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wwilloww · 3 years

Text

sh. | ot7 | chapter five

PAIRING ot7 x reader

RATING Explicit.

GENRE smut. fluff. angst. nonidol au. wildnerness au. roommates au. friends to lovers.

SUMMARY Six months of quarantine have kept you apart. Somehow the distance sparks something new in each of you: questions, unfinished conversations, threads once chased now left cold. So when your roommate invites you to come with him to a mysterious house in the mountains with your friends, how could you even think of saying no?

WC 8k

WARNINGS AND TAGS protected sex. friends with benefits relationship. dirty talk. power play dynamics. angst. semi-public nudity. mentions of open relationship. sexting. reckoning with feelings. talk of alcohol use.

AN: One million bazillion thanks to the best beta and geologist out there, @hesperantha. Everyday I think to myself, how the fuck would this series exist without this magical lady? And every day I am thankful for her beautiful existence.

Also, if you haven’t seen /the trailer, you might wanna check it out. Just because I had a lot of fun making it and it was super fun to visualize the characters and their tiny little world.

Going forward, you can read with they/them pronouns by navigating to the series m.list and reading from there.

That said, LETS JUMP IN!

← || series m.list || →

©️ wwilloww do not repost, translate, or use my stories without my permission.

chapter five

January 2020

What is left when you’re not sure where to turn?

You know there’s Yoongi. Dependable, familiar, predictable Yoongi. Predictable in the sense that you know, unabashedly, that no matter what, you can always count on him to draw a short term — but important — curtain over whatever notion, anxiety, or complication that happens to be singing in your mind that day. Erase it, temporarily, with those long fingers, gliding over your skin in expert patterns, drawing you and your pleasure exactly where he wants it to be.

And predictable in the sense that you know you will be perfectly and endlessly satisfied at the end of the night, no matter what.

See, Yoongi doesn’t mess around. He doesn’t tease you. Doesn’t draw you out and dangle you over your own pleasure. He gives it to you. Over and over and over and over again. Extends his palm and pulls as many orgasms from you as you can physically muster and then lets you collapse in his arms. Dependable, see? Dependable, always.

Once you’re settled in his lap, Yoongi lets you grind on him for a bit as he undresses you expertly, long fingers slipping under the fabric of your clothes before tugging them off gracefully and tossing them across the room. This, this he did love to do. Loved to scatter your clothes around and then watch you from the bed as you tried to piece some semblance of an outfit back together after he fucked you senseless.

“Don’t throw my bra behind the furniture again,” you murmur as you kiss down his neck. “I know you thought it was a great tactic to get me to rearrange your room the last time — but I’m not moving a hundred pound dresser to get my very expensive bra back again.”

He chuckles. Murmurs, “As you wish.” And then throws your bra someplace you can’t see.

Now that you’re topless, he lets his long fingers skate up the skin of your back, tracing the flesh of your hips and with such delicacy it almost tickles. That is, delicate until his hand weaves itself up your neck. His grip tightens at the root of your hair, tugging your head back in a swift motion and exposing your neck to him.

“How do you want me to fuck you tonight?” His voice is deep and it raises goosebumps on your skin. He lets his teeth trace a line up the sensitive skin of your neck until he reaches your ear and bites down hard.

“Fuck,” you breathe as a shiver runs through your body. Yoongi always took particular care to curate a library of knowledge about your ticks, turn ons, and vices. And then he played them out for you in an expertly coordinated hand.

“Yes, that’s in the cards. But tell me specifically how you want it.”

Behind him, the large bedroom is equipped with enough musical equipment to run a fully functioning studio. Instruments hang on the walls and a large black bed rests in the center of the room. The dark tones of the wood and sheets make the otherwise sparse room feel warm and dark. Compared to the shabby little apartment that you share with Namjoon, this is luxury. Your gaze rests on the large wall of glass that looks out over the city.

“The window,” you say.

He grins.

The glass is cold against your bare skin when he presses you to it. The difference in temperature between the fired heat of your skin and the iced window slices right through you, makes you gasp as his hands run over your body, taking you in as you are: bare and ready for him.

You watch as he strips off his clothes, gracefully and swiftly. First the shirt, then his pants. It’s no surprise to you that he’s not wearing any undergarments at all. Delight lights in his eye when he notices how greedily you watch him.

“Do you want me to—” He begins to lean down, but you stop him and pull him up.

“Just fuck me.”

He turns you around in one movement, your hands flying up to stop the impact, your chest — and your nipples — pressing to the glass. The sensation overwhelms you as he slides two fingers between your folds, collecting the slickness that has gathered there.

“You’re already so wet for me.”

A smile spreads across your face as you hear the condom packet rip and he slots his cock against your cunt, coating himself in your arousal.

“Don’t tease me,” you say, a hint of a whine slipping into your voice.

“Don’t worry. I have no patience for that tonight.” And he pushes in. “How’s that?” he says, the lilting tease in his tone cutting sharp against your ear as his dick sinks into you, inch by delightful inch.

It feels like you have to catch your breath to speak. “Is it always this good?”

“Baby, if it isn’t, you should ask for a refund.” He punctuates the last word of his sentence with a harsh thrust that rams your chest up against the glass.

“Fuck—” you hiss.

Memory whitens like it’s been covered in a blanket of snow as he begins a punishing pace, hips rutting up into you before drawing almost all the way back, tip barely inside of you before thrusting back into you, all the way to the hilt. Sensation overtakes thought. The slicing coldness of the glass against your nipples paints a stark contrast to the softness of lips pressed to yours, softness of a hand cupping your cheek—

You should be thinking of anything but that.

And it’s easy to do, in this moment. To focus on Yoongi, his commanding presence, the way he plays your body like one of the carefully polished instruments that hangs on his wall.

You cry out when he hits a particularly soft spot within you, and he pauses his movements, drinking in the sound of you.

“God, you sound so fucking good.”

He pulls out of you, turns you around, and pushes your back against the glass.

“Hop up,” he says, and you frown in confusion before realizing what he’s referring to. You wrap your arms around his neck and with a jump, wrap your legs around his waist.

“Fuck—” With a grunt of effort, he holds you up while slotting himself against your folds and pushing inside again.

The most you can do in this position is tilt your pelvis and grind down on him — while holding onto dear life — and you do, rotating it against his waist, drawing the most delicious sounds from his lips. Your hips begin to move in tandem, each pushing closer to the pleasure that you both so desperately desire.

This is better. This is worse.

See, the two of you have fallen into patterns in your hookups. Rules, even, although no one but you thought of them as such. But the habit — and therefore the lines — were clear to you:

You didn’t kiss. You didn’t confess your love. Hookups only, and breakfast together the morning after. Usually he takes you from behind, because, as he once commented to you, “the ass cheeks are the eyes of the heart.” Which to you, made no sense at all, but you still obliged him. Plus, at the end of the day it was all a little more impersonal that way, anyways. Easier to separate from the rest of your relationship.

But looking into his face, pressed so close — there’s something there. A warmth. An understanding. Too much.

Your head falls to his shoulder and his grip tightens on your thighs as he fucks up into you. Several heavy breaths before you bite gently at the sensitive skin of his neck and he hisses.

“You’re too sensitive,” you chide, although the teasing lilt of your tone is broken up by him fucking into your body — and you both know you love the way he lets you know he likes things done.

“And you’re too shy,” he cuts back. “Why don’t you look at me when I fuck you?” It’s posed as a question but you know it’s a command.

Slowly, you draw your head back and look at him. His eyes are deep and dark, his hair tousled and face lined with pleasure.

“That’s a good little pet,” he whispers. It falls too softly.

It makes you want to kiss him. All you want to do is —

You press your lips to his. Just a peck — the smallest, lightest of pecks.

But the plush of his lips, the way they part so slightly when your lips meet... it leaves you wanting more. So you kiss him again, pressing yourself to him, chasing the feeling of his softness.

He responds, opening his mouth to yours, his tongue darting out to meet yours. His pace doesn’t falter as he continues to fuck up into you. His lips move against yours, fierce, needy, demanding. And it’s then that your stomach drops. It’s as if the winter chill that lays just beyond the door at your back slices through your veins.

You pull back.

“No,” he says, and pulls you back to him. “Stop running.” He brings your face close enough to yours but doesn’t kiss you, just waits.

And you meet him in the middle, kissing him again, afraid of losing the warmth you sparked between you. He groans against you as your hips swivel around his cock, and bites down on your lip.

“Fuck,” you hiss.

With one arm wrapped around his shoulders, you let your other hand press against the nape of his neck, nails digging in just the way you know he likes it. You both have always been in rhythm, in tune with one another, but now with him kissing you — something new sparks between you. Something new, something terrifyingly warm.

When you pull back he smiles.

“Shit,” you whisper, your eyes widening. “I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t apologize,” Yoongi says, an edge in his voice, his hips still circling against yours as he presses your back to the window. “You have nothing to apologize for.

“I shouldn’t have—”

“Shh... stop. It’s okay. It was good.” He punctuates his meaning with a thrust, a small groan slipping from his throat. You want to swallow the sound of his pleasure whole, but still. You let the guilt in your chest rise to your throat.

“No, no, it’s not,” you say, though the coil that’s winding tighter and tighter in your belly makes it difficult to speak. You take a shuddering breath in as he hits your g-spot, your eyes fluttering closed.

“Yes. It is,” he grunts, and you can tell he’s close too. “You fuck better when you kiss. You feel it. You get into it.” Your brow purses at his words. “Now be good for me, forget it, and cum on this cock.”

You nod.

“Tell me what you’re going to do.”

“I’ll forget it, be good for you, and cum on your cock.”

“Good,” he smiles.

Each thrust brings you a step closer. He kisses you, again waiting for you to meet his lips, and together you move like dancing partners closer and closer to the edge.

You cum, clenching around his cock and crying his name into his mouth.

The two of you breathe heavily, foreheads resting together for a moment that stretches long enough for you to call it a distance.

“Fuck—” Yoongi says, pulling out of you and smiling gently as he lets you down. “I’ve never heard you come like that before.”

Heat rises to your cheeks.

“Hold on, let me get you a towel or something,” Yoongi says, pressing his thumb to your forehead and wiping away a bead of sweat. You watch as he shuffles about his room, looking for anything to give you. “One second, I think there’s clean ones in the dryer.”

He wanders out of the room wearing absolutely nothing at all.

When you turn back to the outside world, the glass is fogged and the world feels a million miles away. The tension that rises up in your chest feels like a wrought iron ball and you need out, out, now.

There’s a fuzzy blanket on the dresser next to you and you snatch it, wrap yourself up tightly and push open the glass door to the tiny balcony. With a held breath, you step out. The cold concrete sends a chill through your body as you step out. Blue washes through you, shocking the pleasure-numbed nerves in your body back to life.

When you suck in a deep breath of snow-cold air, it feels as if clarity settles into you. You take a second, but shuddering, breath as you realize with a lucid sharp pain the reality of your situation.

Yoongi didn’t erase tonight from your mind. Sex didn’t remove Hobi’s kiss from your lips. An orgasm didn’t ease the unnamable want in your chest. If anything, it all just burns a little brighter.

This thing with Yoongi — it’s not supposed to be a distraction for you, or a means to make you feel something else. It’s supposed to be its own thing, a compartmentalized friends with benefits situation that has always been clear and defined between the two of you. But as soon as you showed up on his door with an ulterior motive other than sex, it became something else. As soon as you kissed him, you made it something else.

Fuck.

Around you, fat flurries drift down from the dark sky. They melt as they land on your bare skin. There’s no escaping this thing inside you. But the intensity of the cold seems like it keeps you here, grounded, in Yoongi’s home and facing actuality. As if any form of warmth would leave you wandering into the sickly sweet honeytrap of the what if’s that already threaten on the edge of your mind.

“Come to bed,” Yoongi calls from inside. When you don’t, he comes out onto the tiny balcony and wraps himself around you from behind, his head notching on your shoulder. “Christ, you’re freezing.”

“It feels good,” you say, nuzzing your body back against his.

“I know I didn’t work you up that much that you need to stand in the snow to cool down. Come to bed.”

Still wrapped around you, he waddles you inside, earning a giggle from you as you tumble into bed and he slams the door closed with a bit of a shiver.

“Here,” he says softly, wrapping you in a blanket before settling beside you.

He’s close. Wildly close. His breath brushes softly against your face as you look at each other. You take in the flushed pink of his face, the way his hair is tousled into a gorgeous mess from the effort of your intimacy.

You could kiss him again, you think and a shock runs through your body at the thought. Christ, his cock’s been inside you a million times and yet you balk at the thought of kissing him, of pulling him right where you want him, where he fits so perfectly, where he feels so warm —

“What are you thinking?” Yoongi says softly.

“What are you thinking?” you cut back, just a little too quickly.

Yoongi chuckles. “I’m thinking that you keep yourself so tightly together.”

You smile tightly. “I don’t know what that means.”

“That’s exactly what I mean.”

You bite down on your lip.

“You’re thinking so loud I can almost hear it,” Yoongi says. “Just tell me. You know there’s nothing you could say that would upset me.” When you don’t say anything, he continues. “For god’s sake, I’ve seen your asshole. It doesn’t get much more personal than that.”

“Fine,” you say.

“Fine,” he grins.

“Maybe we should…” You trail off and bite the inside of your cheek.

Yoongi rolls onto his side, propping his head up with one hand.

“Maybe we should…?” He prompts. “Join a sex dungeon?”

You laugh, the thought of going to one with Yoongi is one that sends a thrill through you. “That sounds like a wonderful idea, but that’s not what I was going to say.”

“What were you going to say?”

You take a deep breath. “That maybe we should… stop. This.”

He doesn’t ask what you mean. He knows. “That, my dear, sounds like quite the antithesis to going to a sex dungeon with me.”

You laugh. “I can’t believe you’re making jokes when I am friends with benefits breaking up with you.”

“What? Were you expecting me to be angry?”

“I mean I expected a little bit of a fight. Or at least… I don’t know. Questions.”

“Do you want questions?”

You look at him.

“I don’t know.”

“Okay. Well. Why are you ending things.”

You flop onto your back. Look at the ceiling. The way the lights of the city reflect paley onto the white surface. They look like ghosts.

“I don’t really know.”

He pulls you to him, rolling you onto your side and tangling your hands together. “Okay.”

And then the two of you just lie there, staring at the ceiling in silence, the weight of your decision, of this ending, settling over you with a concrete taste. There’s something uncomfortable in this kind of silence. But it’s not him, it’s not an awkwardness, or the building of tension or resentment. None of that lies between you. It’s the fact that within the silence the answers rise up in you, and you find the words spilling from your mouth.

“I don’t want it to be complicated, Yoongi.”

He waits a moment before responding. “Is it complicated?”

“Well.” You sigh. “No. Not with us. Us is easy. I feel like I can tell you what I need or what I want and I trust you to be able to either give me that or set a boundary.”

Yoongi hums. “I feel the same. So then if it’s not us...?”

“I made a mistake tonight. Crossed a line I shouldn’t have crossed.”

His brow furrows. “Not with me you didn’t. I don’t underst—”

“Not you. It’s me. It’s — it’s always me. I don’t want things to spin out of control. And I feel like they’re about to.”

Yoongi is silent for a long moment.

“I don’t want you to feel that way.” He pulls you closer to him, his grip tightening on your hip. “Really.” You stare down at your intertwined hands. “Look at me.” He waits until you do, summoning an inner strength you didn’t know you needed to look at your friend. “There’s a part of me that wonders how much of this is you punishing yourself for something that you don’t have any reason to be punishing yourself for.”

You can’t help the nervous laugh that shoots from your chest.

“What!? Are you laughing at me!?”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “Just… I don’t know what it is, but if anyone were to look right through me and see everything that’s going on, it’s you.”

He smiles softly.

“Do you want to stay tonight?”

Do you want your friend to wrap himself around you? Pull you in tight to his warm chest? Remind you of the summer that lies on the other side of this long, long winter?

“No,” you say slowly. “I think I need some space. To… process.”

He nods. “Well, as my newest friends with benefits ex, I agree, you should probably leave. You know. So it doesn’t get awkward.” He grins.

“Yeesh, you’re so quick to kick me out.”

“I know. I guess I just need some space. You know. To process, too. Grieve.” He paints a fake frown on his face and does a dramatic rendition of a very gross sniffle.

You giggle.

“Yeah, yeah, sure.”

Together you get out of bed, Yoongi — for once — rifling through his room in search of your clothes. With every piece of clothing you put on, you feel like you take another step backwards. Away from Yoongi, away from the vulnerability in you that feels like it tears open everytime he looks at you. His comfort. Each new piece of fabric is another wall resurrected. But when you go to hook your bra behind your back, he steps behind you, taking the straps from your hands and gently hooking the clips together.

“Here.”

When he’s done, his fingers linger on your skin just a moment too long.

“Thanks,” you say softly, turning back to him.

His eyes are still blown wide, his hair perfectly disastrous. There’s something so deadly soft about him. He looks just as he did when you marched into his bedroom earlier in the night. And yet, on the other side of this night, you feel like a totally different person. As if the stranger inside of you has finally stepped forward and introduced herself.

You turn away hastily, heading to the living room. He follows and pulls your jacket from the couch and helps you into it.

Shoes on, jacket on, you’re all ready to walk out the door. And still you linger. Yoongi glances at his watch.

“Well, I’d say six hours is a proper mourning period. Breakfast tomorrow?”

“How about brunch? I’m not getting up at 9am for eggs.”

“Oh and I’m the one who needs space huh?” He smiles softly. “11am. You’ll get up at 11am and I’ll buy you a breakup brunch.”

“Yeah,” you smile up at him. Even as you taste the edge of fear — of anxiety — on your tongue, there is still a kind of undeniable warmth that blossoms in your chest every single time you look at him.

You broaden your smile. Push it down.

There’s one last thing.

“And—”

But he already knows what you’re asking. He steps forward, taking your head between his hands and pressing a kiss to your forehead. The shock that runs through you is quick and cold.

“I know,” he says. “This’ll still be our little secret.”

When he steps back, there’s something soft in his gaze — too soft, you can’t help but think. Tenderness, surrounded by acceptance and strength. All the things that make Yoongi, well, Yoongi. And yet it feels like too much to handle. Too much to be looked at, to be seen, to be understood when you can barely wrap your mind around what’s going on.

“Sleep well, buttercup.”

Different taxi, different driver, different route.

“Home,” you tell the woman at the wheel when you give her your address, her over-bleached and curly hair forming a kind of halo around her in the seat.

“You got it,” she says smacking her gum and throwing you a wayward smile.

As the car pulls away from the curb and picks up speed, you feel a kind of numbness wash over you.

It was the right decision to end things with Yoongi, you remind yourself, even as you feel a kind of twinge in your chest. You haven’t lost a friend. In fact, you’ve probably preserved your friendship. Saved it from wandering into the brambly bushes of complication and ultimate destruction. Even if it means the loss of killer sex.

You phone dings, and you instinctively brush a hand over your body to make sure you left with all the clothes you arrived in.

When you look at your phone, it’s not who you imagine. It’s not what you imagine.

tae: I forgot how loud you are when you orgasm.

You choke, hand snapping up quickly to cover your mouth.

“You alright, hun?” the driver asks.

“Yeah, yeah, just fine,” you say, but your voice is strained. You immediately type out your response.

you: fuck. i’m so sorry. you: it won’t happen again.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, embarrassment and confusion tightening around your throat. How much more can you really take tonight? Hobi, then Yoongi — now this? You tap your foot as you wait for the response, which takes just a minute to pop up on your phone.

tae: oh… well that’s too bad. I actually didn’t mind it all that much.

Oh.

Before you know what you’re doing, you’re typing out your response — and turning down the brightness as if it will hide the loudness of your message from the world.

you: is that right?

tae: i said it didn’t i? ive always been a man of my word. brings me back to the old days, in a way.

you: oh?

tae: you know…

you: do i?

tae: you do.

you: it’s been a while. why don’t you remind me?

tae: you’re playing coy tonight. two very loud orgasms and you’re still not done playing?

you: i’d send that shrugging emoji but i can’t find it you: what can i say? I can be needy

tae: should i remind you tae: when we used to park behind the grocery store tae: there was never anyone around but you’d still get so shy and embarrassed tae: and try to cum without a sound tae: but i didn’t hear a single note of shame or restraint tonight tae: shamelessness looks good on you tae: **sounds good on you

you: you were always quite shameless yourself

tae: it gets me far in life

You blink down at your phone, not really sure what to say. Taehyung’s hearty banter is something you’re used to. Even after all these years, your quick back and forth was still twinged with the smallest teasing edge of sexual interest. But you had always kept it within strict boundaries, never returning to your previous relationship, never suggesting—

tae: but my question is how far will it get me with you?

Your breath freezes in your throat. Never suggesting that you return to anything of the past.

tae: jk tae: unless…?

Taehyung’s sexually laced messages have your head spinning round and round on its pedestal. It’s not as if you had never thought about it, never considered it. But there was a line there, was there not? A line you shouldn’t cross, shouldn’t even think of crossing, no matter how you wanted to. With a deep breath, you respond.

you: i don’t know if we should be having this conversation right now?

tae: why? because you’re my ex? or because of Jin?

Before you can even manage to type out the long list of reasons why you shouldn’t be dipping your toes into the perilous waters of sexting your very happily taken ex, the screen is lighting up again.

tae: if it’s the latter, don’t worry. he’s here too. tae: he says to tell u you’re hot tae: which is news to me tae: not that you’re not hot, but that he thinks that tae: and he says hes “sorry he missed the show earlier”

you: tbh that was NOT the response i was expecting to get.

tae: we’re very open about these things. he’s quite… encouraging actually

As if this is the opening, you walk through it.

you: in what way?

tae: he likes visibility in a specific way. he likes to watch. likes to be watched and… the attention, especially when its directed at me, especially when he knows that at the end of the day i’m crawling back into his bed

Your heart races in your chest.

tae: sorry, maybe that’s tmi.

you: don’t apologize. i don’t mind tmi

tae: then i won’t apologize.

you: good.

tae: good 😂 tae: you know, i liked it.

you: sorry, liked what?

tae: hearing it tae: hearing you cum

you: did you?

tae: more than i expected

you: more than you should?

tae: that’s not what i said

you: well, like i mentioned, it won’t happen again

tae: why not? You finally get me to admit i didn’t mind it and now you’re telling me i won’t get more? :(

You chew on your bottom lip before responding.

you: it’s complicated.

tae: an orgasm is never complicated.

you: …

tae: but you know what is complicated? tae: feelings. tae: you’re having feelings. tae: oh my god you’re in love with yoongi

you: i am nOT in love with yoongi you: surprisingly it has very little to do with yoongi

Even as you send the text, you know that’s not entirely true.

tae: okay, then what’s going on??? pls don’t play cryptic with me, it’s too late for that shit

you: i don’t even know what’s going on.

tae: oh. tae: so we’re talking big boy emotions

you: i don’t have *emotions*

tae: you’re a fucking liar

you: hey you: language

tae: alright then let me rephrase it tae: what are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your heart catches in your throat. Oh.

“We’re here,” the taxi driver says, and your head snaps up from the light of your phone to see your apartment complex towering high and familiar above you.

“Oh!” You blink yourself from your reverie and hand the woman the cash for the ride. “Keep the change.”

“Thanks,” she says, twisting around to look at you as you skootch across the backseat. “Hey—” You pause, looking at her. The orange glow of the streetlights rings like a halo around her head. “You take care of yourself, alright?”

“Alright,” you smile and nod.

A haze settles around your body as you climb out of the taxi. The hard edge of soberness and the sharpness of the winter air mixes and shocks life back into you as his question rings around your head. What are you so afraid of will happen if you let yourself feel?

Your breath feels strained as you climb the echoing stairs to your home. The sound of the key fitting into the lock rings with a harsh click, but it brings you back into your body, to the little marks where Yoongi’s hands dug into you, to the confusion that rattles around your mind, and finally, and most devastatingly, the warmth that has sunk deep and inextricably into your heart.

The apartment is dark when you enter.

“Namjoon?” you call out.

No one answers. You don’t bother to flick on the lights as you feel your way blindly through the darkness, hand brushing against the soft fabric of your sofa, the bumpy texture of the wall, and finally the cold knob of your door. Instead of pushing the door open though, you lean against it, taking what feels like the first full breath of the night.

You look at the screen of your phone, Tae’s question, his voice, spiraling around your head. With a shaky breath you respond, fingers flying across the blue light of the screen.

you: something feels off. I don’t… i don’t want to mess anything up. I feel like the only way to keep things in order is to keep myself out of it all.

tae: can i call you?

you: yeah. Joon’s not home.

You finally press into your room. All that silver light from the city reflects off of the white flakes that flutter softly down from the sky. It spills onto your bed like a pool of molten silver, waiting, chilled and cold for you. You flop down onto it, your breath coming out in a long huff.

When your phone rings, there’s a second of hesitation before you hit the answer button.

“Hello?” your voice is shakier than you expected.

“One second.”

You hear the rustling sound of Tae getting out of bed and the door shutting.

“If I can hear you orgasming, Yoongi sure as hell can hear a phone call,” Tae whispers, a slight chuckle to his voice. “Unless you’re just always unreasonably loud.” You can imagine the sly smile that plays across his lips right now. Another door opened and shut and he sighs. “There. Sorry about that.”

“It’s okay,” you say. “I…”

You trail off. You don’t know what to say. Don’t know what there is to say.

He says your name softly into the phone, the syllables forming such a familiar shape on his tongue. “Are you okay?”

“I...I don’t think so. I don’t feel great.”

“You’re home? Safe?”

“Yeah. I’m home.” You look around your room. Art on the walls, your little desk the messiest place in the room, stacked high with papers and photos and plants.

“Good.” Taehyung takes a long breath. “So. Tell me what’s going on.”

You want to. But your voice freezes in your throat and you can feel the way your silence falls around him.

After breaking up at nineteen, you and Taehyung had always remained friends. The truth was that even though you loved each other, you were so caught up in the physicality of it all that the rest of your relationship — and your relationships outside of that — began to deteriorate. No more sex, you both had decided. And at the time, that meant no more romance. There weren’t lingering feelings of resentment, but you did know — because you both talked about it — that you were both plagued with the lingering question of what if. What if…. But the answer was simple. You both needed more than what the other could offer.

Best friend turned lover turned best friend. If the lingering sexual tension was the only consequence of that, you could handle that. And if you were honest with yourself, you enjoyed it, in a safe, flattering kind of way.

But the reality was that the consequence of your relationship wasn’t limited to just a couple of sex dreams here and there or comments about your former sex life thrown about as jokes. The truth was that there was a permafrost of cautiousness that sat like a layer of ice beneath all of your interactions; one that only thawed away after midnight or a second drink.

Right now, the clock on the wall reads: 3:12am.

“You don’t have to tell me—”

“No — I want to.” You shake your head. “I should… I should talk to someone about this.” You take a deep breath as the sharp images of tonight’s events spiral around your mind. When you speak, it comes out a whisper. “I kissed Hobi tonight.”

“Oh. Shit.”

“Or he kissed me. I don’t really — don’t really understand what happened, we were just standing there and had both had some drinks and suddenly it was happening and I should have kept everything within the normal boundaries, I shouldn’t have done it, shouldn’t have overstepped our friendship, but we kissed and I…” Your voice trails off.

“And you liked it,” Taehyung finishes for you.

“Yeah,” you say softly. “I did.”

“And it scared you.”

“Yeah.”

“And then you both ran away from it.”

“Yeah.”

“And your way of running away from it was to go fuck Yoongi again, huh.”

“Goddamnit, Tae,” you huff, annoyed by how right he is.

Taehyung chuckles. “Babe, I’ve known you way too long for me to not pick up on these kinds of things. These kinds of patterns.”

“Patterns?”

Taehyung sighs through the phone. “I love you, dude, but… yeah. Yeah. It’s a pattern.”

As you let his words sink into you, you realize. It is a pattern.

“Can I be honest with you?” he asks. “Do you really want to know what’s going on here?”

