside them. Butterflies and fat bumblebees thrive here, just as Briaron himself does. In this moment of bliss, he grins from ear to ear, and with ever flutter of his heart, he knows. There’s a love that only happens once in a lifetime, and he’s finally found her; the wish he whispered for on a dandelion all those years ago.
Sappy, gagging, and too flowery—literally. Edgar could practically hear his own eyeroll, yet his grin remained at the thought of his dear brother reading it of his own accord. Carver, who wielded a great sword and towered over most who met him, reading about blushing roses and ooey-gooey romance with a straight face.
Whether he actually enjoyed it, or only read it in honor of their sister, he didn’t know, and it didn’t really matter.
Running his thumb over the delicate petals of the daisy…
“Have you heard from Merrill at all?” Edgar asked, distantly.
“No,” Anders replied. “Not since cards last week. I’m surprised she’s not here helping you.”
“Yes…” Edgar tucked the daisy back into the book, and shelved it. “She said she’d stop by when she could. Wonder if I should go see her.”
“She’s probably fussing over that bloody mirror of hers. Be careful if you do,” said Anders, then added, “And call on Sebastian while you’re at it.”
Edgar nodded absently.
He had no worries about anything happening at Merrill’s place, other than maybe a piece of her roof nearly falling on his head, or another rat gnawing its way through the floorboards to scurry across his foot. He trusted Merrill more than he trusted the eluvian, and any concern he had was over her well-being.
He’d been so preoccupied with everything that he hadn’t taken notice of her absence until now. How… bizarre.
He never said it out loud—surprising, yes—but Edgar always thought… or rather, he always hoped that there was something more between his brother and Merrill.
“So… Merrill.”
“What about her? …Why are you looking at me like that?”
“You two have spent an awful lot of time together recently.”
“So? What of it?”
“It’s just an observation. She’s pretty cute, isn’t she?”
“Shove off.”
“You should show her your tattoo.”
“We’re not talking about this. Stop looking at me and go—go away!”
Though now those chances seemed slim. Not only because of the passage of time and the Grey Wardens keeping his brother and Merrill apart, but it sounds like Carver’s moved on.
Oh, Maker…
Weariness weighed on his eyelids, and a distant ache thrummed in Edgar’s hip down to his leg as a swell of hurt overshadowed his heart. The afternoon sun hit the window just right, the light seeping into the warm bedroom.
He shouldn’t dwell. Nothing will get done.
So much to do… oh so much to do.
-x-
Evening came with clear skies and only a sliver of the moon’s light, the dark seeping over Kirkwall. A wistful, restless night with too much noise inside her.
But Merrill had grown quite good at clearing her mind when she had something else to pour her focus into—the eluvian.
She lost count when the days began to bleed together. That tended to happen when she didn’t leave her house and spent hours upon hours trying to make the eluvian work. She hadn’t attended any of the gatherings at the Hanged Man, and no one called upon her, not even Edgar.
Everything’s fine, of course. Nothing to worry about. Merrill was perfectly fine—happy, even! Completely thrilled to spend all her time staring into a mirror that held no reflection, didn’t do anything no matter what she tried, and was frustrating beyond belief.
It remained in the same corner it always had since she reconstructed the beautiful frame. But even with the Arulin'Holm Edgar helped her get from the Keeper, the mirror remained still and reflectionless. Nothing Audacity told her helped, the Arulin'Holm didn’t work, nothing she’s done has made much of a difference.
“I’m missing something,” she murmured. “Always missing something.”
A cup of tea chilled in her hands, barely sipped, as Merrill stood before the eluvian, staring into the nothing.
But determination held strong within her; she’s lost far too much to let this go, and a small part of her—a bitter wound left on her pride and soul—that desired to refute the Keeper’s claims about her, to prove to the clan that all she’s done was to help them.
Merrill left to devote years of her life to the People through the meticulous restoration of something ancient, a connection to the past they all lost… and all the Keeper could do was inflict fear and paranoia in the hearts of those Merrill once called family.
All the ire in the eyes that watched her through the clan’s camp, Keeper Marethari’s condescending voice as she handed Edgar the Arulin'Holm instead of her. The way Pol looked at her when they found him outside the Varterral's lair…
Merrill spent days with the eluvian until her eyes burned and stomach groaned. Mana drained. Exhaustion overpowering focus.
Then the thought struck her; she may have no choice but to go back to Sundermount and speak directly to Audacity once more. The demon’s grown silent recently, and that was… troublesome, to say the least. Usually, she could communicate with him through the Fade, but nothing.
Merrill knew the risks, always had, but Audacity told her years ago that he witnessed the creation of the eluvian during the days of Arlathan. If he could help her then the risk would be worth it, even if it cost her everything. It’s a keeper’s job to remember.
Remember. Seemed like all Merrill did was remember.
Remember. Remember. Remember…
“Merrill…?”
His top lip, feather-light, grazed hers…
“By the Dread Wolf,” she groaned, stirring a new mug of steeping tea far more harshly than necessary. “Why must I be like this?”
While she managed to put Carver and his impending arrival out of thought for the sake of her nerves and dedication to the eluvian, he always found his way from the back of her mind to the forefront. It’s not that this self-confinement was a means of avoiding Edgar and everything related to Carver—Really! She swears!—it’s just…
The tea abandoned to the table, Merrill wandered into her bedroom, lingering in the doorway.
Maybe she shouldn’t—but why not? If there was ever a time for it, this would be it, right? If these thoughts and feelings could resurface, why couldn’t everything else?
That’s what led to her digging under the bed for a blanket wrapped box hidden in the shadows.
How foolish it was that her heart raced.
After Merrill found out what had happened to Carver, the little reminders of him around her home became unbearable to pass by every day. Those things found themselves tucked away in a small, wooden box wrapped in an all-too-familiar blue blanket. Dust settled into the folds of the heavy fabric from years as a closely kept secret.
Sat upon her bed, Merrill dumped the contents out before her.
Bittersweet melancholy struck her nerves.
Two stones. One a tiger’s eye, smooth to the touch, found while pilfering through a barrel by the docks. Too excited when she held it up beside Carver’s face.
“Uh… Merrill?”
“I knew it, it’s a perfect match! For your eyes, I mean.”
“Oh. I guess it is?”
The other stone was rough to touch, deep green in color with a thin vein of red jasper that ran through it.
“Here.”
“Ooh, that’s a pretty one!”
“It’s the only one I could find to match.”
She once kept them displayed together on her shelf, along with a small, black button from one of Carver’s shirts that she always intended to mend for him.
