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beauregardlionett · 3 years

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i think i might understand the concept of home

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Yasha’s car had broken down on the side of the road in some tiny town she only meant to pass through. She hadn’t even read the welcome sign half-a-mile back, so gods knew where she was. Thankfully, there was a shoulder and a sidewalk, so she wasn’t stuck in the middle of traffic. She had the hood popped and stared helplessly down at the tangle of mechanics she did not understand.

Nothing was smoking, so she figured that must be a good thing.

“Need a hand?”

Yasha glanced up, catching sight of a woman standing just outside the coffee shop Yasha broke down in front of. She stood defined in the sunlight, composed of sharp lines and lean muscle, contained by planes of smooth, coffee-colored skin. She had on a simple grey sports bra under denim overalls littered with stains and distressed patches torn in random places on the legs. Her hair was in a low bun sat over what looked like an undercut all tucked messily beneath a backward cap.

Damn...she was hot.

The woman cocked an expectant eyebrow, reminding Yasha she had yet to answer.

“Oh, um...yes?”

Hot Lady smirked and stepped off the curb to stand at Yasha’s shoulder, leaning over the open hood and inspecting the mess. Yasha was busy inspecting the tanned slope of neck to bare shoulder, all of her quite a sight in the midday sunlight.

Gods, was that a tattoo on her back?

With abrupt yet easy precision, Hot Lady hauled herself up onto the lip of Yasha’s truck and shoved her hand between various pieces of metal. Startled, Yasha looked down at the engine, hoping she wouldn’t have to call emergency services for a hand lost in her car engine.

“The alternator might be shot,” Hot Lady said, squinting as she moved her hand around a little.

“What does that mean?” Yasha managed, only a little strangled.

“Means you need to get your car into a shop because you aren’t going to have much luck getting far without it.” Hot Lady removed her hand and gave a little hop back down to the pavement. She wiped her hand carelessly on her overalls and shrugged a little.

“It’s not a super challenging thing to fix, but it will take a minute. I can point you to a good garage if you need.”

“That would be very helpful. Thank you...um...”

“Beauregard,” the woman said, sticking out her hand with a grin. “Call me Beau.”

After hesitating a moment, Yasha grasped Beau’s hand and gave it a tentative shake, cheeks warm. Her face flushed even warmer when Beau raised her eyebrow again, clearly waiting for Yasha’s name.

“Yasha,” she blurted, horrid awkwardness muddying her chest. “I’m Yasha.”

“Nice to meet you, Yasha,” Beau said as she slowly took her hand back. Yasha already like the way her name sounded rolling off of Beau’s tongue - perhaps far too much for someone she just met.

“You might need to shack up somewhere for the night,” Beau said, pulling her phone from her pocket and texting someone. “Depending on how long the garage takes with your car. I haven’t seen you ‘round here before. You got a place to stay?”

“Oh...no,” Yasha managed. “I’m just passing through.”

“Well, I texted my buddy over at the garage to come get your car. He’ll be here soon. There’s only one hotel in this town, and to be honest, it sucks. My buddy Caleb moved most of his stuff out of his apartment, but he hasn’t turned the lease over yet. He got a big wig job two hours from here and they had him start early, despite the fact he still had a month on the lease. You can crash there if you want. I’m pretty sure he left his mattress.”

Yasha blinked, dazed and flabbergasted at the turn this conversation had taken.

“I...what?”

Beau looked up from her phone, fingers pausing in their rapid texting. She seemed to take in Yasha’s stunned expression and grimaced slightly.

“Sorry, that was a lot all at once.” Beau tucked her phone away and crossed her arms over her chest. Yasha recognized the defensive tactic attempting to look casual with ease. She performed that move often enough herself.

“This ‘helping’ thing isn’t my forte - more Jess’ thing. But uh...yeah. If you need a place to stay, you’ve got one. Promise there're no strings attached or anything like that.”

“But...you don’t know me.”

“True,” Beau shrugged. “But it’s not like there’s anything to steal from Caleb’s place. It’s basically an empty apartment he’s not getting anything out of. Might as well put the place to good use.”

“Okay,” Yasha said after a moment of strange quiet. What else was she supposed to say?

Beau blinked up at Yasha, then grinned, wide and delighted. “Cool.”

A few minutes later, a tow truck pulled up. Beau greeted the driver enthusiastically as Yasha watched on, wondering what she had gotten herself into.

“This is it,” Beau said, shoving open the door with her hip as she wrestled the key out of the lock.

Yasha followed Beau in, fingers curled tightly around the strap of her meager duffle bag. The apartment was near barren, as Beau had said. It had a small living area that faded seamlessly into a kitchenette. Down a short hallway appeared to be a bedroom and bathroom, both doors open. It wasn’t much, but it was enough. The only sign someone had recently been occupying the space was the old mattress just visible through the bedroom door and the sagging sofa in the living room.

“Sorry there’s no food in the kitchen, but there’s a store about a block from here if you’re up for a walk. I’d hang around but I have to get to a class.”

Yasha twisted to look at Beau, something bubbling up in her chest that felt a lot like gratitude and a little like something indescribable. She watched as Beau fiddled with her key ring, only realizing what was happening when Beau pulled a key off and tossed it to Yasha. She just barely managed to catch it and not make a fool of herself.

“That’s the key to the door for ya. And,” Beau pulled a crumpled, folded piece of paper from her pocket, holding it out to Yasha. “My number, in case you have questions or you need anything. I’m a night owl and an early riser, so chances are I’ll answer whenever.”

“Thank you,” Yasha warbled after a long moment, clutching the key so hard the grooves of its identity imprinted into her palm. The notches stung like she would never forget their shape. “I mean it. This is...a lot.”

Beau rubbed the back of her neck, scuffing the toe of her sneaker against the worn floorboards. “It’s nothin’ really...”

“No,” Yasha insisted. “It’s a lot. Thank you.”

Beau’s gaze met Yasha’s intense stare, her bright blue eyes wide as they took in Yasha’s sincerity. A handful of seconds stretched into eternity before Beau ducked her head, rubbing at the back of her neck.

“Yeah...sure.”

Yasha was getting the impression she wasn’t the only one completely out of her depth in this situation.

“I’ll come around tomorrow with updates...bye.”

Yasha watched her duck out the door, disappearing down the hallway before she shut the door behind Beau and clicked the lock.

The garage had Yasha’s car fixed and ready to go after two days. Yasha was still in town three months later.

In all honesty, she’s not sure how it happened.

The night she planned to leave, Beau had swung by and insisted on seeing her off. They ended up at a diner, tucked into a booth, talking like they actually knew each other. Next thing Yasha realized, it was nearing midnight, and they were being asked to wrap up so the diner could close. The chef had called to them from the window, an older looking man with bright pink hair who gave Beau a knowing look and a wink.

Somehow, that unplanned extra night turned into months. Yasha had taken on the lease from the absent Caleb for his apartment. She found a job at the local florist, a job she quietly enjoyed. The gravity of her situation only set in after she bought sheets for the mattress.

She met Jess - real name Jester, or Genevieve, but Yasha couldn’t sure - a bubbly girl with deep blue hair and the sweetest attitude ever. Her fingertips were permanently paint stained, and she left hastily sketched dicks everywhere she went. Yasha also met the tow truck driver from the first day, a guy named Fjord. They were a weird mix of individuals, but somehow they got on just fine. They ate dinner together every Thursday night at the same bar owned by the guy who tended the bar - one of those small town things. His name was Mollymauk - Molly for short and sometimes they instead of he - with inordinately purple hair and makeup to match.

Yasha never really spent a lot of time in her apartment. She didn’t see the point, not when she had access to the florist shop, or the diner, or anywhere else with Jess, Fjord, Molly, or Beau. Especially not when Jess’ apartment she shared with Fjord was so much warmer, much more like a home.

It took three months before Beau stopped mid-sentence of a story and blinked at Yasha over their pancakes in the diner.

“This is probably a stupid question, but did you have somewhere to be?”

Yasha looked up, confused. “Right now? Uh...no? My shift at the shop doesn’t start for another three hours.”

“No, no, I meant like outside this town. You told me you were passing through, before.”

“Oh,” Yasha set down her fork and looked out the window. Her chest felt tight. That afternoon seemed like a lifetime ago - a whole other person ago. “Not really.”

“Do...uhm,” Yasha looked over at Beau to find her pushing her food around her plate awkwardly. “Do you want to talk about it?”

This was difficult for both of them. If Yasha had learned anything in her time here, it was that they both struggled to convey their emotions eloquently. But that Beau tried meant everything to Yasha. The least she could do was meet her halfway.

“I was running, and I didn’t know where or when I would stop. But I guess this place is where I’m meant to be.”

“Why were you running?” Beau stared at her, gaze intense in a way Yasha found endearing. She watched like nothing else in the world could distract her.

“I...I had a wife. And I lost her rather abruptly almost six months ago. I tried to stay for a while, to keep what we had built together, but I wasn’t strong enough. So I ran and hoped that I would find something worth staying for again before I fell off the world.”

Beau stared at Yasha openly over their half-eaten breakfast, eyes wide.

“You stayed here. Does that mean you found something here?”

Yasha looked at Beau, at her messy bun and her undercut that needed a fresh shave. She took in the puddle of syrup, slowly saturating Beau’s pancakes and the half gone pile of bacon. Beau’s cellphone sat face down on the table so her attention stayed on Yasha. She realized the baggy sweater Beau had on was one Yasha had misplaced almost a month ago. Yasha lost her breath at the butterflies that fluttered to life in her stomach.

“I think so,” Yasha breathed, tethered and unhinged all at once.

They didn’t talk about it, because of course they didn’t.

But two weeks after their pancake conversation, Beau invited Yasha out for a night on the town. There were only two bars with decent night life here, and Yasha had been to both of them exactly once during her time here. (The daytime trips to Molly’s bar didn’t count, of course. She had only been to their bar for the night life once.)

She met Beau in the middle, and they walked together the rest of the way.

Beau had gotten her undercut shaved tight again, but it was hidden with the way her hair spilled loose and long down her back. She had a cobalt lace crop top on - the one with the built-in bra. The way it showed off the definition of her muscles was doing things to Yasha. The black cigarette pants didn’t help either.

A few drinks and way too many EDM songs later - or maybe only a few? Yasha couldn’t tell them apart - Yasha remained upright from adrenaline alone. Somewhere between the drinks and the beat of the music, Beau pressed up against Yasha, wiry arms winding around Yasha’s neck as they danced. Yasha wasn’t much of a dancer in any regard, but she was just tipsy enough to not care.

Beau’s hips fit comfortably in the space between Yasha’s hands, and Yasha resolutely tried not to follow that train of thought. For no other reason than she didn’t want to ruin a good thing, and there was no way Beau felt the same.

Beau pushed onto her toes, shiny black boots creasing with the motion as her lace top rode up her enticing torso.

“I really want to kiss you,” Beau called over the heavy thrum of the base. Her voice nearly got lost in the din, but Yasha heard her. She couldn’t pretend she didn’t. The weight of her heart dropping into her stomach hit too heavy and real to ignore.

Fuck, she wanted to kiss Beau, too.

Yasha’s t-shirt stuck to random parts of her torso with sweat, a detail she was now hyper-aware of with how little space existed between her and Beau. The press of bodies around them was abruptly unnerving. So much so, Yasha wound an arm around Beau’s shoulders and steered them both free, ducking into the hallway that lead to the bathrooms as Yasha gasped for air.

Beau leaned her back against the wall for support, peering at Yasha with far too much clarity for someone who could barely stand upright.

“Are you okay, Yash?” Her voice was quieter now that they had moved out of the main bar, but the base still pounded like a heartbeat through the floorboards.

With more confidence than Yasha would ever possess in her life, she caged Beau in, a hand on either side of her head against the wall. As Beau stared up at her with unabashed awe, Yasha’s face warmed with flushed embarrassment.

“I want to kiss you so bad.”

“Then do it,” Beau said. It sounded like a dare, but she said it as if she were asking permission.

With a quick swoop into Beau’s space, Yasha pressed her lips to Beau’s with the barest amount of pressure. A feather-light, electric brush of a promise, a question, and an invitation. Yasha moved no closer.

Beau leaned in, and as far as kisses went, it was simple. Neither of them surged toward the other, or grappled for purchase to deepen the embrace. It was an easy press of lips, testing the waters despite the alluring tug of the tide.

Tipsy seconds later, Beau pulled back first with a soft gasp. Yasha’s eyes fluttered open, and she felt like a cheesy teenager when she realized they had closed without her knowledge.

“Do you want to do this?” Beau asked, voice soft and a little wrecked despite the chaste kiss.

Yasha, never one for many words, gave a quick nod and ducked back in. It wasn’t confidence, more like the beginning of a realization.

Beau held onto her, this time hands back around Yasha’s neck and fingers tangled deep in Yasha’s wild hair. Yasha took one hand from the wall to cup the back of Beau’s head, fingers sliding easily over the short hairs of Beau’s undercut.

It wasn’t a fireball kiss, but it tasted like the whiskey shots they had done half an hour ago. Beau’s lips were soft and a stark contrast to the way she kissed Yasha. It wasn’t falling stars and fire lit in her chest, nor was it a cosmic shift of puzzle pieces snapping into place. As before, it was a realization, a revelation of something that might have been there for a while.

Beau kissed Yasha back, and she thought about pancakes at the diner and memorizing the way Beau’s eyes scrunched when she laughed. Yasha rubbed her thumb over Beau’s jawline and Beau’s sharp grin burst to life behind her eyelids. A tug to Yasha’s hair reminded her of Beau offering to braid Yasha’s messy locks every time they all slept at Jess’ place. Beau licked into Yasha’s mouth and all at once, Yasha pictured her apartment. She saw the walls she had kept carefully bare, the sheets she had bought, but no other furniture. The echoing emptiness of a place abandoned for a better chance, and inhabited by the echo of who Yasha used to be.

And what did people say about echoes being louder in empty rooms?

Beau kissed Yasha, and Yasha realized she didn’t want to be an echo anymore.

Beau made her feel solid in a way that was undemanding. She merely held out her hand and asked for the pieces of Yasha that were real, the parts she was willing to share. She helped Yasha make them into a complete picture.

Yasha kissed Beau back with all the gentle strength she could muster through the weight of her epiphany and the whiskey.

This time, Yasha knew she found something worth staying for.

#cr #critical role #beauyasha #beauregard lionett #yasha #writing #my writing

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solastia · 4 years

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The Dragon’s Lair | 6

- Riddle Me This -

Pairing: Dragon Hybrid Namjoon x Reader

Word Count: 5,094

Notes: It feels like so much has happened and this has been going on for so long, right? But this is actually the very beginning of my long and complicated outline lmao. Anyway, it’s time to meet our Sphinx! I wonder who this could be *insert lenny face here* And if you’re wondering if there will ever be an end to me adding other kpop fandoms: no, no there will not be. We’re catchin em all.

The winter storms were slowly giving into the spring rains. Of course, this made everything horribly humid and muddy, but at least you weren’t snowed in for days on end anymore.