You laugh softly, even as fear nibbles at your heart. There’s a part of you that wants to turn into blindness. That wants to shield your heart from the reality of the situation. From the reality of yourself.

But there’s also something about facing into the truth — clear and cold like the night waiting just beyond your window. You want the shock of truth through your body, glaring and sharpened like ice. Because at the end of the day, you’ve had enough of this numbed ignorance.

“Yeah. Go for it.”

“This might be out of the blue. And you might not want to hear it. I could be totally off—”

“Tae, it’s okay. I want to hear it.”

He takes a deep breath. “But maybe… just maybe, it’s time to think about the way you push people away.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you whisper, although the reality of what he’s saying is already dawning on you, even if it’s at a glacial pace.

“How you let people in just long enough, just far enough, to let them see something authentic of you. But you don’t really let them take any real stake in your life.”

“Oh. Yeah.”

“And that’s okay!” He adds quickly. “At least, it has been okay. We do what we need to do to keep ourselves safe, but… I think you’re past that all now.” You take a shuddering breath and he pauses. “That place in your life where you need to keep the walls and the rules so strict for fear of falling. You’re not there anymore, babe. Maybe it’s time to start looking at the wall that you’ve built and considering letting yourself tear it apart.” And then, so softly you think his voice might be made of something as delicate as a flower petal: “You know, maybe it’s time to think about how you want to start letting love in again. Because you deserve it.”

It’s not until you brush your hand against your cheeks that you realize they’re wet. You look down at your fingertips, glistening with fallen tears, shining silver in the snowlight.

“Fuck, Tae.”

Taehyung lets loose a light, but pained, chuckle.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” You sniffle. “Goddamn it.”

Silence settles between the two of you. Tears slip silently down your face as you hold the phone to your ear. You can hear him breathing softly on the other end, but Taehyung doesn’t say anything. It’s as if he knows you need a minute to process.

His words slide right under your skin. Directed straight at the thing that has felt so heavy in your chest all night now, it’s as if the whole thing has been broken open within you. Suddenly, you can see it all.

The past years, this game of cat and mouse with your own vulnerability. This façade of carefully curated openness and faux vulnerability. All of the things that you kept as reminders of your freeness, your unlocked heart — the hookups, the fast and furious romances that ended in nothing but silence, the friendships you kept so carefully defined — were actually all just markers of the opposite:

A deep and abiding fear that if you let someone love you, a fear that if you let them close enough to really, truly see you, they might see something they won’t like.

Better to keep things clearly organized. Clearly marked and known and understood. That way you’d know exactly when things were spinning out of control and when someone was just about to get too close.

“You know, there are so many ways to love,” Taehyung says. “It doesn’t just have to be in that one way of fucking and falling in love and then a big white marriage, tada! the end. And, uh, it’s okay to want love. It’s really, really okay, actually. In whatever weird way love shows up for you, even if it’s not the traditional way. It’s even more okay to let yourself have that love, even if you don’t know what it is — don’t know what to call it.”

When your breath comes out shaky and ridden with tears, you can hear a soft oh echo through the phone.

“Hey,” Taehyung says with all the love in the world laced so delicately through his voice. “It’s okay. It might not feel like that right now. But opening up again — if, you know, if that’s what you want — that’s something you can do. It can be done.”

“I-I do, Tae. I don’t want this anymore. I don’t want to keep fighting this.”

It’s as if you can hear his smile through the receiver.

“That makes me really happy to hear,” he says.

“Where do I even begin?” It comes out a whisper, your voice cracked from the tears that have begun to slow. You’re half afraid to even hear the answer. Half afraid to walk down the path riddled with your greatest fear.

“I think you begin by going to sleep. And in the morning I’ll call you. And I’ll keep calling you. And we’ll work through this together. You know, this isn’t something that you have to do alone.”

You’re silent.

“You’re in bed?” crackles through the phone.

“Yeah?”

“Go put on some pjs and go to sleep. You don’t have to do this all in one night.”

You nod, wiping the rest of the tears from your face and sniffling. “Yeah.”

“Alright. I love you to the moon and back, no matter what. You know that. Right?”

You close your eyes. For a second you imagine accepting that it’s true. It fills your chest with a new kind of warmth. One you want to sink into.

“Yes,” you say. “I love you too, Tae.”

“Get some rest then. Goodnight.”

“G’night.”

The dial tone clicks and the room falls into complete silence. Only the sound of your breath breaks through, too loud and uncomfortable amidst the darkness. But still, you climb out of bed, dump some water on a towel and wipe at your face, and change into the largest t-shirt you can find in your drawer.

Tonight, you dream the first dream of many in a line that will haunt you — and spark you back to life. It’s Yoongi, his body pushing you up against the ice cold glass, his hands in your hair, his lips whispering, over and over and over again: Is it complicated?

In the morning, you lay awake, just feeling the way your breath falls heavily in your chest. You text Yoongi to tell him you can’t meet up. You look outside.

The world is covered in a blanket of snow. Unrecognizable. Beautiful. Washed clean.

Something hopeful flutters in your chest.

When you look down, your hands are clutching the collar of your sleep shirt. With a deep breath, you wrap your arms around your torso in a hug.

“I don’t really know how to do anything else other than this,” you admit to Tae one day over the phone, flourishing a hand you know he can’t see to emphasize the point you know he already understands.

“Well. I don’t know how much of it is really choosing to be different. Instead, maybe you ought to try looking at it like an undoing. Whenever you match up against that impulse to run, think about sitting with it. Feeling it. And then choosing to move in another direction. Yeah,” he says, and you can tell he’s nodding on the other end of the phone. “An undoing.”

What does this kind of undoing look like? you wonder.

When the world comes to a screeching halt around you, you don’t expect to find your answer. The reality of the pandemic and quarantine — the emptiness of it, the long, drawn out days that feel long and drawn out when you’re in them but that then seem to blend together into one long, monotonous, anxiety riddled day and leave you wondering and wishing for the end — it’s hard. It’s hard in that quiet way that’s easy to ignore and push off, and hard in the way that there’s a big ache in your chest every time you go to sleep, one that crawls straight into your throat and sits there until the morning. It’s hard, and you learn to live with it. It’s hard, but somehow it brings you what you need. When distance seems to be the defining feature of your life, you don’t expect to find clarity. But you do. As you sink into the new routine of quarantine and pandemic life, and as life begins in a new rhythm with new rules and new realities — slowly and wildly new and sometimes horrific — it becomes clear to you.

What does this kind of undoing look like?

It looks a lot like feeling the emptiness in your home when Namjoon is away. Silence louder, space smaller. You find yourself reflected back to yourself, as if you are staring in a mirror.

It looks a lot like distraction. Emotional exhaustion turning into physical. You do distract — and it’s good — with a new drama or a new hobby. Exercising in your room until your cheeks are flushed. Cooking something new and delicious every night. Or sometimes just letting the small rectangle of light in your hand absorb you until the lingering discomfort is numbed, until you’re ready to fall asleep.

It looks like listening to your thoughts, really, truly listening, for the first time. Hearing the stories that you’ve built up in your head over the ears and how deeply they’ve sunk into your reality. It looks like noticing them, and wanting them to change. It looks like standing in the empty hallway of your apartment, feeling it all, and deciding to do something about it.

It looks like weird-ass sex dreams. Once dreamless nights are repopulated with strange and specific sexual fantasies featuring none other than your seven gorgeous friends in various states of undress and revelry.

It looks like letting people in again. Laughing on the phone until tears well up in your eyes. Building up the courage to tell Jimin about your vivid, even pornographic dreams. Writing letters when facetime just doesn’t do it anymore. Telling your friends just how much they mean to you, even when that voice warns you that you ought to keep your feelings held tight to your chest.

It looks like falling asleep one night, the traffic of the city now quieted by reduced travel, and the silence offering you a new kind of truth:

Love can be without limitation.

Love can be without limitation. It is allowed to flow from you without doubt or embarrassment. It is allowed to exist in the world — and in you — without needing to be reciprocated or validated. And you are allowed to ask for it. To demand it from life, even if, at times, it feels like the only place it pours forth from is from that great gaping space in your chest.

The phone rings a couple of times before it’s cut off in the middle of a digital brrng. You’re ready to hear the familiar buzz of a robotic voice reading: the caller you are trying to reach is not available—

But instead, the deep, heady voice you’re so familiar with comes over the speaker.

“Hello?”

“Hoseok?” His name feels foreign on your tongue. After all this time, pushing it away, pushing him away, welcoming his name back into your body feels almost like a fresh rain, washing away the dust on your skin.

“The one and only,” he chuckles. “What’s up?”

A ball of emotion wells up in your throat and the phone line hangs in silence as you try to glue together what you want to say, what you had practiced to say, what you should say. But it feels as if it’s all disappeared.

“I thought—”

“Did I mess up?” he blurts.

You blink in confusion. “What? No, I—”

“That night, I had so much to drink, I’m worried that… I messed up, that— ”

“You didn’t do anything wrong, Hoseok.”

You can hear the breath release from his lungs and shudder through the phone. “Oh.” It’s silent for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”

“I just…” You close your eyes. Take a deep breath. “I just miss you.”

“I miss you like there’s an ocean between us,” he says, laughter mixed with sincerity threading through his voice.

“It feels like there’s ocean between us,” you sigh.

“I know,” he says, too quickly for him to realize the meaning behind your words. “But I promise this will all be over soon, babe. How long can something like this really last? In no time it’ll all be done with and I’ll be right back beside you. Right?”

You smile. “Right.”

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

Text

nobody does it like you do - act 2

Thank you so much for all your reactions to part 1! I hope you enjoy part two just as much :)

CW: mentions of past minor character death (incl. a pregnant woman)

7.3k - masterlist - ao3

Her first day of shooting isn’t great. It’s not bad by a long way, but it could have easily been better. They’re on location in a forest somewhere in the outskirts of Rifthold and she didn’t even know there were places in the city like this, she’d assumed it was all the sprawling metropolis of skyscrapers and crowded streets, but apparently not.

She’s cold. There’s a machine beating down torrents of fake rain on her and Fenrys where they stand opposite each other on the muddy path through the trees, they’re filming the scene where their characters first meet. Her feet are soggy inside the canvas trainers she’s wearing and they keep spraying water on her hair to keep the wet look running throughout all of the takes and she hates it. She’s uncomfortable and stiff but she comforts herself with the knowledge that Fenrys is the same if the frown he wears whenever the camera isn’t on him is anything to go by.

It helps, barely.

She keeps having to spit water out of her mouth between lines, she swears it never rains this heavily in real life but who is she to comment, and she watches Rowan’s lips twist in displeasure where he sits behind the camera every time she does it. Aelin’s not sure what else she’s supposed to do, he can sit there out of the line of the water all fine, but she can’t speak with her mouth full.

It can take time to fall into the natural rhythm of shooting a new project, even the shitty ones she’s done in the past have shown her that, but there’s something about the way Rowan watches her that prickles the back of her neck, his stare intense and heavy as he watches, that adds the pressure. She wants to show him that she can do this. She wants his approval.

She ignores the reasons why.

After they finish and Rowan has called cut she sulks back to her trailer, she’s only just managed to change out of her sodden clothes when there’s a knock at the door. It’s Fenrys, warm and dry now in his own change of clothes.

They’ve sort of become friends recently, after swapping numbers after the table read he had texted her first. The studio has put him in the same complex as her and they’ve shared a car back there a couple of times after some of their meetings. She likes him a lot actually, and while she knows his reputation of infamy with the ladies follows him around like a bad smell, she feels comfortable with him.

“That could have gone better,” he tells her as he flops down onto the two-seater sofa at the end of her trailer, the other half has a mound of clothes dumped on it that she hasn’t bothered to sort through yet.

She just shoots him a look that she hopes says tell me about it.

“Tomorrow will be better,” he tells her, reassuringly. He would know she supposes, he has far more experience than her.

“I hope so.”

“How’re you finding it so far, working with Rowan?” he asks, and she frowns, bristling at the fact that he somehow knows the worst question to ask already. Aelin doesn’t think she’s behaved weirdly around Rowan since the day at the table read, in fact she’s tried to avoid him where possible. Maybe that’s it.

“Fine,” she says, but that’s not quite true. It messes with her in a dangerous way every time she knows he’s watching her. She should be able to turn that part of her brain off during a scene, she trained for years to learn how to do that, but he gets to her. She’s working on it.

Fenrys laughs, seeing right through her.

“He’s not bad once you get to know him, the first time we worked together I thought he was a total dick.” She gives him the same look as before as she clears the clothes and sits down next to him.

“I swear he’s not that bad. He’s just-” Fenrys pauses, weighing her up with a look, and something that he takes in from the way she stands, gnawing on her lower lip with her hair still wet, has him saying; “He’s got a lot riding on this.”

“Why?”

It doesn’t feel like he has a lot riding on this, his last piece was nominated for the Oscars, how much higher than that can you get? It’s not like he’s in the same position as her, desperately clawing herself back to a place where she can be cast in a role and it not be followed by a stunned, oh?

She knows there were articles written when her casting was announced that were doubtful of her ability to do this movie, that questioned whether she’s up to the task and whether she’s good enough to be standing next to names like Fenrys and Rowan. Some of the articles were straight up mean, and she only knows that because she searched them up like a masochist when all the ones Elide sent over were far too nice.

A dark part of herself can’t help but fall prey to some of the headlines. The ones that throw around words like nepotism, the ones that question whether Aelin is talented enough to be where she is cut deeper than any knife, and only half of it is because she sometimes wonders the same. She should be better than that, but the reminder catches in her throat that she really does have a lot riding on this.

“It’s not really my place to say.”

That’s a load of shit, and she tells him so. He only shrugs, not willing to so openly gossip about their boss.

“How well do you know him exactly?” She’s fishing for any details, but it definitely could be passed off as casual curiosity.

“He directed my debut, we keep in touch every so often.” He’s nonchalant. “He asked me to audition for this.”

“Nice humble brag.”

Fenrys only flashes her his movie star grin, in combination with the wink he throws at her it’s almost an effort not to blush.

“He wanted you cast, you know?” That she didn’t know, but it’s nice to hear.

“Why? He doesn’t know me.”

“You’re hard work, you know?” He’s joking but it doesn’t sit quite right. She knows it’s true. “Come with us tonight. There's a group of us getting dinner, and you can ask him yourself.”

It’s an olive branch. She knows it’s obvious to everyone that she’s uncomfortable, still hasn’t quite found her feet on set after taking such a break, and it’s one that she’s grateful for. No matter how closed off she knows she still seems to them.

“Okay,” she says and Fenrys’ smile is genuine and a part of her lifts, it’s a start.

They share a car to the restaurant and he fills the journey with easy chatter. She appreciates it because she feels really fucking rusty. It’s been a while since she spoke to anyone outside of her immediate circle of friends and family, and it’s always been easy with them. This is different, but not unwelcome.

Sometimes she worries that, as much as they love her, Aedion, Lysandra and Elide are inclined to tread lightly around her. She’d like to think that she’s not that fragile, that she could take the full front of their humour and teasing like she used to, but then remembers when Fenrys’ joke fell flat for her in the trailer and she thinks again.

Either way, the cast and crew here don’t treat her like she’s broken, or even breakable, and it’s refreshing.

Fenrys leads the way into the restaurant, and there’s definitely paparazzi down the street snapping away at them as they cross the short distance from the car to the door. She tries to ignore it, she’ll text Elide once they’re done here, even though Elide will probably be overjoyed. It’s probably (definitely) easier to publicise your talent when she’s out there doing things with other famous people compared to staying inside her home alone.

Fenrys greets the staff on the door and they lead them through the restaurant to a staircase at the back of the room and it leads up to a private space with only one table. Right, privacy. Some of these guys are proper celebrities.

They’re the last ones there, and there’s two seats left at the table. Manon is here, so is Rowan and one of the executive producers who she thinks is called Gavriel.

“Alright guys, you all know Aelin,” Fenrys says and she smiles as they greet her.

Fenrys holds a chair out for her, the one next to Rowan, and she slides into it as he takes the one on her other side.

Rowan offers her a quirk of his lips, one she returns as she takes him in. He’s wearing short sleeves this time and she gets a good look at the tattoo snaking the whole way down his left arm. It’s in the Old Language and she can’t read it, even though her father had spent hours trying to teach her when she was a kid, but the lettering is beautiful and neat. She wants to reach out and touch, to trace the lines that roll down his golden skin.

She doesn’t. Obviously.

A waiter comes over to take their drink orders, Fenrys gets a beer, Manon and Gavriel opt for wine, but Rowan asks for an orange juice. He’s not drinking either and she wonders if it’s related to the reason he needs this movie to go well. So she’s nosy? So what?

She sits back and observes as the conversation flows, laughing along at the easy banter that flows between the three men and the sarcastic quips Manon throws in. Fenrys clearly understated his relationship with Rowan, they seem tight and have a clear fondness for one another. It’s easy to slot herself in as the night progresses, snarking with Manon and joining in with the general light-hearted mockery of Fenrys.

She thinks maybe so far she’s got Rowan wrong.

Tonight he’s quick-witted and charming, and he makes his best effort to include her in the conversation which she appreciates. It’s a contrast to the dark and teasing side of him she’s seen so far in the hallway and the table read. Maybe he’s decided to just start again, pretend they never met before she was cast, and she can do that too.

“So, Aelin.” Manon turns the spotlight to her after a while. “Tell us the scoop. I’ve not seen you in anything for a while.”

It’s not a nasty question, Aelin can just tell from the way she asks it, nothing more than genuine curiosity lies in her tone even if the phrasing is somewhat harsh. Manon might not be the bubbliest of characters, she’s blunt and doesn’t beat around the bush, but she’s not unkind, and Aelin doubts if she knew the truth she’d ask that question in such a way.

Elide managed to keep the worst of her… career break? One could phrase it more like breakdown, out of the limelight. She somehow managed to keep the worst of it hidden, and Aelin will owe her that for the rest of her life.

All the world knows is that Sam was murdered when they were both still newbies to their respective industries, neither of them had had their big break yet, and after that she took a break. For three years.

She remembers the headlines from the time, most were in smaller magazines, Sam wasn’t famous enough to make the front pages. Her mouth tastes like bile.

Singer-Songwriter Sam Cortland, 20, murdered in random street attack in Orynth, girlfriend Aelin Ashryver unharmed and working with police to identify suspect.

No one knows she knelt there in his blood begging for him to open his eyes, not even Aedion, or Lysandra or Elide, and she blinks back the image now. Her hands are curled into fists below the table and she forces herself to uncurl them and lay them flat against her jeans.

“Yeah,” she says after clearing her throat. “I took a break from it all for a few years, but I’m back now obviously and really excited for it.”

Manon nods and Gavriel raises a glass. He’s been nothing but kind to her all night. He kind of reminds her of her father, though he’s not that old, probably not even forty yet. He’s softly spoken and counters each snarky comment from Fenrys or Manon with something softer but no less amusing.

“Good to hear,” Fenrys says with a grin, clinking his glass against Gavriel’s.

The way Rowan watches her as he raises his own glass in a toast to her, careful and without speaking, tells her he knows. At least the basics about Sam, and it seems like maybe he did google her just like she joked back at the table read.

Their meals arrive then, mercifully taking the attention away from her. She needs to find a better way to deal with the attention than shutting down, especially if this film is going to be as big as everyone thinks it will be. She should call her therapist.

She will.

Eventually.

They leave the restaurant not long after, Fenrys covering the bill, emphasising that this was a celebration and an initiation for Aelin. She almost blushes for some unknown reason at his words, but she likes it. It sounds good. Like she really is back, or at least will be.

They each give her their numbers, and she likes the way he’s in her phone now as Rowan rather than Rowan Whitethorn, it feels like he’s not just someone from work. Not just her boss.

They each say goodbye and share a series of embraces, ignoring the small group of paparazzi that follow, desperate for any kind of incriminating image of any of the five of them. It’s clear that most of them are here for Fenrys, but she still makes sure to keep her expression clear and guarded as Rowan wraps her into a one-armed hug when they leave. It’s not just for the paparazzi.

Back in her apartment, when she’s tucked up in bed knowing she should be asleep, she can’t stop herself from googling him. She’s honestly surprised she’s lasted this long.

The first few news articles to come up are all about the movie and she scrolls past them, instead pulling up his Wikipedia page and scrolling straight to the personal life section. Maybe this is the weirdest way anyone’s ever got to know a friend, but she’s intrigued and still slightly flustered by him so it will do.

The section on his personal life is relatively bare, and it doesn’t surprise her. His Instagram account alone told her pretty explicitly that he’s a private kind of guy. She almost scrolls away after the first few lines, they don’t give her much information other than the college he went to and the languages he speaks, but she reads the final few lines of the section anyway.

In March 2018 Whitethorn’s fiance, Lyria Woods, passed away as the result of a road traffic accident. The driver of the other vehicle was found to be under the influence of alcohol at the time of the accident and was later sentenced to 6 years in prison for death by dangerous driving. Woods was 12 weeks pregnant with their child at the time of the accident.

Only a couple of weeks after the Oscars that she and Lysandra watched. She does the maths and realises this is his first film since then and thinks she knows what Fenrys meant.

Fucking shit.

Her second day of shooting goes better than the first, just as Fenrys said it would.

She’s more relaxed when she crosses the set from her trailer with a coffee in hand and she thinks she knows her place a little better now, even after only one night spent with the others.

She lies back while her make up is done, chatting to the make-up artist instead of sitting silently like the day before, and she’s almost ready for the discomfort that her wet hair will bring. The weather adds to the atmosphere of the film, dark and dreary and moody, and she gets why they’re doing it, but it still sucks.

Fenrys is ready when she gets there, and while she’s not avoiding Rowan today after finding out about his… past, she just finds it difficult to look him in the eye knowing what she does. He probably wouldn’t be surprised that she knew, if it’s on Wikipedia it’s public knowledge and they have made jokes about googling each other, but she feels weird in a way that she didn’t learn it from him. It feels intrusive, or invasive, to find out about something like that through Wikipedia.

But even though they bonded somewhat last night, and he greeted her this morning with an easy hey, they’re still not close. No matter that she thinks she might want them to be. She’s trying again to ignore the way she feels drawn to him, the way her eyes seek him out without her permission.

She knows she kills the take. Knows it from the high five Fenrys slaps against her palm once Rowan’s called cut and from the swift nod he offers her when she glances towards him.

There seem to be two Rowan’s too, there’s the award winning director Rowan Whitethorn, and then just Rowan.

Rowan Whitethorn is cool and calculating and distant, quiet while he watches their scene from his place behind the camera, the big black headphones he uses pushed down around his neck. His eyes are as sharp as a hawk’s while he watches for all the minute details of their expressions and any improvements they could make. He doesn’t give her that many she’s pleased to note.

The way he instructs them is impressive, with clear directions and thoughtful analyses. She’s been here two days and she knows how he got the Oscar nomination, he’s scarily intelligent and seems to know exactly what’s off about a performance before she figures it out herself.

The other side to him, the side that is just Rowan is…

Just Rowan is the one she likes more.

She suspects the smile he gives her later, after they’ve nailed the bulk of the scene in one take and she’s being twirled around by Fenrys, comes from him.

She has two full days off in a row, and she decides the best use of her time is to go and stay with Aedion and Lysandra. Fenrys isn’t free, and the reason she is is that he has a load of solo scenes to shoot, and she doesn’t envy him at all.

Lysandra is ecstatic when she announces via a group text to her and Aedion that she’ll be at their house for lunchtime, and she loves it, but it makes her feel a little guilty. That she’s let it get to the point when her friend reacts like that at her promise of a visit is quite frankly appalling, but she finally feels as if she’s taken the first step. She’s on the bottom rung of the ladder, and it’s taken her a while, but she’s there now.

Aedion and Lysandra live in a disgustingly big house in a gated part of the suburbs, and she knows the house isn’t exactly what they would have chosen in an ideal world, it’s too big and garish and grey, but there are gates by the entrance and 24 hour security.

It still messes with her head that Aedion is that famous. Aedion. Her gangly cousin, always too tall for his own good, who used to pull her hair when they were kids and sneak her extra helpings of cake at family parties before her parents divorced. She doesn’t know that much about football, so little in fact that her dad and Aedion teased her relentlessly for years, but everyone tells her he’s good.

Like really good.

The salary he gets from the Ravens is more than enough proof.

She rings their front door bell and she can hear Lysandra’s quick steps before the big wooden door is pulled open.

Her friend is glowing. Her dark hair falls into waves near the end and her staggeringly beautiful face is free of any make-up and unblemished and dewy. She’s had time to get over the insecurities that come from being friends with Lysandra so it barely phases her as she wraps her arms around her friend.

“I’ve missed you,” she whispers into Lysandra’s hair. It smells like coconut and citrus and just Lysandra.

“I missed you too. So much,” Lysandra sighs as she pulls back, dragging Aelin into the house and shutting the door.

Their hallway is grand and open but there’s a pile of their shoes by the wall and a rack of coats that make it feel more homely. There are framed photos carefully arranged on the sideboard in the entry way that show the two of them with their whole family and all of their friends.

There’s one on there of Aelin and Lysandra at eighteen, their arms thrown tightly around each other while they grin massive, excited smiles at the camera, or more likely Elide behind it. She remembers the day it was taken, Lysandra had signed to her first agency and arranged to move to Rifthold, and they had taken her out to celebrate.

It was around the same time she signed for her first movie, a tiny role with two lines and twenty seconds of screen time but it got the ball rolling with her first proper acting credit, and she’ll never forget it.

A head of golden hair pokes around the kitchen doorway at the end of the hall and she lets her cousin sweep her up into a hug, swinging her up and around so her feet dangle above the floor.

“Alien, we’ve missed you.”

A stupid nickname from when they were young, the kind of young where he thought it was hilarious to replace her name with an extraterrestrial, but it only makes her smile now, squeezing her cousin tight before he puts her back down.

“Yeah, I bet you’ve been lost without me.” She beams at them, taking a moment to soak in how it feels to be with them even as Aedion rolls his eyes. “I’ve missed you both too.”

“Lunch is ready, come on,” Aedion tells her as he takes her case and drags it through the house, leaving it by the bottom of the stairs. It’s then that she spots the frilly pink apron tied around his waist.

“Alright,” she laughs. “I can’t wait to try what the domestic goddess has in store for us.”

Peals of laughter burst out of Lysandra and she grins back at her, forever grateful that they managed to keep their relationship with each other from ever impacting on their relationship with Aelin. At first she had been worried that Aedion and Lysandra would become AedionAndLysandra and that she wouldn’t have a place left with them, but she needn’t have worried, and they worked too well together for Aelin to have ever wished for anything different.

“Gods, shut up,” he mutters, slinging an arm around her shoulders and leading her to the kitchen. “So annoying, both of you.”

She grins as she hears Lysandra smack an overly dramatic kiss to his cheek.

Aedion’s a surprisingly good cook, the lunch he’s made is tasty despite being carefully planned to fit into both his and Lysandra’s strict meal plans. If they’re the cost needed to be able to live in a house like this, Aelin doesn’t want it.

“So,” Aedion says after he’s finished chewing a mouthful. “How are things going?”

He asks it with a gentle kind of sensitivity that she understands what he’s really asking. She knows it’s code for are you still sober? but she also knows he hasn’t asked it because he doubts her. Aedion and Lysandra have always been in her corner, even in her darkest moments they were there.

She never wants to put them through anything like that ever again. Never wants them to experience anything as terrifying as the last night she ever touched a drug. That night, almost a year ago now, will forever be the bottom of her pit. She doesn’t remember much of it, other than the devastation on Aedion’s face as he carried her out of the men’s toilets of a seedy nightclub in Perranth. The way he’d bitten his lip as he picked her up off the sticky floor, pulling the hem of her dress down to cover her underwear where it had ridden up.

The thought makes her sick.