A small bouquet of dried flowers tied together with twine. All from the Viscount’s Garden. The thorns of the yellow rose still pricked against the pad of her thumb. Some daisies, baby’s breath, and a pink carnation. Once it hung on the wall above her bed.
They hadn’t intended to break in there, honestly, and she’s surprised Carver even agreed to it. Merrill had wanted to see the garden in the evening time, but didn’t fancy getting arrested after Aveline scolded her the last time, and Varric paid off the guards the time before.
“Can I borrow your knife?”
“Oh, is someone coming? Are you going to shiv them?”
“What? No, I’m not—just, can I please see your knife?”
The last thing in the box was a book she borrowed, and never had the chance to return; “The Dane and the Werewolf.” The cover didn’t look very interesting, but she’d watched him single it out in the bookshop they once visited.
“’The wolf pack circled, ever closer, and he who felled boars and bears with his bright blade knew fear. They spoke his name in roars, like gravestones, offering a beast's bargain—’ …What?”
“I like the way you read it.”
“I—thank you.”
“You make it sound so exciting! Have you read this one before?”
“A few times.”
“I should get you to read Varric’s tales aloud, too. I bet you do a great Donnen voice. ‘Hnngg, I’m a gruzzled, old guard, one week from retirement, grrr!’”
“’Sure would be a shame if someone got murdered on my watch—oops!’”
“Yes! Exactly like that!”
Merrill flipped through the pages, stopping when she saw the underlined passage, “But some things cannot be repent, some coinage cannot be unspent, when hearts are wagered, a fissure rent.” Carver left no explanation as to why he marked it. She never had the chance to ask him.
But now she would. Get the chance, that is.
Heat stung behind Merrill’s eyes.
Carver’s coming home.
Too many things she’d like to ask him; How have you been? Is it nice to live in Fereldan again? Are the griffons really extinct? What do you like to do when you're not stabbing darkspawn? Do you ever think of me?
Can we start again?
Is it too late for us now?
#carver hawke#da2 merrill#carver/merrill#carver x merrill#dragon age 2#da2#dragon age fanfiction#hawke/anders#edgar hawke
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lightningstorm fic snip :)
fic link , ch1 is out and ch2 is otw!
< [Neon] remained in thought for a while longer, before realizing that most of the other agents were filing out of the cafeteria to their missions or respective activities. The orange sat untouched on the scuffed table.
"Oy, sleepyhead. Everyone else's left already."
Jett waved her hand around, mumbling, "Five more minutes."
"I'm getting up."
"Nooo," Jett groaned, clinging to Neon's arm as she stood up. "Carry me to my room, I'm so tired 여보," she threw her arm around Neon and leaned her full weight on the Filipina.
"I don't speak Korean, and stop slobbering on my shirt." Neon blushed, and against her better judgment, picked up the Korean bridal style and brought her back to her room. Jett nestled her head into the crook of Neon's neck, silver hair ticking her chin. >
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phalanx formation. ch4 of poliocetics. read from the start here. ch2. ch3. also on ao3.
tags: manipulation, potential unwanted pregnancy, sylvain being weird about said unwanted pregnancy, noncon mention, just a lot of trigger potential be mindful of yourselves
It’s 1 AM, and Sylvain is wide awake. There’s something soothing about being swallowed by the shadows of night, a stillness to the time that ensures he can work without interruption, whether it be in his office or out in the clubs.
He’s no fan of paperwork, but he can chew through it with ease, crunch out the numbers and zeroes and margins within a few hours and have the rest of the late, late evening to himself.
It’s 1 AM when his phone rings. He snaps up the device with nearly shaking hands at the sight of your caller ID, a loving trail of heart emojis surrounding your name.
“Hey, everything alright—” he starts, because why on earth are you calling him at this hour? Has something changed or gone wrong? Have you come to your senses and decided to ream him out? He anticipates the worst, but it doesn’t come. There’s a sniffle on your end of the line, a shaky little breath.
“Sylvain,” your voice is a warbling tremble, an old door creaking open, reedy and thin.
“What happened? What’s wrong?” His voice dips into a concerned coo, his heart crumpling at the sheer heartbreak in your voice. You breathe quickly and loudly.
“I’m sorry, I just—” you took a hiccuping gasp in, air rattling around your fighting lungs as you struggled to chew through your words.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to be sorry for anything,” he starts slowly. A pause, and then— “You want me to come over there?”
“Sylvain,” you utter his name a second time, little voice barely holding through. “What if I’m pregnant?”
Oh. Sylvain swallows. You finally realized. It’s a bit belated, in his opinion. Bringing the subject up at dinner was sorely tempting, but you had looked so gaunt and hungry. He didn’t want to jeopardize your ability to feed yourself by introducing a topic so anxiety-inducing. Regardless, you’ve found your way to it, now. Or perhaps it has found you, suddenly and in the dead of night.
“Well,” he begins, slowly and carefully, “We’ll take care of it. And we’ll support you, no matter what you decide to do.”
Dead silence. Your little breaths on the phone are all that lets him know you’re still there. It’s not enough.
“Do you want me to come over?” he tries again.
“Y-Yeah, could you? I don’t think I can go back to sleep.”
He’s out the door within five minutes. On the road in six. The drive from the estate to your apartment is longer than he would like it to be, but the streets are relatively uncrowded and untouched by the nightlife buzz that exists in other parts of the city. The idea of wrangling Dimitri or Felix along for the ride is tempting, but Sylvain doesn’t think you’re equipped to handle any other surprises. Nor is Dimitri, who may be as frantic about the possibility of an upcoming heir as you currently are.
By far the most frustrating part of the journey is the lack of dependable parking spaces. He’s already wasted enough time on the road, so he settles for a parking garage a block away and books it.
“Hey,” he greets as you crack open the door, and then open it for him. He takes a step inside, arms already open to sweep you into an embrace. You respond in kind, arms curling around his back, fingers raking into the fine wool of his sweater. A minute passes just like this. He rocks you back and forth on your feet, stood in your doorway, almost unable to believe just how trusting you remain in the face of all he has done to you.
It’s good it was them, then, to find you. To scoop you up. At the very least, they can see your every need met, and that’s more than he can say for most of the other men that crawl around your local neighborhood.
“Hi,” you say, watery. “Come in.”
“So, do you wanna talk about it now?”
“Sylvain, I don’t even know what I’m going to do if I am. Pregnant.” you chew the word out like it’s a bitter vegetable.
“And that’s fine! That’s natural, for something like this. It’s new and scary and you weren’t necessarily planning on it,” Sylvain says, reaching over to curl a hand around your wrist, pulling your hands away from your face. “We’re going to take care of you, I promise.”
