Summary:
Two new-to-each-other Crow teammates (some might say three) get to know more about each other while preparing dinner. No Thedas-shattering revelations, just expository discussion, satisfying some curiosities, and establishing background for my Rook, with hints towards future storylines.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: Dragon Age: The Veilguard (Video Game), Dragon Age (Video Games)
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: rookanis, Lucanis Dellamorte/Rook/Spite
Characters: Lucanis Dellamorte, Rook (Dragon Age)
Additional Tags: Exposition
Summary:
Two new-to-each-other Crow teammates (some might say three) get to know more about each other while preparing dinner. No Thedas-shattering revelations, just expository discussion, satisfying some curiosities, and establishing background for my Rook, with hints towards future storylines.
I am writing a Dragon Age the Veilguard fic that has been in my brain since early November. I know where it's going but wow am I rusty. This is taking so long, I don't even know if it's worth finishing or if anyone will read it (do I even want anyone to read it). It's about Rookanis but not really. More just my first Rook's backstory, expositorily (is that even a word) set in the early stages of Rookanis. It isn't deep, but it came to me because of a short Spite - Lucanis - Taash companion banter scene in the Treviso market, I think. The one about scent.
And with my penchant for collecting mostly niche perfumes, exploring/tasting amari/liquor and cocktails, scent-based-gardening, and baking, my brain just went to town.
It wasn't until I progressed through the game (not necessarily the romance because we know how long it takes) with her that I realized just how Lucanis' storyline would dovetail with her backstory. I mean, down to the wyverns (in a way - her dragons don't have legs). That was such an odd intersection, too. I hadn't read Tevinter Nights or the prequel short stories leading up to DATV, so occasionally, my face would give the !!!!! expression as the game unfolded.
Anyway, i'm writing it just because it's her backstory, not because it's really a DATV tie-in. Lucanis is just a bonus part of it.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 成化十四年 | The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty (TV), 成化十四年 - 梦溪石 | The Fourteenth Year of Chenghua - Mèng Xī Shí
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Sui Zhou/Tang Fan, SuiTang - Relationship
Characters: Sui Zhou, Tang Fan
Summary: Despite himself, Tang Fan learns how to communicate his needs effectively.
It is done. Admittedly, it’s a pretty small (English-speaking) fandom, but maybe someone will like it.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: 成化十四年 | The Sleuth of the Ming Dynasty (TV), 成化十四年 - 梦溪石 | The Fourteenth Year of Chenghua - Mèng Xī Shí
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Sui Zhou/Tang Fan, SuiTang - Relationship
Characters: Sui Zhou, Tang Fan
Summary: Despite himself, Tang Fan learns how to communicate his needs effectively.
My memories of that time are suspect, like remembering another person's life. What I have are more like impressions, hazy and out of focus. A blurry, kapakahi image of salt and sand and two boys.
That summer, my parents enrolled me in a class offered by the Waikiki Aquarium for children interested in marine biology. At that time, I thought I'd go into the field, although I wasn't what you would call an active or outdoorsy child (still am not). I was a nerd, a chubby bookworm, shy and reserved. I could hold conversations with adults more easily than I could with children my own age, but talking to people made me anxious and uncomfortable.
Still, I was fascinated by the sea life surrounding our tiny islands in the middle of the Pacific ocean. And so I took a class.
I don't remember the instructors. I don't remember the other students, although there were certainly a number of other kids in the class. I don't even really remember the two boys' names, so let's call them Tracey and Eric.
Eric was rail thin with deeply tanned skin, neatly cut, jet black hair, and a quiet voice. I want to say he was Chinese. Tracey was a sturdier boy, the kind that might have read Thrasher magazine if it had existed at the time. His tan was like mine, the tawny-gold color of a mixed Asian/white/indigenous person. His dark hair was stylishly cut and even had golden highlights, the kind that children who often play in the sun and surf develop.
In other words, the three of us were your run-of-the-mill local kids.
I don't remember why we started talking. I don't remember if Eric and Tracey were previously friends or went to the same school. All I know is that from the start, we were an inseparable trio, stuck together like magnets. At every lesson, it was the three of us jostling for priority positions at the mangrove swamp or while gathering jars of plankton off boats in Kaneohe Bay. Our sun-browned bodies scrambled over coral and lava, feet encased in tabis, laughing away the inevitable scrapes and minor wounds that come with being in nature.
