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nightwingshero · 4 years

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Unwanted

Okay guys, so I’ve been working on two different stories for FC5: one that follows the game and the other is a burlesque/mafia au that I couldn’t get out of my head. This is the first piece of work I’ve posted for Wren and John, and its for the burlesque au. I’m going to be posting my work on AO3 soon, but I got really excited about this and wanted to share it! Trigger warning for some alcohol use and dark thoughts, so read at your own risk!

Her green, venomous eyes were taunting. She sneered at everything that came across her withering gaze, her hips swaying with a little extra effort to gain the attention from those around her. It was in vain, of course, with Rowan’s performance still in full swing. But that didn’t stop this woman from holding her head high as she looked down her nose to our dancers. We’ve had people in here before from the first class. Most of the time, they were pleasant, friends of Whitney or John. Some just stopping through to check out the club they’ve heard so much about, but that southern charm had never failed. Until now.

She flipped her platinum blonde hair, the curls catching the little light that created the ambiance. Her short emerald dress hugged her curves, showcasing her breasts perfectly. I was almost impressed. I shifted a bit, fidgeting with the material of the outfit I wore for my last performance. I was talking to John before he had ducked outside to take a call from a client. I stood there, waiting for his return, but as her gaze narrowed on me, I knew I was in for it.

“Where’s John?” she asked in a clipped voice. I would have thought her beautiful, if her personality had matched. I frowned at her.

“I’m sorry, he’s not available. May I ask who’s asking?” I asked in curiosity. John had people come in here and there, asking for his time. This wasn’t new. He would brush them off, telling us to make sure to ask who they were and why they wanted to see him. He was so allusive here, insistent that his business hours were always clearly communicated. If those expectations weren’t met, then too bad. He took his schedule seriously.

She sneered at me, her glossy lips shimmering with her teeth. “I’m his fiancée. Now, go tell him that I’m here.” My brows shot up in surprise as my heart stopped. Fiancée? He had never mentioned…

“I didn’t realize he was engaged.” I replied quietly, hoping to keep the disappointment hidden. I felt deflated, as if someone had poked a hole in me. I wanted to stay neutral, not give away how my heart sank to the pit of my stomach at the thought of it. But she smirked, her green eyes twinkling.

“Well, he is.” She let out a little laugh. “Its cute, you know? This little crush you have.”

“I don’t—”

“Oh please.” She snapped. “It’s so obvious. He probably already knows. You wear it on your sleeve. It’s disgusting and pathetic.” She clicked her tongue as she gave her a look of pity. “Let me guess, you’re some country girl from the middle of nowhere who is trying to make it in the big city. Am I right?” I don’t answer. I’m raging, the blatant rudeness wiggling under my skin. But I can’t seem to defend myself. My tongue feels heavy and the tears are coming. It only fuels her, knowing she is so close to making me collapse into myself like a house of cards.

“Oh honey, did you really think he would go for that? Some little girl playing dress up when she belongs back on the farm? You’re way out of your league.” She steps closer, placing a hand on my shoulder as she squeezes with a false sense of reassurance. As if we were in this together, the two of us against the world. “Honestly, I’m doing you a favor. Saving you from the humiliation of rejection. John has standards, a particular taste darling. And this? This isn’t you. It’s not fitting in the slightest. Whore isn’t exactly on John’s radar. He prefers women of class, love. You’re beneath him. It’s time for you to understand that you’ll never be good enough for him.” She smiles again, before rubbing her hand on my cheek. Then with a slight smack against my skin, she’s gone, and my eyes are catching Whitney’s shocked ones.

The room spins as I lean against a chair for support as Whitney tries to call for me. Fight or flight is strong in my veins, roaring in my ears as my stomach twists and twists, creating something I don’t recognize within me. Reforming, as I stumble to the back, desperate for something I can cling to, something real I can put inside myself to make me real. I’m a ghost of something as I gather my things to leave. The breath in me is gone, forcing me to choke on the stale cigarette smoke Adelaide is supplying. I’m almost in a trance, and yet I feel some sort of clarity. The fantasy broken like a magic mirror, and suddenly I am seeing my true self in the broken pieces lying before me. I barely register Faith’s words, but I’m sure she’s asking if I’m alright. I smile, say yes, pretend that I’m still the same person on that stage. She’s not convinced and so I tell her I’m going home. My sleeve must be dirty from everything that shows there.

I leave quickly, feeling like a fool. Perhaps I should laugh, like most clowns do, pulling all those emotions out of my sleeve like a colorful handkerchief chain. That would require a voice, something I was lacking. A mime would be more fitting. My body the tool, invisible and locked inside a box I created for myself as I tried to put on a display. A vision no one had wanted, the piece of art that sat in the back unwanted. I forced a sob down as I entered my car, fumbling for the keys.

I wish I could say that I remembered getting to my apartment. Out of character for small town Wren, sweet little Wren. The box was closing in, my chest threatening to implode. I let go, the tears and sobs forcing my body curl into itself on my bed. The little moments were a mirage, something my naïve brain believed to be something more. How many times had he been there to protect me? His bullet wound had only just healed. How many times had he saved me? The disaster of a date with Detective Pratt merely weeks ago. I could still taste the fear on my tongue as Pratt plied me with glass after glass of wine. The gentleness in which John had handled me, almost caring. Like I was the most fragile thing in his world.

I scream them into my pillow, the broken pieces of my heart. Pieces of my soul shattering like the illusion of him, the illusion of what I thought we could have become. I breathe in deeply and that’s when I feel the shift, the steel resolve of my psyche overcoming me. It’s the numbness I notice first, turning my sobs into nothing. I rise, making my way to the kitchen like a vengeful spirit that is the one being haunted. The vase is crystal, a gift from Adelaide for the new place, but it’s the flowers I want. He had them sent to me, celebrating our big show only a few nights prior. I laughed to myself, remembering the rush I had felt. For the first time, I had felt high. Elated.