“If you want the kid, we’ll give him a nice, loving home and everything he could ever need. Or want. Dimitri won’t accept anything less.” Sylvain explains, kindling some warmth into his voice. Because it does sound idyllic. A child that looks like you and one of them. The knowledge that they’ll be safe and cared for and loved. He’s not too sure about Felix, but Dimitri would be a more than adequate father. And he, as the eldest of his friend group and well privy to the mistakes of his father, would be careful not to repeat them.
There’s the idea of PTA meetings, first soccer games, all the things he’s seen in movies and on TV, potentially right in front of him. He’s not stupid enough to believe that’s all there would be to parenting. It’s a tough job, laden with strife and difficulties. But the three of them have the money to ensure most of those difficulties never even reach your ears, or the ears of your potential child.
“And if…if I don’t want it?” you ask, voice a quiet tremble in the space between you. Hardly loud enough to hear.
“Well,” Sylvain hesitates for a moment. Brief, but long enough for you to take note, long enough to give you pause. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it, alright? For now, just focus on relaxing. Can you do that for me? Here—let me make you something to drink. Tea sound good?” He knows where you keep the bags and knows your favorite kind. He also knows that you stock Dimitri’s and Felix’s favorites. Not his, because he’s always been more of a coffee guy.
“You don’t have to.”
“But I want to. Didn’t we just go over this?” he gives you a pointed look. You look away, and he takes that as acquiescence.
Doing something as simple as making a warm beverage for you feels domestic. He likes it. He likes taking care of you—if only you could bring yourself to realize that.
What he doesn’t like is the silence that looms over the apartment like a dreary fog, with the exception of the sounds he makes bustling around your kitchen. You’re usually so eager to make small talk, to ask how his day has been, to ask about all of the new and interesting things that are happening in his life. Though, he supposes he couldn’t tell the truth should you ask the latter question, for you are thoroughly and unmistakably the most interesting thing happening in his life.
Still, he prepares your tea just the way you like it, having memorized your order over the months spent together. Or has it been years?
Your eyes are shut, head leaned against the back of your discount couch as he returns—but they open at the sound of his footsteps against the wood. He gently urges the mug into your hands, before settling in next to you.
“This doesn’t change anything, alright?” he murmurs, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to pull you close. Hip to hip and head to chest. You nestle into his side like you’re taking shelter, curled up like you’re trying to make yourself smaller. It’s likely because you’re too exhausted to do anything else, but he still marvels at how trusting you are. He likes you like this, he thinks. Soft and sleepy, warm and willing.
You don’t answer him. The frantic adrenaline of your panic attack has all but faded, exhaustion sweeping over you in its wake.
“We should go get tests tomorrow,” you murmur into the woven fabric of his sweater. He can feel your lips moving, your nose prodding into his side. It’s too early. Nothing will show up if you take a test now, but he doesn’t tell you that. It can wait until tomorrow morning, after you’re fed and well-rested and perhaps more equipped to comprehend that you’ll have to wait in suspense for ten or so days. You’ll be thinking about it everyday, nonstop. He already knows that he’ll likely have to soothe you down from another episode. Should he just ask you to stay at his place? It’d sure save him the time of having to haul ass down here whenever you need him.
Later. He’ll think it all over later.
He keeps what remains of your attention span with small talk and sweet nothings. He manages to convince you to take a few sips of tea before you fall into sleep by the sound of his voice, easy as slipping into a warm bath.
#poliocetics tag#fe3h/reader#sylvain jose gautier/reader#sylvain/reader#oz write#noncon tw#pregnancy tw#unplanned pregnancy tw#manipulation tw
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I’m 80% sure I’ll be editing the long chaps from the beginning (except ch 1 that stays untouched) into multiple chaps. For example, ch2 can be split into 3 or even 4 chapters. Don't get me started on the summer arc... 😅🤣
Harry returns with Cedric
Harry vs Barty
At Dumbledore's office + Reunion with Hermione & Ron
Hospital Wing after Harry gets woken up by McGonagall yelling at Fudge
And that’s just Ch 2 being split into multiple chaps. Idk how it works for subscriptions though... I don't want to spam anyone’s e-mail. Myb the publish date staying the same but adding more chaps? Idk.
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Current WIPs (by no means comprehensive)
Vox week stuff, I'm on day 2 :(
Fundimentals sequel, planned out but basically untouched. I've decided not to rush it
PRIK bartender pov fic, beautiful in my head but only exists there
Stranger Ranger, still on ch2
Intricate Rituals (Isaac secret crush, even from himself) is on ch3 and the outline keeps getting longer
Ted Lasso super hero au, also only in my head, created ten minutes ago while I was watching TikTok and remembered that the idea for Colin/Isaac/Michael came from reading timberkon fics
Strangest Reinforcements in Roman Military History, the battle scene is done, now I just need to decide what changes of the last few chapters of SoN
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Hi!
For WIP wednesday, Mraaaah Ch2 please! Happy writing :)
Thank you! I actually wrote you some sentences for Mraaaah Ch3 because I made a typo in my original post.
WIP Wednesday Unnamed Mummy Fanfic
They picked their way through the still smoldering debris over to one of the storage vaults where the artifacts that were still awaiting display were usually kept.
“I’d looked over most of them and not seen anything of note,” Abdul said. “The only ones I hadn’t had a chance to check were back here.”
Luckily for them, the fire had left most of this part of the museum untouched, though the intruders had not been nearly so courteous, scattering crate lids, packing materials, and delicate artifacts about with reckless abandon in their search for whatever it was they’d taken.
#wip wednesday game#my writing#mraaaah#unnamed mummy fanfic#the mummy#the mummy returns#the mummy returns fanfic#the mummy fanfic#fanfic
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i'm a stolen car in a parking garage
A bunch of the crew get dosed with an aphrodisiac. Telford is affected and goes to Rush for help to work it off. Kink ensues.
Words: 4526, Chapters: 1/2, Language: English
Fandom: Stargate Universe
Rating: Explicit
Category: M/M
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationship: Nicholas Rush/David Telford
Characters: David Telford Nicholas Rush
Additional Tags: Established Relationship Aphrodisiacs Impact Play Spanking Coming Untouched Multiple Orgasms Dirty Talk Angst but don't worry i think i sort it in ch2
#stargate#stargate universe#sgu#nicholas rush#david telford#fanfic#archive of our own#ao3#my fic#mine#this one was a struggle!
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Tag game :)
@dapandapod tagged me (because I asked to be lol) so here goes.