He’d had to skip a game, leading to a bollocking from his coach, but he’d done it for her. Had carried her out of the club and into a car, waiting to take them back to his house. Lysandra had stroked her hair where she lay on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor while Aedion called a doctor to the house. Even through his panic he had thought of her and how little she would want it publicised that she’d been pulled out of a club, off her fucking rocker on whatever substance she’d been given by the lowlives she had fallen in with. She’s really, really lucky that for once Aedion hadn’t been followed by paparazzi.

She takes a sip of her sparkling water before she answers, it feels like all she ever drinks these days and it tastes like shit but it’s worth it if she never reverts back to where she was.

“I’m good.” She’s almost surprised to find that it’s true. “I’m feeling much better.”

She can barely look at them, can barely take the level of subdued joy on their faces.

“We’re glad Aelin, really glad.” Lysandra’s voice is sincere.

“So, how’s the new project going?” Aedion asks her, sensing her discomfort almost immediately.

“That’s good too actually.” It is. It feels good to have something positive to focus on, something that she feels is productive and worth doing. “It’s nice to be back and be busy even if the morning shoots begin disgustingly early. It’s good to be on set, surrounded by it all again and to remember that I can actually do this.”

She stabs her fork through a piece of tomato a little aggressively as she finishes and the look Lysandra shoots her tells her she’s not impressed with the self-deprecation but that she’ll let it slide for now.

“And Fenrys Moonbeam, is he really that good looking in real life?”

Aelin laughs. “More actually, sometimes it's too much.”

“Nice,” Lysandra nods appreciatively.

“Is he alright though?” Ever the overprotective older brother figure, she expected some version of this question from Aedion.

“He’s great. He’s hilarious and it really helps on the long days,” she says before taking her next bite.

“And Rowan Whitethorn’s directing isn’t he? What’s he like?”

Aelin blinks and finishes chewing slowly. “He’s… fine.”

She knows she’s fucked it when Aedion and Lysandra share a look, matching smirks beginning on each of their faces.

“Fine,” Lysandra repeats. “What exactly does fine mean Aelin?”

She purses her lips. “He’s a great director.”

Lysandra rolls her eyes. “And?”

She could probably lie here, they’d probably let it slide if she said some bullshit about how they’ve not spoken much and how she barely knows him, but she honestly needs to talk to someone about this. You know, to set her straight.

“And he’s really hot.”

She’s blushing as Lysandra laughs and Aedion chuckles.

“You’ve got a crush,” Lysandra sing-songs, and when she doesn't respond she says, “Have you got a picture of him? I don’t think I actually know what he looks like.”

She can’t blame Lysandra for that, she’s still kicking herself for not recognising him that day in the hallway, but he was only on screen for a few seconds at the Oscars and it wasn’t long after Sam so it wasn’t like she was paying attention in that way. She still thinks she should have noticed.

She pulls her phone out to find the only picture she has on there with Rowan. She had only taken it this week when they were eating breakfast with Fenrys one morning, in one of the tents that had been set up for them to sit in between takes, and Fenrys had pulled his phone out to snap a photo of her for his Instagram story.

She’d been wrapped up in one of the huge parkas they’re given for the times in between scenes holding her croissant high up in the air when he’d taken it. He’d captioned it she could have dropped her croissant and tagged her, and she’d gained a good few thousand followers. She’s almost at a million and they’re only a couple of weeks into shooting.

She had taken one of him in response and then spun around to force Rowan into a selfie with her, he’d protested but she’d pouted until he relented, grumbling something about actors that she knew he didn’t mean. She didn’t post it anywhere, she kept it to herself and she can’t lie, she’s looked at it way too many times since.

She’s smiling a wide smile, cheeks stuffed full of her croissant and it’s really kind of gross, but the small smile on Rowan’s face makes it bearable. More than bearable, she has to resist the temptation to make it her lock screen because that would be weird.

She remembers the heat of his chest where he had stood behind her to lean down so their faces were level, the hand he rested on her shoulder to steady himself and the way his fingers had brushed against her neck in the lightest caress.

She hands the phone over to Lysandra and wants to pull it back almost immediately.

It’s not that she’s embarrassed or whatever, even if they think it’s a bad idea they’d let her down gently, it's just that their opinion matters to her a lot. And while they haven’t exactly approved of her string of random hookups in the years since Sam, they’ve never tried to comment on it other than to check she’s in a good place with it, but she knows they’re waiting for the next person she sees seriously.

There’s a fairly large part of her that thinks her first relationship since Sam shouldn’t be with her boss. And that fucks her up a bit, because since when was she considering a relationship with him?

“Oh yeah,” Lysandra says, scaring away the intrusive thought and raising one perfectly arched eyebrow. “He’s hot alright.”

Aedion nods along, peering over Lysandra’s shoulder. Lysandra’s eyes are far too knowing when she looks back up at Aelin and passes the phone over. She doesn’t say a word before locking the phone and sliding it back into her pocket.

“You’ll have to invite us to set sometime.” Lysandra is sneaky but not subtle.

“I will,” she agrees.

The next week flies by, she shoots every single day but one, and she’s far too exhausted each night to do anything other than scrounge up a measly meal that can be pulled together from her cupboard basics and the limited vegetables in her fridge before falling straight asleep. They’ve made good progress so far, and she knows it's going to be good, but she’s tired.

She’s seen a lot more of the process outside of her own character by now too, and she’s amazed, but not surprised, when she persuades one of the crew to let her watch back one of Fenrys’ solo scenes from the previous week. He’s a phenomenal actor, that much is clear, but she had allowed herself to get caught up in Fenrys as her friend, the happy and funny guy she spends her time with, forgetting the talented and driven lead actor of their movie.

Not that she can forget it in the scenes they share, but she’s mostly concentrating on the emotions her character is going through, and responding to what Fenrys gives her. It almost feels too natural for him, and she forgets that it takes work.

His text meets her at lunchtime on the Sunday they both have off, when she’s still in her pyjamas on the couch, debating whether to start a new series or watch the latest cheesy rom-com that Netflix has released.

She auditioned for one of them a couple of years ago, and she’s far enough past the bitterness that comes with not getting the role that she could enjoy it. Maybe a little, cynical part of herself thinks she’s glad she didn’t get it. What she has now is far better. She’s being a snob, but she straight up doesn’t care. It’s not like anyone else is here to judge her.

Fancy coming to Rowan’s to watch the game? I’m leaving in 20 his text reads.

She didn’t plan on doing anything today, but the invitation sparks something in her, and she’s never been to Rowan’s place before. The studio put him in a house about thirty minutes from set, and she’s curious. How much luxury does the big name director get compared to what she and Fenrys have got? She’s lucky really, that Dorian managed to negotiate the same for her as they offered Fenrys.

rowan’s??? She replies, followed by what game????

She gets up off the couch, putting the lid on the tub of yoghurt she was tucking into with a spoon and walking through to the kitchen to throw it back into the fridge.

Tall, grumpy guy that bosses us around all the time comes through a minute later and she grins at her phone at the description. It’s followed up by Ravens v Panthers.

She taps out, getting changed will be ready in 15 and he replies with three smiling emojis.

She doesn’t think it will be anything fancy if her impromptu invitation is anything to go by so she only swaps her pyjama bottoms with tiny cartoon sheep down the legs for a pair of black leggings and throws a sweatshirt over her oversized t-shirt.

Manon is there when they get there, sprawled across the two seater sofa at the far side of Rowan’s living room, and she gives them both a wave when they enter the room. The house is a pretty modest, two-up two-down in a sweet neighbourhood and it’s cosy inside with relatively modern decor. She doesn’t know for sure whether or not that fits Rowan, but she feels like it does.

He doesn’t let them in, Fenrys swings the door open and marches in like it’s his own place and she wonders how much he and Rowan have hung out, or whether that’s just him. Rowan appears in the doorway about a minute after they come in, a bowl of snacks in his hand that she thinks could be popcorn and he puts it down before coming over to wrap Fenrys in a hug. They slap each other on the back in the way that guys do before pulling back.

Aelin stands at Fenrys’ side watching the exchange, unsure whether to greet Rowan or just take a seat, and once they’re done he seems to regard her with the same sort of uncertainty. Fenrys darts around Rowan to throw himself onto the other sofa and she doesn’t give herself long enough to doubt her decision before she opens her arms and steps towards him.

“Hey,” he says simply as he wraps her into a brief hug. “Thanks for coming.”

She wraps her arms around his own broad shoulders, and it feels nice. He’s warm and strong beneath her hands and the way his arms loop around her waist, so far his hands reach back around to her stomach, gets her in a way that she really doesn’t need to think about. It feels really good pressed up against him like that.

“Hey,” she breathes as he pulls back, and she knows he sees the blush on her cheeks. She’s not fifteen, she really needs to sort herself out. “Thanks for having us.”

“Of course, make yourself at home.” He gives her another half smile, offering a flash of his straight, white teeth, and again she’s struck by him. That his place is behind the camera is a crime. “I’ve got more snacks and drinks in the kitchen if you want.”

“Beer?” Fenrys asks her, already heading to a door that she assumes leads to the kitchen.

She shakes her head, “do you have sparkling water?” She directs the question to Rowan who nods.

He doesn’t have to speak before Fenrys says “on it,” and leaves the room.

She assesses the seating choices left in the room, there’s a cream two-seater sofa opposite where Manon lies, and that’s probably her best bet, but Rowan has already taken his seat on it, an ankle crossed over a knee as he settles into the cushions. There’s plenty of room to sit by him and not touch, and she weighs it up against having to ask Manon to move.

She’s friendly with the girl, but still feels slightly intimidated by the calculating and sarcastic blonde despite the fact that she’s a few years younger than Aelin herself, so maybe Rowan is the safer choice.

Fenrys comes back into the room just as she takes her seat.

“Move your feet, Blackbeak,” he demands as he hands her a glass of sparkling water, it’s chilled with a couple of cubes of ice and she appreciates it.

Manon lifts her legs for Fenrys to sit, but plops her legs back down across his lap immediately and sticks her tongue out at him as she does. Aelin feels herself smile at the display, and the fact that she’s included in this circle of friends. She hasn’t really made an effort with anyone new since Sam, the only people she’s really spoken to are Elide, Lysandra and Aedion, and they were all there for her before Sam. It feels really damn good.

She really, really, doesn’t understand the rules of football, but it’s easy enough to cheer along when the others do and laugh at their outrage when something doesn’t go their way. It’s the most animated she’s seen Rowan so far, and she’s not quite sure which way their allegiances lie, but it’s probably with the Ravens being in Rifthold and all, and she knows her own is.

Everytime Aedion gets the ball or is shown on screen she can’t hold back the cheers. She’s proud of him and she knows how hard he works to be as good as he is, and even knowing as little as she does, it's special to watch him excel.

Rowan and Fenrys both seem a little starstruck that he’s her cousin, to her he’s just Aedion and they’re the real, scary celebrities, but they gush about him like starstruck little boys.

“And you were at his house last weekend?” Fenrys cries, almost outraged that this is the first he’s ever heard of it, but honestly? They’re both Ashryvers; it’s not like it's a secret.

“Yes,” she laughs. “He’s basically like my brother.”

“Gods, Aelin.” He sounds almost pained that she hasn’t brought this up before. “You've been holding out on us! Please give me his number or introduce me or something.”

“Sorry.” She laughs again and throws a smile to Rowan that he returns with another quirk of his lips. “Invite me earlier next time and I’ll ask him to sort a box for us at the stadium.”

“Seriously?” Even Rowan sounds awed now.

“Yeah, just let me know,” she says. “It’s no big deal.”

It really wouldn't be, Aedion has been telling her for years to invite any friends she wants to games, she would just need some friends outside of him, Lysandra and Elide first.

“It’s definitely a big deal,” he says, watching her with a smirk still playing on his lips.

She shrugs. “Just make sure you text me early next time.”

“Oh, I will,” he says, and she has to look away from him. The way his voice curves around the words, all low and intense, is definitely about more than just the game.

She tries to pass it off as just looking to where Fenrys is cheering loudly at the next play, but Manon is there again, looking at her with such a knowing expression that she immediately focuses back on the TV.

At half time she needs to use the bathroom and Rowan gives her a quick rundown of the layout of the house. She’s quick to do her thing and runs by the kitchen afterwards to grab a refill of her drink and find something to eat.

Rowan had told them all to help themselves, explaining that he felt they had as much right as he to poke through the cupboards in the only just filled rental property and she gets it. The places the studio rent out for them are nice enough, and she’s more than grateful that they do, but it’s never quite home. Even if her home is somewhat impersonal, it’s still home.

She’s on her tiptoes, scanning through the relatively well stocked cupboards on the hunt for anything chocolate, when someone enters the kitchen behind her.

“I know I said help yourselves, but you’re going to eat me out of house and home at this rate.”

It’s Rowan, and he leans against the doorframe as he watches her startle and spin to face him, his legs are crossed at the ankles and his arms are folded over his chest. The pose highlights his powerful arms that she wants to be wrapped up in again and he looks really good in the dim lighting of the kitchen. It bounces off the lines of his tattoo, shining and highlighting the swirls that she can barely look away. She wants to ask what it means.

Aelin scoffs and pushes the cupboard door shut gently, they’re not eating that much and if they are it’s definitely not her, Fenrys and Manon are another story.

“There’s nothing stopping you from kicking us all out,” she says and he laughs, shaking his head.

He tilts his head to the side, his gaze picking her apart by the second before he says “maybe not all of you.”

His words and the way he shifts in the doorway as his eyes run her up and down gives her the confidence to bite her lip and look up at him through her lashes. He pushes off the door frame and comes to lean against the counter by her side.

He opens a cupboard door on her other side and rummages through a shelf before handing her a foil packet.

“I have a feeling this is what you were after.”

She accepts the chocolate and tucks it onto the counter at her side as she mirrors him and leans against it too.

“Unsurprisingly, you’d be correct.”

He presses his lips together before his lips twist again, it’s the same expression from before that she knows means he wants to smile but he can’t quite commit, and she feels her body loosen like she wants to lean forward to press into him. She doesn’t though.

What she does instead is take a sharp breath and a step back. “Thanks.” She waves the bar of chocolate in the air before stepping around him and making her way back into the living room, forcing her steps to seem calm and collected as she feels his gaze heavy on her back.

“Anytime.” His words follow her out of the room, they’re a promise.

Luckily, Fenrys and Manon both ignore it when Rowan follows her and retakes his place next to her.

#rowaelin #throne of glass #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin au #ndilyd #nobody does it like you do #cw: minor character death

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notsowrites · 3 years

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Untitled 3x01 Coda #2

I truly loved all the Forlex in the episode, and the Miluca scene was so soft - but hello?? RNM?? Where is my Malex? I demand to be fed. So I guess I will just have to write it my damn self.

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Alex watched as Michael's truck pulled into the junkyard, grinding to a halt next to his SUV. They hadn't spoken since he'd gotten back, and it was probably time. Especially with everything that'd happened with Forrest, the revelation about Deep Sky and his subsequent decision regarding them... it was a lot to process. He'd lit the fire pit when he's arrived, knowing it might be a while before Michael returned, and had settled into one of the chairs, enjoying the cool breeze of the night and finally allowing himself a moment to think about Forrest.

A moment to wonder if he's made the right decision, if he should have gotten on that bus. If down the line somewhere he was going to regret the path that he'd now set himself upon. He couldn't stop thinking about Kyle's advice, about the loneliness and isolation he'd be getting himself into by allowing himself to be recruited into their ranks.

Michael looked tired, that much Alex could see even through the darkness. His curls were wild, like he'd been running his hands through them for hours, his black cowboy hat nowhere to be found, and Alex wondered what he'd missed in the 12 hours since he'd been back in town.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

No, Alex thought, he wouldn't. It wasn't like they'd left in a great place either when he'd made the decision a year ago that he was going to clean up his father's mess so he could finally move on, move past everything regarding his fucked up family history.

"Didn't expect my night to end up here either," he replied, trying to sound friendly, and knowing he wasn't completely succeeding.

Michael stopped next to one of the empty chairs, taking in the lit fire, and nodded, his hands tightening on the metal of the back. "And where did you think you'd end up?"

Alex shrugged, looking away. He didn't know how much he wanted to tell Michael - did he tell him he'd been thinking he could make a good go of it with Forrest? That he almost got on a bus out of town with him?

"Have you ever heard of something called Deep Sky?"

The laugh Michael let out cut right through to Alex's core. He could feel the anger, the frustration - every bit of Michael's emotions as he dropped into the chair in front of him.

"You've got to be kidding me."

Michael pulled a flask out of his jacket pocket and took a generous sip, shaking his head. As Alex watched, he realized how good alcohol sounded right about now, and maybe that was what he needed to do, despite the beers he'd had at the Pony earlier with Kyle.

"Is that-"

Michael narrowed his eyes at him. "It's acetone."

After another moment, Michael stood up, tucking the flask away and pulling open the door to the trailer, disappearing inside with a slam of the metal door. Barely a moment later, it was opening again, Michael reappearing with two bottles of beer in his hand, holding one out for Alex.

"Thanks. It's been-" he sighed, realizing it was inevitable he'd be telling Michael everything that had happened to him. "It's been a night."

"You wanna talk about it?"

This was still new territory for them. Even after all the time they'd spent together uncovering the truth about Michael's mother, Alex couldn't deny his absence over the last year had probably hurt Michael. It hadn't been that they hadn't talked, hadn't had stilted, awkward phone conversations as he'd dug into Project Shepherd and his father's involvement, reporting on anything he might think Michael found useful. But talking, really opening up to one another, was still something they didn't do.

"Do you want to hear me tell you that I almost left town with Forrest?"

Michael shook his head. "But you're here."

"Yeah," Alex agreed. "I'm here."

"So what happened?" Michael immediately followed up, taking a sip of his beer.

Alex bit his lip, carefully considering his words. "There's an organization called Deep Sky - they want to recruit me. And there's a part of me - the part that has been involved in trying to figure out what Project Shepherd was doing - that wants to let them."

"But?" Michael knew him too well.

"But," Alex continued, "it would mean secrecy. It would mean cutting myself off from everyone."

"Sounds like you've already made up your mind."

"That's why I'm here, I guess," Alex realized. "I haven't. And I didn't really know - I still haven't decided."

"I'm not making that decision for you, Alex."

"I'm not-" Alex stopped, feeling himself get annoyed at Michael inferring that he was unable to make the choice himself. "I'm not asking you to."

"Then what, Alex? Why come here and tell me all of this?"

He watched as Michael finished off the beer in his hand, dropping the bottle to the ground and taking flash back out from his jacket.The words were stuck in his throat, to tell Michael that there was a part of him that wanted to do this for him. For Michael.

"This could be my chance to learn things my father never could.” He paused, knowing he had to answer Michael’s question too. “And because I still want you to know."

Silence fell between them immediately, and Alex noticed the way Michael's shoulder relaxed slightly, and he fell back against his chair.

"I came to the bus stop today," Michael said, his voice quiet, his chin tucked into his chest so he couldn't look at Alex. As if the words he was saying were something he didn't want to admit, didn't want to talk about. Alex didn't understand it - in all their years together, Michael had never held back from him. "I thought-" He cut himself off, and Alex watching him shake his head, looking away, making sure he couldn't catch Alex's gaze.

But Alex needed to know. Michael had been there? At the bus stop? Had he been so focused on Forrest that he hadn't noticed?

"I saw you," Michael continued, "-you and Forrest. So I left."

"You could have said hi."

Michael shrugged. "You looked busy."

All those years ago, when he'd left Roswell for basic as a scared and angry seventeen year old, he's been furious that Michael had gotten himself arrest and locked up. That he'd had to leave town without saying good-bye. It had been a deep hurt that had lingered for years with him, something he couldn't understand. Why had stealing hubcaps been more important?

And what could he even say to that? That Michael had shown up in that way - was he trying to right the wrong of that day more than a decade again?

But they weren't - they weren't anything anymore. Except maybe friends.

"We broke up," Alex replies instead of telling Michael he wanted him to be there at the bus stop. Instead of admitting that Michael is the only one he's ever wanted to greet him when he's returned to Roswell. Because Michael is the only person who has ever made Roswell feel like home, like he could be happy here.

"You and-"

Alex nodded. "That's how I found out about Deep Sky."

Michael glared at him, processing his words. "He was using you?"

"No!" Alex shook his head. "No, I don't think so."

Silence fell between them, the only sound crickets in the distance and the fire crackling between them in the pit. It felt nice, it felt comfortable. He wanted more of it, he wanted to do this more often.

“If I do this,” he starts, a plan devising in his mind. “I don’t want to be cut off completely. That much isolation - it can’t be good.”

Michael nodded. “So what are you going to do?”

“If they’re as desperate to recruit me as Forrest made it sound, maybe I don’t have to.” It was possible he knew, to have his own demands for his cooperation. Especially if Deep Sky was this interested in him. Perhaps he could have communication with someone, perhaps he could negotiate his won way to not be completely cut off from everyone. “I don’t want - I don’t think-”

The words stuck in his throat. Why was it so hard to say the things he wanted? He wanted Michael to be the one he told his findings to. Anything he may come across that would help him understand his own history, his people, where he came from - Alex wanted to find those answers for him.

"I meant what I said, you know," he continued, finding his voice finally. "About being friends."

"About starting over?"

Alex nods. Because that's always been their problem, hasn't it? He knows everything about Liz and Maria and Kyle from their birthdays to the favorite foods and drinks but he didn't know all those little thing about Michael. And it feels important somehow that he find them out. That he really learn who Michael is.

Because if there is one thing the past two years has shown him is it's not going to change anything between them. He's always going to love Michael.

He doesn't quite understand it, what it is about their connection that is so strong that even now, even after everything they've been through, that they're still drawn together. And maybe he can find answers with Deep Sky.

But what he does know is that he wants Michael to be the one at the bus stop waiting for him next time. Wants to know that Michael is there.

What he doesn't know is how long it may take for them to work their way back, but it's not something he plans on jumping into. Not with the fight with Forrest still so fresh.

But one day, maybe some day soon.

#roswell new mexico #malex #malex fic #alex manes #michael guerin #mentions of forlex #notso writes fanfic

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pterodactylterrace · 3 years

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Title: Guys Like You

Chapter: 2

Chapter Summary: Cat’s out of the bag now

Rating: 18+ for later chapters

Warning: None for this chapter... maybe some swear words, idk

Prologue Chapter 1

Ever had a bad day? Like, a really, really bad day? Just... one thing goes wrong, and then everything else gets progressively worse from there? Then, just when you think you've finally reached rock bottom for the day and gotten a handle on it, it somehow manages to get even worse?

Well, that was the current situation Faye found herself in. Absolutely everything had gone wrong that morning and now she found herself in a bit of a pickle as she rushed about the, thankfully empty, makeup trailer.

"Just, sit here and watch your tablet, ok?" Faye instructed, sitting the toddler down on a stool tucked back in a hidden corner, praying this would work. If it didn't, she had no clue what she was going to do.

She rushed back to the chair just as Henry squeezed his massive frame through the tiny door, flashing her a blinding smile as Kal pushed his way in past his legs to settle in his favorite, sunny spot by the door. "There's my favorite artist!"

"Oh, you're such a liar." Faye laughed, leaning into his welcoming hug and giving him a quick squeeze around his midsection, breathing him in when her head pressed into his chest. Smelling that good should be against the law.

"I would never lie to you." Henry assured, playfully bumping her with his shoulder as he seated himself in his usual chair.

It seemed everything was getting better, things were finally turning around and going well, she was actually going to pull this off! She had already applied the prosthetics, so the hard part was already done with. With a sigh of relief, Faye turned back around to get the foundation ready to blend over the fake scars when she heard it.

"Oh, hello there." Her stomach dropped.

"Hi, I'm Briar!" The little girl greeted enthusiastically, beaming up at the large man sitting in the makeup chair.

"What are you doing here?" Henry asked gently.

"Tablet not working." Briar whimpered, holding the device up despondently, her lower lip sliding out in a pout as tears began collecting in her eyes. Always the drama queen.

"Then let's take a look at it, shall we?" Henry suggested, absently lifting the girl and sitting her on his knee to examine the tablet in her chubby little hands. Faye could swear her heart was going to beat right out of her chest as she watched him tapping away at the screen, the sounds of cocomelon soon spilling from the speakers again, much to the child's delight.

"Yay! Cocomelon, cocomelon!" The little girl cheered, fixing her eyes on the screen.

"Now, sweetheart, where's your mother?" Henry asked, his brows drawn together as he looked at the little girl already mesmerized by the show in front of her.

"That's Mama." Briar quickly explained, pointing directly at Faye before diverting her attention back to her tablet. Henry's brows rose almost comically high as he looked up at Faye, waiting for confirmation of what he was just told. Faye had a daughter? He'd known her for months, how was this just now coming up?

"I... I'm so sorry." Faye quickly apologized, panic beginning to rise in her throat. This was bad, so very bad. Not only did she look like the world's most unprofessional makeup artist, but she was probably in the running for worst mother as well. Who just leaves their kid in the corner while they work? "The babysitter called and canceled this morning and I couldn't find a replacement before work. I thought if she had her tablet she would be quiet and out of everyone's way for the day, but then it stopped working and-"

"Faye. Faye!" Henry interrupted, pausing to make sure she was paying attention. "I need you to calm down. Everything is ok. Things come up, it's not a big deal." He assured, his voice taking on a soothing tone. "Sweetheart, do you like dogs?" Henry asked, turning his attention back to the little girl as she nodded enthusiastically. "Well, you see that dog over there?" He asked, nodding towards a snoozing Kal. "He's mine, and he just loves pets."

"I pet him?" Briar gasped excitedly, passing her tablet off to Henry and squirming out of his lap to scurry over to the sleeping bear, patting him on the top of his head with a clumsy little hand.

"That should keep them both busy enough for us to finish up here." Henry pointed out, settling back into the chair as though nothing had happened. Faye glanced between her daughter, cooing over the bear of a dog by the door and back to Henry a few times, her mind trying to catch up and process what just happened. She shook her head once to clear her thoughts and shakily returned to work, glancing over to the toddler every so often out of habit.

"So were you going to tell me you had a daughter?" Henry finally asked, raising a brow at the woman painting his face.

"I-... It never came up." Faye mumbled, looking back to her daughter as she curled up into the dog's side, babbling away to him about the bedtime story she'd been read last night.

"But why would you hide that?"

"I don't know." Faye lied, focusing her efforts closer to his mouth to end the conversation. Of course she had a reason. A rather simple one at that.

Guys like him aren't interested in single mothers.

Sure, it was a bit silly looking back on it. After all, what chance did she have with Henry? A slim one, if any. That still didn't stop her from hoping he may see something in her. Of course if he did show any interest, she would have eventually told him. Having a child isn't exactly something you can hide, after all. However, she had been hoping to wait until he was more invested in her than just being "his favorite artist".

Too little, too late.

"How old is she?" Henry asked once the brushes moved away from his mouth.

"She'll be three next week." Faye informed quietly, keeping her gaze averted.

"Next week? Do you plan on celebrating?"

"Not really. All my family is back home in the states. I was just planning on making her a cake or something, but I'm kind of a crap baker, so I'm on the fence about even doing that."

"I hope you don't mind my asking, but what about her father? Is he going to celebrate with you?"

"No." Faye answered simply, biting her lip and trying not to dwell on the past any more than she had to.

"So exactly how bad are you at baking?" Henry changed the subject, closing his eye as she worked around it.

"Briar, do you like mommy's cakes?"

"No!" Briar quickly answered, Kal's head popping up at the sudden outburst.

"Why not, sweetie?" Faye pressed.

"They're yucky! Bleck!"

"Does that answer your question?" Faye retorted, raising a brow at the man in front of her.

"Would you like help?"

"What?"

"Making a cake. I could help you." Henry offered, locking his eyes on hers.

"You bake?" Faye blurted out, wincing at her sudden outburst as Henry laughed.

"In fact I do. I have a few days off from filming next weekend. If you'd like, I could come over and help you make her a birthday cake."

Was this real life? This couldn't be real life. In real life, handsome men don't just swoop in and offer to make a cake for your daughter. This was some elaborate dream. Or a very drawn out strip-o-gram.