I swayed, humming to myself a bit as I made my way to the bathroom. Turning the chrome handle, I began to run the hot water, desperate to feel the burn against my skin to help me rid myself of her touch. To purge the gaze that had taken me in with such disdain, as if I was a stain upon this earth. Her tainting touch scorched my skin, leaving an invisible mark that only I could see. That I could feel. And with that, I ripped the soft petals from the stems, allowing them to sprinkle down into the water. They dance across the surface, a secret waltz that only they knew.

One by one, I light candle after candle, a dark ritual that was only just beginning. My hair is twisting up and up, piling elegantly on top of my head, and then I’m dipping into the water. The warm, baptizing water welcoming me, loving me as it takes me as I am. Scars and all, it holds me securely in it’s embrace. I could almost hear the shushing of its calming voice, almost feel the comforting fingers of my mother as she played with my hair. The ghost of her was almost enough, pushing me back to a time where I didn’t have to feel the weight of loss or rejection.

And suddenly, her ghost is gone. Blue eyes have taken over haunting me, her fingers replaced by his tattooed ones. He plays me like a harp, pulling my tight strings just so he could hear me sing, watch as I move with a simple flick. The hypnosis of his ocean eyes is deep and tempting, calling for my drowning. They wish to claim my last breath, the very last bit of my being. And I’m rising from the water, panic clawing my throat because I can feel the pull, feel his gaze as I felt hers. I fight off the tears that demand to be seen, that want the show they so rightfully deserve. It was only fair, my heart screams, but I laugh at it. Life is never fair.

I stand naked in the mirror, but I see her standing next to me. The blue bloods that own this city, the embodiment of the perfect Georgia peach. A woman I could see John taking by the waist with pride. Her red lips and dark lashes, the long neck and golden blonde hair on display for all to see. My body not nearly as lean or as striking. I imagined her in her castle as a child, the beautiful princess of Atlanta, ruling her kingdom with her head held high. My childhood filled with softball tournaments and the old beaten up acoustic guitar that slept in the corner, while she attended operas and orchestra concerts. A culture I had never dreamed of, a social circle that could never be touched by the likes of me.

I dry my skin, the feeling of being paper thin is overwhelming. I laugh to myself, because I know what comes next. I know what I’m about to do. It’s silly, childish, and yet I glide to my dresser. Slowly, I pull out my favorite number, something I had always imagined wearing for him. Not on stage, no. This was something for him and him alone. I put on the bra, the black lace striking against my skin and suddenly I’m untouchable. Slipping on the lacey underwear to match, I turn to my closet, desperate for the last pieces. The silk ebony robe sending shivers down my spine as it caresses me, and it’s as if I’m being held in my lover’s arms. The heels are last, simple and elegant. Tall and black, two thin straps leaving my feet bare, the same shoes I had worn to my father’s funeral. I felt like death herself, all powerful and ready to take whatever she wanted. Provocative and demanding, a queen among men.

My hair is released, falling like a waterfall down my back. It felt good to pretend, to believe in this moment that I was like her, that I wasn’t me. That I was a woman that was cherished and wanted, an envy-worthy being. I reason with myself; I know I’ve gone mad. I had fallen off the deep end and taken flight, and it had never felt better. The feeling addicting, the need for more growing and growing. The heels clicked against the wood floor, fueling me. The righteousness they sang, the vengeance they demanded, it became a soothing lullaby.

The kitchen is dark, only the light above the stove and sink burned with life. I reached for the most expensive red wine I had, pouring a glass with a smile of satisfaction. The blood red liquid was all consuming, drawing me closer. The dark, bitter taste becoming my sanctuary, but I wasn’t done. No, far from it. And as I sat down at my small vanity back in the bathroom, I choke yet again on a sob, and force out a laugh instead. I had a plan, a traitorous plan against the tears that begged for the freedom they longed for. I knew how to trick the emotions into becoming wisps of smoke on the inside of my porcelain glass exterior. I had never been an artist, but I paint. The burgundy against my lips, the black liquid liner creating sharp edges that would dare touch without permission. The brush then creates a frame for the windows of my soul, residing in the blue green irises staring back at me. They’re heavy, sad even, but the mascara does its job and I finish with a flourish.

I’m suddenly beautiful, a perfect doll someone would love to have, to play with, and have on their arm. I wonder briefly which arm he would use to put around my own waist, and suddenly my vision swims. I scoff as I hold my head high and take a sip in victory, toasting myself for outsmarting the betrayal of my heart that suddenly matched the blue of his eyes. I was so strong, I told myself. I was better. But as I held the glass gently, it became comforting to me, whispering sweet nothings and promising me a numbness that kept me safe and sound. I knew I was lying to myself. I was far from better.

A sound pulls me from the calling, and I set the glass down as I rose. The noise led me to my bedroom window, finding a cat messing with some metal trashcans as it scavenged for its next meal. Then I hear the soft clicking of my front door, and I scoff while squeezing my eyes shut momentarily. I should have known. Rowan was the only other one with a key, and I could almost bet that Faith had sent her my way. The wine’s singing int the next room, creating an atrocity of noise in my head. Perhaps just one glass, just to get the noise to go away. To make everything quiet.

Rowan would wait patiently in the living room; she respected my privacy. She wouldn’t just wander around. No, she would sit on the couch or at the kitchen table, preparing for whatever conversation she had planned on having. “Rowan, I’ll be out in a moment.” I call out in a sigh, letting her know I was aware of her and wasn’t being ignored. “I hope your show ended well. Sorry I wasn’t there to see the grand finale.” Every word was an effort, taking energy away from me. I wanted nothing more than to be alone.

I give only a few more seconds as I come to my decision and began making my way back to my bathroom. I could down the glass quickly. Rowan gives no response, but I don’t mind. It doesn’t matter. But as I step into the bathroom, I freeze. The blood in my veins suddenly turn to ice and my breath hitches. The glass was missing, as if it were never there in the first place. Sad and confused, I approach the vanity. The red wine, that had matched my lips, was gone. Staring at the reflection in the mirror, I’m reminded that I could never be her, or any of them. The beautiful women that could seduce him with just a soft smirk, a glance in his direction as her finger curled, beckoning him closer. I cringe as I turn away. I didn’t need another reminder that I wasn’t good enough.