Rules: Post the names of all the files in your wip folder regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! And then tag as many people as you have WIPs.
I have wips from 2020 still untouched so.
1. Cock
2. nb jask smut
3. Chirren
4. Farm ch2
5. Flat pining
I am begging anyone who sees this to join me. I am nosy as fuck and will ask you questions.
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Untouchable- Ch 2: The Offer
Summary: A Spencer Reid x OC fanfic that retells select episodes, starting in season 1, from the point of view of Lydia Ambers, a forensic scientist.
Warnings: swearing, discussion about death and illegal activity (but like, at half the normal Criminal Minds level)
Ch 1 | Ch 3 | About Lydia
~ ~ ~
“You got it all sorted out?” Gideon asked Hotch as he walked into his office. It had been a month since their case in Santa Cruz and Gideon had been on Hotch’s ass about this since they got back.
“It’s… not a job…” Hotch started. “I talked to Strauss and she said that there was no proof that a forensic scientist would be of any benefit to the team. Police departments provide them and local forensic scientists have access to scenes sooner.”
“Police departments can also have media liaisons and tech analysts, but we bring in our own,” he argued. “I spoke to some of Lydia’s old professors and they said that she’s not only a good crime scene investigator, but her major was chemistry and she’s fit to get a job in DNA analysis or toxicology.”
“Gideon, what did I say about not getting involved? Strauss needs proof that she is an asset to the team before paying her a salary. So, I got her to agree to let Lydia work here as an intern under your supervision.”
“Done,” Gideon said. “By the end of the month, she’ll have proven worthy of a spot on this team.”
“No, there’s more,” Hotch told him, frustrated. “She only gets to work jobs that we clearly need her on and she gets no more than two cases every 50 days.”
“Fine, fine,” Gideon replied, which did nothing to ease Hotch’s worry. He, too, had been impressed by Lydia during the Jonathan Carrey case, but there were parameters on hiring people into the FBI and Gideon acted like those meant nothing.
He’d been the same way about Reid after he first spoke to him, but Reid was cut out to be a profiler from day one and they had an opening for him. Gideon wanted Hotch to simply create a brand new job title and salary for Lydia and he couldn’t do that.
“Should I call her and tell her to pack up her things and move to DC?”
Hotch blinked. “You haven’t already told her about the possibility of a job, have you?”
“No,” Gideon laughed. “I can’t promise her a job when I don't have the jurisdiction to hire anybody.”
That was a relief, but Hotch was still afraid Gideon had let on too much. He had just admitted to calling her professors to learn more about her abilities. So, he replied, “You can tell her that we have an internship position that she might be interested in and ask her about her ability to leave California. That is all.”
~ ~ ~
“Agent Hotchner. Agent Gideon,” Lydia greeted as she entered the BAU. It was crazy enough to be in Virginia, seeing as she’d never left California, but FBI headquarters?
She shuffled around nervously and adjusted her glasses numerous times despite the fact they were already as far up her nose as they could go.
“Lydia,” Gideon greeted, warmly. “How was your flight?”
“It was alright. Exciting. I’ve never been on an airplane before.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. No one should have to go through airport security for their first time alone,” Hotch said. “Why don’t we step into my office?”
He and Gideon led the way into the bullpen and around to his office. Lydia’s eyes darted around, seeing Morgan, Elle, and Reid at their desks, engrossed in their work. She wondered if any of them would even recognize her if she caught their eye. She was surprised enough when Gideon called.
“I assume you’ve been considering my offer?” Gideon asked, closing the door behind her.
“Considering, yes. But it would be… difficult, to say the least. I’d love to hear it from your mouths… the offer, that is.”
Hotch sat down at his desk and gestured for her to do the same.
“Agent Gideon and I would like to offer you an internship here at the BAU as a forensic science technician. When we took you on as a consultant in Santa Cruz, you proved to have inspiring potential. You would only be called out for occasional cases, once every month or so. Agent Gideon would be your supervisor.”
“And this would mean moving to DC?”
“Eventually, yes. We can’t exactly fly you out to every new scene from California. It would be easier to have you here, getting briefed with us, taking the jet, etcetera. You’ll also need to go through a training period here and likely will be asked to work in the office, even when you aren’t on a case. How big of a problem would that be? Do you have a lot of family there?”
“No, not family. I mean, it’s just me and my sister and she’s been doing just fine on her own while I’ve been at college, so we’ll manage the distance. The issue is I’m set to start a masters program next semester. I’m just… unsure how I feel about dropping out of school. I know this is a crazy opportunity, but it’s not a full-time job. And if I don’t do well and you guys decide not to keep me, I’m poor and stuck in DC.”
Gideon, who’d been hovering in the back of the room stepped forward. “If we fire you for some reason, I promise to personally pay for your flight back to California.” It was a joke, but in all seriousness, a flight wasn’t even half of it.
“You wouldn’t have to drop out,” Hotch added. “Many schools nearby would be happy to have you and the Bureau rarely has problems with schools refusing to work around our interns schedules. And even if that’s too difficult, this experience will likely open up many opportunities in the future. I’d be happy to write you a million letters of recommendation should you decide to find work elsewhere.”
“I, uh-”
“Hey Hotch?” A familiar voice called, knocking on the door.
He apologized to her momentarily, before saying, “Come in, Reid.”
The door swung open and the boy looked right over Lydia’s head to his boss. “JJ wanted me to tell you that she…”
He trailed off as he felt more pairs of eyes on him. He glanced at Gideon before finally landing on Lydia.
She decided to make the first move, seeing as he was stunned into silence. “Dr. Reid, how nice to see you again.” She stood up to greet him, a smile gracing her features.
“Lydia, I uh… Sorry, to interrupt I really had no- Oh! And it’s nice to see you, too,” he fumbled. “I’ll… I can talk to Hotch later. Sorry, again for interrupting.” And with that he shut the door and was gone.
“Sorry about that. I figured it might have been important, that’s why I invited him in. What were you going to say?”
Lydia froze, her mind drifting elsewhere. “Does the team know? That you are offering an internship into the team?”
Hotch shook his head. “We aren’t offering an internship into the team. We’re offering you an internship into the team. We were waiting to see if you agreed to it.”
“Well, I don’t want to force them to work with someone super under experienced. They aren’t paid to be teachers.”
“The only one who’s going to be teaching you anything is me,” Gideon reassured her. “You are more than capable of holding your own with them. I trust you.”
Lydia felt her throat close up. It was all set up. A job she couldn’t even dream of and here they were, offering it up on a silver platter. “So, this is all… serious. I move to DC and just… work for the FBI all of a sudden?”