"I mean... that would be great, but-"

"Perfect, what day works best for you, Friday or Saturday?"

"Uhh... Saturay, I work on Friday."

"Alright, I'll give you my number so you can text me your address. Ten in the morning alright?"

"Yeah, umm... she naps around eleven, so ten is fine."

"So ten on Friday." Henry confirmed as he stood, pulling her in for another hug.

What. Just. Happened?

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #multi chapter #guys like you #guys like you fic #chapter 2

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mymoonagedaydream · 4 years

Text

Only the Good Die Young (Part 4)

Summary: You tried hard to believe that Bucky was a changed man, but he made it difficult

Pairing: Biker!Bucky x y/n

Word Count: 2.5k

Warnings: Language, anti-religious sentiment throughout, harmful relationship with parents

Author's Note: Alright, I’ve flaked. My different-song-per-part ambitions were too high, I flew too close to the sun. I’m so sorry Billy.

---

You buried your face in his neck.

Everything he’d said was spiralling through your mind. You knew your parents well enough to know that staying with Bucky for much longer meant losing them forever. You didn’t want to go back but, if you stayed away and things didn’t work out, there was a chance you’d end up completely alone.

Bucky was a risk, a huge one. You wanted to trust him. You wanted so badly to believe that he was everything he appeared to be.

So you did.

A leap of faith. You were good at faith.

You pulled your head up, coming face to face with him. ‘I would like to get very, very drunk.’

‘Me too.’ He went to get up, but stopped suddenly and looked back at you. ‘You ever been hammered before?’

You shrugged with one shoulder, reluctant to admit further inexperience. ‘Communion wine is pretty strong stuff.’

‘Jesus. I almost feel bad, enabling sin like this.’ He sauntered to the kitchen and rifled through the cupboards, grinning in your direction when he found a half-empty bottle of tequila. ‘Almost.’

The golden liquid burned your throat as you took shot after shot, the warm glow in your chest getting stronger with every sip. This was fucking brilliant, why had you never tried it before?

‘So, here’s the plan.’ You could see that Bucky was at least a little tipsy, he’d been matching every one of your shots with three of his own. ‘I make enough money fixing bikes to keep the flat and feed us, so you can quit that fucking college course and find something you actually want to do.’

You paused for a second, processing his words. ‘Are you asking me to move in with you?’

‘Are you turning me down?’

You grinned and shook your head, making a mental note to reconfirm that in the morning when he was sober. You had hoped that he’d at least let you stay with him for the summer, but knowing that he was willing to put up with you more long-term quelled some deep anxiety you’d been harbouring for days.

You shifted your tone, trying your best to look as sober and sincere as possible. ‘Buck. You said you just want someone to talk to, right?’ He nodded, half-smirking and pushing some hair behind your ear. ‘So talk. You know so much about me, I want to know about you.’

‘What you wanna know?’

‘Tell me about your parents.’

His eyes wandered away from yours and he dropped his hand to your shoulder, wincing a little while he strung his words together. ‘Well you’ve met my dad, he’s no different now than he always was. The only time I ever hear from my ma is when she needs money. God knows what for, I don’t ask.’

‘I’m really sorry, I can’t imagine what they put you through.’

You’d never seen him so subdued. You almost felt bad for putting a damper on the evening, but you got the impression that Bucky had never spoken to anyone about this stuff before, drunk or sober.

‘Fucked me up for a long time, I did a lot of bad stuff.’ You reached out and squeezed his free hand as he was speaking, prompting his gaze to fix back on you. ‘But I don’t want to be that person anymore.’

‘You’re a good guy Buck.’ You gave him a wide smile. ‘Plus, after all those Sundays at church, the big guy owes me a couple favours. I can get that slate of yours wiped clean, no problem.’

He narrowed his eyes at you, the warm glow returning to your chest as you watched his mouth curl back into that familiar smirk. ‘You’re buzzed, ain’t ya?’

‘Should I slow down?’

‘Nope.’ He poured you both another drink. ‘Speed up.’

You didn’t ask about the things he’d done, you didn’t need to know. It was in the past, and he regretted it. That’s all that mattered to you.

The tequila was gone far too quickly. Both of you raided the cupboards again, finding a nearly empty bottle of triple sec, three cans of cider and a bottle with Russian writing that contained something resembling paint stripper.

A few hours and all that booze later, you and Bucky found yourselves tangled around each other on the bed, nursing your slowly developing headaches.

‘You’re a terrible influence, Barnes.’ You croaked into his chest.

‘I’m barely even getting started darlin.’

---

The first thing you felt in the morning was dizziness. Even before you’d opened your eyes, you knew the room was spinning around you. You adjusted yourself a little, relieved when you felt Bucky’s arms still wrapped around you and his chest against your cheek. Scooching upwards, eyes still screwed shut, you brought your face level with his.

He stirred, croaking faintly. ‘Still here. Haven’t run away yet.'

‘I feel like there’s a bee hive inside my head.’

‘Your first hangover.’ He chuckled. ‘We should celebrate. Breakfast?’

‘I’m never eating again. Or drinking. Or… moving.’

He started wriggling. ‘Well, either you move or I piss the bed.’

You flopped onto your back, the movement making your brain rattle inside your head, as Bucky scuttled to the bathroom. You started drifting back to sleep, only to be unceremoniously woken when you were hoisted off the bed and carried you through to the front room. He made breakfast while you lay on the couch, feeling sorry for yourself. You managed a few reluctant mouthfuls and a pint of water.

‘I’ve been thinking.’ Bucky piped up whilst washing the dishes. ‘When you feel a bit better we should go back to the flat. I know it’s close to your parents, but at least my dad doesn’t have keys to it.’

You considered for a second, weighing up whether you were more intimidated by your parents or his. ‘That’s fine with me. Whatever you think is best, Buck.’

---

The two of you left the trailer the next morning. You were still feeling pretty ropey, but you were at least able to walk six feet without getting dizzy. In truth, you were pretty happy to be getting away from the trailer. Aside from the stained walls and crappy shower, you hadn’t felt safe there since Bucky’s dad had burst in the other night. Christ knows what else that man was capable of.

Somehow, at some point during your first day back at the flat, Bucky had convinced you it’d be a good idea for the two of you to go out that night. He suggested his usual haunt, a bar you’d never heard of despite living in that town all your life.

It was a dive bar. You’d never been to a dive bar before, you weren’t even really sure what it meant, but as soon as you saw the outside of this place you knew. There was a flickering neon sign advertising Miller High Life above the door and bikes as far as the eye could see.

Some extremely intimidating clientele eyed the two of you as you approached, giving a gruff chuckle when you brushed past them to get to the entrance. Bucky enthusiastically greeted a few guys who were already inside. One of them you vaguely recognised from school, but the others looked quite a bit older.

You were so far out of your comfort zone in this place, every muscle in your body felt tense and you were convinced that dozens of dirty looks were being thrown your way.

‘What’ll it be then sweetheart?’ Your eyes followed the voice to a tall, brawny blonde with freakishly wide shoulders and a crooked smile.

Your mouth opened slightly as you scurried around trying to figure out what kind of alcohol was sold in a place like this, before Bucky piped up. ‘She’ll have my usual.’

You just nodded, keeping quiet for fear of coming across as the naïve religious freak in front of his friends. A few seconds later you found yourself with a pint of beer in one hand and a shot of whiskey in the other.

‘Boilermaker.’ Bucky whispered, close to your ear. ‘Proper booze, gotta make up for all that shit the other night.’

One of the friends led you towards a cramped booth with a sticky table. You found yourself tucked in between Bucky and the blonde, the former’s arm circled tight around your waist, hand resting possessively on your thigh. You didn’t speak much, only when spoken to- that was until the blonde started cross-examining you.

‘No offence, but you weren’t exactly what I was expecting.’

Great. This shit again.

‘Leave it, yeah?’ Bucky’s tone was friendly, but you could sense a hint of warning.

‘Like I said, no offence.’ He smirked. ‘She just looks a little suburban, y’know.’

Bucky got more agitated. ‘What the hell’s that s’posed to mean?’

‘Jesus, chill out Barnes. She’s not bothered, are ya?’ He nudged you hard, pushing you into Bucky’s side. You just smiled politely, a pathetic attempt to diffuse.

Progressively more irate words were thrown back and forth between them, but everyone else around the table was seemingly unfazed by the argument. It escalated quickly, resulting in blonde reaching over to yank Bucky up by the lapels, spilling a pint of beer all over you in the process. Buck shoved him off and helped you out of the booth, apologising as he ushered you towards the door.

Blonde was shouting after you, following you to the door. Just as you thought the two of you might make it out of there intact, Bucky wheeled round and punched him square in the mouth. He got a swift jab to the stomach in return and the two of them crashed into the bar, arms and legs flying in every direction.

Finally, after intervention by a couple huge biker guys, you managed to pull Bucky away. As you pushed open the front door, flashing blue lights flooded the bar. You squinted, waiting for your eyes to adjust. Cops. One of them approached you and Bucky, the same one who came to the flat after your parents reported you kidnapped.

‘Told you your time would come, boy.’ He smirked. ‘James Barnes, you’re under arrest on suspicion of assault.’

Everything said after that was drowned out by a high pitched whining that started in your ears. Buck was dragged away and shoved into the back of a car, he shouted something in your direction before the door closed but you didn’t catch it. You were reeling with shock. They pulled away, lights fading as they disappeared down the street.

There you were, completely alone. Standing in the gutter outside a dive bar, trembling and covered in beer, playing perfectly into your parents’ predictions.

What the fuck were you supposed do? Go sleep on Bucky’s doorstep, hoping he’d get released before morning? How many more times were you going to have to do that?

You couldn’t help but feel so, so stupid. You’d leapt, fallen and landed flat on your face. Maybe your mother wasn’t exaggerating, maybe she was right all along. Christ, maybe you were just some naïve, sheltered Christian kid in way over your head.

You had no choice. You went home.

---

Waking up back in your bed sent a wave of depression crashing over you. You could still smell stale beer and cigarettes, making you feel even worse.

Only your father had been awake when you timidly knocked on the door the night before. He’d stepped aside and let you in without much more than a stern look, but you were dreading having to face your mother this morning.

You sat up, the motion kick-starting yet another hangover, and walked to the bathroom. Switching on the light, you stared into the mirror and were greeted with someone you barely recognised. Your eyes were dark, bloodshot and puffy, your hair was wild from days of washing it with shower gel in the trailer’s crappy shower, your clothes from the night before were still hanging off you, stained and reeking- but you looked alive. And you felt it.

The doorbell rang.

You ran to the top of the stairs, only to see your mother standing in the doorway, face to face with Bucky. He looked awful, cuts and bruises littering his face. You stepped back slightly to hide yourself from his view.

‘Get off my property or I’m calling the police.’ Well she hadn’t changed while you’d been gone.

‘Is she here?’

Silence. You peeked round the corner to see your mother whip her phone from her pocket. Bucky shouted your name. Fuck, so much of you wanted to just run down the stairs and throw your arms round him, but you knew there was a good chance you’d just end up here again a week or so down the line.

‘Fine.’ He backed away, holding his arms out. ‘Y’know, sooner or later, it comes down to faith. Someone’s gonna help her see through all your bullshit, I might as well be the one.’

He limped down the steps and was gone from your view. Dragging yourself back into your room, you looked at your phone for the first time that morning. Twenty-five texts and eight missed calls from Bucky. Taking a deep breath, you typed a message to him.

Meet me on the bench at noon tomorrow.

---

As you turned into the park, you saw him sitting there. He looked tense, elbows resting on his thighs while he ran his fingers through his hair. As soon as he spotted you approaching he stood up, but you couldn’t bring yourself to hug him, so you just perched on the other end of the bench silently. He obviously didn’t take the hint, moving closer and sitting right next to you.

You heard him chuckle. ‘Blink twice if we’re being bugged.’

You lifted your eyes, scanning them over his wounds. His knuckles weren’t even fully healed from the fight with his father. He was just cuts upon bruises upon scars and you weren’t sure if he’d ever stop adding to them.

His face dropped when he saw your obvious distress. ‘I’m really sorry y/n. I fucked up, bad.’

You just nodded, taking deep breaths in an attempt to keep your thoughts straight.

‘I know I struggle to control my anger sometimes, but you gotta believe I’m getting better. I’m not the person I used to be.’

‘You keep saying that.’ You couldn’t meet his eyes, too scared to see the hurt your words would cause him. ‘Then you do shit like this? I’m really struggling here, I-’

‘I know I’m not perfect, but I’m trying, now more than ever. Because of you.’

‘What happened the other night... I was so scared, Buck. I barely even made it out of the house to get here today.’ Tears were clouding your vision as you felt his hands grasp your firmly. ‘I can’t do that again.’

---

Part Five

---

@shawnie--jo @brilliantbellesoares @noiralei @bebeyeni @kingkassam @newyorkgoddess @livingoffsavvyillusions

I’ve bolded the names that wouldn’t let me tag, sorry guys

---

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felassan · 3 years

Text

Extended thoughts on the Dark Fortress preview pages [spoilers at link]

(Would I be an MJ if I did not do this? This post is under a cut due to spoilers.)

I like the preview pages a lot, I’m excited for release - roll on March 31. There’s a lot packed into just these limited pages, so I’m looking forwards to seeing the issue and its contents in their entirety.

A flashback to the Battle of Ostagar all those years ago is the last thing I was expecting when coming to this comic and it hit me with a one-two of feelings and nostalgia. Up there just off-screen, the Hero of Ferelden and Alistair have just lit the beacon in the Tower of Ishal. In these panels, the rain, the lighting, the atmosphere - it’s surreal (not in a bad way) seeing these fateful events again, back where it all kinda began really, and that page does a good job of replicating that cutscene and the heavy feel of it in a different medium. It’s a nice touch seeing surprise/unsureness and even conflict on some of the soldiers’ faces as Loghain gives the order to retreat. A couple of them even seen disconcerted as they walk away (looking at one another in askance). I like this take on Ser Cauthrien, and I wonder if Aaron ever encountered Aveline, Wynne, Carver or non-mage Hawke at Ostagar before the battle...?

Loghain’s words “He must do what his honor compels him to do” almost feel like a bit of metacommentary, i.e. on Loghain’s character in addition to obviously being about Ser Aaron.

In-universe before now, there have been varying accounts of Ser Aaron’s experience at Ostagar. Did he miss the fight, did he kill two ogres, etc. Now we see the truth of the matter is exactly as he told Vaea, which speaks of the trust and close relationship between the two. I’m not going to lie, the “I am coming my king” and subsequent panels make me cry on this re-read. Aaron reaching out for Cailan in his sleep with his other fist clenched, jerking awake from a nightmare in a cold sweat.. Aaron is so brave, he was the sole or one of the few soldiers in Loghain’s company to make this kind of stand (and you can see that there was a moment when he did turn to leave and considered it before turning back), and these panels convey the extent of the trauma that he experienced on the field of battle that day. I’m positive that in panel 2 here, it’s the exact moment when he sees Cailan die. It also hurts to think that not far from there, Duncan is seeing the same thing. They’ve done a good job integrating the new characters’ pasts with previous canon events with things like these. It’s like, expanding on things, but without anything conflicting.

When Aaron reaches for his alcohol skin I’m pretty sure his hand is shaking. Vaea is so tender and understanding/supportive at this part and it’s a really poignant and soft moment for them.. Aaron’s nightmares are a regular occurrence it seems. I love her and their relationship so much.. keeping watch over him while he sleeps a bit away from the others and the fire. ;; Also Autumn’s ears here, she’s lying down but still listening to what’s going on with and between her people. ;;

Brief pause here: I always appreciate getting a good sense where different events are taking place in the additional media. Also we now have in-universe confirmation that in the timeline we’ve now reached 9:45, as opposed to only external word-of-god. Do you guys ever think about your Wardens and how it’s been 15 years for them?

Aaron is like a father to Vaea 😭

Fenris has two daggers now in addition to his twohanded sword. The better for ending Danarius’ bloodline my dear 🔪

Have they tweaked Fenris’ hairstyle a bit, compared to Blue Wraith? Possibly also his skintone and eyebrows, compared to Blue Wraith? (I find this kind of thing hard to tell. If I’m incorrect here please feel free to correct me.) He looks good in this preview.

Poor Francesca. Tessa is really kind at this part and it’s nice to see more moments like these between female characters (women supporting one another). It reminds me of the moment in a previous issue where Vaea hugs Francesca on the ground. Tessa makes a great point here that true strength isn’t necessarily being stoic and unemotional, it’s standing up for what you believe in and for the greater good, even at great personal cost. It’s not 'not crying' and hiding your sadness. That’s a nice message, and again, Fran has really grown on me.

I also think it speaks well of Fenris and his character development after all these years in-universe that he was looking for a way to help Aaron, then immediately thought to go speak to Francesca when she was upset to see if he could help her in turn.

hhh brooding silent Marius staring broodily and silently into the flames and not responding to Fenris’ attempt at making conversation tho, the gentle lampshading.. That’s so true to his character. These might be my favorite panels in the whole preview. Fenris’ dry wit and facial expressions, the general composition, Fenris peacing out like “ok bye ig” lmao. You also get the sense that Fenris is reeling a bit and feeling abandoned since Hawke and co split up. After trying to do something to help both Aaron and Fran above, he then tries to make conversation with Marius. He’s trying to lighten the mood but also to connect after being alone for some time. He has missed having a group around him, and I suspect this group with its varying troubles and issues reminds him a lot of Hawke and co. That both the humor aspect and this characterization comes through in these 3 panels is pretty brilliant.

We reach the titular dark fortress! If ever there was a fortress for a bad guy, huh? x) The narrow exposed causeway being the only approach is a smart line of defense, strategically. Also, the realization that this is where Fenris lived while he was a slave of Danarius’ :| It’s a horrible-looking place and will be full of bad memories for him.

If this is how stormy the Nocen Sea gets in places - well, it reminds me of the lore that in Thedas naval exploration beyond the known map has been historically limited by different factors like pirates, Qunari dreadnoughts, stormy seas and sea creatures etc.

Characters speaking their native languages in places is always a nice touch. Now we’ve heard “By the Maker!” in Orlesian.

Aspects of the style and architecture of the Tevinter buildings in this preview, like the window shapes and the red lights and stuff, echo or remind me of what we’ve seen of Minrathous in the most recent trailer and some of the recent pieces of concept art for the next game. Neat.

We have our name and identity for the mage on the cover! Tractus Danarius, bastard son of Danarius. Danarius fucked around huh. “Tractus” has a Latin root, fittingly for a Tevinter name. Its different meanings are quite interesting: being dragged, extracted, plundered, an anthem sung in some masses, an elongated area or abnormal passage... I wonder if one of them will come into play somehow, the name possibly having been chosen for a reason? I also wonder how young Tractus is relative to Fenris, and if their paths have ever crossed in the past.

Tractus makes his entrance with two elven slaves or servants in tow. Like on the cover, his eyes are red. The head of his staff is a red sphere, also. Can we assume a connection to red lyrium, then, given these factors and the villains’ interest in using red lyrium to power the sarcophagus? I would guess that as normal magic was required to make it work with blue lyrium, the thing required to make it work with red lyrium is blood magic? A blood magic ritual. My guess is that the thing Tractus shows Marquette and Nenealeus is probably a chained up dragon or similar, which they plan to sacrifice and use the blood/power derived from that to fuel the magic/ritual. This is considering blood as a theme in this setting, blood as a source of power mechanically and the dragon-like beast on one of the covers which has clearly at one point been shackled and collared. (Here’s some previous speculation about Dark Fortress based on the covers.)

Although Tractus’ relative youth and inexperience compared to Nenealeus comes across in these pages, I get the feeling that Nenealeus will regret talking down in this manner to Tractus later in the comic.

It seems Tractus paints his nails dark. His commitment to aesthetic I give 5/5 stars

Remember the fall of Ventus/Qarinus to the Antaam invasion in TN? The Antaam must be progressing through Tevinter if people fear that Neromenian may soon fall also.

I appreciate that everyone’s horse is different! It’s a nice touch. A lot of the time in media groups of people ride identical horses like they’re clones or automatons as opposed to actual creatures.

Tractus’ smile when he’s asking if they’re going to wait for Qintara to arrive is slightly manic, lol, he’s giving off “Are we there yet?” car journey energy here. The doorway in this panel - is that a portcullis-style door? It seems like it has spikes at the bottom which would sink into the floor, and that there’s some kind of mechanism running along the floor towards it. Presumably to contain the [dragon?]?

I forgot Nenealeus has a sword - I guess then he knows magic artforms similar to those of a Knight-Enchanter or Arcane Warrior. Also here, Marquette echoes the Executor in TN, with the sentiment that Qintara fell with Ventus. Nenealeus is then referencing Gaius, the impersonator Qintara, right? That’s interesting; Gaius’ true master was Fen’Harel, on whose behalf he accessed important information about the world. This means then [?] that some of the time when Gaius believed himself to be working on behalf of Fen’Harel, he was really being manipulated by Nenealeus. Poor Gaius, at different points Fen’Harel and Nenealeus were pulling his strings. Does Nenealeus’ manipulation refer to Gaius trading it away to House Danarius for information?

Marquette references the red lyrium idol, and suddenly my Dragon Age 4 ears are pricking the way Autumn’s do. x) He mentions that it makes weapons, referencing I assume Meredith’s lyrium sword, Certainty and the ritual blade that pops out from the base of the idol during The Dread Wolf Take You. I wonder when the events of this comic take place in relation to the stories related at the spy meeting in TDWTY? Is this before or after the events of the Mortalitasi’s tale? At any rate, Marquette voices something we’ve been obsessing over: what else can and does the idol do specifically, beyond just making weapons and being Ominous and Powerful? Because whatever it is, it’s key to Solas’ ongoing plans, and Solas obviously knows.

So it seems that the villains’ plan is to use the red lyrium idol’s sword part with the sarcophagus, red lyrium, a ritual and [the thing Tractus shows them in that panel - the dragon?] in order to transform Shirallas into, essentially, a Red Wraith, a Red Lyrium Fenris. And then to arm him, under Nenealeus’ control, with the sword.

Does Shirallas still have his vallaslin - is it just the lighting and the angle in that panel? Also, that panel with Shirallas and Nenealeus looks so ominous and foreboding 😭 .. (and reminds me somehow of Fenris and Danarius when Fenris was still his slave and bodyguard) Shirallas, we really are in it now 😭 This is a really cool panel btw, like the composition, the lighting, the dramatic-ness.

Nenealeus is motivated by a desire to route the Antaam from Tevinter (like the mage in the Mortalitasi’s tale in TDWTY) and reconquer lost lands in order to restore the glory of the Imperium (which reminds me in a way of of Aurelian Titus, who also wanted to restore the Imperium to greatness). Classically Tevinter here.

“Danarius the Lesser” is a sick burn. I’d guess Tractus’ life thus far, as a bastard, has had themes and struggles with inferiority and consequent lack of power but desire for it (being disrespected, but craving respect, being connected to a certain world but not really part of it, in fact rejected by it). Venatori connection confirmed. That the Venatori had to be convinced to accept someone as a Danarius - implications for the role of the Venatori remnants and their role in Tevinter and things in general going forwards? Lightning flashes overhead as Tractus and Nenealeus have this face-off in that panel, emphasizing the tension between the two. I wonder what the magic in the fortress and in the courtyard can do? It’d have been no mean feat to escape from this place as a slave, it seems, especially bearing in mind there’s only one proper way out, that causeway (passage not included). Tractus’ staff-head lights up when he’s making a threat (uh-oh), and then wow! Shirallas moves so quickly, in the blink of an eye suddenly appearing out of nowhere and startling the guard-mage onlookers. He’s fast and formidable.

I wonder about Tractus. Is he a “half blood” because he’s a bastard and his mother wasn’t an Altus, or even wasn’t a mage, or because he’s a bastard and his mother was an elf? Or both?

Will we see a face-off between perrepataes (Marius and Shirallas)? Will Marius face-off against his former master, Nenealeus? Perhaps a showdown between the Blue Wraith and the “Red Wraith” is on the cards?

Back to our team in the tavern! There’s a looot of great character content packed into these pages, which is really cool. Each brief character interaction conveys a lot, and in general this sequence is just well-executed imo. How troubled and tired Aaron looks at the bar (my heart.. it hurts); Fran worrying for Aaron; Vaea knowing that she can’t pressure him too much because that’s just not how it works when it comes to folks who struggle with issues like these; Vaea asking after Fran’s wellbeing; Fran struggling to come to terms with what happened to her father; Fenris watching the door waiting for news (he’s so vigilant isn’t he? safety, an escape-route..); Marius Broods Harder; Vaea’s [relative] pacifism being highlighted; Vaea engaging Marius looking for reassurance; and the choice of having Marius break his silence now is meaningful and impactful in that it shows what happens when one becomes ‘numb’ to the constant murderizing of people, so to speak. Fenris then rightfully points out that becoming numb to killing and violence isn’t really a good thing and is worse, really, than being ‘soft’ or uncomfortable with it. I wonder if he’s speaking from experience here, given the hundreds of people Hawke and co kill their way through during the Kirkwall years, for example. Then Vaea’s concern for Aaron and his state of mind, and Fenris’ uncanny insight into that, of a man he’s only recently met.

Tessa looks so cute when she comes in the door! I love Vaea’s lil “:D” face when she sees her, and I wonder what the tavern food on the table is.

Those two panels, when Fenris talks about Hawke and Leandra, are the biggest emotional gut-punch in the preview pages 😭 omg.. I’m not strong enough for this.. bls... bruh... This is then compounded by (hitting me when I’m down!!) the look of sheer... fear, fury, alarm, upset, shock - that appears on Fenris’ face as soon as he hears “I found Danarius”. Seriously, look at his eyes here. He (understandably) still has a trauma-response associated with the name/man.

Bless Tessa.

I have to say, it’s very Metal of Fenris that not only did he kill Danarius in DA2 (in those universes), but he has also been going around Tevinter since then killing all of Danarius’ [adult] heirs, and that his response to learning there’s still one remaining is to grab his sword and go to march off with the aim of ending the bloodline a second time. Very metal

I love the final panels in the preview as well! Vaea’s sense/smarts and how she wasn’t afraid to tell Fenris no, Autumn’s giant ears, how Autumn also moves with Vaea to step in front of Fenris to stop him (SHE! HELPED!!!), Autumn’s Happy Face and furiously wagging tail and agreement with Aaron, and Proud Dad Aaron rising from his slump to praise Vaea with the most Proudest Daddest expression that you ever did see... ( ´•̥̥̥ω•̥̥̥` )

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crystxlclear · 3 years

Text

sudden desire

chapter six: previously on: chaotic stupid

part seven of sudden desire

prologue / one / two / three / four / five / masterlist

in which two best friends won’t admit they’re in love so decide to have a baby together instead.

pairing: marcus pike x original female character (coraline meyer)

word count: 8.2k (oh yikes)

warnings: no beta read, brief mentions of pregnancy i guess?

author’s note: this took me weeks to write oh my god

Coraline hasn’t told anyone about Marcus’ offer. Not even Loren, when they’d met for the first time in months, when her boyfriend finally got a night off work to look after Maisie. Not even when they’d drunk too much wine and her head was so fuzzy that she probably would have told anyone anything, if they’d asked. She’s not even sure where she’d start.