“Rowan, give it back. I’m fine. Let me finish my fucking wine.” I stomp down the fall, my heels screaming their wrath. That’s how I enter my kitchen, ready for war, but I stop as something catches my attention. I make my way to the sink in a daze as I reach for my empty glass, the stain from my former lipstick taunting me. The wine bottle is set down and I reach for it, not caring of the guest I had yet to acknowledge. The lightness of the glass bottle tells me exactly what I had been thinking, it had not been spared. Everything was empty, just like me.

I slam the bottle down as I clench my teeth, seething. I wanted to scream, to see the world burn with the rage I was feeling. “Rowan!” I snap and I begin to shake, but whether it was from anger or the lack of control, I wasn’t sure. “Are you fucking kidding me? I barely had any—”

I’m no longer yelling but choking on the gasp that rushes out as fingers caress my neck, a hand gripping my hip tightly. They tease at the base of my neck before tracing my collarbone. The hand on my hip is sliding and sliding until its entangled with the knot of my robe. I know this touch, this gentle melody against my skin. The same gentle caress that ran over my skin as he marked me, embedding his creation into my skin with his dark ink. A permanent work of art that would be displayed on me for the rest of my life, and then suddenly he grasps my neck, squeezing only slightly. I knew what this was. I knew that this was a punishment, his own way of showing his disappointment for my lapse. He wouldn’t hurt me, I trusted him, and I knew that concern was driving his anger. My head rests against his shoulder as his lips find my ear.

“Promise?” he asked, dead serious. His breath makes me shiver and I breath out slowly through my nose. “Promise me that that’s all you had, Wren. Do not lie to me.”

“I promise, John.” I whispered in shame. He knew, god he knew. I was usually good, drinking only in moderation and at social events. I was so careful. But he knew, in this moment, that I had no intention of stopping. I was so swept up in the hurt, in the insecurity and anxiety, that I hadn’t realized how quickly I was falling down the rabbit hole. I make a sound at the back of my throat, and I feel my armor began to fall, disintegrating into nothing as I’m fighting the tears that are coming back.

He doesn’t give me the opportunity to cry. His lips find the junction of my neck and I sigh. Rowan wouldn’t have taken that step, pouring everything I had down the sink. That just wasn’t how she was. She would have lectured, sure. Express disappointment? Absolutely. John wasn’t like that. John was bold, unafraid of anything that ever came his way. I let out a shaky breath as he pulled away, his hand leaving my neck as his finger gently turned my chin. His lips found mine and I couldn’t think.

How long had we skirted around this? How many times had we came this close, but never crossed the line? The stolen glances, the shameless flirting. The way he held me the night I was almost shot in the alley, and yet neither of us were willing to take it further. I could almost laugh, because I had thought for so long it was just me. I was crushing on someone way out of my league. I had believed the words that woman had said. And suddenly, I remembered exactly why I was in this situation. I’m his fiancée.

He pulled away as the tears fell, and I looked away from him. He wasn’t having it. Gripping the front of my robe, he jerks me around. It takes only a few seconds for him to see, and without missing a beat, his hands are on my thighs. He sets me up on the counter as a sob successfully, finally, escapes my lips. His hands cradle my face as his thumbs wipe the tears away. His eyes are soft and they’re pulling me in, a tug on my seams as I become undone. I tore my gaze away, trying to hide everything I was feeling.

“Look at me.” He whispers, his face close enough that I can feel his breath. I looked back, fear and hurt all over my face. “Listen to me and listen very closely. You are enough. Do you hear me? Wren, you are enough.”

“Enough for you?” I croaked as I cried. My hands twisted as the clung to his white button up shirt. I was creating wrinkles, but neither of us cared. His brow furrowed and his jaw ticked.

“Enough for me? God Wren, who gives a shit about me?” He gently pokes my chest, against my beating heart. “It doesn’t fucking matter what I think or what anyone else thinks for that matter. Anyone.” He sneered as a dark look swirled in his cerulean orbs. “All that matters, is that you’re enough for you. You matter, Wren. You come first.”

“But that woman said—”

“That woman is nothing. Her opinion is nothing. She will never touch you, or get close to you, do you understand? She’s a liar and a manipulator. A child throwing a tantrum for not getting what she wants.”

I shook my head, my insecurities still whispering doubts. “She’s so pretty, John. She’s so thin, and I’m nothing like her. I’m not like her.” I sobbed.

He chuckled, a soft smile gracing his lips and showing off his perfect teeth. The light gave him a heavenly glow, yellow highlighting his features that made him look warm. “No, you’re not. You’re nothing like her, Wren. But that’s one of the biggest things I love about you.” He gently pressed his thumb against my lips, helping silence my sobs as I hung onto every word. “Shhh. Don’t cry, darling. Do you not see? Do you not understand just how beautiful you are, inside and out? Do you not know what it is you do to me?”

“John—” I gasped, but he presses his lips softly against mine before pulling back.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted this? I’ve thought of little else since I’ve first laid eyes on you.” He whispers. “I get to watch you, Wren. I get to watch you every night when you perform, and I want nothing more than to devour you, to have you all to myself.” He tugged the robe loose, making it fall open and his eyes travelled down. My skin heated immediately from his attention, his finger returning to my chest as it teasingly traced the top of my breast. “I waited, bidding my time for the perfect moment. It never seemed to come, though, and I had to watch as that idiot detective circled you. But I protected you when you needed, listened to you when you needed the shoulder to cry on. I wanted you, craved you, but needed you to be happy, to be ready and unafraid. I wanted to take my time with you, but I can’t keep my fucking hands off you.”

I laughed and his smile broadened as he leaned back. “So…you’re not engaged?”

He scoffed. “Hell no. We used to be, but that was years ago. She’s nothing to me.” He placed a light kiss on my nose, before going for my lips, but I stopped him. He gave me a look and I smirked.

“Did you break into my apartment?” I asked, my brow raising, and he gave me a smirk in return.