“If that’s what you want, then yes. That’s our offer.”
Lydia looked Hotch over, as if trying to profile whether or not he was lying. And finally, she said, “I would like that. Thank you.”
~ ~ ~
“You’ll need to fill out some legal release forms, medical history forms, and I’ll get to work on setting you up for your training period and psychological assessment,” a charming girl named Penelope Garcia explained. Gideon had introduced her as the BAU’s technical analyst.
Her office was brightly decorated and she handed Lydia all the information she needed with a huge smile.
“I’m going to be asked to do a thorough background check on you, as well. But that information goes straight to Hotch and Gideon, no one else.”
Lydia chuckled slightly. “I don’t think I have any secrets, but thanks for the warning.”
“Of course!” she replied.
“No secrets?” Gideon asked. “If I remember correctly, you refused to explain anything about yourself that didn’t pertain to the case when I first met you.”
Lydia hesitated slightly. “Well, what do you want to know?”
“What were you trying to hide?” he countered. “If you’re such an open book, you can tell me.”
“I was just angry!” she argued. “It isn’t about hiding, it’s just that after my mom died, I really believed that I was explosive and so I avoid any topics that bring out my stronger emotions. And you were trying to push all my buttons. I was stressed!”
She wasn't sure if Gideon was just an attentive listener or if he was simply interested in her background, but his eyes longed for her to go on. “Explosive?”
“That’s how I got this limp.”
Normally, nothing anyone could say would prompt her to give away more information than necessary. She always tried to excuse it as ‘no one asked’ rather than blatantly avoiding certain topics, but it was pretty obvious to just about anyone she’d met that Lydia was not proud of her past. So whatever it was about Gideon that convinced her to add that comment was something pretty special.
“How?” It was Garcia this time.
The young girl laughed. “When I was 16, I was having some issues and one day I was trying to calm myself down… I often did this by physically getting my energy out so I was punching pillows and throwing things and I kicked something that was heavier than I expected and broke my foot.” She nodded, like she was remembering it fondly, but the other two could tell that it was a cover for her uncomfort. “And then, I was mad because I hadn’t solved my problem and I’d rendered myself useless, so I started walking on it before it was healed. I did dumb shit. I felt like I deserved the pain for being so uncontained and brash. And then the arch of my foot healed wrong and I had to live with a more… permanent reminder of my attitude.”
“Sixteen,” Gideon mumbled. “Is that when your father died?”
Garcia looked shocked that her superior would even say such a thing but Lydia was just intrigued, “What makes you say that?”
He shrugged. “You said that your only family is your sister. So, I figure both your parents are far out of the picture. You said your mom died when you were little, which triggered your outbursts. So, I figured that perhaps you lost your dad as well and if you were having major anger issues at 16, could be due to the loss of your second parent. Brings up old scars.”
She paused, a somewhat sad smirk gracing her face. “My dad’s not dead, but you’re pretty close. When I was 16, my father was sent to prison.”
Garcia and Gideon’s faces read with immediate regret. So, Lydia played it off quickly.
“Don’t stress about it. He’s not a murderer or anything and it’s not… important.”
She hesitated to explain what he did. She figured they were bound to find out soon enough and she really would rather not say it outloud, so she changed the subject.
“Hey Garcia? Do you think you could help me work on transferring schools? Agent Gideon suggested that I apply for online courses rather than continuing to learn on campus and I’m still not sure if I can reapply for everything so late. And I know your job isn’t navigating college websites or anything, but you are good at tech and I’d love some help.”
She brightened almost immediately. “Sure, sweetheart!”
#criminal minds#cm#spencer reid#spencer reid x oc#criminal minds fanfiction#criminal minds fanfic#criminal minds oc#cm fanfiction#cm fanfic#cm oc#spencer reid fanficton#spencer reid fanfic#untouchable#untouchable ch2#fanfiction#fanfic#oc#lydia ambers#jason gideon#aaron hotchner#penelope garcia
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Masterlist
All of these contain smut, cursing and are NSFW. DNI if you are under 18.
Link to my Ao3
All The Kings' Men (Dark!Bucky x Reader, King!Loki x Reader) (in progress)
Summary: The Odinson Kings take over Midgard, appointing commanders to help them colonize the entire surface of earth. Commander Barnes finds you during a raid of lands left untouched and claims you as his own. You endure months of torture and abuse at the metal hand of the cruel man and are set to suffer even more when he sends you to King Loki to break you further. Upon meeting the feared man, you find that looks can be deceiving, and rumors are not always what they seem.
Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11
Ch12 Ch13 Ch14 Ch15 Ch16
The Course Of True Love (Lokix OFC) (complete)
Facecast
Summary: Loki Odinson never expected to see his mother hurrying down a hall with a smart-mouthed, soot-covered figure who was supposedly the princess of Vanaheim. He never expected her to stay more than a week, much less an entire century, and he surely did not expect their initial animosity to morph into the fluttering, tickling feeling he got in his stomach every time she was near.
Ch1 Ch2 Ch3 Ch4 Ch5 Ch6 Ch7 Ch8 Ch9 Ch10 Ch11 Ch12 Ch13 Ch14 Ch15 Ch16 Ch17 Ch18 Ch19 Ch20 Ch21 Ch22 Ch23 Ch24 Ch25 Ch26
One Shots & Short Series:
Birthday Tricks (Soft Dom!Loki x Reader)
Summary: Teasing the God Of Mischief is all fun and games until he decides to make you suffer the consequences.
Leather-Bound (Dom!Loki x Sub!Reader, Switch!Loki)
Summary: The Prince of Lies catches you touching yourself on his bed and decides to punish you.
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5
Safe (Dom!Reader x Sub!Loki x Sub!Bucky)
Summary: The Avengers are giving the newly reformed Loki a hard time, so you and Bucky decide to take him under your wing. Sexually.
Part 1 Part 2
Special Education (Loki x Virgin!Reader)
Summary: You grew up on a tiny island that taught you nothing about sex and its derivatives. When you come across it in a steamy erotica book , you ask the God of Mischief to teach you everything he knows.
Take Care Of You (Sub!Loki x Reader, Switch!Loki x Reader).
Summary: You give a massage to the touch starved God Of Mischief and soon realize that under his dominating exterior lies a prince just wanting to be taken care of.