As soon as you were able, you scheduled contractors that specialized in hybrid-friendly rooms to help get one prepared, as you fully planned on starting the adoption process for Mark when it was done. You had to make sure it had its own heating and cooling system separate from the rest of the house, insulation for winter, and UV lighting, among other things. Needless to say, it was not going to be a quick process, but Mark was safe at the shelter with Heechul’s near-constant vigilance.

You’d also begun to clear out the barn that you’ve only been using for storage since your grandparents had adopted out all of their animals. You weren’t quite sure how serious you were yet about getting some animals in there again, but for now, it gave you something to do while construction was going on inside your home.

You spent a lot of time throwing out or giving away anything unusable, sweeping out stalls, and scrubbing everything down until it shone like it hadn’t in years. Thankfully you still kept in touch with a lot of the people that had worked with your family over the years and it was easy to have fresh supplies brought in, half of which you weren’t even sure you’d ever use, but everyone was happy to hear that the farm was going back to work in a sense.

Despite all these other changes, your relationship with Namjoon was settled into a comfortable path. Not to say that things were unexciting - the man never failed to find some new way to make your heart flutter - but it felt secure and steady now. Like the two of you being a forever thing was assured. It continually surprised you when you remembered that you actually hadn’t been together for very long. He felt like he’d always been there.

Most days were simply routine. You’d both wake up at the same time and shower - together more often than not -, have breakfast and then he’d head to the shelter while you’d work in your office. At least three times a week you’d meet up to have lunch together, thankful that both of you had lenient bosses that wouldn’t freak out when an hour-long lunch turned into two or three. Once he was home for the day, the two of you usually just spent your time together. You’d watch a movie or read while you cuddled on the couch, oftentimes ignoring the screen to simply listen to him talk. The way he viewed the world was beautiful and you never grew tired of listening.

Namjoon had put his foot down and declared date night mandatory. So every single Saturday without fail he’d drag you into town for some event or into the mountains for a hike, always doing his best to create the most romantic day possible. You’d tried to convince him that he didn’t need to do all this, that simply walking with him in the forest near your home was romantic as long as he was there, but he claimed he was still “courting” you so it wasn’t something he could just stop. You assumed that meant it was something to do with his Dragon side and let him do as he pleased.

Once a week you’d usually tag along and go to the shelter, spending most of your time in the playrooms. According to one of the volunteers, Heechul’s shelter held an average of one hundred and fifty hybrids at any given time, which seemed an astronomical amount if one didn’t know about the secret wings and the fact that you were pretty sure he’d borrowed the whole ‘bigger on the inside’ concept.

You tried to spend as much time as you could with all the hybrids, but as you were only one person there was only so much you could do. Still, you did have your - as Heechul called them - “cub club.” There have been many arguments in the little group about the name - starting with you wondering why they needed a name at all - since they were composed of all different species, but they gave in after Heechul’s continuous use of it and the fact that it apparently was cute, according to Namjoon.

Basically, it was a group of hybrids that seemed to have singled you out as a clear favorite and would follow you around the moment you stepped into the building. The unspoken leader of the group was your little Mark, who was always waiting by the front door of the building when you would come in. Usually right next to him was Felix, who seemed to split his time between your cubs and Namjoon’s fan club fairly equally. Some newer friends of yours were a teen tiger hybrid named Seonghwa, and wolf pup siblings Changkyun and Jooheon. There were a few others that came and went, but these were your regular crew.

Today was one of your shelter days, and you were once again surrounded in the playrooms. Mark was sitting next to you with his raccoon hybrid friend Donghyuck, who was an honorary member of Star’s Cubs at this point with how often he was attached to Mark. They were both coloring a picture of their dream bedroom - a sneaky idea you’d gotten so that you could have Mark’s room ready and decorated when the adoption finalized.

Felix was having a Namjoon day, so after he’d run up to hug you when you’d first arrived, he’d gone right back to the class that Namjoon was currently teaching. You’d probably see him again at lunch, and then he’d talk a mile a minute about everything Namjoon was teaching him and demand cuddles.

Changkyun and Jooheon were currently wrestling around on the floor near your feet. They were a complicated pair. They had both been found in the wild several months ago, seemingly without any sort of parents or guardians whatsoever. The boys themselves weren’t sure, but you judged them to be around nine or ten. They were smart kids but had obviously been living on their own for quite some time. They mentioned a “her” a few times, speaking of someone from their memories that would make certain foods or clean them, but they couldn’t remember who she was. Their mother, you assumed.

Needless to say, they were perhaps not the most well-mannered children, but they were sweet and eager to please. To you, at least. The other volunteers usually tried to interact with them as little as possible after a few too many bites and temper tantrums, often referring to them as feral monsters. You had, of course, taken that up with Heechul, but the damage had already been done and they were labeled as such by everyone. From the day Jooheon had met you, however, he’d decided you “smelled nice” and would bring you scraps from their dinners (that they apparently hoarded - bad habits left from living in the wild). It had taken Changkyun a little longer to warm up to you, but one day he’d just walked up and pushed Felix out of your lap and took his place. You’d scolded him and made him apologize, but you’d let him stay, deciding it had probably been a very long time since he’d been hugged by anyone besides his brother. They’d gotten better about waiting their turn and learning to ask first, but you still went out of your way to cuddle them as much as they’d let you.

Seonghwa sat nearby doing his homework. He was...interesting. It was the nicest thing you could think of to say about that whole situation. The thing was, he was a nice kid. Almost seventeen, had been here for a few years. Definitely beautiful, no denying that. You didn’t know too much about his past yet, as you hadn’t wanted to pry and he didn’t volunteer much information. He helped you with the younger kids a lot though, asked you about your work, was genuinely sweet, and fun to talk to when he was just chill. The issue was...you were apparently his “first love.”

He wasn’t creepy about it or anything. He really was super sweet. He would bring you flowers and treats, help you carry anything heavy, and was just really attentive. Unfortunately, then he’d start walking around you in circles, staring intently with his tail flicking around in the air as he sang to you. He had a sweet voice, but they were of course all highly inappropriate love songs to be singing to an older woman. And according to Namjoon, the circling and singing thing was a tiger courting ritual, so you took great care not to acknowledge it. You’d tried letting him down as gently as possible, but somehow he seemed to just consider it more of a challenge, and you really didn’t want to be mean and be his first heartbreak as well. Namjoon surprisingly - or not since he could be a brat himself - thought it was hilarious. He’d often ask how your tiger cub was doing, laughing when you’d swat him. Of course, he was still a territorial dragon, so he would occasionally go out of his way to kiss you with a bit too much tongue or pinch your butt where everyone could see to get the message of your status across.

Things at the shelter have been fairly quiet and routine, as far as such a big place could be. That’s why you were awfully surprised when Heechul storms into the playroom looking distraught and frazzled. He brightens slightly when he spots you, rushing over and placing his hands on his hips.

“You’d be perfect, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that earlier!”

You frown, thoroughly confused. “Thanks, I think. For what?”

He clucks and shakes his head.

“We have an exotic on his way here. He was one of mine that I raised until he was ten, and then he was adopted by this lovely couple. Unfortunately, they were a bit too old even then, but they adored Seokjin so I let him go.” He sighs wearily and flops into a nearby recliner. “They passed away last year and left him everything. He’d been living on his own just fine until someone tried to rob the place and he ended up hurt. Then the police of course had to see his medical records and - surprise! - a hybrid had been running around owning a house and living free for an entire year and they don’t like that. They were going to send him to a state-run hybrid institution, which essentially means death if you’re not a baby or usable on the black market. So, he called me in a panic and I have it all settled with the police that he’s officially one of ours and they don’t have to worry about him anymore. But he’s too used to independence to stuff him back into regular hybrid life, so I was thinking maybe you could foster him? Just like, let him hang out at your place until we figure out some way he can go back to living how he likes?”

“I mean, I have to check in with Namjoon, but I don’t see why not. What kind of hybrid is he?”

“Sphinx,” Heechul answered, his deadpan voice at odds with his amused eyes.

“A what now?”

“Sphinx. You know, part bird, lion and man. Likes riddles. Has big statues.”

“Sure, why not,” you sigh. This place really made your brain hurt.

Heechul chuckled and reached out to pat your shoulder.

“Thanks. I know it’s a lot to deal with right now, with your new romance and getting ready for Mark, but Seokjin deserves a chance. I think you’ll like him.”

“You know, it’s really creepy when you do that. At least let me tell you with words what I’m planning about Mark.”

“I didn’t even need to use magic to see that’s where it was headed. He’s basically already yours,” he scoffs, standing up with a light groan.

“When is this Seokjin going to be here?”

“He’s on his way to the shelter now. I figured he could just come here first, meet you and have dinner with everyone, then head home with you guys after. If that’s okay.”

“Again, just have to check with Joon, but it should be fine. Sphinx and dragons aren’t like, mortal enemies or anything, are they?”

Heechul grins, “Hardly. In fact, I remember they were actually pretty good friends when they were little. Jin was older and would tolerate Joonie like a big brother. Not sure how well Namjoon remembers him, though.”

“Alright, I guess. Joon’s class is over in a few minutes. I’ll go talk to him now.”

“Thanks, Star!”

You shake your head as he flounces away, wondering when he’d started using that name too. At this point, that was basically your official name.

“Does that mean you’re going to have to stay home all the time? To take care of a new hybrid?”

A little sniffle came from your right as you registered the fact that your cubs had just been quietly listening to your conversation with Heechul. Mark’s eyes were beginning to glisten with unshed tears and you quickly snatched the boy up and cuddled him close.

“Of course not, sweetheart. By the sounds of it, he’s older than both me and Joon, so he’s not going to need much looking after. He basically just needs a place to crash until he figures out what to do.”

“Oh,” he sniffles again, and you try not to laugh about the fact that it’s not helping, as his nose is starting to water too. “So you’ll still come to see me?”

“Of course! And as soon as the farm is cleaned up you can come to visit me too. How does that sound?”

“Really? And Felix? And Hyuckie? And...and…”

“Yes,” you interrupt, knowing the boy will try to name literally everyone he’s ever talked to. “Anyone that wants to visit will be able to. I just wanted to make sure it’s safe first, so no one gets sick.”

“Okay!” Mark squeezes you clumsily but is quickly back to being a ray of sunshine and crawling off of you to go back to his picture.

“Seonghwa,” you call, snorting inwardly as the tiger practically jumps to attention, “Watch the kids for a bit, okay? I’m going to see Namjoon.”

He nods quietly and sets his books down, smiling softly as he watches you leave the room.

***

As you’d expected, Namjoon was more than agreeable to the idea of helping his childhood friend but was understandably concerned over how his dragon instincts would react to another creature in his new den with his new...well, mate. (Although he insists that you aren’t official mates yet. And he blushes and refuses to answer whenever you ask what makes you official).

“It’s just, like, I don’t want to stress him out even more, you know? If he’s already going through all this, then I don’t want to be growling and snapping at him,” Namjoon sighed as he stood with you in the lobby, grasping your hand tightly as you both waited for Seokjin to show up.

“I know, but Heechul told me that Seokjin is the only one of his kind as well so if anyone were to understand that this is a learning situation and not blame you for it, it would be someone like him, right?”

Namjoon shrugs, “I guess. From what I remember, Jin hyung was really outspoken too, so I think he’d be sure to let me know if I do something to offend him.”

“And if all else fails, you can just take him behind the house and piss on him,” you try to hide your grin as you tease him.

He growls playfully, leaning down to tug your hair. “Watch it. I’ll mark you next.”

“I thought you already did,” you quirk an eyebrow as you refer to certain activities that had taken place before he’d let you leave your bed that morning.

“Hey, let's keep the rating down in my presence, please,” Heechul sighs wearily from the other side of you.

The two of you fight valiantly to keep your giggles under control, only able to stop fully once a taxi pulls up in front of the building and nerves once again take over.

The man that steps out takes even your breath away - quite a feat considering how whipped you were for your own boyfriend. He’s tall, nearly as tall as Namjoon, and has a regal bearing. He has a face that many would pay millions for, with full lips and wide expressive eyes. His hair and lion ears were the same mahogany brown shade, as was the fluffy tip of his long tail. It seemed he had no trouble showing off his lion side. You weren’t sure if that’s all there was to his transformation though, considering he was a Sphinx, not just a lion.

He turned to pay the driver, who was actually smiling and laughing like the two of them were old friends. Seokjin reached out and shook the man’s hand heartily and shoved what was apparently too much money towards him if the way the man tried to argue about it was any indication. You supposed this meant Seokjin was the friendly sort, which boded well.

You were a little confused by the fact that the hybrid was only carrying a single suitcase. Perhaps he had left the rest behind to be picked up later? From what Heechul had told you, the hybrid had grown up in a fairly wealthy household, spoiled and doted on. You would think he would be walking in here with twenty name brand suitcases, and yet here he was with only a small rolling suitcase meant for a child with Mario on it. Something about that felt wrong.

The hybrid seemed fine, however, breezing through the front door with a wide smile like all was right in the world. He stopped right in front of Heechul and stared at him a moment, cocking his head.

“You haven’t changed a bit, hyung. You don’t have a single new wrinkle. Are you trying to compete with me?”

Heechul huffs and reaches out to hug the man. Seokjin laughs quietly, pulling Heechul into a bear hug so fierce Heechul squeaks a little. He releases him and pats him on the shoulder before he turns to Namjoon.

“Don’t tell me you’re little Joon bug? You can’t be anyone else, with those dimples. I used to swear I could use them as cereal bowls if we ever ran out.”

Namjoon shyly looks down and kicks his foot, but he’s smiling. “Hi, Seokjin-ssi. It’s nice to see you again.”

The hybrid waves his hand carelessly, “Just call me hyung, Namjoon. Or even just Jin. We don’t need honorifics with our kind.”

Namjoon nods and pulls you closer, drawing the Sphinx’s attention. His thick brow raises your way as his smile quirks mischievously.

“And this must be Miss Star, the one I’ve been hearing so much about,” he raises up his hand like he’s going to shake yours, but the moment you grasp it he holds on tightly. His face suddenly settles into serious lines as he looks down into your eyes.

“Answer me this. As small as your thumb, I am light in the air. You may hear me before you see me, but trust that I’m here.”

You hadn’t been prepared for this, for some reason. Duh, Sphinx’s whole thing was about riddles.

You bite your lip and give it some thought for a moment. “A hummingbird?”

His smile brightens back up and he releases your hand before he slaps Namjoon’s back.

“Hey, she’s smart. You got a good one”

“Yeah…” Namjoon answers dreamily, staring down at you with a dopey grin. You blush and grab his hand.

Jin’s arm was back to flailing around again, and you were wondering if he was in control of his limbs or if it was the other way around.

“Hey, listen, want to hear a joke about construction?” he asks. You’re not sure if he really expects an answer, but you squeak out a somewhat genuine sounding “Sure,” anyway.

“I'm still working on it,” he answers, before cackling loudly, his laughter practically shaking the glass windows as he slaps his leg in amusement.

You decide, if nothing else, he seems easy to keep entertained.

You politely laugh and wait for him to finish before taking the chance to steer the conversation in another direction.

“Are you hungry? We thought we’d stay and have dinner here before we went home. Only if you’re comfortable with that, though.”