Coraline has never been the best at keeping secrets. At least, not her own, and definitely not when she was younger, and she’s always wondering whether that’s why the media seem to think she’s easy prey for their rumours. It never seemed to bother Scott; he was the same, so open and willing to talk about anything and everything with anyone who asked. But it’s different with Marcus. He’s private by necessity but he’s also private by choice, too. She wonders if he’s always been like that, if before the heartbreak he’d told her about occurred, if he’d opened up to people. If what had happened to him had made him closed off. He’s never seemed like a closed book before (and, hell, maybe he isn’t, maybe he just doesn’t want to relive those times; and he doesn’t have to tell her anything, anyway) but he’d opened up to her after he’d made his ‘baby suggestion’. And all she can think of now, since he’d recounted the stories, was that those women - the ex-wife who’d claimed he was too ‘nice’, who’d claimed he was too ‘clingy’ and ‘needy’, and all that utter bullshit, and the one who’d left him for another man, left him alone in D.C. without a single person to lean on - must be completely insane to think that he isn’t good enough for them. Marcus Pike is too good for anyone, she thinks. He’s the best person she knows. Marcus Pike makes Coraline want to be a better person. They didn’t end up ordering takeout that night, like they always did. Coraline had found herself reaching to the back of her cupboards, searching blindly for some ingredients she wasn’t even sure she had, just for him. Marcus loves breakfast. Like, he really loves it, she’s come to find. And at any time of the day, really. And there’s a diner he frequents; it’s near his office, on the other side of town, tucked away just out of Cora’s reach. Though, he has taken her there once before - just after they first met, when she’d tagged along with her older brother to the FBI debriefing, to check his gallery was secure; she’d thought it was a date, until he’d prefaced his offer with an insistence that it was ‘just as friends’; Marcus had spent the whole time raving about the pancakes he ate every Friday — a treat for a long week’s worth and a change from his usual burger and fries — how he’d found the place by accident and it was part of his daily routine, now, until Coraline had given in and let him order for her, since he knew the place better than she did - most of the time, they see each other when it’s late, when he’s already been for his almost daily pancake-fix and she’s collapsed to the sofa with her legs draped over the armrest. They haven’t been back since, though she’d jump at the chance if he ever asked again. Coraline may be a pretty awful cook, and she may not be able to make pancakes as good as the ones he likes, but surely it’s just the sentiment that counts. He’s spent far too many evenings eating greasy Chinese food at her behest, insisting that he’s fine with it, because it makes her feel better. It’s the least she could do. She’d spent an hour making perhaps the world’s worst pancakes - even as Marcus insisted that she didn’t have to cook for him, that they could just order pizza or something if they wanted a change - pancakes so bad that she’d had to drench the damn things in syrup just to disguise the odd sour taste that somehow tinged every mouthful. Marcus had eaten it without issue, even as she’d apologised endlessly for her dreadful culinary skills and insisted that he didn’t have to eat them if he didn’t like them. They’d made him smile, though. And it melted away the last dregs of awkwardness between them. That was the pancakes’ purpose. It didn’t matter that they were utterly terrible, borderline inedible and a little lumpy.

But, when Monday rolls around and her older brother, Daniel, comes to her with his regular insistence that she brings that ‘nice FBI agent she’d made friends with’ to their weekly dinner at his house, she took him up on the offer, for a change. She’s never asked because she’s always assumed he would say no; they weren’t dating and it was a little weird. Surely an invite to weekly family dinners was something couples did.

She always ignores Daniel, used to the persistent insistence to ask him. Relenting — finally — comes with the sense that she feels as if she owes him now, though. To make it up for her dreadful pancakes with Daniel’s wife’s cooking, which was always amazing. To make up for the week of unforgivable ignorance. To help them move past the ill-thought-out offer of a baby. She’s sure he’ll still say no, when she calls him on his lunch break, when she knows he’ll be sat at the counter in that same diner, enjoying that brief moment of time away from paperwork. Their lunch breaks line up, those rare and all-too-rare moments when they have time to relax, the tension in their shoulders owed entirely to their morning workloads melting away at the soft sounds of the other’s voice.

His voice is pleasant, like it always is; Marcus Pike’s voice is like serenity to her, all gentle and familiar, and, this time, he sounds amused when he answers the phone. “Well, this is a nice surprise.” His voice crackles through the phone. The reception in the diner is terrible - it’s the only thing he ever seems to complain about - but she can still make out the sound of the smile in his voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Good afternoon to you, too, Marcus.” Coraline hums, shoving the last of her laundry into the washing machine, her phone tucked between her shoulder and her ear. “I’m calling with an invitation.”

“An invitation?” He ponders, musing over the idea. “To one of those glamorous celebrity parties you’re always telling me about?”

She scoffs. “Oh, you wish, Pike. It’s an invite to my brother’s for dinner. Incredibly glamorous, I know.”

There’s silence on the other end of the phone for a few moments. She almost regrets asking. She does when he replies. “Are you sure?” He questions. “I’m not sure-”

Coraline nods as if he can somehow see her through the phone. “I’m sure,” she insists, “Besides, Daniel and Kimmy want you to come.”

“Coraline, I don’t know-”

“Marcus, don’t make me beg.” She chuckles, but it’s a nervous chuckle. She knew he would say no; that’s why she hasn’t asked him, to avoid this awkward conversation between them when he was uncomfortable and looking for a subtle way to turn her down without hurting her feelings. “Please.”

There’s another pause as he lets out another muffled laugh. His tone is teasing when he speaks again; she can practically see the smirk as he sips his coffee. “And what’s in it for me?”

She bites the inside of her cheek, stifling a giggle.

She could think of a lot of ways to repay the favour.

Cora pushes through the onslaught of entirely… inappropriate thoughts, especially to have about your best friend and offers up the most innocent of offerings, though her voice slips to find that low, rumbling register reserved only for the discrete. Mundane words tipped in something intriguing. “I’ll never make you pancakes again.”

“Deal.” He snaps far too quickly through the phone.

Her mouth falls open. “Marcus,” she gasps, mock offence in her voice.

There’s silence for a moment. “Sunshine,” Marcus calls out through the static, like he’s sure he’s actually offended her. Like he could ever do that. “I thought your pancakes were great.”

Even a lie sounds like the truth coming from his lips.

“Damn right they were,” she insists.

When she lies, even when it’s laced with laughter, it sounds like one. She’s glaringly aware that’s a complete contradiction, given her job.

“Pancakes- real pancakes, diner pancakes- on me for a month.”

“Tempting.”

“...Two months?”

“Fine, fine. If you insist.”

The rush of breath that escapes her in relief is so embarrassingly loud, she’s sure he can hear her. She’s glad he’s not there, watching her, so he can’t see the wide, uncontrollable, entirely tooth-filled grin that splits across her face; she’s sure she looks maniacal, sat in her trailer on set, covered in thick dustings of fake mud from that morning’s scenes.

She’s never been more thankful for the solitude of a phone call before.

“I do insist. I’ll pick you up at five.”

Amusement, again, peeks through in his tone. She’s sure he’s eating pancakes — those blueberry pancakes with mountains of ice cream �� because they’re the only thing that makes him happy like this, especially on a heavy workday. “In that super-fancy car of yours?”

She’s had her car for twelve-years. But it’s even older than that, fixed up by her father in his garage for what seemed like years. It’s an old run-down black Camaro from the seventies that she’s had since she was sixteen; far too trusty and sentimental to let go of, driving her cross-country from LA to DC without a hitch those six-months ago. It lives in the private parking lot down the street from her apartment complex, tucked away, out of use most days, because the traffic of DC is far too heavy in the mornings and it’s easier to walk or take the Metro instead. Weekly nights spent at Daniel’s on the opposite end of the city gave her an excuse to pull her car from its designated parking space and navigate the busy streets to the comforting hum of the engine.

Coraline knows Marcus loves her car, as much as he jokes about it. It’s evident in the way his face lights up when he sees her sat there, parked down the street outside the FBI headquarters; his smile illuminated by the harsh street lamps overhead, cutting through the darkness alongside the bright nearby office lights and flickering neon signs that cast stained glass shadows on the sidewalk. He’s watching her as she taps her fingers in time to a song she doesn’t recognise on the radio.

Marcus ducks into the car with a ‘hello’ lingering on his lips and ducks to kiss Coraline’s cheek; it’s a friendly gesture that lingers, not unfamiliar as a display of friendly affection between them, but still swelling that giddy sense of happiness in her chest like it’s the first time.

“I brought the beer.”

Coraline glances over at him warmly as she starts up the car. The engine rumbles to life, almost sounding unhealthy. She reaches over and squeezes his shoulder a little, fingers falling down his arms.

Marcus had insisted he bring something; a repayment for dinner, for Daniel and Kimmy inviting him over. She’d insisted he didn’t need to — neither of them would mind; they just wanted to meet the lead in so many of Coraline’s stories, for real this time — but then he’d insisted that he had to, that his mother would never let him live it down if she found out he forgot his manners and turned up without a thank you gift. So she’d told him to bring beer (not wine, definitely not wine, for Daniel’s sanity’s sake). And he’d obliged.

Not just that cheap beer, either. But the expensive kind, the kind you could only find in certain places if you were looking for it. He’s spared no expense.

He doesn’t need to impress them, though. They already like him well enough, on the basis of Coraline’s endless stories.

“Is what I’m wearing okay?” He questions as he smooths his hands over the front of his suit jacket. “I didn’t have time to change.”

He’s still wearing his work clothes — somehow still relatively undisturbed even after hours of the paperwork he’d been half-complaining about to her the night before — yet he still looks great. He’d probably look great in just about anything. Coraline looks entirely underdressed next to him; just blue jeans and a white shirt, and the thin golden pendant her mom had given her the night before her wedding hangs against her chest. She doesn’t wear it much anymore, not since the divorce. But Marcus had seen it the other day, while he was waiting for her to finish getting ready, perusing the expanse of her drawers, intrigued by the jewellery that hung from a stand. He’d said it was beautiful - with the delicately carved bird in the middle, surrounded by flowers - and she found herself reaching for it every morning since.

She’s not sure why. She just likes to wear it, now.

“You look great.” As always.

He scans what she’s wearing, casual and, as the wheels being their customary groan when she sets the car in reverse. “It’s not too much?” He’s shuffling awkwardly, hands tugging at the lapels of his suit jacket. Is he nervous?

She watches as he moves, shifting slightly in his seat; she’s watching from the corner of her eyes, half her focus on Marcus, the other on pulling out onto the busy road. He’s staring straight ahead, out at the car ahead of them, like the license plate is somehow the most interesting thing in the world right now. His brows are furrowed. The air between them is thick with anticipation and it’s like something has changed; for good or bad, she’s never sure with them anymore, not these past few months, but his hand is gripping his knee and somehow everything seems heavy again.

He’s met Daniel before, it’s not that. Briefly, sure. But that couldn’t be it. He’s usually so relaxed and laid back, especially around her, never worried about making a joke or goofing off. She doesn’t like seeing him like this.

She reaches over and squeezes his hand; he steadies himself and tilts his head towards her. Her smile is warm and bright and comforting, and the gentle brush of her fingers over the hand that grips his knee relieves the inexplicable anxiety that has strangled him from the moment she’d invited him to dinner. He doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know what it means, what any of it means. Why things are suddenly so different between them after six months of being nothing but friends.

Why he, for some godforsaken reason, thought suggesting they have a baby together was a good idea.

Did he really want that?

Either way, he’s pretty sure Coraline doesn’t. Not with him, at least.

Cora hums, eyes dropping to herself and the wrinkled jeans she’d fished out from the back of her wardrobe. “Least you made an effort.”

…

Daniel Meyer is seven years older than Coraline. He’d always been fiercely protective of his younger sister when they were growing up; not in that abrasive, overbearing and destructive way, the way when your life is governed strict and rigid, but Daniel Meyer didn’t take kindly to people hurting his sister. Growing up, he helped her deal with things - the bullying in high school, the heartbreak of her first breakup - so it only seemed fitting that, when she’d moved to D.C., the same place he’d called home with his family for eight years, that he would do the same. That’s how their weekly family dinners were born, from his insistence to help his younger sister settle into her new home, in a new city she barely knew.

For the longest time, Scott Meyer was public enemy number one to him. Sometimes she wonders, now that it’s all over, the divorce is final - now that he’s out of her life for good - if he still is. Or if they’ve really all moved on like she thinks they have.

The second they arrive at his front door, greeted warmly by the smell of pie and a grinning Kimmy, wearing an apron and slightly flustered, looking just as welcoming as always. Her blonde waves - the waves Coraline has always been so jealous of - are pinned up haphazardly out of her face, half-spilling down her back from the clip that tries to hold it in place.

“Good evening.” Her voice sounds like a song, light and sweet, and her smile is even wider than usual as she glances between her sister-in-law and Marcus, who stands a little behind her, radiating that familiar confidence that Coraline is used to. The half-hour drive had relaxed him enough that, now he’s met with Kimmy’s friendly face, he’s the one that’s comforting her, with a gentle hand on her back and the silent reassurance that things will be okay.

Coraline is mostly worried about him. She's still not entirely sure he wants to be here. She doesn’t blame him.

Kimmy leans forward and kisses Coraline’s cheek in greeting, the usual gesture.

“This- well, you know Marcus.” Cora ushers towards her best friend beside her when she pulls back.

“Marcus, of course!” Her face lights up even more. “I’ve heard a lot about you since we last met.” Kimmy’s tone is amused. Her eyes waver towards Coraline, a knowing look in her eyes.

“It’s great to finally meet you, for real this time.”

Kimmy’s eyebrow quirks up at Coraline for a moment, the hint of a smirk as Marcus introduces himself, that same FBI Agent-trained surety tipping the edges of his voice, before she finally ushers them inside. It’s starting to get cold; the evening chill is creeping in from the river beside the house, reaching out towards them. Coraline is glad she’d tossed a coat onto the backseat of her car before she’d left and Marcus tugs his suit jacket tighter around himself. “Come in before you both freeze to death.”

The house is alive with the joyous yet shrill screams of children. Coraline’s nephews, to be exact. It always is. Every night. Every week she turns up and they’re running around, playing whatever game they deem fit that evening. Half the time, Coraline gets pulled into their games, whenever she’s not helping Kimmy in the kitchen (which isn’t often, because she’s hopeless at it). Of course, today’s no different.

The two of them are darting around the living room, screaming bloody murder as they wear themselves out; Finley, the oldest, is chasing Elliot, his curls falling haphazardly over his eyes. She can’t tell what they’re yelling about - she never can; it’s just a tangled mess of screamed words - but Elliot is giggling so much that he has to stop every couple of minutes to catch his breath. Finley stops with him, pulling himself from their games for a second to wait as they both regain their composure and carry on. They wear themselves out before dinner and then everything seems to go off without a hitch.

Cora hangs her coat on the hooks by the door and kicks off her sneakers, and Marcus follows suit with his jacket and dress shoes. He looks to her for guidance, that immediately understandable hesitation of being in an unfamiliar house, and this silent agreement settles between them as she sweeps her way into the living room. Her footsteps were light; so light, in fact, that she reached her nephews without disturbing them, startling Elliot when she scooped him up in her arms and spun him around. He complains at first, ducking his head away as she tries to kiss his cheek, letting out the most dramatic and exaggerated noises. Eventually, he gives in and curls his arms around her neck, pulling her close for a second, before he starts to kick again, restless in her arms.

Finley takes to wrapping himself around her right leg and suddenly the three of them end up sprawled out and giggling brightly on the carpet.

Marcus watches from the doorway. He thinks she’ll be a great mom someday. It’s the little things she takes in her stride.

“Hello to you too, Cora.” The low, amused voice of Coraline’s brother, Daniel, comes from inside the living room.

“Hey there.” She’s still giggling. She can’t help it. Finley and Elliot unhook themselves from her and each other and resume their endless laps of the couch.

Daniel stands over her with raised eyebrows. His tie has long-since been discarded and he cuts a casual figure as he cradles the youngest of the Meyers, Piper. She’s only six months and the smiliest baby Cora has ever seen. Usually, she’s asleep by the time Coraline arrives, either cradled in her father’s arms or tucked away in the crib upstairs; today, her legs are kicking back and forth and her hands are fisting into his dress shirt. She’s restless - she knows sometimes that she is, that when they finally cradle her to sleep, it’s best that they leave her or risk jolting her awake for the rest of the night - but she’ll let her wriggle around in her arms for hours if it means catching up on the time she’s missed with her niece all those nights she’s been asleep.

“I brought Marcus.” Cora points towards Marcus as he leans against the doorframe, watching her with fond eyes. She tilts her head back to look at him; he’s smiling and she wants to reach for him. She reaches for Daniel’s extended hand instead, pulling herself up from the floor. She groans uncomfortably, her back aching a little. “Marcus, you’ve met my brother, Daniel.”

Coraline reaches out for her niece; that brooding feeling swells bright and burning again when she takes her, cradling her close into her chest, and she can’t help but glance up at Marcus as Daniel moves to greet him - just barely acquaintances but familiar enough to avoid those awkward initial introductions. He’s watching her, still, as she says ‘hello’ to her niece and gently rests her cheek against the top of Piper’s head. It’s like they’re both wrapped up in that moment where it’s just the two of them - all too fleeting, cut short by Daniel’s greeting and the persistent shouting of children - but it feels lovely. Even if this moment is all they’ll ever get.

Coraline savours the moment with her niece because it’s rare and often fleeting; her, Daniel and Kimmy’s schedules are crammed tight with work and unavoidable commitments and that weekly dinner is the only time each week they can spare to see each other. If Piper is asleep, then Coraline won’t get to say ‘hi’ to her niece. It’s an unfortunate consequence of their careers.

“That’s Elliot-” She points her finger at her smallest nephew. “-and that’s Finley-” Then to the tallest of the two. “-and this… this is Piper.” She bounces the tiny baby lightly in her arms, turning her body so Marcus could get a glimpse at the small smile that pulled at Piper’s lips as her small fist grabbed at Coraline’s shirt.

She’s already told him about them all before. He knows their names. But this is the first time he’s ever met the kids. And it’s somehow maybe the most terrifying thing he’s done in a long time, including that one warehouse shootout his team found themselves in a few weeks earlier.

He feels overdressed and a little ridiculous, just stood there, looking like a lost puppy in the entryway, in his suit and tie. Unsure what to do with his hands or his eyes, or what the hell to say to cut through his quiet. He usually brought a change of clothes to the office if he knows he has somewhere to be but, somehow, in his blind panic at the idea of meeting the family, he’d forgotten to grab anything to change into. And that ease in meeting new people, that effortless skill he’d built up over years of practice, the perks of the job, just seems to have melted away the second he stepped into the house behind Coraline, under the well-meaning scrutiny of Kimmy. This is all normal for her - this weekly routine she’s fallen into - but it’s unfamiliar territory for him.

It almost feels like something it isn’t. Meeting the family. That point in a relationship when you first realise things are serious. Only this isn’t a relationship. And he’s already met Daniel and Kimmy before, even if it was briefly, and while he was working and distracted with planning a stakeout. And Coraline. Always Coraline. But something about her smile just commanded attention, back then - it still does - even when she tries to blend into the background. Once he noticed her. Sat alone at an empty conference table, comically-oversized name badge pinned to the front of her dress, her lips curling up a little as she sipped the sour FBI coffee.

Everyone else had passed the glass-walled room without even a second glance.

He, on the other hand, was convinced he’d just seen a ghost. She’d almost startled him, breath leaving his chest. An utter cliche.

Marcus had recognised her face from TV - though, admittedly, he wasn’t really up-to-date on pop culture, definitely lingering a couple of decades behind, age and time catching up on him, spare time buried beneath a mountain of paperwork to distract himself from Teresa and the unfamiliarity of D.C. - but he always remembers thinking she was pretty. Really pretty. But he always finds it a little embarrassing how much she a hold over him that day, how he’d had to take a second to psych himself up, talk himself down from that nervous ledge he was staring over, before he even thought about entering the room.

It’s weird, looking back, thinking how much has changed. But the changes keep coming, thick and fast, and sometimes it becomes less and less obvious what they are anymore.

“Marcus.” Daniel reaches out a hand for him to shake. He shakes it graciously and says his hellos. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

That’s the second time he’s heard that today. Coraline rolls her eyes a little. It’s not the first time she’s heard it, either. It almost makes Marcus laugh but then she smiles again, half-concealing a grin, and he forgets what he’s thinking about for a moment.

But then he wonders what she tells them about. Whether those stories are good or bad, whether they paint him in colour or in black and white.

With Coraline, he figures it’s probably the brightest landscape of technicolour, regardless of who she’s talking about.

“I’m glad Cora finally asked you to come.”

“Well, you talk too much. I didn’t want to bore him.” Cora shrugs, her full attention on Piper.

“More like scare him away.”

He’s not sure she could ever scare him away.

“Finley is terrifying,” she admits with a giggle but she seems distant. She looks up to raise an eyebrow at him again. Her words are slow, almost drawn out. “I wouldn’t blame you if you wanted to get out while you still can.” It’s meant to be light and joking, and Daniel laughs at her words. Given the way she’s looking at him, he’s not sure.

She just keeps looking at him like there’s no one else around.

She can’t help it. She keeps trying. It isn’t working.

“I’m so sorry about that,” Daniel insists as the boys rush past Marcus; he has to step out of the way to avoid them, smiling as they manoeuvre around him and race out of sight into the back of the house. He smiles fondly as they pass. “They’ll calm down in a second.”

“You hope they’ll calm down.” Coraline jabs her older brother in the ribs playfully. He chuckles as lightly as he can but it's obvious he’s tired; his shoulders slump and his eyes linger closed a little longer than normal, Coraline notices. He’s been working flat-out at his gallery every day, then running home to help with the kids. And Piper is a restless baby - difficult to get to sleep which means that, if she’s asleep when she arrives, she can’t say hello for risk of waking her up - so, unless Daniel or Kimmy are holding her while the house is still alive and humming around her, she refuses to fall asleep. “I think-” She looks towards Marcus. He’s inched closer into the room, now, but he’s still lingering like he needs to be invited in. “-you’ll just have to get used to it.” She hums.

“I’m still not used to it and they’re my kids,” Daniel grumbles, almost to himself.

“Piper seems okay with it.” Marcus points out. He watches as his best friend cuddles the tiny baby close to her chest.

Piper’s looking up at Cora with the brightest eyes. They’re Coraline’s eyes - Daniel’s too, he assumes - that light emerald green that sparkles beneath the warm living room light. Her mouth is in an ‘o’ shape, fascinated, as she stares. She looks utterly transfixed by her aunt’s face as she carries on their idle, gentle conversation, lightly bobbing her up and down, cradling her softly to sleep. Her eyelids were drooping, sleep gently pulling her in. She’s humming gently, whenever she’s not speaking; Marcus isn’t even sure she realises she’s doing it. That it’s just some subconscious instinct inside her, telling her to sing to the baby so she can sleep. She’s drawing gentle circles on her back through her onesie. Slow, idle circles that slow the wriggles and the kicking of his legs, lulling her off to sleep ever-so-slowly.

It’s like she’s a natural. She knows exactly what to do every time; with Piper, with Maisie. It’s like second nature and there’s this even brighter glow, brighter than usual, when she settles into the role. She takes it all in her stride and seems to forget the world around her just for a moment.

“How do you do that every time? Can you come and do that every night?” He jokes. But he doesn’t seem to be entirely joking.

She hums. “Perhaps-” She rests her cheek against the top of her head as lightly as she dares without disturbing her. “Perhaps I’m just a superhero.”

The yells of kids echo through the house, the hammering of feet pounding against the wood floor. Kimmy’s muffled exasperated calls for quiet come from the kitchen, falling on deaf ears as the boys continue to charge through the back of the house.

Coraline catches her brother’s gaze. “Go and help.” She’s noticed the way he’s been watching his daughter anxiously, worried that she won’t fall asleep through all the noise and excitement and the gentle hum of Coraline’s made-up song. “I’ve got her,” she insists.

“Are you sure?”

Piper is slowly drifting off to sleep, even despite the noise. Just at the warmth of her aunt cradling her and the gentle hum of her sweet voice lulling her asleep. “I’ve got her,” she repeats. “Go and help Kimmy.”

Daniel’s shoulders slump in relaxation. He mouths a ‘thank you’ as he jogs from the room, calling out to his sons to stop them from charging around, insisting that they wash their hands and settle down for the sake of their sister.

Now, it’s just Coraline, Marcus and a half-asleep Piper left alone in the living room.

The tension in the air is thick and heavy for a moment.

“Marcus, you’re staring,” she points out. She’s not even looking at him, just can just feel the weight of his kind gaze and it sets her heart racing at a hundred miles an hour. “I’d let you hold her-“ She says as he steps a little closer; now Daniel is out of the room, he’s relaxed. It’s like, without him there, he can pretend it’s just the two of them and Piper curled up content against Cora’s chest, even despite the yell of children’s voices and the unfamiliar surroundings. “-but, if I did that, we’d never get her off to sleep.”

“It’s alright,” he whispers, “I think she’s happier with you.” He settles beside her.

Coraline’s thumb brushes over Piper’s cheek and the baby smiles a tiny smile, eyes still close and fisting her hands tighter into the white material of her shirt. There’s a blissful silence that settles between the three of them — just for a moment — when she looks up at him beside her, watching the pair of them sway gently to a seemingly silent song. The weight of the moment engulfs them like a tidal wave.

“Marcus-“ she breathes out, barely loud enough for him to hear. But he does, in the relative silence, and the way she says his name rips the air from his lungs, like the first time she’d surprised him the day they’d met. Her green eyes are wide and wild and she’s looking between him and Piper like they’re the only things left in the world.

They could do it.

He knows what she’s going to say, if she had the chance. If Daniel hadn’t returned, calling out to them that dinner was ready.

They could do it. He knows they could, she knows they could. They could have this fleeting moment for as long as they both live. Their own little version of paradise, together. No matter how terrible the idea seems to be, they could. But Coraline knows she can’t stay in that world forever. It’s temporary and, as much as she wants that, all day, every day, for herself and not through someone else, she knows she can’t let herself get too in over her head.

Still, Marcus really does think she’ll be an amazing mom.

...

After much persuasion — and the promise of candy after dinner — Finley and Elliot finally settled down long enough for them to eat. Coraline had set Piper down to sleep in her crib upstairs, lingering perhaps a little too long to marvel down at her only niece, wondering what it would be like if she was looking down at her own daughter.

She knows it’s a hopelessly bad idea. That the feelings will catch up with her and pull her under again. Sometimes she just can’t help it.

She returns with that fake smile Marcus has become a pro at noticing. She looks wistful, longing in her eyes, disguised by the small smile that takes over her face when she slides into the seat at the dinner table beside him. She smooths out her shirt and jeans, wrinkled from the baby. Another smile, an assurance that Piper is okay and sleeping soundly upstairs, and the conversation moves on to mostly idle chatter, and Daniel asking Marcus questions about himself. Coraline keeps shooting her brother glances whenever he asks a new question that almost seems too personal. He doesn’t mind one bit, though.

Marcus finds Coraline’s free hand under the table and squeezes at some point. She doesn’t want him to let go.

“Auntie Cora?” Finley asks, leaning his chin on his hand to stretch across the table. His questioning call of her name breaks through the idle conversation they’re all having, like he’s demanding all their attention, and not just Coraline’s.

It steals a moment of quiet between them all.

“Nephew Finley?” She replies, mimicking his stance and the curious, furrowed-browed expression on his face.

“When are you going to have a baby, like Piper?”

It’s a loaded yet completely innocent question on his behalf. He’s merely a curious five-year-old with no ill intentions, and no reason to believe it’s anything other than a normal question; Coraline doesn’t even flinch, even when Kimmy scolds her son sharply and insists he eats the rest of his dinner. Though, Marcus still sees the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. Instead, she just smiles and laughs that brightly enchanting laugh, tilting her head to the side in response to her nephew as he sinks back into his chair and pokes at his potatoes.

“Well, I don’t know,” she replies truthfully, “Soon, maybe.”

Marcus almost thinks her eyes waver towards him but it’s so quick that he reasons that, perhaps, he’s seeing things.

“Soon?” Daniel catches up with her words. “You seeing someone?”

“Oh-“ Coraline swallows thickly. She shakes her head. “No, no, not at all. I’m just- optimistic, I guess.”

“I’m sure there’s someone out there for you,” Kimmy poses.

Coraline hums. Marcus doesn’t see the way her gaze trails towards him. “I’m sure there is.”

...