Part 1 Part 2
Yellow (Loki x Virgin!Reader)
Summary: The accidental ingestion of a sex potion leads you to the bedroom of the God of Mischief
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3
#loki smut#loki oc#loki fanfic#loki x original female character#loki laufesyon x reader#loki x you#marvelau#loki odinson#dark bucky x reader#dark!bucky
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Tags Masterlist
Ask | Answered Asks | Stories on AO3 | Twitter | AO3 | Bluesky | My Art | Readers’ Fanart | Chapter Previews (Sneak Peeks) | Side Stories | Reading Recs
Current Lineup of Story Updates:
🟢 - active, the WIP currently being worked on
⚪️ - active, but is on the waiting list
⚫️ - temporary hiatus
(Click Here to See its Original Art Post)
⚪️ The Name of the Game ch2 - William “Billy” Butcher/ Homelander (John)
SUMMARY: Ambushed on a PR trip to Vought-American, Billy Butcher is accosted by an omniscient voice calling itself the SYSTEM. As its Host, he’s tasked to fulfill the dying wish of each soul he transmigrates into. Fight fate. Only then will he be permitted to return home.
The catch? He’ll be pitted against each Task World’s “virtuous hero.” Somehow he will have to win his enemy over—or it’s Billy’s death.
Whilst he’s digesting the information, the SYSTEM must’ve read what’s on Billy’s mind because it quickly creates one more ironclad rule. 【No, you cannot kill that person—or your soul’s forfeit.】
Billy sneers. “You expect me to know who that cunt would be?”
【Oh, you’ll know. You are destined to be natural nemeses in every world.】
In the end, Homelander’s embraced Billy. “Don’t you see how perfect you are by my side…?” The deep love wrapped in paranoid light has rolled into a vast ocean, seemingly swallowing everything. Rubbing the tip of his nose against Billy’s cheek, he laughs in a low voice. “One word, William. Just one word from you, and we can be together.”
(AKA Billy’s on a literal Enemies-to-Lovers Fix-It mission spanning seven parallel universes.)
🟢 Truce ch3 - William “Billy” Butcher/ Homelander (John)
SUMMARY: When the whole world sees Billy jacked up on V-24, CEO Ashley Barrett defies expectations and makes a strategic business decision: reform the English ex-CIA operative/ leader of a terrorist cell into the new model superhero of America and make him co-captain of The Seven. Ryan is over the moon while Homelander—John—is less than enthused by the development.
Until he realizes he’s developed a…fixation on William fucking Butcher, of all Supes. They were perfect as nemeses; now they were untouchable as gods.
Together, they were America's Power Couple.
And Billy was John’s perfect partner.
⚪️ Either TNotG ch2, Truce ch4, or TUT ch6 will be next (it depends on my mood after posting Truce ch3)
(Click Here to See its Original Art Post)
⚪️ The Untold Tale ch6 - Shen Yuan/ original!Luo Binghe
SUMMARY: Let it not be said that Shen Yuan didn’t know how to be an accomplished—arguably better—writer than Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky! A middle-aged author in his hubris, he’d unknowingly triggered his fate and had his consciousness whisked away into an unfathomable mystical world that he would later learn to be based on Proud Immortal Demon Way and his very own work-in-progress. When given the opportunity to customize his character’s stats and to design his one remaining Customizable Skill Slot, as a veteran reader of transmigration stories and their tropes, Shen Yuan demanded, “Grant me the protagonist’s halo of course!”
The SYSTEM was silent all but for a minute. 【Understood. Unique Skill "PROTAGONIST'S HALO" activated. Esteemed Host, you share the Unique Skill "PROTAGONIST'S HALO" with one other.】
“Who?”
【This world’s Luo Binghe. From the original novel series.】
“...Hold on, I need some time to process this.”
(Little did Shen Yuan know that this world’s Luo Binghe is the same sadistic “Bing gē” from the released Extra short story. It was also too bad that Shen Yuan, in his mortal form, resembled Shen Qingqiu by a good thirty-to-forty percent.)
(Click Here to See its Original Art Post)
⚪️ A Prince and His Baron ch5 - Blitzø/ Stolas
SUMMARY: It was undeniable that there was an upcoming and new threat in Hell, rivaling some of the realm’s most ancient fiends in ruthlessness despite his pedigree. Prince Stolas arranged to meet the hitdemon, ready to confer upon him a title. Their first meeting didn't go exactly according to plan.
Blitzø didn't think he'd catch a royal demon's interest in that manner, but as an assassin who's got several centuries under his belt, he might be able to roll with it.
(A sort of What-If AU, inspired by demon mythology and some other things like the Helluva Boss Instagram accounts.)
(Click Here to See its Original Art Post): Sess | (Click Here to See its Original Art Post): HP
⚫️ Green and Gold ch17 - Harry Potter/ Sesshomaru
*(ON TEMPORARY HIATUS)
I will resume this as soon TUT is marked as complete since TUT is borrowing a concept from G&G and G&G is conceived to be around 40ish - 60ish chapters. (As creative writing flashes can be strong and random sometimes, the exception to this temporary hiatus is if I’m struck with the impulse to write.)
SUMMARY: Due to the newest crop of alleged Death Eater sightings overseas, British Division Head Auror, Lord Harry Potter, was sent to Muggle Japan to thwart the renegade from performing another Dark Resurrection Ritual on a sacred site, thereby from desecrating a national magical monument―the Bone Eater's Well. For his troubles he lands himself as the minder of a 500-or-so year-old dog daiyoukai his magic tore from a distant past. Aloof and flexible morals aside, he doesn't know what to make of the feudal lord and sovereign. Yet. Similarly, Sesshomaru cannot help but be intrigued.
In the meantime, a storm is brewing in both eras, both in the magical UK and magical Japan...and perhaps even in Europe or America itself.
(Click Here to See its Original Art Post): Jack | (Click Here to See its Original Art Post): Rhys
⚫️ Finders Keepers ch7 - android!Rhys Strongfork/ Handsome Jack
*(ON TEMPORARY HIATUS)
I will resume this as soon TUT is marked as complete (or before, depending). At that time, I’ll see if there is still an audience or interest in FK—or if this will be one of those stories where I’m only writing for myself.
SUMMARY: By some miraculous twist of fate, Jack stumbles across an Atlas android hidden smack dab in Hyperion headquarters. Obviously, what is he going to do with it? Keep it for himself, of course, because as the saying goes, "Finders keepers, losers weepers." What he didn't anticipate was the clusterfuck he'd find himself in, when he discovers the valuable model he'd been hoarding has a hidden backstory. There is more than meets the eye.
(It's a sort-of tie-in to the Borderlands and Tales from the Borderlands universes. This is another attempt at an AU, although I hope to pay homage to elements from canon.)