“I’m famished,” Jin answered, slapping his flat and obviously in-shape stomach like it was the opposite. “I wouldn’t mind sticking around. Kyungsoo still the cook here?”

“Yup. And Wendy is making dessert,” Heechul tells him as he grabs the little suitcase.

“Sounds great.”

It hadn’t escaped your notice that no one brought up his past owners or any difficult subjects. You sigh quietly as you walk behind everyone as they went to the dining room, knowing that it was probably going to be all up to you.

***

Dinner had gone as it usually did, with only the occasional fights to break up between over-enthusiastic kids. You used the time to observe Seokjin, trying to see what you could pick up about him in a group setting like this. He was polite and charming, yes, but very quick to steer the conversation away from himself. You supposed he wasn’t ready to talk about his problems, which was fine. You had time.

He was also an enthusiastic eater and at one point seemed to have an almost mini-competition going on with the elephant hybrid over who could eat the most. You’d decided to break it up before anyone found out since the elephant was only seven and didn’t need to compete with a grown man.

Seokjin and Namjoon seemed to get on perfectly well, thank goodness. Jin treated him like a little brother - making sure his bowl was full, teasing him every time he stared at you, telling him at least five jokes about giants.

The man didn’t seem to have a shred of animosity in him at all, which would normally be a good thing. If one didn’t take into account what had happened to him. He should be upset and crying, or at least mad. Irritated. But he seemed more like he was just visiting some dear old friends, with nothing to fret about. That worried you more than anything because the poor man was probably just really good at covering it up then, and you hoped you’d be able to help him. Or that he’d even let you.

These thoughts plagued you the whole way home, as you occasionally peeked into the rear view mirror to see Jin sitting quietly with his tiny suitcase that you still hadn’t been able to bring yourself to ask about.

At least he was here with the two of you, somewhere he could be safe and have people looking out for him. That was the best you could do for now.

After you show him to a spare bedroom, he thanks you quietly, smiling with his lips but not his eyes. The door closes and you sigh, retreating to your own room to wrap yourself in Namjoon’s arms. It haunts you that something like this could happen to him if anything were to happen to you. That he would get sent back to the shelter with nothing, despite the fact that you wanted to give him the entire world. You’ll have to ask Heechul what you can do to make sure he’s safe.

***

When you wake up the next morning, it’s to the smell of meat cooking. Normally, this would be a dream come true. Unfortunately, you’ve been living with Namjoon for far too long and your mind now associated unsupervised cooking with near-death experiences, so instead your first reaction is terror.

You jump out of bed, unmindful of your state of near-undress, and run to the kitchen. Your ears are hyper tuned to every sound, waiting for bellows of pain, but so far you simply hear the slap of your bare feet against wood and sizzling from a pan.

You round the corner and grab the wall, catching your breath as you stare into the kitchen. Namjoon is sitting at the bar eating a heaping plateful of scrambled eggs and cheese, giggling as Seokjin preforms some a dirty gesture involving sausages and eggs. The Sphinx is standing over the stove with your bright pink apron, confidently cooking away, and both men are fine. You breathe a sigh of relief, slumping slightly as the tension leaves your body. Both men turn at the sound, smiling in greeting.

“Morning, baby. Jin’s making breakfast. He’s a good cook!”

“I see that. Morning, everyone,” you reply, walking in and trying not to let on how nervous you’d been. You peck Namjoon’s cheek and peek over the bar at the stove.

Jin meets your eye and smiles mischievously like he knows what you were concerned about.

“And here is one for you, madame,” he says with a flourish, setting a plate in front of you piled high with food and even garnished with a couple of tiny flowers from the garden.

“Wow,” you blurt, honestly astounded by his skill. Everything looked perfect and you couldn’t wait to dig in.

“What’s with that look?” He says loudly, quirking an eyebrow at you. “You just fell for me, didn’t you? Ah, I’m too charming.”

You laugh and take a bite, nervously peeking at Namjoon to see if he’d taken the joke too seriously. Seokjin must have magic in his food because you doubted the dragon had even heard since he was too busy shoveling food in his mouth like you’d been starving him for months.

“Slow down,” you cluck and tap his shoulder. He turns and grins at you with a disgustingly full mouth.

“Isth good,” he mumbles, and you laugh despite your disgust.

“I can see that.”

You swirl your fork around as you watch Jin settle in with his own plate, letting him get a few bites in before you strike.

“So, Joonie and I both took the day off to help you get settled in. We figured you might need to do some shopping or something. I know the bedroom is pretty bare since we were focusing on another room right now.”

Jin glances up and for a moment his gaze is troubling. You’d seen the brief flash of melancholy before he’d covered it up with a charming smile.

“I could use a few things to tide me over until I’m out of your hair, I suppose. I do have my own money, but most places around here won’t let you shop without a license.”

“That was nice of them to leave you money, They must have been good owners.”

His eyes cloud over and he glances away from you, staring at one of the windows.

“They were amazing parents. But the money that they left for me got taken away. I believe everything went to my Mom’s cousin - someone she didn’t even really know.”

“I thought you said you had money?”

“I...uhh...had some stashed away. My dad never liked banks - didn’t trust them. He always had a rule that whenever you used your card, you should take out some cash and squirrel it away just in case. So we’d always take a little out and stash it in this fake book. From the outside it looks like Crime And Punishment, and who reads that willingly?” he snorts, peeking over at Namjoon. “Besides this kid, obviously.”

Namjoon just shrugs, unbothered with the truth.

“But...Jin hyung, you mean they kept everything?”

The Sphinx sighs wearily and drops his fork, reaching up to rub his forehead.

“Everything. The cousin’s lawyer grabbed my old suitcase from storage and told me I could keep anything I could fit in there as long as he approved of it. I got some clothes, my mom’s recipe book, my dad’s favorite fishing lures, and the stash of cash because he thought it was just another book,” Jin shrugs like he’s just telling a story, never mind that the sound of your heart breaking was probably audible at this point.

“I’m so sorry that happened to you,” you murmur, struggling to stay calm for his sake.

He shrugs. “No big. I’m a hybrid. Should have expected it.”

“No, you should not have. People treat actual animals better than they do hybrids and it’s disgusting. I’m so very sorry. I know nothing I say can erase what’s been done to you. Just know that you are safe here and welcome in my home for as long as you like.”

Jin opens his mouth to say something but snaps it shut again like he can’t figure out what to say. Namjoon grins proudly at you and slaps Jin’s shoulder.

“Told you, hyung. She’s the best. And she’s right. You are welcome here and I can assure you that I feel no urge to fry you to a crisp.”

“I...was not aware that was a potential issue. Thanks for not ruining my beautiful face, I guess,” Seokjin says, obviously done with the serious talk and choosing to fall back into humor.

“And with that settled, I should probably go put on some pants. Thanks for the breakfast! We’ll meet up and go shopping in an hour, yeah?”

You grin at them both and leave the room, the smile dropping the moment you were sure they couldn’t see.

Poor Seokjin.

He had grown up loved and cared for by those people, and just because he was a hybrid he’d lost everything. The fact that this could easily be Namjoon’s story if you were to kick it tomorrow didn’t sit well with you, either. You needed to figure something out that could stop this from happening. Or at least figure out somewhere hybrids could go besides back into shelters. It seems like an impossible task, but one that needs doing, obviously.

As laughter filters towards you from the kitchen, you smile. One thing is for sure, your first task is going to be convincing Seokjin that he’s already home.

#bts #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #bts scenarios #namjoon x reader #bts x reader #hybrid!bts #hybrid!namjoon #hybrid!seokjin #dragon hybrid #sphinx hybrid #hybrid fanfiction #the dragon's lair #solastia

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mostly-marvel-musings · 4 years

Text

A Mere Mortal - Chapter Three

A/N: This story is based on the prompt : Vampires cannot enter a house without your permission, but what if your landlord’s a vampire? It’s his house, he’s just letting you live there. Part of the Landlord Vampire Fic Frenzy hosted by the amazing @just-the-hiddles . I’m super nervous about this one, so feedback’s most welcome!

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Bucky Barnes x Vampire! Loki x Human! Reader

Word count: 2570. Yep. This one’s a bit lengthy!

Warnings: 18+ stuff. Some smut!! Foul language. Vampire Diaries reference?

Tags: @buckybarnesplumwhore @ladyacrasia @tcc-gizmachine @alexakeyloveloki

Taglists open! Send me an ask if you wish to be tagged!

...

“What did you say?” your mouth hung open and eyes went wide as Bucky uttered those words.

He chuckled looking at your stunned expression and said, “You heard me. The town’s history is rich with legends and myths of vampires and ghouls. I’m sure you could find tons of books about them in the library.”

“That is fantastic! Oh my God I knew I chose this town for a reason!” you were practically giddy with excitement.

“You keep surprising me (Y/N). A normal reaction to this would either be a person packing up his things and getting the fuck outta here or laughing in my face.” He said as you both walked out of the store.

You rolled your eyes and repeated your previous statement, “And I’ll keep breaking the stereotypes Mr Barnes. I don’t usually fit into the ‘normal’ box. And it’s a good thing.”

It sure is, he thought gazing at your form in the street light. The warm glow of the sodium vapor lamps made your face appear warm and alluring. The cold air made your breath visible, creating wonderful patterns against the night sky. Your scent intoxicated his mind and he couldn’t simply say goodbye to you just yet.

“Let me walk you home doll, wouldn’t want you getting attacked by vampires on your first week here.” he said placing a hand on the small of your back as you both turned towards Chapel Street.

“I could kick his ass, I can kick box pretty well you know. Not outrun him though, if he’s anything like the ones in Vampire Diaries. You know where they go whoosh from one place to another in a second? Have you seen it?” you asked making an attempt to gesture the fast running from the show.

He doesn’t seem like a guy who would watch the teen shows with way too many hot vampire and hybrid guys. Why did you even ask that? You seemed to lose your ability to carry on a decent conversation with this guy. That was a first.

“Never mind. So gimme more information on the legends. I’ll pester Frank tomorrow at the library but nothing like stories heard from local peeps right?” you teased hoping he’d forget you had asked a stupid question initially.

“I’ve grown up listening to these stories from my grandma, my mom, just everybody. Though their versions vary slightly.

The one that’s stuck around for centuries is about Lucas and Morwenna Klyn.” Bucky looked at you, he had lowered his voice slightly and his hand hadn’t left its place from your back.

You were trying to adjust the weight of the shopping bags in your hands, but hearing those names you looked up and couldn’t help snort a laugh.

“They sure sound like names straight out of a horror book. Go on.”

“Morwenna was said to have migrated here from somewhere near Ireland about 200 years ago and had found this town most to her liking. She was this evil vampire who had witchy abilities-

“Like a hybrid? That’s one thing missing from the Vampire Diaries, they’ve got werewolf vampires but not witchy vampires. Oh but there’s that original witch Esther.”

It was like your mouth was out of control. Rambling absolute nonsense when this very hot guy was eager to tell you stories about his hometown.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why said that. I’m just a little crazy about all of this. I’ll keep my mouth shut now I promise.” You said physically putting a finger on your lips, adjusting the two bags in your left hand.

“I’ll forgive you this time.” He narrowed his impossibly gorgeous eyes seriously but the smile playing on his lips.

“So Morwenna had all sorts of powers, she was said to have the ability to control people’s minds, make them do her bidding. She met Lucas here in Dewsbury and he fell madly in love. Typical. Morwenna was beautiful, anybody would fall in love with her. She had a way with words too.

One day Lucas found her feeding on his younger sister Evelyn in these very woods. Her fangs dug deep in his sister’s neck, sucking the life out of her, Lucas watched in horror as Evelyn turned paler and paler in front of his eyes. He ran to stop her but was too late. Evelyn dropped to the ground like a piece of rock, her lifeless eyes still staring at Lucas even though there wasn’t any life in them anymore. Morwenna wiped the blood off her chin and approached Lucas, hunger still visible in her jet black eyes. She bared her fangs and Lucas made a run for his life.

Little did he know that she loved chasing her prey. Making them run for their lives, like feeble little lambs made her feel like a true hunter. She fed on him but didn’t kill him. Instead she turned him into a vampire. Evelyn’s ghost is said to haunt these woods till date. And here we are.” Bucky came to a stop abruptly.

“Whoa. You can’t leave me on this horrific info. I wanna know the rest.” You didn’t realize you reached your house so soon. You wanted to invite him in but he interrupted your thoughts.

“We’ll continue later. I’ve already taken up a lot of your time. You need rest (Y/N). Meet me for drinks at the pub tomorrow?” Bucky stuffed his hands back in his pockets and looked at you expectantly.

“Done. If you don’t show up at the pub on time, I’ll show up at your house and irritate the fuck out of you until you complete the story.” you threatened jokingly but you were very capable of doing that. Though you didn’t exactly know where he lived, you could figure it out sure.

He laughed out loud and the sound made your stomach do somersaults.

Even his laugh is fucking perfect.

“Relax I’ll be there. Goodnight (Y/N).”

He went for a handshake but you went for a side hug, you met somewhere awkwardly in between.

“Goodnight Bucky. Thanks for walking me home.”

“Even though you can kick box.” Bucky teased, making you chuckle.

He turned and started walking into the woods. You stared at his back for a good two minutes fighting the urge to say something but failed.

“Don’t let Evelyn haunt you in there.”

“Don’t worry I can kick box too.” He turned as he replied and shot you a wink.

You watched him until he disappeared into the night and turned to walk inside your house.

Setting the bags on your beige granite countertop, you looked out the kitchen window that overlooked the woods. They sure looked creepy, you were busy thinking about your extremely charming landlord though.

Smiling like an idiot, you were interrupted by a much too loud growl emitted from your belly.

“Shit! Dinner.”

…

You peeked open one eye to check the time, it read 6:01 am. You had woken up way too early. Maybe you could sleep in for a few more hours, but then you couldn’t once you were fully awake. Perils of being a light sleeper. Sprucing up the place seemed like a good idea, anyways there were a lot of boxes yet to be unpacked, especially your writing material.

What was the main reason for moving here? Writing!

And you were yet to set up your writer’s desk which you were very particular about. And couldn’t just have one writing spot. Inspiration struck at the most random places and situations and you had gotten pretty good at being prepared for that. It always helped to have a great view outside the window. Something about staring off into the distance made your brain come up with a thousand ideas.

The cabin bedroom was a large space, enough to set up a decent writing space. There was a ledge that ran along the bedroom window which was wide enough for you to sit and the bed was attached to it and it had the most gorgeous view of the woods; that would work too.

So you got to work after taking a shower and whipping up a quick breakfast for yourself.

A progress update meeting about your new book was in two months, which seemed like a long time but really you’d be needing all the time you could get to whip out another best seller. Which meant you needed to start writing as soon as possible.

After setting up the ‘work space’ you opened your computer, grabbed your glasses and stared at the blank word document for a few minutes.

Time to block out all the X rated thoughts about your super hot landlord (Y/N). Let’s get some work done, a draft, a outline structure, something. You can do this.

...

The concept of time soon lost on you once you began. It was going well, the ideas were flowing and you were typing them out at lightening speed.

A ding from your phone that lit up next to your laptop startled you out of your zone. It was a text from Bucky.