It didn't seem strange to me that the three of us were extremely physical with each other, as if we were siblings. There was a lot of hitting, pinching, pulling of hair, elbow jabs, and kicks. We also teased each other mercilessly. This sometimes led to physical fights, and sometimes those fights led to being reprimanded, which was new territory for me. This physicality only increased as the class went on. In hindsight, I'm not even sure they were really fights.
But my clearest memory of that summer is being placed in a time out with both of the boys, presumably because we'd been too disruptive again. I don't know if it was the last day of class or not, but we were sitting in the back seat of one of the instructors' cars. I was in the middle, Tracey on my left, Eric on my right. And despite the punishment, we three were still almost desperately fighting, hitting, pinching, and slapping each other, only this time in silence. Eric may have started to cry, and we eventually calmed down. And as we sat there with our hot, sweaty limbs sticking to each other's, I remember feeling both deeply confused and deeply satisfied.
I have no memories of either boy after that. We never saw each other again. I never went into marine biology.
But that summer, on the cusp of our teenage years, we three burned bright like stars.
Well, it’s been a year and a half since I wrote anything. This isn’t much of anything and it’s very rough, but I’ve been reading up a storm in the last year or so, so I finally had a few words to give. Now I will go away for another year and a half.
House Business
Sometimes, a time out is needed for everyone.
Ykassa extracts the final clasp from her elaborate construct of braids and groans as the heavy coils fall down her back. She tosses the hairpin onto the table and closes her eyes, arching her neck to ease the pain of tension suddenly released. She presses fingertips firmly at the nape of her neck, then massages upwards along her scalp. A breeze carries the smell of warmed oils and spices and sharp, crisp greens, followed by a faint hint of engine grease and chypre. The latter scent brings a wistful sigh from her lips and she relaxes while her fingers loosen braids.
Her quiet murmurs of relief are interrupted when the datapad emits a cascade of melodious but insistent beeps. Tapping the screen, she reviews the messages and sighs heavily at the prospect of another unsatisfactory -- and apparently unending -- evening of polite political maneuvers. She notes the time, then taps out a reply. A bitter smile twists at her lips as she re-ties the vest's fasteners at her neck. When her parents turned over House affairs to her, she never expected to lose so many hours to conversations about nothing, but the game is anything but direct. With resignation, Ykassa gathers her long hair together and prepares herself to face another social engagement without the buffer of her husband. (Not for the first time, nor the last, does she wish Copero were closer to Csaus, or that Nirathi wasn't so in demand at the shipyards. She feels briefly guilty about the latter thought.)
"Frazil!", she hisses as her signet ring entangles in a half-undone plait and pulls. Eyes watering at the sharp pain, she wriggles her finger free and contemplates the metal woven into a snarl of her deep, grey hair. She unexpectedly feels a sharp pang of loneliness.
"T'amma?" Ykassa feels more than hears her son's voice as it vibrates against her leg. "T'amma!" Tiny hands grip her thighs, then the fabric of her skirt, tugging insistently. "Up!"
A small frown of irritation creases her forehead before her face smooths into a gentle smile. She looks down at the small child at her side. Delightful freckles -- from her side of the family -- dance across Helon'ikyr'inrokini's round cheeks but his lips are pressed thinly together. He points at her, his face dark and serious. "Up, T'amma."
Ykassa bends to pick up Nikyri. Her lower back twinges as the extra weight she's finally showing resists the effort. She sweeps Nikyri's mop of hair off his forehead to see his bright red eyes. Nikyri smiles when he sees he has her full attention, his grin sudden and bright like a crescent moon. "T'appa," he simply states and bounces his little body into hers for a fierce hug. Ykassa chuckles and kisses the top of his head. "I miss him, too, my love."
The datapad emits another series of beeps. "Especially now," she growls.
Settling herself down on the bright window seat, Ykassa distractedly flips through new messages while Nikyri fidgets in her arms, tugging at her thick hair. A quiet sound draws Ykassa's attention to the doorway. She glances up and waves dismissal at the hovering nanny. The young lad relaxes and bobs his head nervously then disappears down the hallway.
Ykassa turns her attention back to her son, shading her eyes from the shimmering lakes reflecting the late afternoon sun. Nikyri is silhouetted, so she doesn't see at first what he's holding until he places her ring in her hand. Delighted, Ykassa wraps him up in a hug, murmuring surprise about his cleverness. She touches her son lightly on his forehead, then chest.