“Oh darling, I plead the fifth.”

“So, that’s a yes.”

“It is not. Need I remind you that I’m innocent until proven guilty?” he asked, a breathless laugh escaping him. He gave me a mischievous smirk, something dancing in his eyes that made my lower abdomen pull as I bit my lip. “I heard about what happened, Whitney told Rowan and I everything. Rowan was enraged, I believe she may or may not have taken a swing at our unwanted guest. I didn’t stay though, I needed to check on my girl.” He tilted my chin up gently, his lips brushing mine lightly. “And you are my girl, aren’t you darling?”

“Yes, John. I’m yours.” I breathed out and his lips crashed against mine once more. Everything forgotten as a sense of relief settled over me. My heart swelled as his hands caressed lovingly against my skin, holding me, and driving the last of my inner demons into the shadows as I fell into his sweet embrace.

#wren blake #john seed #burlesque au #poor wren #she needs a hug #dark thoughts #go john #sorry not sorry #please be nice #i tried #their first post

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sugar-petals · 5 years

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Fic Research 101

A general guideline with various tips and tricks.

What for?

Even if you’re the type who can construct giant fantasy worlds out of thin literary air, research makes the difference and can bring you a lot of enjoyment once the story becomes its own universe. Expanding the horizon is 100% worth it. For beginners, advanced writers, and experts equally. Readers always notice and cherish that level of detail. Even Terry Pratchett preoccupied himself with geography, history, art, or science books. And anything else that would catch his eye, not worrying about whether it was considered cheesy, odd, or stale bread. It was simply for the sake of interest and passion. What I found noteworthy: He actually preferred it over reading stories of his genre (!) as not to reiterate things subconsciously, i.e., what other authors researched and repurposed. We saw the result: He built believable, unique worlds. It doesn’t mean that you have to eschew reading entirely or need to create a groundbreaking universe. It’s just important to be aware how habitual input shapes what knowledge we believe is possible to cover in our stories.

Where/How

Sometimes, it does depend on how you search, not where. The — often grammatical — quality of your search engine request determines the character of what you receive. My favorite trick is to look for “types of [research subject]”. That gives me a wide array of what exists, how it looks like, and also possible substitutions should something not work out. It’s also easy on non-native speakers because definitions will come your way like that.

Mentality also matters. You can approach it like an academic looking for data or a creator of imaginary worlds curious about what people do. It will reflect in your story, big time. So it’s important to keep your style in mind even when you look up menial things, either can work.

When

It can be fun to figure out what kind of researcher you are. Either the one taking in all information first. As in, watching a documentary and then creating a spin-off in your AU. Or the one researching while writing. The advanced form for those with a lot of time on their hands is doing both. It will boil down to how good your long-term VS short-term memory is.

Alienating VS Involving The Audience

A tricky question remains what readers will understand and how they can ease into stories with extensive research. In my eyes, even if there is something they are unfamiliar with, the appeal of the story is times higher when the author goes some extra miles or has notable immersive details as the cherry on top.

The real bad guy that you have to watch out for are complex highbrow words for embellishment that a) nobody has ever heard of b) can’t be logically understood by looking at the situation.

"The family prepared the gallimaufry” will deter readers times more than “Catherine the Great died aged 67″. Because Catherine the Great is self-explanatory and well-known, but nobody has an idea that gallimaufry is a fancy old synonym for ‘stew’. So rather go for Catherine the Great even if the gallimaufry might be period-typical and sounds hilarious. The rule of thumb is: If you give enough context so the reader doesn’t have to research endlessly themselves, you can pull it off, particularly with readers who are native speakers. It’s more difficult with non-native speakers, but I would trust them to look something up if the vocabulary is entirely foreign to them. If you’re in doubt about that, simply provide more background information and describe things viscerally, maybe with a simile or metaphor.

So, unless you put it in the title (that’s a different topic), peppering your story with super fancy words from 200 AD that only you know can make you come across as a show-off trying to be way above the audience, while appropriate research and context makes you look like an artist who loves making stories and gives their readers an experience. I know, long fancy words are tempting, but try to keep them at a minimum if possible. Particularly when your AU is not historical or doesn’t feature fantasy elements. If you do write fantasy and drop something like say Latin as in Harry Potter (the spells), it helps to have a character who inquires about the word from another person in the fic. You give the reader a self-insert for that situation to learn about it. The same goes for new terms you come up with.

About Learning

This one is a big deal. Definitely figure out what type of learner you are (visual, auditory, etc), and what types of intelligence you are good at (logical, musical, linguistic, etc). Once you know how you retain information best, the world is easier. Many authors see research as an unwanted chore just because they take in useful information the wrong way. We all are curious creatures, it just depends on how things are presented to us. Once we find our forte, research loses much of its exhaustion, fear, and pressure.

Beware of comparison with other writers here. E.g. spatial-logical talents will be good at worldbuilding, while kinesthetic-literary talents will write authentic eroticism and action. We all have our niche and modes of brain function, sometimes it’s good to stick to your gifts instead of competing out of envy — which brings us back to Terry Pratchett and reiteration. Mind you, do experiment, do consider various ways of learning, what I mean is that you can make a story work faster knowing your potential in several areas.

Research Topic Masterposts

Perhaps you’ve seen them, the ones helping you construct a realistic XYZ scene. I know the hype around them, the effort is impressive, definitely keep it on your radar. Still, a word of caution. It’s often something you reblog for reference because you see all the options in one place but never go back to it. It can derail your research process immensely, too. The reason: It appears randomly, not when you need it. Heading out to research via browser in the right moment often yields more fitting results and options. After all, the person making the masterpost linked you guides to topics of their preference, often their stories’ research process, which can be far away from yours. I’ve often run into linked articles that are either too advanced or straightforward, it’s a bit of a Russian roulette to find the right insight. Which the masterpost creator obviously can’t and doesn’t have to anticipate, by all means — the same principle applies to this post, you have to cherrypick what resonates.