I’ll see you at the pub in fifteen? - James B

Had you really been writing for that long? Apparently you completely forgot about lunch. And now there wasn’t enough time.

Hurriedly you texted back a reply and got dressed. Drinks on an empty stomach never ended well in your case, you wished you had set an alarm or something.

...

You walked in the dimly lit pub and instantly the smell of booze and bar snacks filled your nostrils. You heard your name being called out from the far end and turned to see Bucky waving you over to a corner booth.

A warm smile on his face as you walked closer and you noticed he was wearing a leather jacket over a dark shirt, looking handsome as ever. He stood up to greet you in a hug.

“You look beautiful.” He said as you took off your jacket and sat opposite him on the semi circled sofa. This place looked like it belonged in the 80s. It probably did.

“Thanks you too.” your cheeks reddened further at your embarrassing response and the initial compliment, you closed your eyes and looked down. Fucking nerves.

Luckily he saved you by not dwelling on it further and asked what you’d have to drink.

“I’ll have the local beer please.”

Eyebrows raised in surprise as he probably saw you as a wine girl. You just shrugged at this point.

“Breaking stereotypes. Got it.” He replied nodding his head with a wide grin as he placed the order.

The conversation flowed as easily as the drinks and soon you had that much too familiar buzz. You were in the middle of explaining a funny incident that happened with you and Sam, giggling way too much when you were interrupted.

“Well if its not the famous (Y/N).” the smooth accented voice reached your ears as you slowly turned to see Loki standing near your booth grinning down at the pair of you.

“Famous? Am I famous?” you grinned back, the edge clearly off at this point. Loki had creeped you out in your meeting.

You missed the slight disappointment on Bucky’s face as you invited Loki to join you guys. Of course he covered it up and slid over to sit next to you, protectively close as Loki sat opposite you.

“So (Y/N), are you enjoying our little town?” Loki put both his hands on the table and leaned over to speak.

“I really am. People are so nice here, I’m not used to that. And Dewsbury has the most fascinating history!”

“So you know about the vampires?” Loki smirked as he glanced at Bucky who was shooting him a warning look.

“Oh yeah in fact, Bucky never got to finish the story last night because it was too late. I’m here to know the whole truth and nothing but the truth.” you said a bit too dramatically.

Damn this stuff was strong.

The men entertained you with stories of their own for the rest of the night and asked you about your life. You felt quite safe and were enjoying the little flirty banter going on between the three of you. You definitely had one too many pints.

You stood up to leave and instantly the room spun before your eyes. Loki’s hands landed on your shoulders to keep you steady.

“You alright there darling?” he asked, gazing into your eyes. You placed your hands over his as you nodded slowly and giggled.

Suddenly you felt Bucky slide a protective arm around your waist and pull you to his side, earning an eye roll from Loki.

“I got her. Let’s get you home (Y/N).” He said as he walked you both out of the pub, leaving Loki behind.

“I didn’t take you for a light weight doll.” Bucky looked at you as you had your arms around him to keep you steady.

“I’m really not. I just, I skipped lunch today.” you kept your eyes on the road as you approached your cabin much quicker than you realized.

“I just got into writing and lost track of time, not because I skip meals. I love to eat!” you clarified with another small giggle, as you both came to a halt in front of the house.

“Don’t sleep on an empty stomach (Y/N). I hope you have some food at home. If not we can go somewhere-

“No need Sir, I have some leftovers in the fridge. Thank you for walking me home. Again. You’re the best.” you leaned over and pressed a kiss to his cheek and lingered a bit.

He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind you ears and glanced at your lips. He really wanted to kiss you, know what you tasted like. Know how your body felt against his. Though now wasn’t the time, it would be taking advantage.

He said goodbye and watched you get in before turning back and walking home. At least you were safe.

...

Your body was on fire. Every touch every kiss made your head spin. He was leaving a trail of hot kisses down your jaw and neck before reaching the spot that made you moan loudly as he sucked hard.

You rolled over and straddled his hips placing your hands over his toned chest. You leaned down to kiss him and he sighed opening his mouth to allow your tongue to explore it further. The fight for dominance continued as his hands tugged your hair. You slid your own in his raven black hair.

You rolled your hips against his clothed erection earning another grunt from him. You were placing wet kisses down his torso almost reaching the waistband of his underwear when he grabbed you and spoke in that deep honey dripping voice,

“We have plenty of time for that later darling. Allow me to taste you first.” Your eyes flew open as you stared at Loki’s lust filled face.

Your skin was on fire still as you jolted awake. Your arousal evident between your legs as you sat up. Grabbing a bottle of water from the ledge you took a big swig and walked into the bathroom.

Loki smirked as he noticed your flustered state through your bedroom window, before he turned and vanished into the night.

...

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dracoria-azucar · 4 years

Text

Here it comes! My super long, super overdue “Ivy is Yvette” theory post! (Below the cut, with photos and everything!)

Alright so this is a theory post about a character from the webcomic Never Satisfied by Taylor Robin. There are about to be MAD spoilers for the entirety of the comic so if you aren’t up to date with the comic then I don’t advise reading this! So we all know and love Ivy, the “familiar” of the protagonist Lucy Marlowe! How could you not love this face??

As the comic progresses we’re starting to learn more about Lucy’s vague past. Like how they used to be the child of Fidelia and Antoine who was at some point made to live on the streets with a younger Tobi and Su-Yeong, ultimately leading to them being taken in by Joe Rothart and “Dr. Malliet” who has been presumed dead by most up until this point.

But that’s not the can of worms I’m trying to get into right NOW so we’ll come back to that later!

We surprisingly have learned a LOT about Ivy during this comic. A lot more than we have about any other familiar, which we could write off as natural since she’s the protagonists main companion. On the other hand, nearly HALF of the comic has been spent viewing the lives of various other characters and we haven’t gotten nearly as personal with any other familiar compared to Ivy.

So let’s cover what we know about Ivy! She is a lovely white cat with unnaturally blue eyes... Every other familiar in the series has had normal eye coloration. Not even when they’re being used as a visual conduit by their magician, like we see Joe do with Romeo.

So then why are Ivy’s eyes... Like That???

It’s difficult to write it off as a stylistic choice, since Ivy is literally the only animal, let alone the only familiar, with eyes like this. We even see that Isra owns a normal PET cat with two black dots for eyes.

In Never Satisfied, eye color is often indicative of an individual’s magical alignment. Every magic user we’ve seen has had an eye color that matches the color of magic that they use.

We KNOW this isn’t a coincidence because of individuals with unnatural eye colors as well as the fact that Ana’s eyes change their color completely when she loses her magic!

There’s more connections to eye color and magic though. When we meet Su-Yeong, a husk, we learn that Husks are most noticeable in their first stage due to their eyes.

Eyes that are glowing, with magically colored scleras instead of pupils....

..... Huh.

So, even if Ivy ISN’T a husk we can at least agree that she’s a magical anomaly. She’s unlike any familiar we’ve seen. She even said it herself!

In fact, she even makes it sound like she’s not a familiar at all..... Like she’s a person........ Wait a minute.............

In this scene Ivy is telling Lucy that she won’t be going with them to compete because she is THIERRY’S familiar, not Lucy’s.

But.... we KNOW that’s not true because Thierry is a HUSK and husks don’t HAVE familiars!

In fact, Ivy’s relationship with PIPER the frog we’ve seen subtly placed in the background of scenes before has more of a familiar relationship to Ivy then Ivy does with any human she’s been with.

It’s been established that magician’s can look through their familiars eyes, as pictured earlier with Joe looking through Romeo.

In chapter 7 we see Ivy doing the same thing with Piper!

Now that I’ve established that Ivy very obviously is NOT a CAT, or at the very least not a NORMAL cat, let’s get into why I think she’s Yvette!

The easiest thing to cover is the shade of magic shared between the two. The silhouette of Yvette we see is dressed in a light blue. Ivy is seen using light blue magic against Su-Yeong.

Now of course that isn’t conclusive evidence since January, Joe, Thierry, and a few other characters we’ve seen ALSO have blue magic. It’s not uncommon. So let’s get into more of what little information we have on Yvette and work back from there.

Yvette was the representative before the story began. She was seemingly mentored by Fidelia and went “missing” some unspecified amount of time ago.

Now that’s not a lot to work with I know but TRUST me.

Yvette was mentored by Fidelia who we’ve come to learn a lot about recently. Fidelia has been shown as manipulative, overbearing, and power-hungry.

The way she speaks about Yvette shows that she held no real attachment to her, she just viewed her as another puppet to control behind the scenes.

In Fidelia’s original speech to January she talks about her experience with the guard. Glorifying January’s “heroism” in an attempt to flatter her. In fact, it seems like Yvette ALSO apprenticed with the guard, since Joe seems to know her well enough.

And at the end of her dialog with January, Fidelia speaks to her familiar about how January is “perfect” for what she needs. Easily controllable. Then ends the scene by stating the following,

...... Incredibly ominous, I agree.

Now looking back at everything Fidelia has said about Yvette we can conclude that she was heavily manipulated by Fidelia.

Yvette suddenly “disappearing” seems less and less likely the deeper we dig. It makes sense that Yvette could have recognized what Fidelia was doing and ran away. It also seems probable that Fidelia has no more use of Yvette and “disposed” of her...

But the way Fidelia talks about Yvette seems to indicate that she’s at least a BIT mournful of the loss of Yvette. So while Fidelia COULD have done something to Yvette it makes the most sense that she would have kept her around as long as physically possible.

So maybe Yvette DID just run away when she realized she was being treated cruelly.

Now we know that Yvette and Fidelia had an abusive relationship but what does that have to do with Ivy?

Well, Ivy has never directly interacted with Fidelia but she has indicated how she feels about the woman once before. When Lucy first went missing and the seeker stones where flying around town.

The way that this is phrased makes it clear that Ivy knows that only one person is looking through these seeker stones for Lucy, and that person is Fidelia.

Why would Ivy be so afraid of being spotted by Fidelia if they’ve never interacted before? It makes no sense! Of course there’s the possibility that Fidelia could capture Ivy and question her relationship with Lucy but Ivy really isn’t Lucy’s familiar and she doesn’t know where Lucy is. She would be of NO help to Fidelia’s search. Then even if she thinks she might be questioned, it doesn’t explain why Ivy knows that Fidelia is the one looking?

Maybe it’s because she’s afraid that Fidelia will take her back. If she really is Yvette, and Yvette really did run away to hide from Fidelia then it makes more sense. Yvette ran, Fidelia wants her back to use her, and Yvette is scared of being caught.

A few pages before the seeker stones are shown, Ivy even directly states that she’s on the run!

From what, we don’t really know, but if Yvette is on the run and so is Ivy it’s certainly a strange pile of coincidences.

The last issue I wanted to cover is Ivy’s relationship with Thierry and Yvette’s apparent relationship with the Rotharts.

Now we already know the “Dr. Malliet” is actually Thierry Rothart who became a husk and faked his own death. We know that Lucy Marlowe was actually originally Morgan, a child under the direct care of Joe and Thierry, who was also presumed to be dead.

Lucy and Thierry being together just makes sense. Thierry became a husk and burned down their house, panicked for whatever reason, fled with the incredibly ill Morgan, and when it turned out that Morgan had lost their memories they became Lucien and Thierry became “Rothart”.

So then, where the hell did Ivy come from? She’s not anyone’s familiar and it’s clear that no one else we’ve encountered has recognized her beyond her connection to Lucy.

If Ivy was with Dr. Malliet and Morgan before they “died” then surely Isra or Neith would have recognized her? It makes sense that they wouldn’t see the face of Morgan (a supposedly dead 12 year old) in the face of Lucy (a super alive 17 year old) but I find it hard to believe that they wouldn’t piece together a very distinct magical cat with unnatural blue eyes.

Except, it’s clear that Ivy and Thierry have a close emotional connection! Thierry has shown more compassion for Ivy than he has for Lucy who is his own child. He even remains non-violent with her despite being so overwhelmed by his own aggressive husk nature

So when exactly did Ivy join the duo??

Maybe she had been there all along.... just with a different name and a different body?

.............. Okay so I know french names aren’t ENTIRELY uncommon in this comic but hear me out.

Both of them have lighter blue magic, while this isn’t concrete proof that they’re related, having magic of the same shade has been narratively indicative of familial relationships in this comic MULTIPLE times.

Sylas and his father Antoine both have purple magic.

Seiji and his mother Rin both have red magic.

January and her uncle Joe both have blue magic.

Ana and her grandmother both had red magic.

Even the fact that Emilia had pink magic while neither her father or “mother” did was hinting at the fact that Emilia’s birth mother was actually FIDELIA.

The same concept was used to show a relationship between Lucy and Fidelia! When Lucy flash-backed to a younger age and Thierry was trying to get them to use a spinel to focus their magic, it clearly showed that their magic used to be pink.

Thierry and Yvette being RELATED could explain why Joe was speaking so fondly about Yvette. Maybe she was even the reason he met Thierry in the first place!

A younger Yvette apprenticing with the guard, befriending a young officer Joe, and ultimately introducing him to her older brother seems possible.

It would also explain why Ivy was so willing to defend Thierry to Lucy up until Lucy ran away! She didn’t want to abandon her family but when she saw that Thierry was treating Lucy how she was treated by Fidelia before she ran away, she realized she had made a mistake.

Also! It’s kinda cute to imagine “Ivy” being a nickname Thierry gave to Yvette when they were younger

Anyways this took me like two hours to type up so enjoy these screenshots of Ivy and Thierry having chaotic sibling energy.

#never satisfied #never satisfied comic #never satisfied spoilers #ivy (never satisfied)#thierry rothart #yvette (never satisfied)#im hereby naming this the #Ivyvette Theory #long post

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jo-the-schmo · 5 years

Text

Red, Dead, Reflections Ch.5

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4

A/N: DEAR JESUS FINALLY HOLY SHIT this too way too long. I’ve been super busy and getting sick a lot these past few weeks. This chapter is a little lackluster but something is really better than nothing. I hope this is good enough in any case! Have a good read! Love you!

Summary: At the age of 23, you and your pseudo-family perform a heist gone wrong, leading you into a dangerous position. Discover your own history, the story of those around you, and gain new relationships along the way in this (sorta) choose your own adventure.

Warnings: Explicit language, violence, alcohol, possible genitalia mentions, alcohol, not much else I think?

Word count: 6000+

Tags!: @lennysvmmers @zoilalove213 @eccentricc-catt

Choose Your Words Wisely

“When do you think we’ll head into town?” You readjusted the strap of your mask attached to your belt loops.

“Why you askin’ me? I ain’t your keeper.”

“I mean, you sorta are. I don’t have a horse and Dutch said he ‘doesn’t want me getting lost’. I don’t wanna annoy you, but we’ve been here for like, a week, and done absolutely nothing.” He sighed at your comment, somewhat in agreement.

“Uncle was sayin’ somethin’ about headin’ out, but I haven’t seen that bastard in hours.” Arthur complained through slightly gritted teeth as he hefted a bag of feed over his shoulder. “If ya find him and see if he’s ready, I wouldn’t mind goin’, We’re running out of coffee anyway…” You stopped following him.