The rest of dinner passed without any more questions on the matter, Finley’s attention switching towards Marcus instead. He was persistent, firing questions at him across the dinner table like he was leading an interrogation, but Marcus kept answering just as enthusiastically as the first time. He’d skirted around the facts a little - it wasn’t exactly a great idea to tell a child, seemingly without a filter, that you were an FBI agent - but the whole exchange had been wonderful. Coraline was sad to see it finish when Kimmy announced the boys could have dessert and they'd leapt from their seats to race towards the cookie jar.

Marcus had offered to help Kimmy wash up as a thank you but she’d brushed him off, and, eventually, he’d resigned to the living room with Daniel. It had taken Coraline months to convince Kimmy that she should let her help clean up, there was no way she would have accepted Marcus’ offer immediately.

Instead, it’s just Coraline and Kimmy, working in tandem to clean the dishes, while Daniel spends time with the kids after a long day at work, and pulls Marcus into their conversation like an old friend.

“I’m sorry about Finn. He’s-” Kimmy shakes her head as she sets another plate down in the drying rack. “He’s been going through one of those... phases lately.”

“It’s fine, Kim, truly.” Coraline sets a couple of dry plates down on the counter and turns to smile at her, before carrying on her job. Sometimes Kimmy jokes about how ridiculous it is that they use so many plates since Piper was born. “He’s just curious,” she insists. “And he makes everything a little more colourful.”

Kimmy chuckles. “That he does.” She washes down another plate. “So, Marcus is great.” She hums, changing the subject towards her with a quirk of an eyebrow and a small, knowing smirk on her face.

Coraline smiles. Though, it’s more to herself than Kimmy. “He really is, isn’t he?”

“Are you two… y’know… is there anything there or-?”

“Oh, no! No, no. We’re just-” Friends. “Just friends.”

“Well-“ She quirks an eyebrow at her sister-in-law. “-maybe you should? Just see how it goes. One date at a time.” Kimmy’s suggestion is as innocent as Finley’s question over dinner. She doesn’t understand the weight it holds. And she doesn’t expect her to, anyway. They’re close but just barely close enough. “Things might surprise you and it’ll do you good to get back out there again after, y’know-“

“No, we-” She shakes her head and turns to finish putting away the plates in the cabinet. In the quiet, she hears Marcus laugh from the living room. It’s one of those whole-hearted laughs, when his head lulls back and his eyes screw shut and crinkle at the corner. She wonders which one of them made him laugh like that, or what made him laugh like that. She hopes Daniel hasn’t pulled out the picture albums; he’s worse for that then their parents. But, since Daniel had made his fortune as an art buyer, eventually to the point he’d made enough to buy his own art gallery, a year ago, Coraline should have known that he and Marcus would get on. They had a lot in common. She’s so glad he likes him, though she can’t imagine a reason why he wouldn’t. “Friends. Friends.”

There’s another silence and she can feel Kimmy’s eyes burning into the back of her head. She turns to see the tail-end of a raised eyebrowed glare, amusement tugging at the corner of her lips. “Well, you never know unless you try, Cora.”

“There will be no trying,” Coraline insists, jabbing Kimmy in the side with her nail. She grins and lets her blonde tresses fall over her shoulder. “Of any kind. He doesn’t see me that way.” She finishes.

“Do you see him that way?”

Another pause.

“No.”

Maybe that’s a lie.

Maybe Kimmy knows that.

Maybe Marcus knows that.

Coraline isn’t sure whether she knows that, though.

“Sure about that?”

Coraline scoffs and turns to continue packing dried, clean plates into the cupboards. “You’re worse than Dan, sometimes.”

“Oh, I take offence to that.”

“Shut up and finish the dishes.” Coraline chuckles, crossing her arms and scowling at the lack of crockery left to dry.

“Just don’t write things off so quickly,” she insists, “It might surprise you.”

...

Daniel and Kimmy had tried to persuade them to stay for drinks late into the evening. The boys were shipped off to bed at the usual time, complaining that they wanted to stay up instead, as usual. But Marcus has work in the morning and Coraline has a long string of interviews; the idea of a late-night sounds less than ideal, her eyes already stinging at the idea of staying up any later than they had it.

Instead, they’d make their excuses and leave, ducking away into Coraline’s car with an exhausted groan. The boys had run wild right up until they went to sleep, nagging Coraline and Marcus to play with them every five minutes, even as Kimmy and Daniel insisted that they settle down and get ready for bed. It’s still late when they leave, though. D.C is eerily quiet as they weave through the roads, small crowds of people scattered through the repeating streets of suburbia.

The car ride home is silent of their voices. Not that uncomfortable silence, from before, when things had been awkward between them and neither of them were sure where the other stood. But that kind of satiated, happy and, admittedly exhausted, silence that pools over them. The low hum of the car engine and the radio is persistent in the space between them. Marcus keeps stealing glances over at her as she drives; he can’t help it, but he doesn’t think she notices, her eyes far too focused on the road ahead of her. And, if she does, she doesn’t mention it. Just keeps letting him glance over at her as the street lights illuminate the gentle angles of her face.

He’s glad she never mentions anything. He’d be too embarrassed if she did.

Instead, she’s lost in the music. That blissful flicker of emotion that crosses her face when she hears a song she likes, when her eyes light up at the sound of one of her favourite songs. Her radio is always tuned into some old rock station - he has no idea what it’s called, it’s usually just a continuous loop of different songs cut with the low gravelly voice of a man who sounded like he’d smoked one too many cigars - and most of the songs are the same songs she’s playing on her record player when he arrives at her apartment and she’s dancing around the kitchen while she cooks. He recognises a lot of them from his college days, songs he used to play with his band. It makes him feel old, sometimes, when she tells him they’re songs she spent her teen years with, even though there aren’t too many years between them.

It’s I Don’t Wanna Miss a Thing that plays now; she’s a sucker for those objectively-cheesy rock ballads. They’re her mom’s favourites, too. And, maybe he won’t admit it, but Marcus has heard her favourites enough to count them amongst his, now. Maybe he just likes the way they make her smile. Coraline is humming along, her fingers drumming a steady rhythm against the top of the steering wheel idly as her eyes follow the road ahead. Every so often, a flicker of neon tints her in colour when they pass a takeout, the only things still open and busy. The curve of her profile and each curl of her hair is highlighted in red.

It’s these moments of distracted bliss, when everything seems to exist without a care in the world, that he likes the most.

It never lasts long enough.

He insists she just parks in the garage she usually uses, by her apartment building, and he’ll walk her home. She protests - because of course she does - offering to drive him all the way home instead, but it’s dark and even in this quiet, well-off part of town where the streets should be safe, you never know who might be lurking. Maybe it’s the things he’s seen and heard of in the FBI - everything he’s seen during his training, heard through whispers and stories in the office - but sometimes he can’t shake the simple action of making sure someone is safe.

It’s still silent between them as they near Coraline’s apartment complex. That short two minute walk down the quiet, tree-lined street that sparkles with chains of fairy lights. It’s lethargic and lingering, each step heavy with the weight of something that echoes through the quiet neighbourhood.

“Cora, I’m sorry.”

It comes out of nowhere and it worries her. And Coraline has absolutely no idea why Marcus is apologising to her. As far as she’s concerned, he hasn’t done anything wrong. At least, not that she knows of.

“For what?” She questions, brow furrowing up at him as they walk. Their hands keep brushing but she doesn’t have it in her to move her hand away.

“I had no right to drop the baby bomb on you like that,” he admits. He reaches up to scratch the back of his neck uncomfortably. When his hand drops, his fingers brush against her knuckles. “I’m sorry if I made you feel trapped. It was a terrible idea. I should have thought-“

“Yes,” she blurts it out before she can stop herself. She’s not entirely sure she’s thought this through. But she can’t help it.

“Yes, what?”

“The offer.” Her whisper is loud in the suddenly-stifling silence of the street. “If it’s still on the table- yes. I’ll have a baby with you.”

“Coraline-” He gulps and stops dead in his tracks. They’re outside her gate, now. “I don’t want to lose you.”

“And you won’t.” Coraline insists. She steps closer to him, sea-green eyes staring up at him with heavy expectation. He’s the one that suggested it. He’s the one that had laid in bed until the early hours of the morning, losing precious moments of sleep as his brain swam with questions, wondering whether he should suggest this to her in the first place, or if it was an awful idea. But, somehow, he can’t seem to convince himself that this is a bad idea, that he should just let her down easy, now. It’s seeing her with Piper, seeing her with Maisie, seeing how she lights up around them.

If he can make her that happy, every single day, why the hell would he turn that opportunity down?

Besides, he’s pretty sure it would make him equally as happy. He’s thought about having kids since he was just a kid himself. And god knows the world seemed to have it out for him when it came to love, things aren’t happening any time soon; he can’t really think of anyone better than Coraline to have a baby with.

And, as much as Coraline knows how recklessly stupid the whole idea is, she can’t bring herself to want anything more or less than this. Than him. “It is a terrible idea, y’know?” She finds herself insisting, blinking up at him with those beautifully-wide eyes.

“Truly awful.”

“And there are a hundred different things that could go wrong.”

“Hundreds.”

“But-“

“Maybe we should… try? Maybe just for a little while. See what happens.”

“Maybe we should.” He exhales long and deep out of his nose. “Maybe…” He tilts her chin up towards his with one finger and suddenly he’s kissing her. His fingers brush her jaw, curving up towards her ear and brushing into her hairline at the nape of her neck. Even the soft touch of his hand against hers as they walked was driving her insane but this, this is on another level.

It’s more than the first time they kissed. Less of a brief touch of lips, more of a wave of relief flooding through them both, unfamiliar feelings surging up inside them. This kiss is full of urging anticipation. She’s pulling him closer to her before she can stop herself, their chests flush, lips and hands strong and insistent against each other.

The fumble to her front door seems like the most practised thing they’ve ever done. Familiar when it shouldn’t be, even as they bump into things on their way.

taglist: @wheresthewater

#marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x oc #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x fem!oc #marcus pike #sudden desire #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x oc #the mentalist #original character #oc

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amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines · 4 years

Text

Sweet Pea//don't know if you love me or you want me dead

Request: I dunno if this'll go through or not but can i request a Sweet Pea/reader based on this text post, I can't find the original version lol

hey! sweet pea imagine based off this ^. originally posted by @riverdalecentral, so thank you! its enemies to lovers!! which is a trope that i adore! (side note, if you ever see anything to do with enemies to lovers you can 100% just send it to me with literally no explanation and i absolutely will not mind). title is from ‘teeth’ by 5sos! i had so much fun writing this! i hope you all enjoy it! i also hope you’re all having a lovely day/night!

No matter where you are in the world, you never want to be in a forest at night. But if you live in Riverdale, thats just a given. Nobody in their right minds goes into Fox Forest at midnight, however, spending five minutes with Sweet Pea can make anyone go insane. And so here you are, trekking through the woods like you’re in some sort of shitty horror film.

“I can’t believe Jones has got us running around town like we’re in fucking Scooby Doo.” Sweet Pea huffs as the two of you walk through the trees. You let go of the branch you’re holding, and it narrowly avoids hitting Sweet Pea. You can feel the glare you’re getting and a small smirk twitches at your lips.

You and Sweet Pea have a complicated relationship to say the least. You’ve both been part of the serpents for the same amount of time. (You were actually initiated 5 minutes before him but he doesn’t like to admit that). You have grown up in the same trailer park, five trailers from each other and you share the same friends. But there’s just something about him that makes you want to stick pins in your eyes. And there’s something about you, that makes him want to repeatedly stub his toe every single minute of his life, rather than spend five minutes with you. So yeah, its complicated.

There’s been so much speculation around why you two hate each other. Fangs says its because you’re both too stubborn to actually have a proper conversation (whatever Fogarty). Toni says its because you secretly like each other (gross), and there was once a theory that it was because you had secretly dated and then broke up (again, you would rather stick pins in your eyes).

You just hated each other. That was it.

Although, despite the fact that spending five minutes in the same room with him makes you nauseous, he is kind of attractive. If you’re into the whole ‘bad boy, gang member, secretly soft at heart’ thing. Not that you’d ever admit that to anyone.

“You’re Shaggy!” “You’re Scooby.” You both say at the same time making your expression mirror his. You both glare at each other before reluctantly turning away and continuing to walk.

“If you’re implying that I’m lesser because I’m the dog...1. You’re an idiot. Everybody loves dogs and Scooby Doo is evidence of that. And 2. Scooby Doo is the main character. The whole franchise is named after him, making him the lead. He even has a snack named after him. Its Scooby’s world and we’re just living in it.”

“What. The. Fuck.” He stops and you roll your eyes, turning around to look at him.

“You know I’m right...Shaggy.” You shine your torch in his eyes and he squints before flipping you off.

“How am I Shaggy?”

“You give of major stoner vibes, you’re always eating and I never see you wear anything other than a dark t-shirt, black jeans and your serpent jacket.” You look him up and down and he huffs in response, crossing his arms over his chest.

“They all wear the same outfits...they’re cartoons.”

“True.” You nod. “But the other two are right. Plus, you’d be nothing without me.”

“I’d be a lot happier without you.” He replies and you send him a sarcastic smile back. He returns it and the two of you continue through the woods, your torches casting a variation of shadows against the tall trees. Its less like Scooby Doo and more like Blair Witch. And despite your company being Sweet Pea, you’d rather him than nobody.

You suddenly get the feeling your being watched, and the intensity of it makes you stop in your tracks, Sweet Pea soon catches up to you, stopping beside you and also looking around.

“What is it? Did you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror?” He teases and even though you’re absolutely terrified, you still find it in yourself to punch him in the arm.

“We’re in the middle of a forest. Where would I find a mirror?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I’ve found some weird things in the woods. I once found a pile of bones, a belt and a half eaten apple.”

“I-What?” You look up at him and he shrugs casually.

“To this day I have no idea why they were there. Although, the belt does look pretty good on.”

“Hm-Wait what?” You glance at his belt, the silver reflecting off the rays of your torch and he quickly looks away.

“Nothing.”

“What exactly are we looking for?” You ask, changing the subject.

“I dunno. Jughead just said ‘anything strange’.”

“In Riverdale? Yeah, that’ll be easy.” You huff before quickly pointing your torch to the side of you. Sweet Pea joins, the two of you silently listening and watching (and praying) that its just an owl. After a minute you both continue walking, this time in silence and you’re sure you’ve huddle a little closer to each other, but neither of you seem to mind.

Twigs snap underneath your shoes and a gust of wind makes the trees rustle around you. It makes you shiver, and you swear Sweet Pea pauses for just a second to look around. The whole atmosphere makes you feel suddenly claustrophobic, despite being in the great outdoors, and right now you’re unsure who you hate more, Sweet Pea...or Jughead.

“What did he mean by strange?” You whisper and look around again.

“I don’t know. Anything that could explain the weird going ons at his preppy new school.”

“Why would that have anything to do with the woods. They’re in the opposite direction of each other.”

“Ask Jones.” He holds his hands up defensively making you huff loudly. Your barely make it two steps before freezing again, Sweet Pea grunts as he walks into you but you don’t acknowledge him, too busy trying to decipher whether the noise you heard was a bird or a murderer.

“Did you hear that?”

“What!?” He looks around quickly and somehow, the two of you end up closer together than you were before. “Y/n, I swear to god, if you’re fucking with me, I will actually kill you.”

“Surprisingly, you don’t sound that threatening when I can feel you literally shaking beside me.”

“Shut up.”

“Why did Jones even pair us together. You’re about as much use as a wet sock.” You mutter angrily, but you cut yourself off when you see a shadow move out of the corner of your eye. Before you can stop yourself you’re reaching out for Sweet Pea, grabbing his arm and squeezing. “Sweet Pea?”

“Yep?” His doesn’t even hide the fear in his voice, and if you were in any other situation, you would have definitely made fun of him.

“Did you see that?”

“...yep.” He nods. “Do you think we should investigate?”

“Do you think we should investigate?” You mock. “Its like you want to get murdered.”

“A lot of people wouldn’t be opposed to that.”

“Getting murdered, or you specifically getting murdered.”

“Either, or.” He shrugs.

“I think at least a few people would miss you.” You reply and a smirk appears on his face.

“Am I dead? Have I already been murdered? Are you actually being nice to me?”

“We can find out if people would miss you if you want.” You smile sarcastically at him and he shoves you lightly. For a second, the two of you forget where you are and what you’re supposed to be doing. It feels light, even if you are being rude to each other, and you swear, for a split second, you feel yourself enjoying each others company. But of course, he ruins it.

“No thanks. I’m happy knowing that you’d miss me.”

“I never said tha-” He only looks away for a few seconds. He saw something move and he thought he’d check it out. But in the time that he turns around, that he pulls his eyes away from watching your lips as they say whatever sarcastic comment you’d come up with, you vanish. Your sentence being cut off.

He swears he’s never moved faster. Instantly he turns back around, shining the torch in every direction he can. It suddenly feels darker and the only thing he can hear is his heart beating in his throat. “Y/n?” It starts off as a whisper, unsure of what to do. But when you don’t answer, he manages to find his voice. “Where did you go? Y/n? I would very much like to hear your annoying voice.” His eyes close, despite every fibre of his body screaming at him not too. He’s seen horror films, he knows he shouldn’t close his eyes, but he needs to wish and prayer and do anything he can to find you.

“...sweet pea?” Your voice is quiet and trembling, but he hears it and his eyes snap open, frantically looking around.

“Y/-” Your name dies in his throat once he sees you, and he can’t speak anymore.

For as long as Sweet Pea can remember, he’s been day dreaming about you getting into traumatic accidents. There’s a running competition between the two of you, over who can come up with the most gruesome and violent end for the other. Unfortunately he is winning due to a very traumatizing death that he said was inspired by both Saw and Final Destination.

Right now though, your actual life is in threat and he has never wanted anything less in his life.

A blonde, creepy looking boy around the same age as both of you holds you tight to him, one arm over your chest while the other holds a knife to your throat. There’s a dark haired girl stood beside him, also holding a knife, and even though she doesn’t look as intimidating as the blonde, it does nothing to make Sweet Pea feel better.

“Wow, Jones was too scared to find us himself he sent his lackeys to do his dirty work.”

“Let her go...please.” His voice breaks and he takes a careful step towards you. His hands already reaching into his pocket, desperately searching for his knife and brass knuckles, but he stops when he makes eye contact with the boy.

“And we are not his lackeys.” You protest, despite the knife digging into your skin further, and the hold on you becoming tighter.

Whatever Sweet Pea was feeling, whether it was fear, vulnerability or something in between completely disappears. And his gaze shifts from the man holding you, to you yourself, the same annoyed expression on his face. “Maybe focus on the knife being held to your throat, and then argue about what we are to Jughead.”

“Don’t tell me what to do.” You roll your eyes.

“Oh sorry for trying to save your life.”

“Save my life? You couldn’t even sav-”

“Is this a bad time? Do you want us to come back and kill you later orrr?” The girl asks sarcastically as she looks between you and Sweet Pea. Both of you look at each other before looking at the floor.

“Continue.” You grumble and you feel the knife slice into your skin. A small cry escapes your lips and Sweet Pea looks up quickly. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so frightened, and you definitely didn’t think you’d be on the receiving end of such a look, but there’s something about it that stirs something inside of you, in spite of the very inappropriate moment.

“Okay.” She says, twirling the knife in-between her fingers. “We can either do this the easy way, or the even easier way. We’re going to make it look like a fight that went wrong. And then we’ll stumble out of the woods, covered in blood, crying, saying that it was self defense.” She smiles wickedly.

“Even better idea, we don’t even have to be here. We could make it look like a fight between two gang members.”

“Hmmm.” You and Sweet Pea say at the same time. Both of you know it’s very rare that Serpents kill each other, so that wouldn’t work, but as soon as you look at each other after the collective thought, do you realize the mistake you made. Never say ‘hmm’ when faced with death.

“Aww, thanks for helping us plan your death.” The boy says. “So no to the fight between gang members. What about a fight between two lovers.”

“Ew.” You mutter.

“Gross.” Sweet Pea adds.

“I’d rather just die.” You shrug and Sweet Pea sends you a look.

“Y/n.” He sighs.

“Fine, we’ll just go with the fight.” The boy huffs, moving the knife to the other side of your neck and digging it in. Blood trickles down your chest making both you and Sweet Pea wince.

“You want to fight?” Your force the words out of your mouth and you can feel the look Sweet Pea is giving you. “Come on then, fight me.” The two of them exchange glances, they clearly weren’t expecting an answer from you. Whoever sent them to do this, definitely underestimated how stubborn serpents are, so maybe Fangs was right about you and Sweet Pea, maybe you were both too stubborn to get along.

The ten seconds that they’re distracted, gives you and Sweet Pea a chance to look at each other. A silent conversation happens between the two of you and even though you’re not entirely sure of what he’s saying, you just hope you got the basic idea and so you send him a nod.

While they’re distracted, Sweet Pea reaches into his pocket, slowly pulling his knife out, and as soon as they look back, you start your plan. Quickly you kick the guy as hard as you can in the shin making him fall and push you away from him, dropping the knife as he does. You swiftly pick it up and Sweet Pea uses the distraction to grab the girl, pressing his own knife against her neck.

You stand a few feet away from them, holding your own knife and the one you stole out in front of you.

“Touch her if you never want to see the light of day again.” He whispers in the girls ear and he sends a look to her weird friend that makes him stop in his tracks.

“Now.” You smile. “Do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way?”

----

Dawn breaks as you both stumble out the forest. You’re covered in cuts and bruises, but thankfully you’ve stopped bleeding so you’ll take that as a win. Usually you enjoy beating up rich kids, its one of the few things you and Sweet Pea can bond over, but right now you just want to go home.

They may have been preppy, but they definitely knew what they were doing. And they’d managed to escape, slipping away from you and through the trees. They may have gotten away, but they were barley in one piece, and so you figured that would be enough to bide Jughead some time with whatever he was planning.

There’s a togetherness about fighting. For a while you, both you and Sweet Pea were sure you were going to die in there, and so now that you’re walking through the sleepy streets of the town, there’s a part of you thats glad the other made it out.

They say fighting changes you. It awakens something in you. Usually that something is hate or anger, but both of you already have enough of that.

No, this is something else.

Respect for the other? Or maybe fondness? Whatever it is, its new and it swirls around the both of you, leaving you unsure of how to act. So you walk to Jughead’s house in silence, your arms brushing gently against each other every so often.

Jughead’s house is quiet as the two of you walk through the front door. The Jones/Cooper house is full, serpents mill about the place, with either food or drinks in their hands. And Jughead is in the middle of them, stood right in the centre of the living room. It seems you and Sweet Pea weren’t the only people sent to their deaths last night.

Everyone looks surprised as you walk into the living room. They probably expected at least one of you to be dead, whether that was because of something is the woods, or one of you, its surprising to see you two alive, with just a few cuts and bruises.

“Did you guys find anything weird.”

“Oh, you know. The usual.” You shrug. Jughead nods, deciding to talk to you about it in private later on. And so he starts talking to the group again, you and Sweet Pea practically blending into the background. But there’s a definite shift in atmosphere.

Usually when you and Sweet Pea are in a room together there’s tension, and everybody is aware of it. But this time, its different. It feels light, despite the tense subject being discussed. Everyone can feel the change, but nobody can figure out what it is.

Only you and Sweet Pea know what has changed. And as he squeezes your hand in his, a soft smile appearing on his face as he looks at you, you have a feeling a lot more things are going to change. Some of them may not be for the good, it seems like there’s a lot more to be uncovered in Riverdale, but one things for sure, you’re glad Sweet Pea is by your side for it.

#sweet pea #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea x you #sweet pea x y/n #riverdale #riverdale imagine

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ageofevermore · 4 years

Note

can i pls request more rudy little sister pls... i just feel like he would be the best big brother especially to a sister. maybe like him helping her through depression/anxiety or advice about relationships thank u

thank you for the request! and i will def be doing the relationship advice one as well! x

He had her to thank for the authenticity of his performance. He had gone to her about the softest of subjects and listened as she debriefed the illnesses that corrupted her common sense from time to time. A topic she was usually close minded towards.

Stepping into the role of JJ Maybank was what he had worked for as an actor, however it left him with a heavy responsibility to authentically bring to life the struggle of an abuse victim. She had never been caught up in the web of mistreatment, however her mind was tinted with the degrading self reflections of an anxiety disorder. She walked him through the breakdowns that hit at random times, the depressive lows that struck for weeks at a time, and the hyperactive highs that caused concern. She told her about her triggers, how sometimes it was an unexpected touch, or a conversational topic; explained to him the delicacy of coping with unfortunate events. She poured herself out to him, and he had never been more appreciative of her. It hadn’t just given him a better understanding of JJ’s tendencies, but for the first time, he was truly seeing who his little sister was as her own person. She was incredibly strong minded and determined, something he never doubted but didn’t know the true extent of.

As kids they did everything together, thick as thieves despite the nearly five year age difference. When she started breaking away from the bulk of her family, riddled with insecurities and insufferable mental anguish, he took it harder then she had when they finally had the diagnosees. Depression and anxiety had stripped him of a lively sister willing to leave the confines of their alaskan ranch in the dead of midnight to build snowmen, but he had found her again after nearly two years of her own self discovery and realignment.

She had been in Charleston for a few weeks now, studying beneath her brother's boss who had been kind enough to extend her an internship opportunity upon hearing of her interest in film creation. She had been reluctant to take the job, knowing how hard Rudy had worked to score the role, she never wanted to undermine his efforts and so easily feed off of what he had made for himself. It had taken almost three weeks for Rudy and Jonas to convince her to fly down to South Carolina after her last day of school, and spend the summer months of her educational holiday wrapped up in script composure and production.

It had been a feel good job for the most part, but as she woke in the apartment meant to be solely her brothers and Chase’s, her heart felt heavy in her chest with impossible guilt she thought she squandered months prior. It wasn’t the first time she had woken with an impossible weight on her chest, but it was the first time since leaving Alaska that she felt guilt for working off of what Rudy had made. She recited to herself as often as she could that feeling bad was ridiculous, she wasn’t getting paid, and her name wasn’t being included in the ending cards, it was all educational, however the more she told herself that the more she felt insignificant. She felt small in the social setting, a longing for Alaska taking her captive.

Had her blonde hair not brushed against Chases shoulder on her way to the door, neither male would have noticed her presence. She was silent on her journey to her vans, character clad feet slipping on the hardwood until she found a snug home in her white slip ons.

“Josie,” Her brother called for her just before she could slip through the front door without so much of a goodbye to either male, “Why don’t you come with us today?” Chase suggested before Rudy could propose the same argument.

In the two months since her arrival, Chase had come to be a fourth brother to the soft spoken, strong-willed, determined Alaskan girl who every so often gave into the nightmares living within her mind. He hated seeing her so withdrawn from the social settings he and Rudy created. He had known her for only a few months, but she had been transparent about the telltale signs of her struggle. Rudy sighed when he watched her brow crinkle in rejection, before she forced a smile at the two of them and was on her way to Lilah’s, the same as it was every morning. Only this time, she left her happiness lingering somewhere in the guest bedroom.

Chase and Rudy shared a look, the men knowing the great difficulties of understanding little sisters -- especially little sisters who thought they didn’t deserve help when they were drowning.

She was laughing with Madison and Lilah when Madelyn and JD came into the trailer, wide grins on their sweaty overworked faces. The day had just paused for lunch, and upon seeing the hazy film in her eyes, Jonas had insisted that she join the cast for their lunch break. Usually that didn’t happen, as she was either at another location working in the office space, or she was shadowing a few of the directors and producers while everyone else ate in the tents adjacent to the Tanneyhill set.

JD attacked the blonde girl in a tight squeeze, having missed her cold and cuddly embraces. The girls hands and feet were always cold as a mid-winter alaskan icicle, a refresher after spending many hours beneath the unrelenting Charleston sunlight. They were all crammed into a single trailer, hot, sweaty bodies pressed together trying to enjoy the light circulation of the air conditioning.