*This is just the tentative lineup schedule, subject to change (priority depends on which of these six “children” is clamoring the loudest). This writer wishes to preserve the unique atmosphere and writing style for each story, and not see their worlds being mixed or influenced accidentally. Immersion into the worldbuilding is important. TUT and G&G are more tonally similar, likewise for Truce, TNotG, and P&B and FK, so hopefully this order will reduce any bleed-over in the reading materials whenever they come out.
If there are any burning questions about a specific story of mine, pop on over to the Ask link in my bio. I don’t mind giving spoilers and/or hints. ;)
#fanfiction#fanfiction update#the name of the game#truce#the untold tale#a prince and his baron#green and gold#finders keepers#phoenix talks#phoenixtakaramono#story status updates
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Nothing that Lasts Forever
A BTS Horror Fanfiction
Ao3 link - Wattpad link - Soundtrack
Trailer - ch1 - ch2 - ch3 - ch4 - ch5 - ch6 - ch7 - ch8 - ch9
Warnings: Major Character Death, Blood, Demons, Fighting, Verbal and Physical Abuse, Mention of marijuana, Death, Cursing, Fire, Unintentional Self-harm, Gore. Yoongi’s injury
Chapter 4: People
Yoongi’s POV
“YOONGI.”
I blink, staring up at the dark ceiling. Did someone call my name? With a deep sigh, I reach for my phone. 3:33 am. 85% charge. It’s still chilly despite having the blankets tucked in all around me.
“YOONGI.” My body jolts up in a sitting position. My heart beats faster, breaths longer. It came from down the hall. The voice was Hobi’s. He wasn’t calling for me. He was screaming. I slide myself from under the covers, my bare feet sinking to the floor. My eyes twitch at the cold, I reach for some socks in my bag, quickly sliding them over my feet.
I stand, holding myself up with my bed trying to adjust to the darkness. As I near the door I flip my switch but the light doesn’t come on. Still holding my phone, I turn on the flashlight. The living room’s yellow light shines into the end of the hall. I glance at Jungkook’s room. Door open. Hoseok’s room. Door open. What is going on?
I hop quickly to Koo’s room, peering in. “Jungkook?” The bed is a mess, but no one is in it. I look back down the hall. Sliding quickly over to the next room. The silence is thick only my own heartbeat permeates it. I peer past the door. The bed is still neat, no one in it. My head pops back into the hallways. There’s another door. One that wasn’t there before.
My feet are stuck in place. The frame of the door leads to darkness. No actual door between the house and whatever was there. What do I even do? Okay. I call for Hobi.
“Hoseok?” I speak out to the house. My voice makes the air shutter, that being the only noise.
“Yoongi!” His voice is softer this time, coming from the… hole in the wall.
I try and breathe evenly, taking one step towards the door. Though it doesn’t make any sense, I’m not going to try and make sense of it. I reach the door. A step. Wooden and rotten, the same color as the wood on the back of the cabin. I swallow, the light from the living room only illuminating three steps down. I can’t tell how far down it goes. It’s just black.
“Hoseok?” I mumble, my arms rigid at my side. The wall of black starts at the fourth. The cold of the floor seeps through the thin fabric of my socks. It shutters through my feet and my legs. Dread gropes at my body. My breaths getting faster.
“Yoongi?” Hoseok's voice cries from further down in the dark. “Please help me.” his voice is soft. He sounds like he’s been crying.
I stare downwards. Hobi’s down there. In the dark. I’ve never been scared of the dark. Not until this moment. Not a sliver of light reaches past the third step. It’s just. Nothing. There’s nothing there.
Just take a step. For Hobi. I look back in the hallway, checking my back. I take one step, the wood aching underneath my foot. It’s much colder one step down already. The wood is stiff as though it hasn’t been stepped on in years. Cold, untouched by warm air.
My flashlight. I raise my phone, shining down a few steps. Cobwebs cling to the wall and the steps as they go further. A breeze from an unknown source chills the air as I take another step. The air smells of damp soil, and rot. I breathe slowly through my mouth, taking one step at a time.
“Hobi?” I whisper. He might not have even heard it. How far down is he? Why is he here? Slowly I raise the flashlight trying to get the room, as I step further down. A glimmer. There. I focus the flashlight at the bottom of the stairs. One pair of eyes.
“Yoongi?” He’s laying on the floor, leaning on the bottom stairs. His skin is pale in the dark green. Blue tinted against the stone next to him. The foundation of the very cabin around us. His face is distorted.
“Shit.” I rush down the rest of the stairs, finding his side. The light shines onto his face. He’s scratched his cheek, and has dirt smudged over his forehead. Clean marks come from his eyes, he has been crying. “Hobi what the fuck?”
He coughs, grabbing my leg as I lean down next to him. “Jungkook.” I shake my head.
“I… I don’t know where he is.” I mutter, wrapping my arms around him. I try to help him sit up but he yelps, digging his nails into my knee. I stop, holding him in place.
He groans, “It’s my ankle.” He sniffles and I hover my phone over it. It is incredibly swollen, and red. “He pushed me down the stairs.” He frowns, more tears coming down his eyes. “He wasn’t being himself.” He sighs, adjusting himself into a seated position next to me.
“What happened?” I swallow, looking around us, the room’s outline coming into view. The walls were of a grey stone, sloppily painted white. There didn’t seem to be any furniture. Some broken wood pallets strewn in the corner.
He shakes his head. “I woke up and he was just standing there.” Clearing his throat, he leans on me. “He walked out of the room so I went after. I couldn’t find him but I saw that there was a way down the stairs. I was about to turn and get you but he shoved me down here.”
I stare back up the stairs, the light from the living room staring back. “Where did he go after that?” I mumble. “We should get out of here,” I add, gripping Hobi’s underarms, and attempting to lift him. He holds his breath as we stand together, his hand clutches my waist for stability.
Lifting his right leg behind him we take on the daunting stairs. Each step laborious as I pull him along with me. Falling down the stairs… he’s likely in pain all over his body now. We pull through the door, shuffling to the couch.
“What the fuck is happening?” Hobi cries as he settles on the couch. I stay silent. There’s nothing to say. “What do we do?” He says much quieter as I sit next to him. I look around the room. Jungkook. Where would he have gone?
“I don’t know.” I shut my eyes. We can’t stay here, that's obvious. Hobi wouldn’t be much use searching for Jungkook. But we can’t leave him. “Let's get the car ready.” Hoseok nods slowly, mulling it over.