The problem is that you can’t know how useful to you personally the links are at first glance when you just reblog for later reference. Combing through the links and visiting a bunch to see if it is any good takes forever compared to a 10 sec google search. Ironically, you’d think someone else, maybe a more experienced author, doing the work for you spares you effort and it’s convenient, but the opposite can be the case. Sometimes, you have to research from scratch and rely on your own gut. Should you still find a solid masterpost giving you precisely what you’re looking for, and you remember to go back to it — installing XKit helps with that, it has an archive function: Check the timestamp (also via XKit). If the post has been around for longer, many links might be dead so keep an eye on this.

Wikipedia

Staring at black font against white forever can be frustrating and repetitive. Hyperlinks can distract, it consumes time. In some cases, infographics give you a quicker, more colorful outline with equal amounts of sources. Important: Remember the mentality bit. For some, inspiration comes first. In that regard, infographics can help you out further by providing a visual idea in terms of worldbuilding. If you are the data type and do juggle references, it might be a better idea trying Google scholar to find journals. Tip: Read their abstracts (the summary at the start) to get a quick overview. And then you’re ready to go.

Handy Shortcuts

Disclaimer: Those are for Mac. For Windows: Use Ctrl instead of Cmd.

Cmd + F (search) finds the needle in a stack of hay. This one is essential.

Cmd + T (open new tab) saves time.

Cmd + Z (undo) — every writer’s lifesaver, oh my god.

Cmd + A (select all) helps for copy paste. Mind you, don’t plagiarize.

Cmd + N (open new web page) for a blank slate, all other tabs stay open.

Cmd + down arrow brings you to the bottom of the page.

1) Cmd + Shift + 3 gives you a fast screenshot of the whole screen. 2) Cmd + Shift + 4 lets you select a rectangular/square area to screenshot.

the screenshots will be saved on your desktop.

Windows doesn’t have 2) but uses “Print Screen” for 1).

#writing corner #writing tips #writing advice #writing fics #fic writing #writing #research

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petri808 · 5 years

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Links in a Chain

The complete story for the Dragons Week 2019. Prompts in order: Kija, Shin-ah, Jae-ha, Zeno, Family Bonds, Old Gen vs new Gen, Future. ~~ breaks left in because Tumblr posts weird

AU story, Canon divergence. Each of them came from different backgrounds, but there was something that tied their lives together and, in the end, they learn how family meant much more than just by blood.

Don’t get it wrong, Kija had a good life, great family, anything he possibly could need, but he was so… lonely. Toy’s weren’t much fun if you didn’t have anyone to play with. School was miserable when all the other kids were, well, stuck up. Sometimes he wished his parents would just send him to the local public school. Whenever they passed by it, the kids in the playground looked like they were having so much fun! And then he would arrive by chauffeured car to his private school, where all the kids had their noses in the air and were more interested in one-upping each other in who had the most of, whatever was the item of that day. Kija wasn’t like them at all. Oh, he could act a bit on the spoiled side but, let’s just say, his personality was much more naïve and preferred simpler things.

Their neighborhood wasn’t much help in this regard, the other families with children around his age either attended his school or the matching girls one. Yeah…. Life for Kija were days often spent with nanny’s trying to keep him entertained. But he did have one saving grace. Mr. Mundok down the street had taken in his grandson Hak just over a year ago and they were only one year apart in age. Kija had heard his parents whispering about it at the time. Father died while serving in the military overseas… mother couldn’t handle the loss and took off leaving her son behind. That boy was sure lucky to have a grandfather to take him in.

Kija knew old mister Mundok because their families were acquainted and of course the idea that another little girl was always over at that house caught the boy’s attention too. At first Kija thought little Yona was the man’s granddaughter but turns out her father is an old business colleague. Not that young Kija cared about such details for the only thing that mattered was the blooming of hope and maybe friendship for a lonely child. And Yona was a total darling. There was just something special about her and she was turning into the little sister that Kija’s parents never gave him.

But Hak, now there was a kid that wasn’t the easiest to be around. If he wasn’t being moody or sarcastic with Kija, the boy would sometimes not talk at all preferring to tinker around with his grandfather’s martial arts stuff rather than deal with people. Mr. Mundok explained once that his grandson was still dealing with some of the things that happened and hopefully, he’d get better with people soon. By far, the best times was when Yona was visiting and the three of them hung out. That girl had a knack for getting Hak to play with them no matter if he whined, he’d still do as she asked. Yeah, the three of them was still a whole lot more fun than none and things were about to get even better…

In another section of their vast metropolis, a young boy had glued himself into the corner of a closet. For all of his short life, the shy but astute child knew nothing of warmth or affection, just the bitter darkness that was his world. The few interactions he had with adults were mostly formalities, they fed and clothed him, taught him basic language skills but that was all, he didn’t even know who he was for they only referred to him in pronouns. It was a strange life to say the least. They never harmed him, at least not physically laid a hand on him, but it was as if they didn’t really want to touch him or get too close.

The sparsely furnished room was all he really knew about the world aside from the few storybooks that gave him a fantasy view of what might exist. 23 hours a day locked in with only a bed, a lamp, a desk with a chair and a handful of toys like a small bouncy ball that he had to play with quietly or risk getting yelled at. Even at such a young age, he realized something was very odd about his circumstances, but he was too shy or scared to say anything like now as he huddled in the closet. The weird chanting and sounds coming from the other room. He could hear many adults talking… about him.

Look at his eyes, they are not normal. Evil. We have told you, he will grow up and bring anger from our Gods. We will not tolerate this blasphemy any longer, either you get rid of the spawn or you must leave our sanctity!

“Shin-ah, Shin-ah wake up…”

In a start, the young boy shrieks, scrambling over the bed and pressing himself against the wall with his eyes screwed shut. He feels the bed shifting and a warm hand coming to rest on his knee. A sweet girls voice breaking through his panicked mind…. It was so soothing…

“Shin-ah it’s okay, was it that bad dream again? You’re safe now remember, here at grandpa Mundok’s.”