“What’a’do girl?” Drew exclaimed, hand outstretched ready to clap against hers. Their fingers curled against each other in a classic brotherly embrace, and she cringed away from the clammy skin of his palms against her knuckles.

“That’s absolutely disgusting.” She cringed, shrieking in laughter when Drew advanced and rubbed his sweaty hands down her bare thighs, sending her shaking body into JD’s lap. The boy that had previously been fondling her icy hands in content, groaned at the sudden presence of her weight against softer parts of his body. “Sorry, Jed.”

“You’re not with the production team today?” Lilah asked, leaning over and snagging the iced tea that had been in Madelyn’s hands. The two blondes shared playful looks of annoyance before listening to her shrug her shoulders, “I got told that I could take lunch.”

She watched Lilah frown, having known the way her father worked and understanding that he usually never gave his interns time to breathe. He liked feeding them all the opportunities and information he could whilst simultaneously running around like a chicken with his head cut off.

“So did Elaine.” Austin hummed, having been beside the brunette intern when she was gifted with the rare break of lunch. A weight was lifted off of her shoulders, the paranoia that Jonas was fed up with her hazy mindset slipping away into a dark corner.

She smiled at the beautiful people around her, somehow displaced from the utopia of opportunities sitting right beneath her fingertips.

As she laid in bed that night, head cloudy with the madness of what her life had become, the bedroom door opened allowing a passage of light to coat the midnight walls gold. She shifted from her curled up position, eyeing the blonde figure as they moved through the night and surrendered to the shadow of the moon.

“Hey.” He whispered as he slung himself against the length of the bed, nuzzling beneath the covers and turning so her was face to face with her. In the darkness he couldn’t see the tracks of moisture against her cheeks, but he knew her well enough to recognize the tremble of her shoulders.

“Hey.” She mumbled back, wiping at her cheeks with the back of her hand, annoyed with the tickle of a tear beneath her eyelashes. “Sorry.”

Rudy frowned, searching for her hand in the dead of the darkness and bringing warmth to her anxiously cold digits. She always ran colder when she was anxious, and he couldn’t help but brush his hand along her arm on certain days when she was giving off a mix of warning signs and hormones. “What are you sorry for?”

“Feeling like this.” She sniffled, “I know you told me you didn’t do jack shit, but I just feel like you worked for this. This is your dream. I feel like I'm piggybacking and that’s the last thing I want.”

Rudy frowned, wishing he could somehow just prove to her that this wasn’t just some charity work being thrown out to younger siblings in need of a little motivation. Jonas had seen her previous projects and aspiring indie films. He had asked Rudy about your willingness to join him for an internship, but of course Rudy had never told her that while performing a background check on him, Josh and Jonas had stumbled upon her. It just never seemed relevant in the grand scheme of things. But, he told her that now, and though it didn’t lift the heavy guilt or ease her mind, she took it into consideration so that hopefully, sometime soon, she would be confident enough to realize she wasn’t just some charity case related to Rudy Pankow.

— 𝐛𝐱𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐲𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞

#rudy’s younger sister #rudy pankow fluff #rudy pankow sister #rudy pankow #madelyn cline #madison bailey #chase stokes #austin north #drew starkey #outer banks cast #outer banks #outer banks blurb #rudy pankow blurb #rudy pankow imagine #jj maybank

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discotreque · 3 years

Text

Disco 3.09: Terra Firma (Part 1)

That scene of [spoiler] flat on the ground getting just systematically pummeled by [spoiler]—punch after punch after punch after punch—was a perfect metaphor for what the themes this season have been doing to me emotionally. It’s been a pleasant, if occasionally heart-wrenching, surprise to feel something about this show besides “whoa, cool CGI!” or bone-chilling dread—but hopefully Season 4 won’t feel quite so much like it’s being aired directly at me.

So I went zero for two on last week’s predictions in the first goddamn scene, lmao. Turns out the post-TNG combadge on Vor’s early-TNG uniform was just a VFX mixup in the trailer, since he’s seen with the correct oval-backed delta in the actual episode—so that’s neither a meaningful plot element nor a cute inside joke about historical accuracy over the centuries, shame. Still got to see Gersha Phillips’s take on a spandex front-zip, though—that piping! *chef’s kiss*

I also thought Georgiou’s condition was “obviously” something engineered by David Cronenberg’s character (subtitles say his name is Kovich). Apparently he didn’t cause what’s happening to her; he’s just here to explain it. Now if only he’d explain what the fuck is up with his tie...

Speaking of the unfortunate Lt. Cmdr. Yor—he was from the fucking Kelvin timeline??? I wasn’t sure they’d ever acknowledge that in prime canon—and I don’t think the mainline Trek universe has ever been called “the prime universe” diagetically until now, either. (“Why not The Mongooses? That’s a good team name! The Fighting Mongooses.”) I especially love what a small connection it is: one guy crossed over from there, a long time ago, in what was apparently a one-off incident. (He also arrived a year before Lower Decks S1 is set—will we see an animated Vor on the Cerritos next year?)

Tilly: *aggressively eats lunch with you*

You can see how the hope and idealism of Discovery’s crew has softened Admiral Vance—his conversation with Captain Saru was so mentorly and almost tender that it gave me the terrible, terrible feeling that his character growth, and especially his soft “See you when you get back,” mean that he’s definitely going to be killed by Ossyra before they actually get back :(

Likewise, Georgiou’s goodbye scene with Saru and Tilly was a transparent attempt to manipulate my emotions, and guess what? I was successfully manipulated 😭😭😭

As a “computer person” myself, I found Adira forgetting to un-pause their descrambling program—then thinking, since it wasn’t running, it had broken—almost painfully relatable 😩 Also in that scene, Stamets sticks up for Gray’s presumable intentions in (sorry for this...) ghosting Adira (...it was right there!), and Adira says, correctly, “but he doesn’t get to decide what’s good for me”—and speaking of painfully relatable moments, I loved Stamets’s reaction there.

When you’re an adult of a certain age and you’re talking to someone a fair bit younger, you’re sometimes confronted with the uncomfortable reality that wisdom rarely comes from quantity of experience alone. To grow wise, you have to experience things that teach you important lessons, and you have to be willing to learn from those things. That can happen at 16 or 46, and realizing it’s more about luck than time when you’re closer to 46 than 16 can give you a little existential vertigo. It’s a lovely grace note in Stamets and Adira’s relationship (and Anthony and Blu’s performances!) that Paul doesn’t always have the high ground when it comes to emotional intelligence.

SPEAKING OF PERFORMANCES, just drive a truck full of Emmy statues up to the Martin-Green household and dump it out on the lawn. Every one of Prime Michael’s pangs of hurt and confusion and desperate affection for Phillipa comes through loud and clear—and Mirror Michael is just unhinged. Sonequa Martin-Green is one of the greatest acting talents any Star Trek production has ever had, she’s clearly having the time of her life sinking her teeth into this role, and it’s a genuine fucking privilege to watch her work every week. I can’t decide whether I want Evil Michael Burnham to have a SUPERLATIVELY AWESOME death scene or show up again down the line as a recurring villain—but this is Star Trek, so you never know, we could easily get both.

David Ajada shows up to collect a paycheque, ask Saru if there’s room in the A-plot yet for Book (not this week, sadly), and walk around looking like the goddamn Wikipedia entry for "compulsory heterosexuality" in yet another long black sweater from H&M’s 2019 "Gender? I don’t know her" collection. (Face it: there’s no man more attractive than a fictional one written by a lesbian.)

I guessed last week (privately; no points) that the barren planet we saw them on in the trailers was going to have some kind of Guardian of Forever situation, but I didn’t expect Paul Guilfoyle to be there, and I did not expect Carl—who, sort of like how Book has a Star Wars vibe, feels right out of Doctor Who.

(The only other headline in Carl’s newspaper that I could make out, by the way, besides the big one about the emperor, was about the USS Jenolan having gone missing—the ship that crashed into the Dyson Sphere with Scotty in its transporter buffer, as seen in TNG’s “Relics.” Easter egg? Or plot point???)

Michelle Yeoh has been so great in so many ways on this show, but she outdoes herself in this episode, in every single scene. Just like Michael Burnham, Georgiou was conceived as a one-season character—she wasn’t designed to have room to grow—and Season 2 didn’t really do anything to write her out of that corner. Season 3, though, has done a really compelling job of giving her interesting things to do and interesting ways to change.

And sending her back to the motherfucking Mirror Universe is possibly the most interesting way to show just how much she has changed, holy shit. (I guess Carl didn’t read about the Interdimensional Displacement Restrictions in that newspaper of his.)

There are two legitimate reasons for sending characters to an AU with extremely out-of-character doppelgangers: to highlight something about our regulars through contrast, and/or to let the actors vamp. The MU arc in Season 1 was grim and almost entirely joyless, and didn’t really shine a light on anything in the prime universe—it was just a generic escalation of stakes for our heroes. The Klingon War was the frying pan, and the MU was the fire.

This time we actually learn things about these people: Georgiou, of course, but also that the “real” Captain Killy has a lot more of Prime Tilly’s trademark nervous disposition than Prime Tilly pretending to be Captain Killy. (Too bad Killy’s destined to get blown up by Klingons with the ISS Disco in the Prime Universe.) It was also a ton of fun to see Rhys and Owo as deadly rivals, Rekha Sharma as Evil(...er?) Landry again, and Bryce throwing knives in the mess hall—at, please correct me if I’m wrong, a brunette Hannah Cheeseman as an un-augmented Airiam?????

Also, I don’t know why they got Mirror Stamets of all people (inventor of the evil spore drive—not, as far as we know, also an evil slam poet) for that dramatic recital at the evil ribbon dance, except I know exactly why: he’s played by Anthony Rapp, who’s a goddamn treasure. And Georgiou changed the timeline here—Mirror Stamets was still alive to get phasered by Mirror Lorca in S1—but I hope we come back to the MU in Season 5 and Stamets is somehow, inexplicably, still around—only to get killed in a hilariously blasé way again, because—again—he genuinely sucks at like, the logistics of betraying people.

Finally, those adorable little DOT-7 drones... but make them eeeeeeeevil.

Next week: We must leave behind all of that which destroys us. A mood for 2021 if ever I’ve heard one. (Plus, Mirror Saru grabs a dude—either Mirror Culber or someone else in medical red—and bodyslams said dude into the ceiling, which... is also a mood for 2021, tbh.)

#star trek discovery #star trek discovery spoilers #disco spoilers #amy's episode notes #terra firma #michael burnham #sonequa martin green

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watchmegetobsessed · 4 years

Text

“I shouldn’t have let you go.” (Adam Driver)

by now, yall already know about my obsession with adam driver, so i decided to write a fic about him, what a surprise! it’s been a while since i last wrote anything off my drabble list, so i thought i would do this one for that. also thank you @softboyshawn for motivating me to write it, you always know when to give me a push!!

word count: 3.2K

drabble list masterlist

Walking into the building Adam pushes his shades up to the top of his head, keeping his hair out of his forehead. He intended to get a haircut weeks ago, but he wasn’t sure what’s gonna be needed for this role, so he decided to keep it long just for a little longer. He is welcomed by a nice receptionist who helps him out with where he has to head for the reading and he takes the elevator with a delightful smile on his lips.

He feels thankful to be back in the drill, working is exactly what he needs right now, something to keep him busy and focused on what’s important. Starting a new movie is always exciting and powering for him, meeting new people, challenging himself with new scenes, this is what he loves the most.

As he steps into the small auditorium that was turned into the location for the reading he looks around, searching for familiar faces around the long table that has a labelled seat for every role in the movie. His eyes meet a well-known face and he can’t help but chuckle as he approaches the director, Shawn Levy holding his arms out for a brotherly hug.

“It’s so nice to see you again!” Shawn pats his back.

“You too, man.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be at your audition, but to be honest, I knew you would be the perfect for the role,” Shawn lets him in on this little secret.

The two of them has worked together in 2014 and Shawn didn’t doubt Adam would be the perfect fit for his new movie’s leading role. He told his assistant to reach out to Adam and ask him to audition. It was kind of an informal meet up with the movie’s producer with a short screen test and they were entirely sure Adam is the one to cast for the role of Derek Lahey, the big city guy moving back to his mother following a split from his long-term girlfriend after he finds out she’s been cheating on him for quite a while.

“It’s alright,” Adam smiles as they let go of each other.

“You got the new script, right?” he asks pointing at the table where Adam sees a rack of scripts in the middle.

“Yeah, got it yesterday, I gave it a few reads last night.”

“Amazing. We had to make a few changes last minute, sorry about it. But we had a change in the cast as well.”

“The cast?” Adam furrows his eyebrows as Shawn looks around and his eyes lighten up when he sees someone he was looking for.

“Yeah, you remember Y/N?”

As Adam turns to the side and his eyes meet hers, he can’t even figure what to do or say. It’s been about four years he last saw Y/N, but time has definitely changed her and it’s kind of taking his breath away. The shy, baby-faced girl has turned into a very mature, eye-catching young woman, but there are some things that stayed the same. Like her freckles all over her nose, her dimples when she smiles and those amazingly dark eyes that just pop out thanks to her reddish-blonde hair she refuses to dye for any role.

“Hi, Adam,” Y/N smiles, feeling just as startled by his presence as he is at hers, but snapping out of his awe he finally goes for a friendly hug.

“Y/N, you’re the change in the cast?”

“The girl we originally casted broke her leg, so we needed to make a quick decision in order to start filming in time. Luckily, Y/N was able to take the job!” Shawn taps her arm smiling at her happily and she tugs her hair behind her ears. Adam finds himself staring at her longer than he should be, so he forces himself to look over at his director friend.

“It’s like a mini reunion,” Adam chuckles. All three of them worked on This Is Where I Leave You in 2014, a time Adam definitely hasn’t forgotten about.

“Take your seats, guys, we’ll start soon,” Shawn says before drifting off to another cast member, welcoming everyone.

“I’m sorry if working with me is uncomfortable for you,” Y/N starts when they are alone. “I thought about saying no, but… this is a great opportunity for me.”

“It’s not uncomfortable! I’m very glad to see you. Honestly.”

Their history is a little longer than the other cast members’. Five years ago, when filming started they hit it off pretty quick on set, even though Y/N was just an extra back then, while Adam was one of the main actors. He was freshly wedded at that time, only one year into his marriage and Y/N was… a realization for him. A realization that hit too late, definitely not at the right time. As a 22 year-old ambitious actress at the start of her career, meeting Adam and somehow forming a bond with him was confusing for the both of them. Adam first questioned his marriage and tried to deal with his confusing feelings for this girl who also seemed just too young for him at the time, while Y/N feared she might ruin an entire marriage and became the blame for the divorce of an up-and-coming, popular actor, which could also ruin her career.

Nothing ever happened between them, they refused to let it go too far. Besides stolen glances and touches, deep conversations and shared secrets, they never crossed the line from where they could have never returned. Once filming and the premier was over, they forced to lose touch thinking this is what’s best for everyone. They went their own ways until their paths crossed again in this room, forcing them to face each other again.

“Well, that’s good to hear, because we’ll spend a lot of time together,” she chuckles nervously.

“Yeah, I guess,” he nods smiling down at him.

All through the reading Adam can’t help but sneak glances at Y/N, sitting right across him, whenever he could, slowly listing everything that changed about her and things that stayed just the same. Their eyes meet a couple of times, Y/N blushes whenever it happens, focusing her gaze down at her script.

“Great job! Thank you for everyone, I can’t wait to see this on the screen!” Shawn cheers once the reading is finished and a round of applause follows his words. “See you on set in three days!”

Everyone starts packing and Adam makes sure he finishes quickly so he can walk over to Y/N.

“Hey, wanna grab lunch with me? We could catch up a little.”

He hopes his offer didn’t come out as anxious as he feels, waiting for her answer. She hesitates for a moment, sliding her script into her bag before nodding her head.

“Okay. Why not?”

They are perfectly hidden in their booth in the nearby diner they chose to eat in. Adam is anxiously scanning through the menu even though he knows what he wants, but is just too afraid to look into her eyes.

“So, how have you been?” she breaks the silence putting her menu down and their eyes finally meet again.

“Um… busy, mostly.”

“Congrats on the Star Wars movies. You were great in all of them.”

“You saw them?” He is genuinely surprised, he never thought she would be the kind of girl to watch them.

“Yeah. Wanted to see what the hype is about,” she smirks leaning back in her seat. “Turned out I like watching dudes in uniform, fighting with some more dudes, without uniform.”

Adam laughs shaking his head, happy that her humor hasn’t changed.

“That’s exactly what Star Wars is about.”

“Alright, so what’s up with you outside work?”

Before he could answer their waitress arrives. She takes their order and collecting the menus she disappears leaving them alone again.

“Outside work?” Adam inhales rubbing his hands to his thighs. “Um, not much. I’ve been hitting up the gym daily, I’m learning to cook and…” He pauses for a moment, debating whether if it’s the best time to admit it or not, but he decides it’s something that should be cleared. “You know, I have a lot of time since I got divorced last year.”

Y/N’s eyes go wide as this wasn’t something she expected to hear.

“What? Oh God, I didn’t know… I’m so sorry, Adam.”

“Don’t be, it was for the best,” he sighs with a sad smile. Even though it really was the best choice, it took a toll on both of them, letting go of something that was supposed to last forever.

“How are you holding up?”

“Fine, I’m trying to focus on work, most of the time.”

Y/N nods in agreement.

“Yeah, that’s a great technique. I… I did the same when my boyfriend broke up with me after two years.”

“Oh. I didn’t… I didn’t know you had a boyfriend.”

“Have you been keeping an eye on me?” she smirks, making him realize it sounded like he has been following her ever since they stopped talking.

“I wasn’t—That’s not how I meant it…”

“I know, relax,” she chuckles. “I kept it as low-key as possible. Turns out it was the best choice since the asshole left me for some high school senior,” she grimaces.

“Ouch, that sounds… illegal?”

“Kind of, but that’s not my problem anymore,” she shrugs. “So, I guess we both had our ups and downs lately.”

“Seems like.”

Adam feels like this is the moment when he is supposed to say that he is sorry for the way they parted. Things were getting out of hands and he knew it was time to make a decision. Work on things with his wife or end it and give it a try with Y/N. He made the wrong choice, but regardless of this, he also chose the wrong way to let her know they can’t do it any longer.

“Y/N, listen. I—“

“Don’t,” she shakes her head. “I totally get it. Let’s just… move on. Okay?”

Looking into her eyes he sees how much she doesn’t want to talk about it and forgetting about the past is exactly what he wants to do. So nodding they come to a silent agreement. The past is left behind, they have started a new, empty page.

***

Heading to her trailer Adam runs his fingers through his hair and fixes the shirt that’s already his outfit for the filming. Knocking on the door he waits for her to call out, but instead she opens it for him.

“Hey! Got your text, everything alright?” Standing at the bottom of the stairs he is finally shorter than her so he has to look up at her.

“Come in,” she nods and he follows her inside.

She is still in her robe, but her makeup and hair is done, ready to take up on the role of Leah, the next door girl Derek falls for upon coming home.

“I’m a little freaked out,” she admits, fear filling her dark irises as she stares at him, arms hugging herself.

“Hey, relax, it’s fine.” He immediately figures what the problem is, the first day of filming coming at her a little more intense than she thought.

Taking her hands he pulls her to the small couch at the back of the trailer and they sit down next to each other.

“Talk to me, okay? Tell me how you feel.”

“I-I’m… I’m just afraid I will blow this. This is my first big role, like a main role and I’m so afraid I’ll disappoint Shawn,” she sighs in despair.

“You can’t disappoint him, he wouldn’t have casted you if you weren’t good. Believe me.”

“I just don’t want to embarrass myself, forgetting my line or something.” “I’ll do that all the time, don’t worry.”

“Oh please, I bet you already know even my lines!” she rolls her eyes chuckling.

“I definitely don’t. Don’t you remember how much I messed up back then? I think half the gag roll is about me.”

“I loved it when you started laughing at your own line,” she chuckles recalling the memory.

“See? Don’t worry about messing up, I’ll do the same, though I’m sure you’ll be great. Just don’t stress okay?”

She nods taking a few deep breaths. Adam feels a sense of intimacy in how they shared this moment, something he missed so much ever since they stopped talking. They had so many moments before, in between takes, after filming, early before filming, they were seeking all these little sparks since they didn’t have more. They couldn’t have more.

“You’ll be fine?” Adam asks squeezing her hand.

“Yes. Thank you for coming by,” she nods smiling as they stand up and head to the door. “See you in a bit.”

He just nods smiling and leaves so she can get dressed and ready for the start.

Filming together is now a different experience for the both of us. While they had no interaction on the screen before, now they had to bring a whole romance alive and though Y/N has seen Adam work his magic, it’s the first time he see her in real action. And his mind is blown away. Seeing her change into a whole different character amazes him on a different level and in between takes he thinks about how he has never felt like this with another cast member he worked with on a movie. She is just… different.

Once filming is over Adam is in his trailer, taking his time to get ready to leave when there’s a knock on the door.

“Come in!”

Glancing up from his phone he turns to the door and see Y/N sticking her head inside with a warm smile on her lips.

“Hey.”

“Hi, come on in!” he invites her inside and she walks in closing the door behind her. “So, how did you feel on your first day?”

Without even answering the question Y/N strides over to him and hugs him. It takes him by surprise but after a second of hesitation he wraps his arms around her.

“Thanks for being so patient and nice with me all day. And messing your lines up on purpose.”

A deep chuckle shakes his chest as he holds her close.

“It wasn’t on purpose,” he lies, but she just smiles to herself before letting him go.

“Do you have somewhere to be?”

“Not really.”

“Then what do you say, staying a little, celebrating the first day? I have some wine in my trailer.”

“Sounds great,” he smiles.

Twenty minutes later they are sitting on the floor in her trailer, drinking white wine out of plastic cups and laughing about anything and everything.

“I remember that day!” he chuckles holding his cup up.

“Yeah, it’s not hard remembering me spilling three cups of coffees on myself,” she snorts taking a sup from her drink.

“Fuck, I missed having you around,” Adam sighs closing his eyes. If he weren’t four drinks into the evening, he probably wouldn’t have said that, but now it’s already out there.

“You did?” Y/N tilts her head smiling at him, watching him lean his head against the wall behind him.

“I did,” he nods, eyes still closed.

“I missed having you around too. I missed our talks.”

“I’m sorry for the way it ended.”

“Hey, we agreed on not talking about that!”

“I know, but… I really wanted to tell you that,” he sighs looking down at his cup, stirring the wine around before chugging it down and pouring some more from the bottle.

“I don’t blame you. You were married and we were… dancing on a dangerous line.”

Glancing up at her he watches her just sit there, busy with her own drink and he admires this moment, something he has been waiting for years to have again. He regrets making the wrong choice back then, thought he understands his own reasoning behind it. People don’t just give up on a marriage, he couldn’t have known it wasn’t gonna work out. But he also lost so much time with her and that’s his biggest regret.

“I shouldn’t have let you go,” he breathes out.

Lifting her gaze up her eyes meet his as they stare at each other, feeling the change in the conversation, obviously. An absent-minded smile appears on her light pink lips as she tugs her hair behind her ear.

“I always thought that you found me too young, outside all the other circumstances we had.”

“I did think about being an old man compared to you,” he chuckles. “But I feel like it was bridged pretty fast.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes! I mean, it’s not even ten years, the world has seen way worse,” he chuckles making her laugh as well.

“You’re right.”

Putting his drink down to the floor he climbs over to her and sits next to her, resting his back against the couch just like she is doing and they sit there in silence for a couple of moments before Y/N rests her head on his shoulder.

“Adam?” she breaks the silence.

“Yes?”

“I think we are at the line again.”

“Yeah. We are.”

Another short silence while Adam turns to the side a bit, just enough to brush his lips against the crown of her head.

“Are we gonna cross it this time?” Lifting her head she looks at him with doubtful eyes as she puts her drink aside too.

Instead of answering his hands find their way to her waist and somehow he pulls her to his lap, her knees on each of his sides, hands resting on his broad shoulders.

“I don’t know what we are going to do, but I’m gonna cross the line.”

And without hesitation he presses his lips to hers. She doesn’t think twice before returning the kiss since she’s been waiting for this moment from the day she met him. He digs his fingers into her hair at the back of her head while she combs through his messy strands too, kissing like it’s their last moment on Earth. His hands slide under her shirt and soon it lands on the floor somewhere next to them.

As much as she wants to continue this, she still doesn’t want to do it lying on the floor of her trailer, that’s not what they deserve. So pushing away she tries to catch her breath while she admires his swollen lips and messy hair, running her fingers along his cheeks.

“We shouldn’t be doing this here. Not like this.”

“You’re right,” he nods realizing he got a little carried away.

Leaning down she softly kisses him again before sliding off his lap, landing on the floor again.

“We should head home, we have work tomorrow,” she advises as they slowly get up from the floor and gather their stuff, getting ready to leave.

Walking out to the parking lot they stand midway between their cars, staring up at each other, neither of them wanting to leave.

“See you tomorrow?” She bites into her bottom lip and it’s enough to drive him crazy. Pulling her closer he kisses her again.

“Yeah. How about dinner after filming?”

“Sure,” she smiles.

“It’s a date,” he raises his eyebrows as they start backing towards their cars.

“Surely is,” she chuckles. Right as she is about to turn around Adam leaps in her direction and running back to her he kisses her once more before sprinting back to his car.

Giggling to herself she gets into the car and heads home, knowing he would be here in the morning, ready to continue everything from where they left it off.

#adam driver #kylo ren #adam driver imagine #adam driver imagines #adam driver fiction #adam driver au #adam driver fanfiction #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren fanfiction

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laylacooke · 4 years

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A Compelling Argument || Orobas & Layla ft. Ulf

timing: Saturday morning (6/20) before Lucas’ & Layla’s Party parties: @eldonash & @laylacooke ft. Ulf (mentioned) summary: Orobas helps Layla get ready for her party. warnings: Mentions of being tied up, injury, and being compelled.

With dried blood staining her face and red hair, Layla groggily shifted in the chair she was tied to. Her head was pounding immensely, but somehow, she had forced herself to open up heavy, tired eyes. It took her a moment before she realized where she was at, and when she did, the look of confusion turned to anger, “What am I doing here?” Looking around, no one seemed to be in sight, and it angered her. “LET ME GO!” With her mind automatically shifting to escape mode, Layla tried to pull her hands free, but was met with chains around her wrists binding her to the last place she wanted to be; back in Ari and Ulf’s trailer.

Orobas’ mood had greatly soured. He stood there dressed in his best suit, his expression dark, gray under his eyes, and looked beyond exhausted even for an undead. He had been numb for the last three days, unable to feel anything physically, and his emotions were quiet making him seem indifferent. When she screamed, he stepped into the room silently, looking stoic and monstrous with the lack of blood in his systems tonight. “Tsk--” he clicked his tongue. “We really should have hosed you off--” He voice held no emotion to it, unblinking looking at her still as a statue came alive. “Let me ask you, Layla,” he stepped forward, a charm settled in his tone, almost undetectable, but held power. “Are you fighting this magic?”

Orabas had been the last person Layla had expected to see. He had promised her a birthday present, but this clearly couldn’t have been it. Or was it? Had he been working with Ulfric and Ariana this whole time? Her glare was cold, and if he wasn’t already dead, she was pretty sure it would have killed him, “What are you doing here? Were you working with them the entire time?” She looked around and started to rattle the chains and chair even more, until a sharp pain ran up her leg from where Ariana’s claws had dug into skin and muscle; fresh blood starting to seep from the wound. The pain forcing her to stop moving, she noticed as the vampire now stood closer to her, “What magic? What are you talking about?”