“Got it, I’ll see where he’s hiding.” You pivoted to the side and walked towards the main camp area. Bill was prodding the fire in boredom. “Hey Bill, do you know where Uncle is at?”

“Prob’ly asleep or drunk, the old loon.” He croaked.

“Well, I figured that much.” That was usually what Uncle seemed to be doing. You weren’t one to judge, but he was a recluse one for sure. Now that I think about it, I haven’t seen the Reverend in a few days…where’s he at?

“I know Charles and Javier got tired of waiting for him, so they just went out a few hours ago.”

“Okay, thanks, Bill.” You don’t talk to Bill that much, he just didn’t seem to enjoy your company for some reason, or anyone’s company for that matter. You kept looking around, trying to figure out where he could be. If I was sleeping off a hangover, where would I be?

“James! My boy! Come here for a moment, would ya?” A deep, modulated voice called out from somewhere behind you. You turned and saw Dutch standing in front of his tent. You didn’t respond vocally, you’ve found you don’t need to. As long as you’re visually enacting the request, he took that as answer enough. Dutch was a watchful man. You took a few steps toward him and you noticed Molly wasn’t around. She was usually hanging out in here. Actually, I’ve never seen Molly NOT in here.

“What’s up, Dutch?”

“Come inside, young man. Have a seat.” He placed his palm on the space between your shoulder blades and guided you inside the fabricated enclosure. Dutch had the biggest space of the group, which always bothered you in a weird way. Everyone except him, Arthur, and you slept on the ground. He moved you towards a chair, which you took a seat in out of politeness. You were starting to get nervous. Dutch had never really wanted to speak one on one with you before, much less take this approach to starting a conversation.

“What’s this about?” You tried to keep your voice as neutral as possible. He stayed standing, even pacing slowly across the floor about two feet away from you. The cuffs of his white shirt had a few rust colored stains.

“Nothin’ but a few questions, my friend.” It was subtle, but you could tell he was trying to take on a slightly intimidating presence. It wasn’t malicious or anything like that, which only made you more curious. “I’d like to know what you’re still doin’ here.” That statement took you aback.

“I’m confused, what do you me-“

“Why are you still here?” He cut you off. You took a moment to consider his question, there was a reason he wasn’t letting you get an explanation. The severity and weight of your potential answer only reflected in the sunken depths of his pupils. He looked exhausted.

“Because you’ve allowed me to.”

“Ah, I see…” He stopped all his movements and bent down slightly to get a closer look at you. His hand rested against the back of the chair you were sitting. “I wanna trust you, my boy. You saved my life up on that mountain, I won’t soon forget that. Do you know what my family is about, West?”

“Living.”

“That’s right. Now, what are you about, James?” For a moment, Dutch’s face wasn’t his anymore. His hair was longer, light brown, his face was slim with a messy stubble. It was Austin.

“Why are you here, Y/N?”

“What?”

“You’re safe, you’re all patched up, why haven’t you left me yet?” His eyes looked much kinder back then. So did his smile.

“Because…I don’t want to? You saved me.”

“People save people all the time and don’t follow them across a state.” He took a step closer. “What’s your deal? What do you want?”

“I…” You couldn’t be entirely sure, but you felt it. “I want the world to be better… I want the world to let me survive. I want to live!”

“Good answer.” You could almost audibly pick up the voice shift from Austin to Dutch. It took you a moment to process the fact that you had answered his question. “Sorry I took on that rather rude tone. Had to test ya, ma boy!” He laughed heartily, his earlier façade melting away.

“What was that about?”

“I wanted to see if you were up for a bit of a request.”

“A request?” His smile warmed at your question.

“Well, Hosea and I have been talkin’. You’ve been a mighty fine help around here and, well, we ourselves are headin’ out west in search of land of our own. So, we wanted to ask if you’d stick around with us until you made it back home.” You weren’t sure why the gesture surprised you, in a way you had already been integrated into their lives, they treated you as one of their own. But it still left you stunned. “Hosea says you aren’t sure if you’ll ever see your friends again, but I promise we will do everything in our power to keep you safe until then. What d’ya say, son?”

“It’d be an honor…” Your response was what astonished you the most. You felt it in your gut, a sense of comradery. Dutch patted your left shoulder, signaling for you to stand.

“That’s a good man right there!” He walked you outside the tent. “Just remember one thing, my friend.” He turned you around to give you one last bit of aid. “Do good to us, and we’ll do good to you. You seem like a nice one, but it never hurts to remind.” You instinctively walked away but his words rang in your mind. Do good to us, and we’ll do to you, huh? Charles warning would come into question every once in a while. The only person to know your secrete was Hosea.

If anyone else found out, they might tell Dutch. And if Dutch finds out, then so will Micah. At this point the only reason you still kept your secret was to save your hide. If Micah was really as much of a bastard as you’d been led to believe, if he got his hands on some information of that magnitude, you’d be dead in the next hour. You sighed with your head rolled back toward the sky. How could things keep getting more complicated?

Shockingly, time skipping wasn’t as strange of a concept anymore. You may not have done much research on it, but Gina sure had. She was a big-time nerd. If you really had jumped backwards 120 years, there was nothing you could directly do to change it. But, one thing you did know was that the universe, if having the capability to do this, would eventually find a way to put you back. A trigger was what pulled to get you here, and at some point, the space of time would have to set you back with another trigger. That trigger was certainly your previous death, but there was no telling if this new trigger would be the same. And let’s just say, dying wasn’t exactly an easy risk to take here. All you can do is bide your time and hope it comes soon.

“Found him!” You heard Arthur holler from the side, followed by the grumble of the old man getting to his feet. You guided yourself to the two by the cart, Arthur standing around with his hands on his hips looking like a scolding mother.

“That’s a rather odd place to nap, Uncle.” You pointed out.

“Welp, you know what I say? A man who can sleep on any surface, has the peace of mind to be doin’ so.” He dusted off the back of his pants.

“Interesting…” You supposed he was right, in both senses that could be interpreted. “Are you ready to head to town?” You asked the both of them but only Uncle responded.

“Yep, I gotta head down to the general store to get some supplies. Was you wanting to tag along?” Before you could respond, a familiar feminine voice bubbled behind you.

“Can we come too?” It was Karen with Tilly and Mary-Beth in tow.

“We been cooped up here for far too long! We need some fun!” Mary-Beth said in her almost song-like tone.

“Well, can Miss Grimshaw spare you?” Upon Arthur asking that, they all groaned in disdain.

“Can Miss Grimshaw spare you? Come on, Arthur! Three young, healthy women want you to take ‘em out robbin’ and you’re worried about house chores!” Karen argued while Tilly crossed her arms and shot Arthur her signature annoyed eyebrow raise.

“When you’re right, you’re right, I guess. Everyone hop on.” Arthur and Uncle took the lead and got in the front seat, Arthur at the reins.

“Wait, did you see if Sadie wanted to go? She said she’s been itchin’ to get out for a bit.” You asked while Karen climbed into the back.

“I asked her, but Ol’Pearson was there saying she had too much work to do. We’ll get her next time.” Tilly assured you. A twinge of disappointment flared in your chest, but you reluctantly followed the ladies into the cart and sat next to Karen. Arthur didn’t waste time to get a move on. You saw John being passed by the cart, on guard duty. You hadn’t gotten many chances to talk to him, but it was good to see him on his feet. Apparently, he had gotten attacked by wolves while you were unconscious, which was crazy. The whole camp was out of sight no more than a minute later. They really picked a good spot, huh? The cart makes small clunk and crunch noises when rolling over the dry soil path.

“So…James?” Karen smirked dubiously.

“Yes?” You rested your elbows on your knees, leaning forward. Which you soon realized was a mistake, because now Tilly and Mary-Beth are leaning in close and Karen is hovering just above.

“What’s it like in California?” They all actually seemed interested in what you had to say, making you feel both nervous and comforted.

“Well…It’s hot, most of the time. Uh…we get a lot of fires, and they can’t be dealt with fast enough. Earthquakes, those happen. But there’s beaches! Those can be fun on the right kind of day.”

“What kind of day is that?” Mary-Beth followed.

“Let’s see…” You thought for a moment on how to describe it. “It really just depends, I guess. Some days the beach is good for having some good fun. Messin’ around and all that. But if you go in the evening, it’s a lot less hectic and more serene. People like it for different reasons.” You lost your train of thought for a moment. Miguel liked the beach, particularly in the wake of twilight. The sounds always brought comfort for him, the lull of the sea. You were pretty sure he had mentioned at some point that his dad used to work down by the beach before he died. The sound of something snapping and the curse of a man brought you out of your haze.

Arthur slowed the cart and you noticed another person’s carriage or whatever was sitting still, and a white horse was running off to the other side of the road. You were quick to slide down the long seat and hop out the back. Your boots hit the dirt with a quick thud. Arthur had the cart in a near stop, his eyes following you as you moved yourself around to where the man was. For the brief second that you caught it, there was a conflict behind his eyes.

“Are you gonna help him, Arthur?” Karen verbally jostled. He seemed to chose a side, opting to follow you.

“Do you need any help, sir?” You questioned the older man who was tightening the straps on the horse still attached. He looked frustrated but thankfully relieved that you offered.

“Would you please go get my horse? He ran off over there.” He pointed out toward the base of a hill with some trees where the white horse you noticed before was shifting around frantically. Arthur surveyed the situation.

“Alright, I’ll go to the front, try to get ‘em to calm down. You ease your way over from the side and get his reins, lead ‘em over.” He scratched at his beard, which saw was shorter since you started paying attention. “Got it?”

“Got it.” He moved first, you going diagonally behind him. His steps were slow, methodical. It was always strange to see him act so gentle. Maybe you were just being nosey or over-analyzing him, but Arthur always seemed like he put on a tough guy persona. His demeanor went through shifts that you recognized easily, they were the same for you. The way his posture softened, his voice soothed, his eyes rounding down at the bottom. You’d only caught it a few times, and you wondered if anyone else ever paid enough attention to notice that. You could just be projecting, or acting way too creepy. Either way, it was just something you caught on to.

“Easy…” His voice mulled, accent rolling gently. “Easy there…” The horse was still fidgeting but at least it wasn’t running around anymore. “That’s it…” You inched closer to the animal staring down at Arthur with big, black eyes. The grass squished under your soles but was near silent to everyone else. Until you heard a small snap. You’d stepped on a twig. The attention of both sets of eyes was on you now. The horse shifted to its back hooves, letting out a fearful wail. You threw your hands up and froze.

“Woah there!” You exclaimed, knowing if you did this wrong you could easily get trampled. “Hiya…” You kept your voice delicate, which you weren’t exactly worried about in the moment. The horse breathed heavily and twitched through its snout. You lowered your posture, seeming less offensive. “It’s okay. You don’t have to be scared…” You inched a little closer to test the waters. Though the creature seemed to still be on edge, it appeared to be unphased by your new closeness. You kept going, until you felt the sharp breaths against your cheek. “You’re alright, buddy.” Your fingertips met the smooth fur of the horse’s neck, petting it reassuringly. It accepted your touch, and let Arthur take hold of its reins.

“You uh…” Arthur turns away from you, beginning to walk as you continue to sooth the horse. You were unable to gauge his expression. “You did really good with- with all that.” He let out a fake cough in the middle of that sentence. “You have experience with horses? I’ve seen you ride, not very well but still.”

“Eh, a little. Not very much.”

“Well, you got mighty lucky then, boy.” He remarked.

“Woooooo! Nice job you two!” You heard Tilly call, followed by the assured chants of the other two women. Arthur surrendered the leather straps to the older man.

“Thank ya, good sirs. You’ve done a good deed today.” The old man smiled approvingly.

“I just did it to impress the women, no thanks needed.” Sure, you did, Arthur.

“It was no trouble. Have safe travels, mister.” You waved him off as you changed your direction back to the cart, joining the ladies once more. Everyone waited until you all were out of earshot of the man and back on track to Valentine.

“That was real kind of you boys.” Mary-Beth grinned with a dreamy tone.

“See, Arthur? You got a heart! Unlike this old lizard.” Karen pointed up at Uncle.

“Lizards have hearts!” He remarked with offense.

“Honestly, if you three prob’ly hadn’t been there, I’da prob’ly robbed him.” Arthur corrected. All three of the women rolled their eyes.

“And I didn’t know you were so gentle, James. Not with the stories I’ve heard.” Mary-Beth was clearly trying to lead you in, and in that she had succeeded.

“What stories?”

“Micah talkin’ out of his ass. Normal stuff.” Karen reassured you.

“He’s got a brother out in California, says he’s heard of your little posse.” Tilly explains. “Says you were traded off to the O’Driscolls. Probably with us to try and get your friends back.”

“Pardon my French, but that’s horseshit.” You cut to the chase. It didn’t seem that any of them believed Micah’s lies, but they clearly wanted to hear your input. “Micah doesn’t know a damn thing about me, or my family. It’s literally not possible.” You felt yourself instinctually grip the mask bound to your hip. You took a deep breath through the nose. “I don’t know what his problem is with me. I haven’t done anything to him.” Tilly noticed the tenseness in your hand and appeared to make a mental note of it.

“Micah’s a bit like an infection. Likes to get under your skin and make ya sick.” Mary-Beth spoke knowingly.

“He’s hard to look at too.” Karen chortled. Arthur did his usual half laugh, half grunt.

“I’m surprised none y’all invited Molly with this kind of talk. Only person that hates that bastard more than me is prob’ly her.”

“Oh no, Miss O’Shea is far too high and mighty for the likes of us. She’s a society lady now.” You recognized the tone Karen held as contempt with a hint of mockery. The stench of a barn suddenly hit your nostrils.

“That’s sheep alright!” You cough from the sudden shock.

“You a city boy, James?” Uncle questions.

“Can’t really be much of city boy if I don’t live anywhere, huh?”

“Fair enough.”

The cart rounded the corner, exposing semi-busy streets. Everything was a little dirty, but not in a rundown sort of way. Women were wearing long dresses and skirts, most with their hair covered. And near the same could be said for the men except with pants, not skirts. The cart pulled down the main street and turned into a small clearing between what looked like a big stables and a small building still under construction. You sighed, rubbing your temples. Why does this shit gotta happen to me? The Great Depression has arrived early, I fucking guess. You pushed the knowledge you’d had for a while into the back of your mind and got out of the cart to help the girls down.

“Alright, I’m gonna go to the general store and get some things. Arthur, James, you come with me.” Uncle instructed.

“We’re gonna see what trouble we can stir up. There’s bound to be some dumbasses around here. Just imagine we’re in Paris, girls.�� Karen lead the women back down the street and you followed behind Arthur. You heard fragments of his conversation with Uncle. Something about Uncle being called the ‘one-shot kid’ back when he was younger and him being Arthur’s third favorite parasite. You were still reeling a bit, so you mostly zoned out. Focusing was always harder when you were having your tenth existential crisis this month. The trip was fairly quick. You only saw Arthur pick up some coffee grounds and a chocolate bar. I didn’t peg him for a sweet-tooth. Uncle got a bottle of something, that’s all you ended up noticing. You opted to just buy some food and had enough money to buy an extra pair of pants. You were tired of wearing the same pants every single day. Even if you were used to it, you happily took the chance to have a spare pair and finally be able to wash the other ones.