Shin-ah…. That’s the name she gave me when I got here. He flashes back again to the river and tries to shake the memories out of his head. That was 3 months ago. He’d been so scared when the adults yanked him out of the closet and left him near a river with nothing more than the clothes on his back. After a day, starved and cold a passerby found him and took him to the authorities but with no way of identifying who he was, they placed him in this home for boys. That’s where I am now.

He peaked out with one eye, and sure enough the angels voice belonged to Yona. Seeing him coming around she smiles and moves her hands to take hold of his. “It’s gonna be okay Shin-ah, no one will hurt you anymore, I promise.” There was still a lingering fear but so far, she had spoken the truth. It was all so different for him to go from a lonely existence to one where the people actually talk to him and make him feel wanted. He nods his head slowly and after Yona scoots off his bed, crawls back under his blanket. “Goodnight Shin-ah!”

As much as he didn’t want to get his hopes up, the peace that little girl could always bring him began to lull him to sleep once more. Maybe… maybe it will be okay…

“Get back here kid!”

There was no way Jae-ha was gonna let them catch him and take him back to that hell hole of a home. No thank you! He truly thought that no one would believe the stories of how he was beat and starved, shackled by a long chain to the wall heater so he couldn’t escape. Freedom was what he craved for and it fueled his drive to break free.

Too bad freedom didn’t come with a meal.

It had been a week now of playing cat-and-mouse with the authorities. But as his stomach growled, he stopped to looked around and realized he had wandered onto a street of affluent homes. Thievery was not something Jae-ha wanted to resort to, but what other options did he have? All the darkened homes, quiet while their occupants slept peacefully in beds. Jae-ha scoffed, lucky bastards. These were the kinds of people that could afford to share their food, right?

Picking the simple lock was the easy part and luck have it that the back door had led straight into the kitchen! Hallelujah! It was like sun rays shining down upon him as he opened the fully stocked refrigerator!

“Shin-ah is that you raiding the fridge again?” The young boy freezes in place, slowly turning around to see another boy, slightly younger, rubbing his eyes and staring at him. “You’re not Shin-ah, what are you doing with our fridge?”

“Yoon, what’s going on down there?”

Shit! It’s an adult’s voice! Jae-ha glances at the back door. He could out run the kid, no problem and takes a step in that direction.

“Are you hungry?” The kitchen light snapping on causing Jae-ha to flinch again. He was busted, the older male was standing near the door now. Jae-ha presses himself against the counter afraid to say a word, studying the situation and looking for his way out. But again, the older gentleman asks the same question and this time Jae-ha is starting to notice the softness in the man’s tone. “Boy, I can see you must be starving. Yoon will you make him a sandwich?”

“Sure, thing grandpa!” the other child ignores the fact that there is a stranger in the room and simply goes around focused on his task.

“My name is Mundok, gramps to these boys.” He stays his ground near the door for now watching the frightened child. “I’m not gonna hurt you.”

Jae-ha was sure this was just a ploy to catch him so they could call the police. Since when are people so kind? He continues to watch the old man until the other child walks up and sticks the plate out to him. “Here, you should eat. It hurts when your stomach is empty, I know.” Jae-ha looks at the plate, it did look so tempting…. “Gramps isn’t lying,” Yoon cut through the young boy’s thoughts. “He ain’t my real grandpa, just the guy that took me in. There’s two other boys that live here too.”

“I can help ya boy, but you need to talk. If you ran away from home it was for a good reason, I’m sure, cause no one runs away unless they got a dang good one.” He moves away from the door and takes a seat on the opposite side of the island counter. Yoon places the plate on the counter and fixes a glass of water too. “Yoon, you should get to bed it’s late, but could you grab one of Hak’s outfits and bring it to me first, I think it would fit this young man.” Yoon nods and leaves the room on his task. Mundok chuckles, “Yoon is such a great kid,” turning to look at Jae-ha who still hasn’t moved a muscle, “his family was too poor to care for him, so he had resorted to dumpster diving. I convinced the family to let me adopt him and brought him here.”

Yoon returns a few minutes later and places the shirt, shorts, and underwear on the counter before waving and skipping back upstairs. “Tell ya what son,” the old man stands up slowly, keeping his hands resting on the counter, “I’m old and tired so I’m gonna go back to sleep. You should eat so ya ain’t starving tonight, take the clothes too and if you want,” he points to a utility room, “there’s even a shower if you wanna use it.” Standing straight now, “stay, go, the choice is up to you, I won’t stop ya if you wanna leave.” Mundok starts to walk away, still talking as he does. He points to another room, “living rooms got a couch if you’re tired,” waving without turning around, “night kid.”

Was it really possible that this old guy was for real? Jae-ha stares at the food, the clothes…. He glances around the room as tears slowly trickle down his face…

It was a little weird when he first moved in. You’d think he’d be used to living in a house full of boys, but these weren’t his relations. The old man that took him in, told him to call him gramps and think of this as his new family. Could he really do that? They were all younger than he was. The two oldest Jae-ha and Hak didn’t seem very interested in getting to know him. Shin-ah, well that boy was just eerily quiet, but Yoon at least said hello.

Zeno knew that they often wondered about him, this aloof kid, how the hell could he smile after what happened to him? To be honest, he wasn’t sure either. To the world, Zeno practically radiated sunshine but inside the nightmares still plagued with him, toying with his sanity. Mundok had sat all the kids down, including Kija and Yona, like he always did when a new child joined the household and told them. But the old man only gave them the info they needed… a lone survivor of a horrific car crash with no living relatives. That was how the 11-year-old came to live with them.

But Yoon knew the truth. The roommate heard the quiet sobbing or witnessed the sleepless nights and did his best to comfort his new friend. Both boys assumed gramps had designed it that way, pairing them up while putting Jae-ha and Shin-ah in the other room. That old man had a knack for tactical strategies and a gift for the human condition. Somehow, he just knew the young boy would provide a comforting shoulder without being laced with judgment. It came-in handy when once, after a pretty terrible nightmare Zeno confided that he felt bad for out living his other siblings or parents, that he couldn’t understand what had made him special enough to survive.

That had to be tough to live with.