“Koo..” I pat his leg and assure him that I would look for him, but right now we needed to get our shit in the car and be ready to drive away. So we did. We slid our shoes on, Hobi layering on extra socks on his right foot. He then gathered our necessary kitchen supplies, leaving behind our rubbish and things we don’t care about. I dragged out their suitcases, stuffing the things scattered in the rooms. Hobi stuck as close as possible with his limp, following me a few hobbles so we could see each other at all times. He was more spooked than I that's for certain. But Jungkook hadn’t shoved me down a flight of stairs.
“My phone?” He asks, nodding to his room. I shake my head. I emptied everything. He shrugged, deciding to give it up as he helps take a smaller bag outside while I haul two of the suitcases. Using his keys he unlocks the door, us fumbling through the dark to get to it. I shove the bags in not caring for organization. I rush in and out taking the last of the necessities and tossing them in the back.
Hobi leans against the back door, arms crossed, defending him from the chill air. I stare at him for a minute. A sniffle escapes his nose. He shuts his eyes, pursing his lips in an attempt to stay collected.
“Get in the car.” He looks up after my order. I put his keys in his hand. “Get in the car. Lock the door. And don't open it for anyone.” I clench my teeth thinking about my next words, “Not even Jungkook unless he’s with me.” I maintain eye contact while he takes in the information. He squeezes his hands. Open them. Squeezes them.
“Okay.” He whispers into the wind, opening the passenger, and collapsing into the seat. The door shuts. The lock clicks. And his face looks at me sorrowfully. I breathe. It’ll be fine. I’ll find Jungkook and whatever just happened will be left behind us.
I break my eyes from his. Turning around to face the cabin, I try to collect myself. Jungkook. Why would he push Hobi? The moon lights the walls, a blue-grey. Where would he have gone? There was no sign of him in the house.
“Jungkook!” I went to the right side of the house. The forest was even darker than earlier. Not even the moon shines through the trees. I’d rather not get myself lost. I shout for him again, walking to the opposite side. The wind picks up, blowing frozen air through my clothes. The soles of my shoes sink into the mulch. “Jungkook!” No sign of him. not that Hoseok knew where he went.
I run my hands down my jacket. Glance back at the car, too dark to see inside. Okay. I step back to the cabin door, sighing as I open it. As much as I hate to go in alone, it would be pointless to make Hobi tag along. The air from inside is still much warmer than it is outside. Even with the lights on and the friendly interior it’s not such an inviting vacation home anymore. Not when the open door to the abyss is swallowing the room in front of me.
“Jungkook?” My voice radiates through the house. I shudder, at the silence. I reach for the logs at the door, propping it open. No chance I’m getting stuck in here. Need an easy way out. I take a step forward. Who am I kidding?
I’m only up against Jungkook.
Whatever happened, we can fix this. Another step, the wood shifting beneath my feet. Again I can feel my heart. Leaping, stretching. Trying to escape. I clench my fist. I know. I know. My brain and my heart are telling me to turn around. I can wait in the car for Jungkook. But if he’s injured? What caused him to lash out? Sleepwalking? All of this seems so strange. Why would he run? I roll my jaw. I don't understand. My whole body clenches. My lungs are struggling to open, breaths becoming small and fast.
“Jungko…” My breath nags at my throat, it's stuck, but only because the energy in the room has shifted. The air is stagnant, warmer than before and there’s no smell. Despite the furniture and decorations, it’s empty. I am standing in an empty room. If I just reached out to touch the coffee table, it would faze right through. My shoes are glued to the floor, my legs rigid, torso stiff, arms stuck. I try to moisten my mouth with saliva, swirling my tongue in my mouth. What’s happening? The lids of my eyes pull outwards around the cornea. It’s straining, drying, but I can’t bring myself to blink. Why? My heart is the only part of my body that isn’t stuck in place. Booming in my ears, and hammering against my sternum. Hitting the nail each time. Shifting my eyes to the right, I catch a glimpse of the mirror. My reflection.
Is his heart racing too?
I make eye contact with myself. My chest rises. Falls. In the glass, I blink. In the glass. My eyes still dry.
What.
Rises.
The.
Falls.
Fuck.
Rises.
I watch him turn his head.
Falls.
Blink again.
Rises.
Curl his mouth into a smile.
Falls.
“Yoongi.”
I swallow, blinking over and over, licking my lips. All the feeling in my body returns to me, and my eyes finally meet Jungkooks. His jaw is clenched, staring down with intent. His right sleeve is ripped, a scuff mark on his neck. He’s only in socks, already coated in dirt.
“Jungkook?” I heave out the words with a breath. I shake myself, turning to the mirror where my regular reflection has returned. Holy shit. Back to Jungkook. “What’s going on here?”
His back stiffens out, “What’s something only you would know about me?”
I stretch my neck. What? “Out of everything that you’ve put us through? What kinda game are you..”
“Answer my fucking question.” I shift back. He’s never raised his voice to me, Never. I lick my lips, okay I’ll answer the question. Jungkook’s stance doesn’t change. He’s holding himself as though ready to book it or tackle me to the ground. I’m not sure which I’d prefer.
“I…” He’s not giving me time to think. Something only he and I know?
He loosens his jaw, “The lyrics of your song that made me cry.” I blink. What? “That night, after Jin hyung was talking about enlistment.” He swallows, glancing to the floor. I nod. Jin was trying to get us to talk about the upcoming years. Jungkook wasn’t having it. At the same time, I was working on my second mixtape. Jungkook came to me…
“There is nothing that lasts forever in this world”
“Everything is just happening passing by” He lets out with a sigh, taking steps towards me. I stay rigid as he presses himself into me. “Thank god.” His body trembles against mine, and I finally relax against him, folding my arms around his back. I don’t understand why he would ask that but I don’t care.
“We need to go,” I say, squeezing his shoulder. “Hoseok is in the car.” His chin nods into my neck, and slowly he pulls himself off of me. He looks me in the eye. Glancing over to the mirror.
“Okay.” He says, shifting back to me before we head out the door. Our feet hit the mulch, Jungkook should have grabbed his shoes, but I hadn’t seen them. I stop. Jungkook walks a few steps ahead of me, looking back at me as I stand. My teeth tear into my bottom lip, drawing blood. Fuck. My breaths speed up again. Rising. Falling. No. No. My fingers strain themselves as I clench to my pants. No. No.
“What?” Jungkook mutters looking back to where I was staring.
No. No. The upper light of the car illuminates the seats, switched on to: door open. Fuck. Fuck. My lip throbs, as I stare out in front of me. The light falls out into the gravel, coming in through the open passenger door. The yellow shines, dancing over the curves of the leather seat. Empty.
#bts#bts jeon jeongguk#jeonjungkook#bts fic#My writing#bts horror#horror#thriller#bts smut#bts hoseok#bts min yoongi
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