After that whole point of your trip was over, you sat beside Arthur on the bench outside, deciding not to drink anymore after tasting how strong the booze really were. At least one of you should be fully sober for this trip. Designated Driver for a real one. One Drink Y/N, they call me. You rested the side of your foot against your knee and leaned back against the wall, getting comfortable.

“Y’know what you outta get? A hat.” Arthur suggested.

“A hat? Why?”

“You look young when yer not wearin’ one. That’s why most people think yer a kid.”

“Really? That’s why? That’s really stupid.” Arthur shrugged his shoulders.

“Maybe so, but it’s true. We should pick you up one sometime soon.” I’m gonna look like an idiot. Arthur and Uncle shared another swig while you rhythmically tapped at the beak on your mask. The two men continued on with a conversation, mostly consisting of Arthur being annoyed, while you sat in silence. An eerie sensation crawled up the left side of your face. Glancing around, it didn’t take long to notice the cause. A black hat quickly retreating behind a wall. You turned your head to the right, pretending to search for something near the Hotel.

You felt it again.

You were being watched. They were either spying or trying to examine you. You tapped the side of Arthur’s knee with the back of your hand to get his attention.

“Hey Rabid Man, I’m gonna go take a look around. I’ll be right back.”

“Ya sound like you’re tryna ask for permission.” He raised a brow, eyes scrutinizing your face.

“Nah, just lettin’ you know. There’s a black hat I need to check out.” You over enunciated the phrase black hat. “Because it seems to be taking a heavy interest in me.” He seemed to at least partially catch your drift. You stood up with a walking step, longer strides than you’re used to. You saw a staircase on the side of the hotel when you first parked.

Passing by the butcher and cutting around his stand, you took a confident gallop up the stairs. You’re meant to be here, this is like second nature. The wood creaked softly beneath you before rounding the white and blue painted corner. Your sight grazed over the area you saw the hat duck away to. Prepare for trouble and make it double, I guess. You ducked down behind a crate and peeked out the side.

There were two men, one walking over to the other. What are you doing out here? Besides being creepy, I mean. The one who had been watching you was pointing back towards Arthur and Uncle, he seemed to be interested in the little group. He was blond under the hat, the other guy looked grey with a bald spot. You assumed they were discussing the men sitting at the bench by how hush-hush they acted. Not that you’d be able to hear them from this distance, you could just tell by their demeanor. You could smell the suspicion from a mile away.

For a moment you debated what you should do. If they were willing to spy, who’s to say they won’t try and follow your tracks? You and Arthur would get blamed for sure. If they’re O’Driscolls, then that’s only add acid to the rain. You didn’t need any more issues than you already had. They were definitely packing, they might try to start something if you provoke them. How do I go about this? You certainly weren’t gonna take the chance of them following, which meant you’d have to be careful. Intimidate, but be smart about it, make them paranoid, make them nervous to not let it escalate.

With that choice in your mind, you quietly trotted down the steps once more. Once on the ground again you locked eyes with Arthur. You gestured over to the direction of the men and held up the number 2 on your fingers. He nodded in recognition. You pointed to your eyes, then to where the men are, and finally pressing your pointer finger to your lips. Watch. Them. Quietly. You turned and walked away, going around the backside of the hotel.

The blond one was now leaning up against a tree with the almost bald one pacing around. You interlaced the hook of your thumb into the front beltloop of your pants, walking with a bold impression in your step. The nervous one noticed your approach first and kicked the shin of the nonchalant blond to get him to do the same. You decided to take a friendly disposition initially, letting a smile spread across your face. You stopped a few feet in front of them.

“Hiya there, fellas. I don’t suppose I could ask y’all a few questions?” You slipped into the accent you and Javier used in conversation.

“We ain’t got no answers for no Van der Linde meater!” The blond hacked and spit at the ground in your direction. What the hell is a meater? “Now scram like the pigeon-livered fool ya are.” You kept eye-contact with him the entire time, not budging.

“Now, I’m just tryna be civil here, boys. And let me tell ya, my civility is a privilege, not a right.” You took a step forward, now only a little more than a foot away from the agitated blond. “I ain’t gonna ask anymore, I’m tellin’.”

“Go to hell before I send ya there myself.” He drew a small revolver from his holster, the barrel pressed gingerly into your belly. You were unimpressed.

“Wow, you must really be an idiot-“

“What did you just say?” The other butted in.

“I said he’s an idiot. Not only is he dumb enough to try and watch me, but it also seems he’s so stupid that he’s try ‘nd point a weapon at me with the Sheriff’s office just around the corner.” You lowered your voice. “Your escape rides are a lil far to be actin’ like you own the place, aren’t they?” They gave each other a worried glance after hearing you say that. “I just wanna know what gives you the nerve to be spyin’ on someone like me.”

“This here is O’Driscoll territory, boy.” The Friar Tuck looking one verbally spit.

“Well, excuse me, I don’t see your permits of established territory. Now I’m not sure you noticed this or not, but I got eyes everywhere. You see, friend, I’ve got a certain way with words, and got enough skill to get people to do as I ask. Try anything funny and I won’t hesitate.” You push the offending arm that held the gun away, he gave no resistance. “I’ll give you a word of advice, keep you eyes to yourself.” You reached up, plucking the hat off his head by the brim. “And don’t wear hats. You ain’t big enough for ‘em.” You took a few steps back, masking the cautionary nature of them with cockiness. “I’ll see you two around.” You put the black hat on the crown of your head and waved them off.

You could already hear both men huff from frustration as you left. You decided to cut into the alley between the hotel and another building.

“That was quite possibly the best outcome you coulda got.” The sound of his accent surprised you. Arthur was leaning his shoulder against a blue beam but was about a foot taller due to him standing on the hotel’s platform. “I’m actually a little impressed. Never seen an O’Driscoll give up so easily.” He tipped his hat. “Especially not when you’ve so thoroughly disrespected ‘em.”

“Well, you did say I oughta get a hat, yeah?” Your throat was glad to be rid of the way too below your octave voice you’d taken on.

“I did indeed. It ain’t quite right, but it’ll do for now. Except for the fact yer wearin’ it all wrong.” Arthur dropped down to one knee, which was even more surprising than when he spoke up out of nowhere. It was unclear to you if it was just all the contemplating you’d done of him previously or what, but his eyes looked more unguarded than you were used to. Clear and questioning, they were honest. You could feel the ghost of his hand take the top of the hat and move it forward so that the sweatband met the top of your forehead. “Much better.” He made what almost sounded like a sigh of relief.

“Oh, thanks…” Your voice came out softer than you meant for it to.

“Yer welcome. Now, let’s go check on Uncle. That old fool mighta drunk himself to death by now, here’s hopin’.” He stood to his feet and cracked his neck.

“Don’t be so hard on him, Arthur. He used to be the ‘one-shot kid’. Have a little more faith in him.” Your joke made him groan.

“Now you sound like Dutch.” You could practically hear his thoughts go ‘ew’. Together you walked back over to find a passed-out Uncle.

“Huh…Bill told me Javier and Charles are still here, you wanna go find them?”

“Eh, no, let’s just wait for the ladies. They’re usually pretty smart, but you can never be too careful.” You both took a seat on the shop’s wooden steps since Uncle was now sprawled on the bench.

“You’re very protective. You know that?” You asked.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing. It’s not a bad thing either. Just something I’ve noticed. You care a lot.”

“It’s not-“

“You’re not gonna fool me, Arthur Morgan. I’ve gotten pretty good at reading people over the years. I personally think it’s a good thing.”

“Really?” You expected his inflection to allude annoyance, but it was rather sincere.

“Yeah. I’ve been around you guys for a while now and let me tell you, the macho gets old. That’s why I appreciate the calmer and more caring outlook you have. It means you’re reliable.” He went silent after your last comment. This made you think you may have overstepped and made him uncomfortable. You forced out a laugh to try and lighten the mood. “Sorry about that, I talk without thinking sometime-“

“I never thought about it like that before.” What? “You know you’re real strange, West.”

“That’s what I’ve been told.” This time the chuckle at the end was legitimate. “I’m used to it though.”

“Y’know, everyone’s real interested to hear more about you. Ya don’t say much about yourself, and when you do its all vague. You scared of somethin’?” You weren’t sure why his question shocked you initially, they said the same thing earlier.

“I don’t think scared is the right word.”

“Then what is?” There was a newfound dulcet way in his speaking. You pondered that question for a moment. You weren’t trying to get killed just because someone was nice to you.

“You all have been so kind to me, and I’m sure it’s frustrating to not know practically anything about me, but for safety’s sake, until proven otherwise, it’s best that I don’t say.”

“You got someone after you or somethin’? ‘Cause if you do, we really need to know what to look out for.”

“It’s complicated. The less you know the better. Besides, I’m too far gone and far too different for that to matter.”

“You really know how to be cryptic, don’t ya?” He scratched at his beard.

“I’ve been told that as well, yes.”

“In any case, you can trust us. I know they don’t seem like it, but most of them boys, and almost all the ladies, they’re real good listeners.”

“See what I mean? You care an awful lot. It’s actually really impres-“

“Arthur! James!” And elated voice called out. You looked to the right and saw Mary-Beth making small and quick steps toward you. Arthur picked a pebble off the ground and snapped it at Uncle, hitting him in the stomach with a light ‘pap’ sound and efficiently waking him from his alcoholic slumber. He let out a sudden yelp, and Arthur pretended he wasn’t the one who threw a small rock at him.

“By god, what are ya shoutin’ for, old man?”

“Something just hit me!” He squealed.

“Damn birds, amiright?” His words slurred through his accent. You didn’t respond to him.

“Hey Mary-Beth. What have you been up to?” You greeted her with a smile.

“That’s actually what I was comin’ over to tell y’all about! I found this big, fancy house and snuck in, pretendin’ to be a servant girl. It usually works.” She gestured with her hands. “Anyway, I heard some talk about the lady’s sister goin’ on a trip to some getaway vacation. A train full of rich bigwigs cruisin’ along the empty countryside at night to get to Saint Denis! To avoid the tides and all.”

“I don’t know about that, Mary-Beth. Seems a little risky.” Arthur was hesitant.

“Oh, come on, Arthur! There’s bound to be enough money on that train to keep us movin’, yeah?”

“I guess…Say, where’s Tilly and Karen at?”

“Oh uh, Karen picked up some drunk fella to try and rob, took ‘em to the hotel.”

“Why?!” You joined in.

“Seemed easy…She has been gone for a while, though. Oh! There’s Tilly right there!” You followed her line of sight and saw Tilly get pulled into the alleyway you came out of earlier. You couldn’t hear much from where you were, but she was clearly getting yelled at by a man you didn’t recognize. “That don’t look good.”

Help Tilly or Help Karen?

Return here after choice is made

“Yeah, he only punched me. He got it worse, trust me.” She smirked.

“Uncle, can you take the girls back to camp. I think that’s been enough adventure for one day.

“I saw Bill ride in earlier, should we get him too?” Tilly asked.

“I’ll check on him here in a bit.” Everyone agreed to going back and things seemed pretty chill. Then some random guy on a horse slows down next to the group.

“I…I saw you in Blackwater!” What?

“No, no you didn’t. Let’s talk about this here-“

“I’m getting out of here!” What the fuck is going on? His horse made a quick turn in the opposite direction.

“Shit! Uncle, get the girls out of here!” Arthur hopped onto the back of a ginger horse and chased after the mystery man. Someone in the distance yelled,

“Hey! That’s my horse!” but didn’t go after them or anything. You stood in complete bewilderment for a moment.

“What are ya doin’, son? We have to go!” Uncle snapped you back into reality.

“No, you all get out of here. I’m gonna make sure Arthur doesn’t get into any trouble.” You waved them off and jogged off to figure out where they might’ve gone.

#red dead redemption 2 #red dead redemption 2 fanfic #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan #dutch van der linde #bill williamson #tilly jackson #karen jones #mary-beth gaskill

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so-shiny-so-chrome · 5 years

Text

Witness: Livia_LeRynn

Creator name (AO3): Livia_LeRynn

Creator name (Tumblr): Livia-LeRynn

Link to creator works: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Livia_LeRynn/works

Creator name (other platform- please specify): I am also So-Shiny-So-Chrome on Tumblr. Witness me interviewing myself.

Q: Why the Mad Max Fandom?

A: The Mad Max franchise has a few of my favourite things (I should write this song...) like: deserts, obsessively detailed world building, post-apocalyptic setting, women being gritty, weird religions, and characters that hit the right combination of badass and broken. You have all this angst in the characters, but then there's this great sense of fun with how extra everything is. I'm a real sucker for deep social and philosophical concepts hidden behind explosions and cool fight scenes. Fury Road also came out at just the right time for me. I was just really ripe for so many of the themes and aesthetic components.

Q: What do you think are some defining aspects of your work? Do you have a style? Recurrent themes?

A: Stylistically, I like to change things up. I kind of oscillate between long, descriptive sentences and almost obnoxiously pithy ones. I break rules, start sentences with 'but' and 'and;' I use commas like breath marks, especially in dialogue to give it the rhythm I hear in my head. I also world build to an obsessive extent.

A frequent one for me is being female in the wasteland: relationships between women; portrayals of women finding themselves and their strengths; and the trade-offs women make to keep themselves safe. I also work a lot with religion in the wastes. Most fic have their own themes that come from the characters and their emotional struggles. For example, “Stranded” is about Furiosa being stuck between her past and future selves. “Blood and Breath” deals with a lot of different themes, but one of the more prominent ones the struggles that come with being in an unexpected and sometimes undesired position of power; it’s another theme that pops up rather frequently.

Q: Which of your works was the most fun to create? The most difficult? Which is your most popular? Most successful? Your favourite overall?

A: I really enjoyed writing “Stranded.” It was just so different from anything I'd written for the fandom before. For me personally, it's still a good read.

The most difficult was “7000 Days,” both because I was new at fanfic in general but also because both parts I and II are really raw, dark, and personal. I needed to take breaks while I was writing it and shift gears to something lighter. It also doesn't get much reader attention, probably because it is so heavy, and that always makes writing harder for me. This one just felt like I was shouting into the void for a lot of it.

Currently "Daughters of the New World" is a struggle for me. The premise is a bit out there, what with Wonder Woman coming to town and being romantically attached to K.T. Concannon. Diana is a difficult character for me because she is complex but seems simple, and the whole thing is from the perspective of Furiosa who just doesn't get her. I worry that I've bit off more than I can chew because I want to explore some heavy stuff.

My most popular overall is “Blood and Breath,” which I kind of get because it scratches a lot of different itches. “Little Mate is my most popular short, which surprises me because it definitely is not in my comfort zone. It's cute; it's fluffy. It's just not something I would seek out to read.

My most successful might be “Crux.” Being a remix, I had set parameters to follow, which I find creatively useful. The author of the original was also quite please with it, so: success!

I think the fic I have written that most closely aligns with my personal tastes right now is “Wasteland Jukebox.” It probably helps that it is also my most recent. It bounces from angsty to fun to bittersweet to campy and back again multiple times over, all the while showing really intimate character portrates.

Q: How do you like your wasteland? Gritty? Hopeful? Campy? Soft? Why?