“There must be a reason,” Yoon had pointed out that night, “look at how much you make people smile around you Zeno, that’s a pretty cool thing, I think. There’s so much bad stuff in this world, it needs people who can still be so happy.”

“How are you so smart for an 8-year-old?” Zeno had sat back in his bed and laughed from the young boy’s serious expression.

Yoon had just shrugged,“the library is free, so I spent a lot of time there.”

Zeno had settled under the covers at that point, “Thanks, it’s nice having someone to talk to, makes me feel less lonely.”

“Same,” the boy smiled, “good night Zeno.”

After a few months the nightmares fizzled away and while he still thought about his family, Zeno realized that he had been blessed with a new one. Three brothers had been lost, but even more gained plus a sister, and that made Zeno smile. He loved them all, even the sarcastic Hak. With Yona, it was absolutely wonderful having her around and while Kija didn’t live there, he visited so frequently it was as if he was part of this mixed family unit. Zeno had gone from being the baby of the family to the eldest sibling.

As he looked around the dining table one evening, watching everyone laughing and talking about their day, he couldn’t help but smile and believe it… Maybe there was a reason after all.

All the previous years had barely prepared them for this moment. They were better now and now it was their turn to be the strong ones. The six young men huddle around the young teenage girl as she stares at her father’s casket. Mundok places a hand upon her shoulder, “it’s gonna be okay Yona, we’ll help you get through this. I’ll make sure your father’s business and legacy continues, I promise.”

Yona could only stare forward in disbelief. Her hands hung at her sides, “But I still don’t understand w--why…. How could he hurt my dad like that when he was just trying to do the right thing?” She looks up at her best friend Hak who just stood to her side. The whites of his knuckles, the scowl and narrowed expression… her dad had treated him like a son, so his anger made sense. Yona tugged gently at his sleeve, “Hak?” He was so focused on the casket that it took a couple of pulls to gain his attention.

When he finally turns and looks, to see her riddled with pain and eyes misted over, his heart clenches tighter along with his fists. Yona didn’t deserve this, that bastard! How could he hurt his cousin like that! Her eyes crinkle at the corners causing the tears to pool in them. She’d held back the tears but there was no stopping them now and in a surprising move she launches into his chest, buries her face into the fabric and hands gripping. It takes a couple seconds to register in the young man but when it does, he wraps his arms around the girl. His anger swept away by the need to console her instead.

Each of the other five boys immediately moves in to embrace Yona until she was buried beneath a sea of arms and bodies. She was their little sister and big brothers protect little sisters. If she was in pain, they would be there for her, just like she had been for them years ago. Her sobbing continued but at a milder pace, tucked away in Hak’s arms and soothed by the rest of them. Kija, Yoon and Zeno, Shin-ah and Jae-ha all cooing and whispering their consolations.

There wasn’t a dry eye to be seen.

Mundok simply stood back and watched it unfold. He never imagined all those years ago when he’d taken the first child in, that this would be where his life would end up. It warmed his aging heart, and in that moment, he knew they truly would be okay. All of those boys with heartbreaking stories of their own had come so far…. They will be great men, he mused, no, they were already amazing young men. Bonded through adversity, they would stare down the future together in a way that was yet to be seen, but Mundok was certain, they would be victorious in wherever their paths led them to.

After a few minutes, they untangle themselves and lead Yona to the seats that were set up for the family so the funeral could commence. As she sat between them, Yoon held her hand on one side, Hak kept his arm around her from the other, and the other four sat behind like guardians. Mundok took a seat next to Hak and closed his eyes, “She’ll be okay Il, you rest in peace old friend…”

A couple of weeks later the lot of them were busy at the Il family home, “Hey gramps,” Hak points at the faded scroll painting hanging on the wall, “do you know what that’s from, even Yona had no idea about it.”

“It’s a cool painting,” adds Yoon, “it like one of those fairy tale fantasy stories or something.”

Mundok walks over, “ah the Legend of the Five Dragons, it’s an old tale that supposedly took place over two thousand years ago here in Kouka. I’m surprised you kids didn’t learn about it in history class.” Taking the painting off the wall. “Tell ya what, were almost done packing up this house, so when we get home, I’ll tell you guys the tale.”

It took them about a week to pack everything up, and six strapping young men sure made the move a lot quicker. Mundok made sure that anything of real value or sentiment was kept for Yona in the future, but he had made the difficult decision as executor to sell her family home and for her to move in with them instead. She understood, a house was just a house, but being with a family unit meant more. Mundok’s home was already bursting at the seams but in a couple of months a new room would be finished and until then she could stay in Hak’s room.

Once the final moving process was complete and they are hanging out after dinner, Mundok pulls out the scroll, laying it out on the table. “You guys ready to hear the story?” The group nods, some leaning forward, others relaxing back in their chairs. “Kija, you sure you can stay longer for this?”

“Yeah, I told them I’d be staying through dinner.”

Mundok sits back and crosses his arms, “Over two thousand years ago this place we now call Kouka was nothing more than a land filled with warring tribes consumed with taking control and ruling over the peoples. There was much bloodshed and chaos. From the heavens the Hiryuu dragon watched all of these events unfolding and it began to break his heart because he loved humans and wanted there to be peace. So, against the wishes of the other dragons he descended and took human form, even forgoing his powers to do what he could. Unfortunately, he was eventually caught and just before he was to be executed, the Hakuryuu, Seiryuu, Ryokuryuu, and Ouryuu dragons stepped in. They didn’t want to see their beloved friend die so they made deals with four warriors to take their blood and a part of their powers on condition to protect Hiryuu for all time.”

He takes a drink of water before continuing. “With the four dragon warriors at his side, Hiryuu was able to sweep through the lands and finally after many hard-won battles, united the peoples into one and Kouka was born. So, what do you guys think so far? Crazy or maybe it really happened?”

Hak scoffs, “these were probably just skilled warriors that the people called divine because they couldn’t explain how they were so good at what they did.”

“That could be true,” the old man nods, “it is often a human trait to attach such supernatural powers to those that seem inhuman.”