Orobas watched her, noting the details of her injuries, and her accusations didn’t stir a reaction, his features restless. The pain that paused her struggles allowed him to speak more. “I want to tell you a small story. Over two hundred years ago, I met a werewolf who had a fierce bite, and a loud laugh, and we connected when we saved a young little girl with flaming red hair. I dared to call him a friend, I watched him raise this pup, I saw him grow old. I endured the loss as his bones ignited in flames upon a boat in the river.” He walked forward; eyes dipped in red. “You see, immortality brings repeated occurrences. Like life enjoys seeing you go through things again. Here you are, a child--” He cut himself off, gaze distant like he was thinking deeply. “What I am here for almost doesn’t feel like it is for you.” The words were heavy, and he stepped forward again. “This magic, it has compelled you to lose something of yours. Have you felt different? What I need to know is if you are still present beyond it. Explain to me how you feel right now.”

Layla’s injuries had left her weaker than she would have preferred, and she knew there was no use in trying to shift. Instead, she listened as he spoke. And that small bit of her heart ignited. It was a very small piece. Nothing that would be noticeable, if he hadn’t been inquiring about it. And while every piece of the darkness of her mind tried to persuade her to force back that hairline crack in the suffocating armor around her heart, she spoke out of some small sense of retaliation, “I feel angry that Frankie, Ariana, Simon, and Ulfric won’t just let me be. That people can’t accept what I’ve done for them. I feel like if I let that part of myself back in, I’ll crumble, and who wants to see me fall and crumble, yet again?” As she spoke tears quietly crept down her cheeks from the anger and frustration. Even though it resulted in a pretty nasty injury for Ariana, her small act of nearly crushing the fidget spinner had made a difference. But for Layla, it felt like the quiet voices of a slow forming rebellion starting in soul; and that was something she was battling to keep suppressed, if not for anyone else but for her own pride and determination to prove she was anything but a weakling.

Orobas’ gaze lingered on the tears, the swell of emotion, and the admittance of truth. Seeing anyone crumble over and over was pleasurable to watch, and something he wished even now he could enjoy if he wasn’t suffocated in the haze of his own tormented situation. In an awful way, Orobas could hear between the lines, knowing how to get anyone to that broken point with ease required him to listen, and it allowed him to know what she was really saying. He reached out and touched her damp cheek with the lightest of touch, smearing it into blood splatter-- “You know, you probably always felt this way and you suppressed it. You see, when you are not your entire self, when you swallow down things. It sits in your stomach, souring it. Eventually, it comes out. Doesn’t mean you won’t crumble again when this is over, you will-- I’ll even encourage it. No need to be ashamed. You should speak your mind more; those people should see and be proud of the things you do. Don’t you think?” Orobas was so tempted on many fronts.

That part of Layla that had broken, and was apparent in her words, was being forced back down as Orobas spoke. She couldn’t give in. She had hypnotized herself not to be the same person she once was. And with a growl, she fiercely jerked her head away from his soft touch, “No! I did this to be strong. I was born from greatness and bitten from greatness, and once I get free from these changes, the world’s going to see that. Don’t you understand? Even you have a power that people would give anything to have. Humans fear you. They don’t underestimate you. And they don’t think you’re some stupid child begging for attention.” In all honesty, all she had been doing the whole week was acting out. She was a walking contradiction looking for greatness in all the wrong places, when she had already had it all along. But until the hypnosis was broken, she would continue to force down that little part of her true self that was trying to breathe again. That little part of her that would be the return of her humanity if it could just escape, “So why are you here? Ulfric feeling too guilty for smashing a rock over my head, that he needed to call a babysitter?”

The hand with a gentle touch morphed quickly. Orobas grabbed her jaw, his hand large, and imposing, the plated bones, muscles, and tendons under its grasp creaked from the strength he just barely held back. As if with one fraction more, her entire skull would shatter. “Humans-- mean, nothing. Fear me? You think that has been my goal over the centuries? My desires? Do you know my story? Do you know who I am.” His gripped steadied. “You small thing-- you lack experience. Even in this state, you cry for attention.” He leaned forward, fangs subtly pointed, eyes molten red consuming the white looking far from human. “I’m here for him.” The four words seemed to come with vibrations of sound, the fluttering of wings, and the unseen energy of his abilities. Looking her in the eyes, his command true, and forceful. “Whatever piece of yourself that you have suppressed with this magical artifact. You will allow it forward of mind, to reverse the effects.” He leaned forward, pressing his lips to her ear so only they could hear. “And you will owe me a favor. You refuse-- I will drown you in the lake.”

Even under the influence of the fidget spinner, seeing the vampire’s change in demeanor startled her. The way he gripped her jaw made her feel like he was surely going to crush it and add to the list of injuries she had received this week. She was unable to speak. Unable to defend herself. And before she could even begin to look away, she felt herself drawn into his gaze, much like the fidget spinner had taken her. His suggestions echoed in her brain, and even the fidget spinner couldn’t ward off the effect his words had on her; the last part embedding itself deep inside and sending a chill down her spine. Blinking a few times, Layla looked around. It was like she was free from the effects of the fidget spinner; at least for a short amount of time, but there was a burning in the back of her mind. That told her what she was feeling was wrong, and that this wasn’t what she was supposed to be. However, Orobas’ words had won out, and Layla felt almost normal again, “What-Where am I?” Her eyes looking around only to come back to him and the grip he had on her made her cower in fear; much like the first day she had met him.

Orobas released her and broke the chains on her wrists. Not sure how long such a thing could last when the magic seemed strong and bound to itself in nature. Even a compulsion had its limits when battling someone’s natural instincts. He’s seen it many times over, with the dolls at the lake, and with people not wanting to hurt their loved ones. Orobas made a soft noise in his throat in answer and walked out. Striding through the door and passed Ulfric without a single word muttered. Though a glance, one of challenge towards the man he wanted to consider and friend but was doubting with recent developments in his life. His expression was distant, and not exposing his inner feelings, but it was impossible not to feel the chilly vibe off of the vampire. He got in his Porsche and drove away.

Layla was confused. Everything about the moment she was in seemed wrong. Why had she been chained? What had she done that was so wrong? But there was a nagging feeling that just wouldn’t leave her alone. Watching as Orobas left and with Ulf standing in the doorway, she knew that being on her best behavior was adamant. Whatever was hanging over her heart seemed to mask the destruction she had caused all week, and while she knew deep down people weren’t pleased with her, she also knew that she just wanted to be near Frankie, Ari, Simon, and her friends. Slowly climbing out of the chair, she whimpered at the pain in her leg. Dizziness plagued her, but all she wanted was a nap. At least, until it was time to go to a party she had been waiting for all week. A birthday party that she had hoped would make up for the year she had.

#para: a compelling argument #eldonash #saga: the dark side #wickedswriting #big-bad-ulf

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wolfpawn · 4 years

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I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 115

Chapter Summary - Tom is at the Thor Ragnarok Premiere and Danielle is working, but they still get in a few minutes of talking.

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

All image rights belong to their owners

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

If you wish to be tagged, please let me know.

‘Come on.’ Danielle walked into the trailer she was using for the shoot, Mac joining her. When he looked around the kitchenette, she gave a knowing look. ‘We will be back home soon, don’t worry.’ Mac groaned. ‘And soon, we will be getting your little buddy.’ His ears perked up. ‘You two are going to have our heads wrecked, I can tell already. You will have to be nice, you need to teach him how to behave, like a big brother.’ Mac snorted. ‘Good boy.’

‘Hey, how was the premiere?’ Danielle smiled as she answered the phone.

‘Good, we are having a good time.’

‘Is James liking it?’ She asked with a smile, since Tom had brought his father to LA with him for the Ragnarok premiere.

‘.....Yes.’

‘Oh dear, what was the hesitation about?’ Danielle asked curiously.

‘Well, I cannot say too much, after all, the movie is not on general release yet.’

‘The blanket silence is officially over through, you cannot give plot, but minor details should be okay.’ Danielle reminded him.

‘That is true, actually.’ Tom conceded. ‘Well, Dad is less than please with one of my lines in the movie.’

‘Oh really? It can’t be that bad, it’s not 18 rated.’

‘I may, in the movie, say the word anus.’

There was a moment of silence. ‘I’m sorry, what?’

‘I say the word anus.’ There was more silence. ‘Elle, are you trying not to laugh?’ A moment later, there was the sound of someone blowing raspberries before fits of laughter. ‘Yeah.’

‘Sorry,’ It was clear from her voice she was not particularly so. ‘I bet he loved that. Why does Loki talk about an anus?’

‘He was not too happy with me asking someone for safe passage through the anus.’

‘Well, I mean, that is all anyone would surely want...when going through the anus.’ She forced out as she tried to prevent herself from giggling. ‘He is from a working-class family in Scotland, they curse as part of a sentence.’

‘I know but somehow talking about anuses, anus...what is the plural of anus?’

‘I don’t know “Double First” you’d have to tell me.’ Danielle laughed.

Tom laughed with her. ‘How are you two doing?’

‘We are good. Mac and I had a walk there not too long ago, we are on set now, organising a few things.’

‘How is it having him with you?’

‘Fine, great actually, I am hoping to have him trained so our other little guy will be able to follow his Big Brother’s lead.’

‘Any idea on what to call the “little guy”?’

‘Not really, I am so bad at naming animals, honestly, this is something I worry about if I ever have kids, what will I call them.’

‘Well, we will not concern ourselves with such things right now.’ Tom stated. ‘As for our new arrival, we can talk more when I get back.’

‘What are the plans for getting back, how many are you doing?’

‘Only a few things over here.’

‘No London premiere?’

‘Nope.’

‘Why not?’

‘I am busy.’

‘Are you?’

‘Yes, we are getting the puppy this week and you and Mac will be coming back soon after. We are busy.’

‘Tom?’

‘I want my life back, my private life, but I need to warn you, Chris is adamant he is going to meet you when they stop over in London.’

‘I knew that would happen sooner or later, I am sort of nervous to meet him.’

‘Why?’ Tom frowned, hearing her genuine concern.

‘Because, like Ben, he is one of your closest friends, I want your close friends to like me.’

‘He will adore you.’ Tom swore. ‘They all know what you mean to me.’

‘I promise to be good.’ She joked.

‘Be you, I told everyone what you were like, even Dad was singing your praises.’

‘Oh, Jesus.’

‘Nothing too much, just that you were a better fit and it was about time.’

‘Sweet God, does he ever stop?’

‘I was told to tell you, and that that is what you get for not ceasing the whole “Dr Hiddleston” thing.’

‘Well now, that is is fighting talk.’ Danielle scoffed.

‘Oh dear.’ Tom laughed. ‘I am keeping out of this.’

‘Probably best.’ Danielle recommended.

‘I would have thought you would be getting indignant that I was not taking your side?’

‘What are you supposed to say against that, exactly. “Dad, how dare you say lovely things about my incredible girlfriend”?’

Tom laughed. ‘You are incredible.’

‘Damn right.’

‘I miss you.’

‘We miss you too.’

‘Why not come back a few days earlier, you are finished before then?’

‘Because you need to get the puppy his second set of vaccinations before he and Mac interact, otherwise Mac, who is vaccinated, can carry the diseases and pass them to puppy who is not immune and we end up forking out a fortune to a vet and could lose our little boy or at best, have him suffer horribly because of being irresponsible. Imagine him, weak and sick, hooked up to a drip, no, it is not worth it. When we said yes to this, we said yes to forced separation for a few days.’

‘That is fair enough, and it would not be right to put Mac in kennels for it.’

‘Well, that is a no on two fronts, one, it is just not fair and two, kennel cough vaccines, which you are getting for him, I left that note there for you, take longer to work, so again, if Mac came back with that, he again would suffer. Kennels mean added risks for a young puppy.’

‘If I stay in mum’s the night after getting him, can he come in contact with Poppy?’

‘Who is Poppy?’

‘Mum decided to name his sister Poppy.’

‘Yes, because they have been exposed to the same things together, they are fine.’

‘How do you remember all this?’

‘I worked reception for my dad a lot, I told you that already. Plus, you don’t really forget when he lost the rag with idiots causing their pups to suffer because they blatantly ignored his advice.’

‘I can well imagine.’

‘Yeah, so...I just want what’s best for our little boy.’

‘It’s weird.’

‘What is?’

‘Us talking like this, doing something so domestic and official, a living creature.’

‘Are you…. Do you not...?’ There was sadness and uncertainty in her tone.

‘No, Jesus, I want this, so much, I just…..I did not see this happening, not after last year, in fact, not in a few years leading up to this. I did not plan on finding you, us planning a life, us getting a pet and moving in and changing everything so drastically and I sometimes feel as though I got a huge whack to the head and I am going to wake up alone and I don’t want that. I love this, so much.’

‘You big romantic,’ Danielle smiled at the other end of the phone. ‘I love you, and I am incredibly glad that whatever happened to cause us to go into this occurred. I honestly did not see me with someone, I always felt too…..odd to be in a relationship, too focused on other things to do so and I am so glad you proved me wrong.’

Tom was about to say more when he realised that there was someone standing next to him, seeing it was his father and Luke, he smiled and nodded. ‘Thank you. Elle, I do not mean to cut off this very important conversation…’

‘Say hi to Luke and your dad for me.’

‘Do you have some sort of magic vision?’

‘I have Luke Radar.’ She laughed.

‘What?’ Tom looked at the phone before looking to Luke, who had heard what Danielle had said and looked somewhat perturbed.

‘Relax, your tone alters in his presence, so I can tell when he is nearby.’ She laughed.

‘I was getting worried for a second.’ Tom admitted.

‘I have people watching you, Hiddles.’ Danielle jested. ‘Though, I would imagine it is not hard to get a thousand pictures of you from eighty different angles right now because of the premiere.’

‘Only eighty?’

‘Well I mean, I am sure that there are people behind you on the carpet taking photos that are not supposed to be there too. Enjoy your evening and I will talk to you soon.’

‘Bye.’ Tom hung up the phone. ‘What is next?’

‘Post-premiere party.’ Luke informed him. ‘I see Danielle is up early?’

‘She has work today, so Mac is walked and they are on set. She sends her regards.’

‘Very good.’ Luke gave a small yet genuine smile. ‘She has you well figured out.’

‘She’s observant, you have to give her that.’ James acknowledged.

‘Yes.’ Tom smiled. ‘She says she’ll get you back for the “Dr Hiddleston” thing too, just a warning.’ His father chuckled. ‘You are incorrigible.’

‘I would have thought both of your parents having a bit of sport with her would be a good thing.’ James challenged.

‘It is, but I get worried.’

‘She is a nice girl, too nice for some fella like you.’

‘Goodness, thank you, Dad.’ Tom growled, he noted Luke looking down as he attempted to not be found to be laughing. ‘You are some friend.’

‘I am not going to apologise.’ Luke grinned. ‘Though it is true, you are very lucky both your parents adore Danielle so much, so many are not so lucky. Need I remind you of my family.’

Tom had to agree, Luke’s brother’s partner was met with open hostility by his parents until it became too much and the pair went their separate ways, much to their mutual heartache. ‘Yes.’

‘So, other than “Luke Radar” what is new with Danielle?’

‘Working hard and giving me my orders.’

‘For what?’

‘The puppy.’

Luke paused, ‘What puppy is this then?’

‘Danielle and I are getting a puppy.’

‘What about the other dog, the one you brought to my office?’

‘What about him, we will have two now.’

‘How are you going to juggle two dogs?’

‘Well, we juggle one as it is, adding a second is not overly hard, is it?’

‘An older one, no, but this is a puppy.’

‘They are not puppies for long, and with how Danielle trained Mac, we will have this little guy trained in no time too.’ Tom grinned.

‘You are getting very domestic.’ Luke noted.

‘Well, I am in my mid-thirties, surely that is a good thing.’

‘Because of course, you were so wild before.’ Luke rolled his eyes. ‘I really am unsure why I am even saying anything. Danielle is perfect as a partner for a client; not interested in publicity, works hard, intelligent and independent.’

‘Then why are you being like this?’ Tom asked.

‘Because as a friend, I am worried you love her and with time you could have a broken heart, and I don’t think you can brush this away like you did before, because I truly think you do love her wholeheartedly.’

‘Look, we had a rocky period, but we are doing really well and we are really happy. It won’t always be perfect, but we can work through it.’

‘This is the most mature I have ever seen you.’ Luke noted.

‘About time, right?’

‘You said it, not me.’ Luke laughed back. ‘Come on, we better get to this party.

#I Hate You I Love You #chapter 115 #tom hiddleston #Tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

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araminakilla · 5 years

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Faris D'jinn (long) appreciation post

Warning: If you don't like very long posts or deep analysis of a character or situations, maybe you want to skip this. But you are always welcome.

I will always say this: Treasure of the found lamp! is one of my favorites episodes of the Ducktales bomb (the other is Nothing can stop Della Duck!) I like the jokes, the journeys of the two groups, the cameos of different characters that appeared in Season One. But most of all... Him.

Faris D'jinn. Middle Eastern adventurer. Seeker of the lamp. Descendant of an actual genie and the amazing woman who freed him. Here are ten reasons (not counting the facts that he is a great swordman and a cool biker because everyone knows that) of why this warrior is one my favourite characters in the Ducktales universe:

1. He is not what he seems

The first time I saw this guy in the SDCC 2018, and the person presenting the characters said he was Dijon from the Ducktales movie, there were two different reactions from my part:

"OMG! They acknowledged the movie. That means Merlock is going to return!" And...

"This Dijon looks so COOL! But...he looks like a terrorist"

And before you sue and attack me, there are some comments in YouTube that reflected my thoughts. One of them said he looks like an ISIS member.

But I have investigated and I found out that in fact, there are some people that wear traditional black clothes in the Middle East and are NOT asociated with violence or radical groups. So, my bad people. I'm really ashamed for making this statement. I try to not be an ignorant of different cultures for reasons like this.

Anyway, those months I tried to stay positive that, if he was a bad guy, he could get a redemption arc. Because there's no way that this awesome Ducktales crew, that handles the Latino community very well, is going to portray arabs in a bad light, just like every old Hollywood productions (I'm looking at you, Aladdin)

And when the promo of Ducktales and Big Hero 6 appeared, with this warrior using his sword in front of a very scared Scrooge... well... I put my thoughts on another post, but I was a little concerned for the Middle Eastern representation.

Great was my surprise when I saw the episode for the first time. Let say that the power of the lamp wasn't the only plot twist of that episode.

2. He's so serious that it's funny

His single-minded quest for the lamp before the Ifrit's dawn (a fact that he monologued for 10 minutes without blinking) leaves him with no time to joke around, except everyone around him is a goof, and that makes him hilarous in a sense. Best demostrated when he answered ALL the riddles from a literal JOKE BOOK. He's so smart... yet so gullible that it's amazing. It's like he can't tell when someone is lying or making a joke... I don't know if that's possible. There's also his reaction at the "got your nose" prank which, honestly to me, was one of the best reactions EVER. Maybe it's how he screamed "monster!" and how he seems to really believe the creature got his nose. Truth to be to told, I was very surprised the first time I saw him laugh, that was something unexpected. And how the premise of the episode was him getting a family of adventuring Ducks, a greek Godness, a sea monster and a bunch of Beagles involved in a quest...to give himself a birthday present, like... Who gives himself a birthday present? (Really, I don't know someone who does that)

3. He is grateful even with enemies

He defeated Charybdis and the poor monster was whipped and given the beat of his life because he wanted to help Scrooge and Webby with the phony quest, and the first thing the warrior does is thanking him and saying that he will be remembered in the story of the lamp. That impressed me... And somehow made worth all the pain that Charybdis had. The same happened with the "Minotaur" and Ma Beagle (the little bow that he made is priceless). Many people would mock their defeated enemies and give them zero respect... but not him. That was so honorable, it reminded me of how Medieval Knights act, which would be discussed in the seventh point of this post.

4. He forgave the Ducks easily

"Djinn, I'm sorry I tricked you. If I'd known what was at stake..."

"Another chapter in the legend. A final trial before we find the lamp! It's all part of the journey!"

Like wow... That was something I was NOT expecting, because I wouldn't expect a guy who was shouting and slicing things all day to be that... nice. And maybe that could be because there was no time in the episode for the liar revealed drama. But the points D'jinn made about why he forgave Scrooge make total sense. He loves adventures and journeys, he likes to write in a scroll about the trials he had, so he instead took the positives aspects that the phony quest had and continue with his life. Now that's something you don't see very often. Instead of swearing revenge and dedicate his time ruining someone's life (I'm looking at you Glomgold, Magica, Negaduck and other villains) he forgave the Ducks, focused on the present and keep only the most important facts. I like that way of thinking.

5. He has a deep love for his family's history (and his heritage and bloodline)

He comes from a family that, as far as I'm concerned, keeps the stories of their past alive, passing them to the next generations. It's been ten generations since the genie was freed. What the ex-magical creature got was more valuable that having phenomenal cosmic powers: A loving wife and many descendants who remember them with such passion, and now one of said descendants, fascinated by their love story has adquired the "totem that started it all". I heard that arabs in particular are family oriented people, they would do ANYTHING for their loved ones, and that's the first time I saw that in a cartoon (at least in a Disney cartoon, the other example that is Non-Disney is the Oscar nominated "The Breadwinner", which I recommend you guys have to see it, it's so good)

D'jinn made a long journey from the Middle East to America (at least I think Duckburg is in America) for a powerless lamp because of it's sentimental value, which leads us to the next point...

6. He is a sentimental guy

You wouldn't expect a tough, serious and to some extent dangerous guy to have powerful feelings like love? Right? Think again. There's a reason of why the call D'jinn (and his VA, Omid Abtahi) a cinnamon roll. He has strong emotions, that is (I think) one of the reasons of why he's so dramatic. It's part of his personality. In fact, his volatile personality (using many times his sword, cutting things, flipping a table) has a solid base of why it is the way it is. I'm not saying that destroying the couch and threatening the Duck family is not wrong, I'm saying this because this is NOT a matter of the "He's an arab and all arabs are volatile/barbaric/will scream and attack you 'cause that is their nature" thing that all the Hollywood movies I saw (at least the examples I saw in the documentary "Reel Bad Arabs") have. No sir, this is different.

And talking about Arab stereotypes...

7. He's a HUGE improvement from the Ducktales movie and series

Back in 1990, he was Dijon, a thief and mook to Merlock, the Big Bad Wolf of the Movie. He was funny and the interactions he had with Scrooge in the movie and the series are funnier (Also, did you know that the last words Scrooge said in the series was "Dijon!" because the duck was running towards him 'cause he stole his watch?)

But, as the Nostalgia Critic put it in his review of the Ducktales Movie

"I don't know... Is this considered racist now? Yes, he has an accent and is a thief..."

He's fine as a comic relief, but nothing makes him different from the Crows of Dumbo, or the Indians of Peter Pan, or the Siamese cats of Lady and the Tramp, or...

Honest Trailer's guy: Stop it!

OK ok. The point it's... The Ducktales reboot did it again. They took a not so well liked character from the '87 series and made him/her a lovable character, like Mamá Cabrera (I swear, she's also mi mamá now)

Now he's honorable, charming, etc (and yes, those words are from a YouTuber reviewer) But specialy, they changed his name to Faris D'jinn which not only sounds more arabic, but also foreshadows his relationship with a genie. Plus, Faris means "Knight" in arabic, which describes what he is and how he acts perfectly.

8. He's different but at the same time just like everyone else

Gif belongs to @i-mostly-reblog-things

Yeah, he looks different, speaks with an accent that's not American, has a different mindset about things in life and maybe that could come from the country he's been raised, or his family or maybe he decide to be the way he is on his own accord. But, as an lesson learned in the episode "The Depths of cousin Fethry!"

Just because something or someone is different doesn't mean is bad.

True, D'jinn didn't make a first good impresion with the Duck family, except from Webby (You go girl! It seems that she has a talent to see edgy but misunderstood people and give them a chance) but at the end everyone was celebrating his birthday with him. They give him a cake! This small but powefull gesture made me 100% convinced that, even with flaws and conflicts, they are the perfect family. It still surprises me that the crew of Ducktales and Disney would make a scene like that. If someone told me a year ago that they would make a scene with: An arab. Dressed with traditional clothes (turban and all). Wearing all black. Celebrating his/her birthday with an American (Scotish in Scrooge's case) Family, I would have laugh and say: Yeah, sure, like they would actualy show that.

But they did it and I couldn't be more happy.

Just a pause from this Ducktales' post

Some of you could be thinking as you read this: "Nice that your people are shown in a positive way"

The thing is... I'm not arab. I'm a latinoamerican who just happens to love Middle Eastern cultures. My country isn't very prejuiced towards Middle Eastern people (maybe because there's a few of them) but I have come from a long way. To being sure that everything there was just sand and violence to wanting to visit some of the many wonders that the East has to give, meet people and learn their point of view. I think everyone should do that at some point, instead of, you know, getting all your arab information from Hollywood movies and concluding that everything would be better if the Middle Easterns were dead. As this quote from the YouTube Documentary "Reel bad Arabs" states:

"We feel that Arabs are not like us, are not like everyone else, then let's kill them off, then they deserve to die, right?"

The thing is, they are more similar that we think, it's just that the international media doesn't show that... until now.

And going back with Ducktales

Yeah, this dude looks different, but he laughs, feels, and enjoys having a great time just like everyone else.

It's the same that is happening with Fenton and the latino representation. D'jinn is a hero who happens to be arab. A dramatic warrior. A family values man. A great allie, friend and who knows what many things more. He, and other Ducktales characters, have so many layers that it's incredible. Just like people, you can't define someone only from their personality or their race. There are so many things that make a person unique. D'jinn broke the expectations I had for him (or he sliced them with his sword) for the better.

9. He's better than Aladdin in many ways

By starters, the voice actors. Aladdin's VA is American and has an American accent in the movie. D'jinn's VA is Omid Abtahi, born in Iran, a Middle Eastern actor. And I'm not saying arab because Irani people are not Arabs (correct me if I'm wrong). Omid doesn't have an accent, as far as I know, but I think it's a nice detail to have the warrior being voiced by someone who comes from the same place. Then, we have the fact that Aladdin lied to almost everyone and D'jinn was a victim of a lie. True, the Ducks assumed he was going to kill them all (and for a good reason) but a lie is still a lie. I don't know many things about Middle Eastern clothes and fashion in the past and the present, but I can tell you will find (maybe traditional) people who wears something more close to D'jinn than Aladdin, and I'm pretty sure the warrior would free a genie if he has the chance because he's a descendant of one. But apart from their differences, both are really good people with a big heart and a kind soul, it's just that we find out Aladdin is good in the beggining of the movie with the bread and orphans scene and with D'jinn almost in the end of the episode, because to be honest, I was expecting him to be lying about wanting to protect the lamp and instead working for the new Merlock, since that was his role in the original movie. Many of us expected a lying thief, but instead we got another Diamond in the Rough.

10. He is a key for one of Scrooge's character developments

Gif belongs to @everythingducktales

The richest duck in the World was SO impressed by the warrior's story that he opened a museum of valuable artifacts so he can share his stories with his family and the world. Let's repeat that. Scrooge McDuck, a very famous, very important and proud adventurer took the advice of a stranger (he also was 100% sure this stranger would kill him and his family if he doesn't get what he wants) because he saw his "human" side, a family side that made the duck realize "maybe we are not so different after all".

Not even the Buzzards (people who worked with Scrooge for who knows what many years) were capable of convincing Scrooge to do some of their plans (but lets be honest, their plans are awful)

That made him be more open about his adventures, his past experiences and his treasures, each one with a unique story. Maybe that would prevent unfortunate yard sales in the future.

Bonus:

11. He is going to return

It is confirmed in one of Frank Angones' posts that he is going to appear in the future, maybe as an allie of the Duck family in an adventure. Or who knows? Maybe they can recruit him as a member of a superheroes team along with Gizmoduck, Darkwing Duck and others. Plus, I want to see him interact with Launchpad and Donald.

That would be all... for now.

#ducktales #ducktales 2017 #ducktales 2019 #ducktales season 2 #treasure of the found lamp #disney aladdin #aladdin #the breadwinner #reel bad arabs #scrooge mcduck #mcduck family #ducktales dijon #ducktales djinn #faris djinn #i can't wait to see him again #i just hope he doesn't pull a jim startling on us #He turning to the dark side is the last thing I would want #Ducktales the movie #representation matters

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