A: All of the above. I like my wasteland realistic where everything hurts, but some things are still funny, and big wins are possible, but they come at a cost. Even when I'm filling my wasteland with ghosts and vampires, I still want it to feel very grounded in reality and populated with realistically complex people. This especially applies to medical stuff; if I'm going to write about something I want to portray it accurately and realistically within the context of the story. All the injuries, diseases, and treatments are based off of real things.

Q: Walk us through your creative process from idea to finished product. What's your prefered environment for creating? How do you get through rough patches?

A: It depends. Sometimes I can just crank something out. These are typically shorter, more atmospheric pieces. More often I have one or more specific scenes, and the rest of the fic grows off of them. Like for “Daughters of the New World,” it's Diana riding on top of a bonnet/hood while Furiosa is trying to shoot out the window, and they keep getting in each other's way. None of my longer fic is written in chronological order. For “Blood and Breath,” I have scenes that I first drafted probably two years ago, but I still haven't gotten to them in fic. Most of my first drafts are dialogue. Then on second pass I add or replace those words with body language.

Getting to the finished product is the hardest part for me, especially when I already have all the major parts of the puzzle figured out, and I just have to polish them up. I also tend to have that writers' curse where I think of what to write when I can't possibly write it, like in the shower or a work meeting. I'm also very much the type of writer where I live off of interaction with my readers. I love it when people question the choices I make in my fics. I don't really have a preferred environment for writing, but I know I can't do it if there's the slightest chance anyone near me might be reading over my shoulder. I just get paranoid. If I'm on an airplane, I have to wait for my neighbors to fall asleep.

Q: What (if any) music do you listen to for help getting those creative juices flowing?

A: Lots. Too many to list. I make playlists for each of my major projects. I listen to them mostly when I'm not writing so the stories stay in the back of my mind. They're all public on Spotify so just ask if you want a link.

Q: What is your biggest challenge as a creator?

A: Finishing my long projects, especially when there isn't much reader response. I can lose interest quickly, but I want to be reliable; if I know someone is looking forward to updates on my fic, I will keep writing for that one person.

Q: How have you grown as a creator through your participation in the Mad Max Fandom? How has your work changed? Have you learned anything about yourself?

A: I think I've found a writing voice for myself. My early work tends to have a lot more of a throw shit against a wall and see what sticks approach. In my working with Furiosa especially I've definitely found some of myself in her. For example, a few interviews about Fury Road have stated that Furiosa avoids learning names to protect herself from emotional pain when people move on, die, betray her, she betray them, etc. I realised that I do that do. Of course, my situations aren't quite as extreme. :)

Q: Which character do you relate to the most, and how does that affect your approach to that character? Is someone else your favourite to portray? How has your understanding of these characters grown through portraying them?

A: Right now I relate most to Furiosa, and that answer shouldn't surprise anyone, but initially I felt more like Toast. I thought Furiosa was really cool, but I didn't feel worthy to compare myself to her. It took me a few months to go - fuck it, I want to be her for Halloween. Of course, that wasn't enough. I wanted her backstory. I wanted to spend more time in the costume, and make the costume better. I choreographed a dance about her so I could wear the costume more, but I really needed to get to know her as a person to really feel comfortable taking on her persona, not to mention I needed make the dance make sense in character (”She Used to Dance” is that fic.) The more I got to know her, the more I took apart all her insecurities and neroses, the more I found her in me and myself in her.

I relate to her being a woman caught in the middle of a lot of things: being both young and old, hero and villain, masculine and feminine, strong and weak... The list goes on. I relate to how she has spent most of her adult life in a predominantly male environment, and how that manifests as difficulty relating to other women like in the, "Everything hurts," exchange with Angharad.

My favourite character to portray is whomever I'm currently writing once I find their voice. I enjoy the process of getting to know these people. Dag's POV is especially refreshing to write after working with characters who are super guarded like Max and Furiosa. I can just ramble and take weird turns in the narration. I need to write more of her. Capable is the hardest for me of the franchise ones I've tried.

Q: Do you ever self-insert, even accidentally?

A: I'm full aware of it. There is a bit in 7000 Days Part II where it's mentioned in memory that a the Vuvalini get ahold of some vaccines from Melbourne, which in my chronology falls significantly later than other cities. Furiosa is a little kid, and she is so determined to not get the shot that a couple of adults have to hold her down. This was me. This is literally a story from my childhood. Mostly little things like that. There's also the bit about Furiosa reading "Dune;" I fucking love "Dune," and her being trapped in the Vault while she's reading it, how can she not imagine a giant worm coming out of the sand and eating the whole damn place? On a larger scale, I use fic to explore themes and issues that are going through my head.

Q: Do you have any favourite relationships to portray? What interests you about them?

A: Well, we've already established that I have a bit of a crush on Furiosa. I ship her with Max in my main continuity and with Valkyrie and Angharad in a couple of side projects. I'm interested in Furiosa with Max because of how they relate to each other. Yes, they are both terribly fucked up people, and who knows if the relationship would actually work, but that tension is a big part of the interest for me. It took me about six months in the fandom to open up to the possibility of there ever being any kind of romantic or sexual relationship between them, and in my chronology that's about the amount of time it takes for them to move from one time plautonic snuggle buddies to romantic/sexual partners. I do most of my writing in that time frame. The fact that they massively respect each other definitely is something that shouldn't be squandered, and I think they recognise that. I don't headcanon either of them as asexual (though my Furiosa is demi), and I think that the best shot they have for a happy partnership is with each other. They are both fundamentally good people who don't think they are worthy of kindness, let alone an actual relationship, but they both look at the other and see all the wonderful things about that person. I'm interested in how they navigate this dynamic and how they eventually come to the decision that even if it does end badly, which it probably will, it's worth trying. Everything hurts, right? Easy relationships are boring anyway.

Q: How does your work for the fandom change how you look at the source material?

A: Sometimes I watch with specific details in mind, like to see the details of a prop or costume piece. Other times I'll watch something and see a detail I forgot but suddenly becomes an inspiration for a fic. For example, the Crazy Diamond chapter in “Wasteland Jukebox” came from me rewatching the first movie and seeing Jessie with her saxophone.

Q: Do you prefer to create in one defined chronology or do your works stand alone? Why or why not?

A: Most of my stories are in the same chronology. Setting change AUs and “Crux” are the exceptions. Part of the fun for me is keeping tracker of the chronology. I don't expect my readers to work that hard though; every story stands on it's own.

Q: To break or not to break canon? Why?

A: I do not break canon; I bend it to my will. Setting changes are an exception of course. I just work better within the structure that canon provides. If I change canon, I change one thing and only allow other changes that are a result of that first change. I develop and justify my interpretations of canon so that I find enough wiggle room for my headcanons to comfortably coexist with it. Where canon contradicts itself, e.g. video game vs. comics, I chose my preferred version. I even take little blurbs from interviews and try to work them in as lore.

Q: Share some headcanons.

A: Pretty much all my fic are based around headcanons. There are many, many of them. Some are the premises for fic while others are big reveals. Others are back story or missed scenes or just what was going on in someone's head. Here's one that's not a spoiler and doesn't make too many fic appearances:very Rockatanskyup name. Max's original last name was Patansky, and Jessie's was Rockwell. They're parents were millennials; of course they were raised to value gender equality :)

Q: If you work with OCs walk us through your process for creating them. Who are some of your favourites?

A: I rarely work with real OCs for anything other than side characters, but I often use characters who have little (Miss Giddy) to no screen time (K.T., Mary) or no canon name (Promise the Milker). They effectively become like OCs. K.T. had the most of a design process because all I had to go on were her name and Vuvalini affiliation. I made her black to bring more racial diversity to my 7000 Days cast, and I made her American because I wanted to have an instory explanation of Furiosa's accent not being Australian. Warboy Kai exists because I felt Furiosa needed an ally among the War Boys cuz fuck if the Imperator pumps her own gas. He will eventually become the History Man we see in the comics so he's still not a true OC. My true OCs follow the same process: 1) identify a logical gap or role that needs filling, 2) establish the character using canon reference points, 3) fill in the character's appearance, personality, etc. not already established by 1) or 2).

Q: If you create original works, how do those compare to your fan works?

A: I'm not doing originals at the moment, but when I look back now at what I was doing pre-Fury Road, I realise just how fannish it all is. We're talking many thousands of words of world building, character development, angst, and pining. So yeah, not much different.

Q: Who are some works by other creators inside and outside of the fandom that have influenced your work?

A: I learned a lot about working with themes in different sub plots from "Wishbone." Seriously, if you've never seen that shit go check it out. A cute doggo dresses up and tells stories from classic literature while his human learns similar lessons in the "real world."

I consciously avoided other fic when I first started writing because I didn't want to accidentally injest headcanons and not be able to remember where I got them. Once I found the story I wanted to tell, I dove into the wealth the fandom had to offer. I owe @sacrificethemtothesquid for paving the way in making these characters as gross and gritty in fic as real humans. I owe @lurkinghistoric and @fuckyeahisawthat for warming me up to Maxiosa first through their less and then through their more explicit fic. And of course @youkaiyume for drawing the art that inspired many of those fic. Really the whole of the Smuttyartfic group got me writing smut again after a good decade away from it.

Q: What advice can you give someone who is struggling to make their own works more interesting, compelling, cohesive, etc.?

A: I'm gonna go with the good ole, "Write what you know; so know interesting things." Show off your passion and the depth of your knowledge.

Q: Have you visited or do you plan to visit Australia, Wasteland Weekend, or other Mad Max place?

A: Yes to all of the above. I really like deserts and tend to pick them for my vacation spots. I stopped in Sydney on my way to New Zealand a few years back, but I didn't get to go outback; crossing the Nullibor is in my to-do list. If anyone plans a fandom-cation count me in. I've been to Wasteland Weekend twice and intend to be back, but probably not this year because this summer I will be going on a camping safari through Namibia. Don't worry, there will be pictures. And yes, I will be asking our guide obnoxious questions.

Q: Tell us about a current WIP or planned projectThis is my year of finishing projects. I'm also signed up for Fandom Trumps Hate. Bid on my listing and you can choose my next project.

Thank you @livia-lerynn

#Mad Max Fandom Creator Spotlight #Mad Max Fandom Spotlight #mad max fic #fury road fic #mad max fandom #fury road fandom #mad max fanfic author spotlight

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icefrozendeadlyqueen · 4 years

Text

Deadly Sisters: (y/n)’s Prologue.

Title: Deadly Sisters

Family: Reader comes from a family involve in the unknown. The world normal people have no clue about. They can theorize, but they can never be completely sure. Their family prefers to work on their own, "better work alone than with a crowd, right?".

Summary: Two killers rely on each others... What could possibly go wrong???

Ships: (y/n) x Ubbe, (y/n) x Sigurd, Ashla x Hvitserk. Reader insert words use

Favorite Coffee: (f/c) Your name: (y/n) Last name: (l/n) (Your tagged id)

Warning: There are huge topics in here. I’m sorry if it offends anyone, but I couldn’t stop once I started writing.

Story: On going. It's text/scenes. I hope you enjoy

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

My name is (y/n) (L/n), I am a hacker Hitman.

I thought life was simple in most terms speaking my simple is other's dismay or death. It all depends on my mood. I have a set of skills well learned throughout my life; it's a family legacy to know how to align with people at a level is certainly scary. I am always learning everything I can get my hands on from truth, rumors, lies and overall the darkest information known to men. Example, people's lives are a new chapter of a story, why did Gregory kill his wife? huh.

The cops said his wife was cheating on him. The first cop to come at the cries of the neighbors threw up in the scene of the crime. Revolting. It's all he manage to muster to the news. His family wants to believe he was posses by the devil. Only reasonable explanation for a gentleman that burn his wife and kids alive, right? Her family believes he was paranoid. They demand him to be given the highest type of punishment, Capital Punishment. The neighbors can't believe what has occur. Its such an atrocious act. They retell that night like a replying nightmare every time they close their eyes. "I woke up to the screams of Tiffany. She was a nice gal used to bring me pie whenever she had some extra". "In all my 80 years of living in this neighborhood something like this has never happen. They had family issues as any couple would". "Gregory and Tiffany were an exceptional matrimony. They would come to my families Saturday cooks out! Tiffany would bring her famous pie! Gregory bring some of the whiskey I like. We have a good time. My kids like their kids. We didn't notice anything wrong". His colleague detail how good he was at his job. He took a good length of time to manage his work to perfection. It became Gregory's signature. Her colleague say she was diligent. She never once made a mistake. Those people that envy her believed she was a witch how could she had a response for everything. Always being right neither wrong on anything. What a load of bullshit

A conservative small town what could possible go wrong with such a murder? it's the center of the epicenter.

Whats hot in news right now? I will let you know in more than one occasion. Hypothetically speaking a woman by the tag name Veronica_Ink join my chatroom long ago. I have always explained to them the chat rules here in the dark web.

(Private Message between (your tagged Id) & Veronica_Ink)

Veronica_Ink: "I have joined through a secure server on my husband's computer".

(Your tagged Id): "I don't particularly give a shit how you join. I am telling you not to come here looking for trouble, ma'am. I am fed up of saving damsels in distress".

Veronica_Ink: "My dad is a rapist, and I sleep with a pistol under my pillow".

(Your tagged Id): "Okay. You have experience to be here at least. It took an escalating turn"

Veronica_Ink: "It's alright. I had gone as far as too change my name and any trace of that from my present. Now, I have beautiful children and a treasure of a husband".

(Your tagged Id): "Cute then why are you here?"

Veronica_Ink: "Not all fairy tales are true...."

(Your tagged Id): "Enough said". I didn't ask what she meant in any way or form I don't care. It's how this new century works. The less you care the less probability of getting caught. A rule the (L/n) family has lived by for centuries, and we have manage to avoid detection. It's a sweet taste in your mouth like drinking the nectar of gods, A.K.A. (F/c), knowing that we haven't gotten caught yet. It's the best part of a thrill being known like any other millennial

Veronica_Ink: "We are the picture perfect couple since middle school. We grew up in a small town high school sweethearts, you know?".

(Your tagged id): "I have never understood the necessity of high school sweethearts".

Veronica_Ink: "It's like finding your other half for high school".

(Your tagged id): "I get that part, but I don't see the point. The expectations of happy ever after until is not possible".

Veronica_Ink: "It's picture perfect".

(Your tagged id): "Outside until people decide to look close enough".

We agreed it was just going to be a quick chat or did I just agreed to that? We never talk about it to be precise so I just don't understand the tugging I feel re-reading this none existence conversations lost in deep thoughts. I have single handle all of my problems without relying on my family much. We take on jobs that we have no emotional attachment what so ever... I guess I didn't comprehend why would that be. I have never taken a job with another family member for actual good reasons.

Jobs. Tasks. It's all the same in terms, isn't it? I am already 10 steps to close to this.

Veronica_Ink: "You don't like high school sweethearts, do you?"

(Your tagged id): "It seems all fake to me for some it works. I have no problem with it, but I have never understood the term high school sweethearts. The concept itself seems to be playing with fate, and fate is laughing at it".

Veronica_Ink: "Ahhhhh. You had a high school sweetheart?"