“Well I think it’s still cool to learn about the past,” Yoon smiles, “please continue gramps.”

Mundok grins, “I shall describe these dragons first starting with King Hiryuu. They say he had purple eyes that shone bright with kindness and a personality to match, and yet his wavy red hair was seen as a raging inferno to his enemies ready to burn them to the ground…” Suddenly the room fell silent as all head turned to young Yona.

“Whoa!” Zeno sits straight up in his chair, “you match the guy in the story Yona!”

“…Hakuryuu was physically strong with the power to crush his foes with his bare hands. But his hair was softer, like the white snows from the mountains and eyes as blue as a glacier’s ice reflecting the sky….” Now all eyes switched to Kija.

“…Seiryuu’s powers were the most dangerous of all for he could prey on people’s minds and drive them crazy. One look from his serpentine yellow eyes and the last thing they may remember is his blue hair swaying in the breeze…” By this point, the coincidences were starting to become quite eerie and Shin-ah shrank in his chair from the extra attention.

“…Ryokuryuu,” Mundok chuckles, “they say he was quite a character always sarcastic but very caring. He loved keeping his green hair up in a pony tail and legend has it his purple eyes were fond with the ladies…”

Jae-ha smirks and crosses his arms, “sound like a charmer to me.”

“…And finally, Ouryuu, the yellow dragon warrior with golden hair and a sunny disposition. He was beloved by his fellow warriors and Hiryuu for he kept their spirits up even under the harshest of times.”

Unable to take the similarities anymore, “oh, this is some crap,” Hak waves an arm at the others in a fit, “how come they get to look like some ancient warriors of heaven! Did you just make it all up?”

Yona places a hand on her friend’s shoulder, “it’s just a coincidence Hak, you don’t need to get so upset over it.”

“Yeah it’s just a story,” Yoon chimes in, “I ain’t in it either but I’m not mad. You can see five characters on the scroll too.”

But of course, the jokester of the group couldn’t stay quiet. “Awww, poor Hak. Maybe you’re the Prince who sweeps in and steals one of Hiryuu’s daughters,” Jae-ha grins and gestures at Yona. “We can call you the black dragon, since you’re always so moody.”

Mundok shifts in his seat expecting a fight to break out between the two boys. But Hak’s face switches from anger to contemplation. Bringing a hand up to rub his chin, “I kinda like that… black…. Maybe the darkness dragon,” turning and smirking at Yona, “yeah… the one who wins the Princess’s heart.” Groan erupt around the table while poor Yona is turning bright red.

“Okay, okay,” Mundok cuts in, “so basically, after uniting the kingdom, peace reigns, everyone lives happily ever after, the end.”

“Wait that’s it?” Kija questions.

“Well considering there wasn’t anything of significance to happen since then, what else is there to tell?” Mundok counters. “The rest seems even more farfetched.”

“We’re listening,” Hak retorts.

“Okay fine, they say that the warriors had lived on, that their blood would be passed down along the generations and that one day a reincarnation of Hiryuu would bring them together once more.”

“Tch,” Hak leans in, “old man what do you think this is?” Gesturing around him, “reincarnation,” he points at Yona, “four warriors,” he points at the other boys, “you think this is a farfetched?”

How many seasons have come and gone before this moment? While never forgotten, the years since the accident have become a distant memory and so many wonderful new ones have taken their place.

“Next we have our Philosophy majors…”

Zeno stood from his seat and followed behind the other students waiting in line for their diplomas. One by one their names are read as they stepped onto the stage and as his was called, shouts rang out from the stands.

“ZENO!!!! ZENO!!!!! ZENO!!!”

His brothers and sister screaming and waving with banners. Zeno chuckles when he sees gramps flashing away with a camera as he accepts his degree. He shifts the tassel over and raises the diploma case above his head. It was a proud moment for not just him but his family, all of them. For the brothers and parents, he lost, and the siblings and father he gained…

“First of us to graduate!” Jae-ha claps Zeno on the back. “How does it feel old man?”

With tears streaming down his face and a babbling wreck, “My boy!” Mundok hugs Zeno tight. “I’m so proud of you!”

Hak rolls his eyes, “Geez gramps the water works, you gonna do this every single time one of us walks the line?”

“Damn straight I am!” Mundok wipes away the tears.

Zeno smiles, “Thanks!” his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I’m glad I have you all here to share this moment with.”

“Last of us guys to move in, first of us to move on huh,” Jae-ha quips.

“We’ll miss you when you leave,” adds Kija.

“Nope,” Zeno hugs the diploma to his chest, “I’m a homebody, so I’m not leaving anytime soon, I’d miss you guys too much.”

“Aww, you’re such a dork Zeno,” Jae-ha rubs his head, messing up his hair.

For the next few minutes the boys joke around and chatter together sharing in some hugs, and a few more tears. Mundok hangs back with the widest grin still plastered on his face. He knew it was only a matter of time before one by one they will move on in their lives but that was okay. Yoon came starved and now look at him healthy and fit. Kija was such a lonely child and yet here he was laughing with life-long friends.

Shin-ah, sweet Shin-ah was still quiet, but he’s come so far from the emotionally bereft child he once was to one who could now be in the middle of a crowd without running away. Jae-ha, the problem child who swore to never be tied down. Mundok had a feeling he might end up being the last to leave the house. Then there was Hak and Yona and a knowing smile crosses his lips. Those two still hid their feelings, but as anyone watched them, like now, he stood with his arm around her shoulders as she leaned in to him. One day they would provide the next generation of the Son family.

Mundok thinks back to the dragon lore, wouldn’t it be crazy if it had come true? Laughter rings in his head. And why not? They were like a modern-day version, he mused.

“Hey boys,” gathering them back together, “let’s get a picture then we can head on home for a small party.”

“Whoo hoo! Food!” Shin-ah starts to sneak away.

“Oh no you don’t,” Jae-ha grabs his brother and pulls him to his side as the others bunch together in front of the camera.

“3… 2… 1…”

Within the month a new canvas painting hangs prominently next to the scroll in Mundoks living room…

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