(Your tagged id): "No, I have never stay in a high school long enough. It was particularly entertaining".

Veronica_Ink: "Awh.. that's awful"

(Your tagged id): "It really isn't. You are probably thinking of an orphan or movng a lot type of deal. I am neither".

Veronica_Ink: "Yeah... you don't seem like the person to give a shit either. It was nice to talk to you, (y/n). I have to go attend to some things."

(Your tagged id): "Yeah, don't mention it. Have a good day Tiff".

Veronica_Ink: "Tomorrow same time?"

(Your tagged id): "Same place".

Who knew I would have gotten a friend from this illegal dump? Hell would laugh at my stupitity. I got attached. She knew before I knew. Well know... I did some bringing up to the light. I have uncover her life not like somthing can be hidden from me. There is nothing in this world that I can't crack with enough practice and hard work as long as you don't get caught. I don't need to be recognize on anything what's the point of doing something if people acknowledge it.

Just fucking do it and let the repercussions come later. I have many completely sign for me as we speak. My father always said, "Time will only tell, pop. We either keep doing things right protecting the family or we fail all together screwing the family". He has a point that there is no in between. I look at it the way anyone would have I don't regret my choices or the fact I am obviously blinded by emotions at this point. What the fuck was I thinking??

That's right I wasnt fucking thinking. I keep hearing my father's advice through out all my bad decisions a reminder that I am making a shitty hole for myself. I may as well make it even more big than it should be. I call myself a hitman, but I am here trying to solve marital problems? Jesus Christ. I am trying to blame somebody where there is nobody to blame. I am trying to find an excuse where there is none. I always will be a step ahead of everyone unless I let my heart lead.

(Your tagged id): "How are the kids?"

Veronica_Ink: "They are doing amazing! Little josh won fourth place on his spelling bee tornament, "Mom, I'll work hard to get #1 next year", he is the most cutest thing. Gregory offer to help him train up, and I almost forgot about last night beating. I have to thank you with helping jessica yesterday, you know? her paper got an A+. The university loved it. I don't know how you do it all the thoughts she wanted to express you had it on paper".

(Your tagged id): "Don't mention it, Tiffany. I am glad I could help even in the slightest. What about little jimmy? Is he better from the flu?"

Veronica_Ink: "We just got home from his check up. Gregory bought him a baseball bat, so they can plan on that trip. Jimmy wants to become a baseball player".

(Your tagged id): "The kid has a bright imagination... isn't this his 17th switch so far? How much energy does he has... you wouldn't fucking believe he has an illness damn".

Veronica_Ink: "haahahahah. Actually his 26th so far, "Mommy! I love them all! Fire fighter, super hero and baseball player! I want to be all", he said that on our way back and Gregory told him the sky is the limit.

(Your tagged id): "I pity his babysitter".

Veronica_Ink: "That's me”.

(Your tagged id): "I digress".

Veronica_Ink: "Ah come on! He is the cutest!".

(Your tagged id): "You can't decided which of your children is the cutest. On that note, who's the favorite?".

Veronica_Ink: "You know is getting late.. I should be going."

(Your tagged id): "I rest my case".

Veronica_Ink: "hahahahahaha. All jokes aside little lady. How are you today? You don't particularly like pen names, but I can't seem to resist"

(Your tagged id): "I ignored them. I am doing pretty good and you? I have had a pretty good week. Thank you for asking Tiff".

Veronica_Ink: "Doing as well as a viking burning boat. Jessica got into USCF, little jimmy says he will become a baseball player, and lil josh says he'll be the next spelling bee champion".

(Your tagged id): "So an honorable death? Well, this took a turn. It's UCF btw. I am guessing excitement took a turn".

Veronica_Ink: "Yeah, I started watching this discovering channel with Jessica.. you know mother and daughter quality time?! I am so happy! She ask me to watch it with her. I thought she would ask her best friend and not her boring mother."

(Your tagged id): "That's sweet you two are spending time together. I have to take a big dump on that 'boring mother' do I have to remind you that you are in a dark web chatroom. I don't think thats boring".

Veronica_Ink: "I can't really bragged about it though. That's like one of your main rules of the page or did you forgot? You say you'll ban people or ruin their life".

(Your tagged id): "Touché. Let me think... brag about your life? You won a hot dog competition in middle school? You punch that slutty math teacher in high school that's in prison now? I am going on a limb here but your life is not boring. It might not be celebrity worthy, but that doesnt matter".

Veronica_Ink: "Good point. My daughter is showing interest in my life! I feel so happy right now. Don't you think punching a teacher was a little too much?"

(Your tagged id): "It depends on what happen. Normally teachers are respecting human beings that deserve the world offer to them. Ashley was a racist little shit".

Veronica_Ink: "Look, (y/n) not everyone name Ashley is a bully or a racist or a pedophile. It was just a huge coincidence. My sister's name is Ashley".

(Your tagged id): "And? Lets not even get on the topic of your sister... she isn't a good example to begin with.

Veronica_Ink: "Touché. On good terms, what can I bragged about? Jessica is my star. I want her to look up to me. I want her to think I am like a super mom?".

(Your tagged id): "She already thinks that. Jessica knows you put a lot of work on feeding her, so she can get all her vitamins and minerals. She bought you flowers last friday after you stood by her when that douch broke her heart. She may not see much of your cool right now because she is a teenager that's basically their definition. Don't over think it much, Tiff. You are an amazing mother. You are doing just fine".

Veronica_Ink: "You are probably right. I am going to go right now. I want to give them all my undying attention".

(Your tagged id): "Good night, Tiffany".

Veronica_Ink: "Good night, (y/n)".

I have a weak point on some extent. I'll accept it. Other than my sister nobody has broken through my hard core firewall. I guess the first instict to change is to fight it or just be crazy for a little bit. I am friends with Tiffany. This is just incredible. This is a healthy friendship, right? You care for something. It's natural right? It's an excuse isn't it? I guess. I am not sure anymore. Ashla would have laugh at my weakness. She would have put a bullet on Tiffany and walk away. I wish I could just let go, but I care too much to walk away. I love her to much to let go.. is that what friendships are? You care for another person more than yourself. I thought families fall into that category...

I have never let anyone in. Tiffany knowing my real name makes her a target, but there is no way she'll become one right? No. I am just being paranoid. Yeah.. that's it. Paranoia.

Veronica_Ink: "It was a weird old man. I lost little josh at the amusement park, and he said an old man guide him to a van. He bought him an ice cream and told him to stay inside. I am terrified and scared about it. He said a woman came before the smelly old man could hurt him. She took his hand, knew his name and even play some games with him. He said the woman got him that teddy bear he wanted, but I told him I didn't had enough change for".

(Your tagged id): "Huh why are you telling me all of this?"

Veronica_Ink: "It was you, wasn't it? Don't deny it, (y/n). Josh secretly told me the woman knew my name. He told the police the description of the man. I was relieved when the cops found the old man, and it wasn't one of josh made up stories. He was brutally murder, (y/n). Execution style. The police told Gregory and I that there was a woman, but there is no camera that caught the woman's face. We could only see little josh talking to someone.. we recognize it was a woman because of the voice... just please. Thank you".

(Your tagged id): "Execution style? Sheez. Veronica. I don't do Execution Style. I am a hacker for fuck sake how would I know how to kill people?"

Veronica_Ink: "You said so yourself. Anything can be accomplish with enough anger built up".

(Your tagged id): "When the heck did I said that?"

Veronica_Ink: "The day before the amusement park. We talk. You said to watch my kids because there was news reports of kids disappearing and found dead a week later".

(Your tagged id): "Me and my big mouth."

Veronica_Ink: "I know it was you. I want to believe it was you".

(Your tagged id): "It wasn't me. I had been at home all day. I was working on a job"

Veronica_Ink: "Computer related? I know you can't do remote jobs.. Hmm.. Well.."

(Your tagged id): "Do you have any prove anyways?"

Veronica_Ink: "No.. I had a feeling. Josh had a bubble gum package and a chocolate bar in his jetted pocket. The only person I know that loves coffee more than life is you plus you are the only person that knows josh favorite bubble gum. He is a hard kid to follow strangers. He knows better than to do that, but he told me that the woman was my friend. No, his exact words were "My Guardian angel"".

(Your tagged id): "Can you just accept your kid is safe? He is away from harm. You are all a big family again, right? Be happy idk"

Veronica_Ink: "Thank you, (y/n)".

(Your tagged id): "It was my sister, okay?".

Veronica_Ink: "The deemed one?"

(Your tagged id): "We are all deemed, but yes"

Nah, bitch. It was me. Fuck. You see my point. I am attached to a level that can become deadly. I knew that old faggot wouldn't resist a lost kid. I knew that. I had to do some extra remote work to make up for it, but it was worth it. It was. It is worth it. Why wouldn't it be? Tiffany is save and the jumping troll thats her kid is doing good. I got attach to her and her kids.. I am a fool.

Execution Style seem the fair go to for all his fucking crimes. He had all the kids outfits. The ones he hurt. I got emotionally involve so what? like its a fucking crime. I couldn't live with myself if I let it happen. I couldn't live with my conscience. I feel... fuck.. so predictable right? (y/n) stares at her diary letting go of another sigh. (y/n)'s eyes scroll through the images in her computer of an old chat conversation with vivid notes she wrote daily to keep up with her changing or Tiffany growing into her. (y/n) lips tremble in little weeps tears that she doesnt bother to clean, "It's done sweet, Dove. I have avenge you... it has been a long time old friend". (y/n) words leave a sore taste in her lips though a sweet feeling inside her even if its been old to come. The words don't make her feel any better nothing seem to do fix the broken shell of a woman she was anymore, "I have a flight to catc-". The words lost within a train of tears coming furiously from her eyes as her heart opens accepting what she was pushing back all this years.

Yeah I can't believe that either. Dear old friend. You can rest in peace now, okay? The bitch is dead along with your ex-husband.

#reader insert #emotional #friendship #vikings #prologue

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carriejonesbooks · 5 years

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I was recently talking to someone brilliant, 24 years old, beautiful and that person thought that they had already wasted their life.

There are a million metrics and achievements this person has already notched off – things that I can’t even imagine achieving. That didn’t matter. It wasn’t enough.

She called herself a loser. Her life, she claimed, was a waste.

Half the women I know have created themselves and their dreams and expectations in the likeness of a rom-com, which is explained so well in this column by Heather Havrilesky in Vulture. She wrote:

But your concept of yourself makes no sense. You got it from a rom-com. Age 35 is not an expiration date on your beauty or your worth. It doesn’t matter if every single human alive believes this. It’s your job to cast this notion out forever. I’m 48 years old and I’m determined not to tell a story about myself that started in some beauty-product boardroom, among unimaginative corporate marketing professionals. I fail at this quest often, but I’m still determined.

But then there are a bunch of us who don’t or didn’t care about rom-com images. Some of us have massive savior complexes. Some of us want glory. Some of us want to be remembered forever. Some of us have modeled our lives off Marvel movies and Captain America or Ancient Macedonian kings. We’re not much better off.

From fourth through eighth grade my true life ambition was to take a bullet meant for Bono of U2. I would dive on stage, heroically be killed, die in his arms painlessly somehow. And all of Ireland would be so overcome by my sacrifice that they would instantly broker peace. The entire world would do the same.

Saviour complex, much?

I was a weird kid, obviously, raised on too much Doctor Who and Star Trek. But I wasn’t about romance or babies. I wasn’t into getting married. I didn’t want to be defined by my husband or my marriage or my kids. I wanted to define me. I know! I know! The horror.

But we don’t have to be saviors either. There is so much pressure to be something that our culture, our society, our books and movies and television show, Instagram photos and YouTube videos want us to be.

But what makes us feel truly like we have a purpose, that we aren’t a waste of space and resources, that we matter? For a lot of us, connections, doing good, friendships. For some of us that still isn’t enough? We are on an endless quest for more, to be better, to do better, to make the most of our time on this earth. Or we are on an endless quest to meet the expectations that society has placed upon us.

We have to find a way to discover who we are and what we want.

Havrilensky wrote:

I’m going to choose to embrace narratives that make me feel more alive and able to contribute whatever twisted crafts I can to this world, while I can.

I’ve been posting a piece of art or a video on my Facebook every Friday because it is what scares me. There’s this weird vulnerability in those forms of communication that make me feel especially vulnerable, but I want to be a better artist. I want to be unafraid about who I am. Those scary Friday posts are part of me going for that instead of just hiding my paintings in the basement.

I grew up poor but in a pretty intellectual household. There were assigned roles. I was the quirky weird one wearing Snoopy shoes. My brother was the ambitious gorgeous one. My sister was the good one. I was the one who read books, who was nerdy and self-righteous. I heard narratives about who I should be all my childhood. I bet you did, too.

Mine were:

You’re shy.

They thought you were blind when you were born. You still don’t notice things.

You are weird.

You are smart. You’re the smart one.

You aren’t an athlete. You have weak ankles.

You aren’t an artist. Nobody in this family is an artist.

But who I thought I was meant to be was also defined by what was said about my much older siblings but never said about me:

Your brother is so successful.

Look at his dimples. He’s so beautiful. People just stare and stare at him. What an athlete.

Your sister is so kind. Her heart is so big.

Your sister loves children. Your sister is so good.

Me in a U2 shirt, hiding my face because I’m the quirky one, not the good looking one.

Those narratives shape us. Combine them with comparing ourselves to television tropes and superheroes, rom-coms and Instagram perfection and it’s hard to be okay with who we are. Shakespeare said that comparisons are odious. There’s a reason for that. They make us feel shame. They make us feel jealous. They make us feel less. Or they make us think of others as less.

Here’s the thing: Nobody is less. I’m going to leave you with two solid paragraphs of Havrilensky because her article is brilliant and true.

What if you just decided that you’re an artist, today, right now? You’re sensitive and erratic, maybe. You’re maudlin and also expansive. What would it look like to own that identity, as a means of making art, sure, but also as a means of owning your FULL SELF? You wouldn’t feel as angry at other artists. You would recognize them as kindred spirits. You might notice how your shame matches theirs, and fuels all of you. You might feel proud of your small creations and you might start to see how every single thing you’ve done, every place you’ve been, every town you’ve lived in and left, every friend you’ve gotten to know and then forgotten, they all add up to a giant pile of treasure.

You are 95 years old, looking back at your 35-year-old self, and this is what you see: a young woman, so young, so disappointed, even though everything is about to get really good. She doesn’t see how much she’s accomplished, how much she’s learned, how many new joys await her. She doesn’t know how strong she is. She is blindfolded, sitting on a mountain of glittering gems. She is beautiful, but she feels ugly. She has a rich imagination and a colorful past, but she feels poor. She thinks she deserves to be berated because she has nothing. She has everything she needs.

What is it that you want to be? Who do you want to see? Be that person. Love that person.

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Who You Are Is Enough But You Can Still Be Even More I was recently talking to someone brilliant, 24 years old, beautiful and that person thought that they had already wasted their life.

#advice #bemore #carriejones #culturalnarratives #falsenarratives #friendship #kidlit #maienauthors #mondaymotivation #motivation #self #selfworth #womenidentity #writinglife #youareenough #youarenotaloser

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