"Tonight is just for us, my sisuk."
Ykassa taps on the datapad again, this time wiping her evening calendar clear.
A short thing here. Having a sentimental day, I guess.
He washes his hands in the large sink, noting the pits in the metal with a faint smile, and runs his fingers along the joined seams. Blue skin traces over dull green and silver durasteel; lingers on a faded name and dimpled impressions left by bolts, the burnished edges of countless blaster scores. He sighs and returns his attention to his washing, scrubbing at the sticky grease covering his forearms and paint splattered fingers. Silver and black swirl down the drain in a tiny whirlpool. Satisfied, he turns off the water and turns towards the door, absently wipes his hands off on one of the shop towels, and smooths down his mop of grey hair (still unkempt after all these years).
The dry, ozonic smell of the entryway quickly gives way to warmer scents as he descends the stairs to the lower levels, discarding his jacket in the laundry before moving into the study. A quiet, melodic hum greets him, its source a trim, blue-haired man jotting notes into a small datapad.
The man, his head bent in study, doesn't turn around as he enters, but the stylus slows. Over his shoulder, he sees words still forming on the writing surface when the humming trails off, followed by a question.
"How is the restoration going?" The smile is apparent in the man's voice, easy and affectionate.
"'S slow, but I'll have it done in time for the snow." He steps close, blue fingers gentle on the back of the man's neck, and now he grins as he feels the man lean into his touch. "We'll be able to travel further this season, maybe even hunt a bit. What do you think? You, me, a small tent in the snowy wilderness?" He shifts his hand, palm gently cupping the man's chin with a small tug to encourage him to look up. "The stars?" He is rewarded with a smile and a flash of glowing red eyes.
"You can make camping hard to resist." There's a small chuckle and a slight head shake. Grey fingers entwine with his, grey lips press a kiss to a blue hand. "If it makes you happy, we'll --" the man coughs slightly although he gives an affectionate squeeze before releasing his grasp. "We really need to find you better soap."
The blue man shrugs and drops onto a chair, picking at the stubborn specks of paint on his hands.
"I don't mind the smell. I'd just like it to work better. It's all I can find locally, though." He sighs wistfully. "Can't be picky when we're not traveling the hyperlanes."
Red eyes study him. "Are you regretting our decision to settle here?"
He looks up quickly and shakes his head. "Not at all. I was ready to leave that life behind. To make this our home." A grin spreads across his face. "I was just being sentimental, comparing battle scars with an old friend."
"Hard to tell which of you has more." The grey man covers his hands with his own. "I miss her, too."
[Notes: When Kyr and Gerain settle down on the planet on the edge of the universe, he gives his ship to Mako and Jeskarr. However, in a sentimental move, Kyr replaces the name plate hull section with a new piece so he can keep a souvenir of the Iksatel. He eventually uses this section to build a work table/sink for his workshop.]
For some reason today, I am reminded of a night in 1992, when my former housemate and I were sitting on the porch stairs of our rental house. He was a scruffily-handsome artist who seemed to be constantly falling in love with gorgeous women who were not as into him as he was into them. I, of course, was the fat friend who listened to him after each breakup, offering whatever support was needed. He was a very nice, very talented, very insecure guy and I was fond of him, but not that kind of fond. More like I wanted to protect this lost soul. I met him at my second job — working at a record store to make ends meet because my career job didn’t pay enough — and we would hang out a lot with the rest of the 20-somethings at the record store. I traded my first computer (a Franklin IBM clone with dual 5-1/4 inch floppy drives, no hard drive) for his old VHS VCR. A monster machine for a monster machine. And then we ended up moving into the house together, so we really hadn’t needed to make the trade after all.
I thought he had a romantic outlook and that was nice to see in a 20-something guy, but also made him seem so fragile. Once, I saw him enter one of the front rooms (the room that would have been a dining room if we had a table) and stop, shoulders slumped, an unlit cigarette dangling from his lips, staring at the hardwood floor. Just standing there, his 6-foot 2-inch, lanky frame casting a long shadow in the afternoon light, yet he didn’t seem to take up any space at all, like he wasn’t really there. I was sitting in the living room but he didn’t see me. I don’t know what he was thinking, but he seemed so lost. I know he wasn’t particularly happy with where he was in his life, but he was a recovering alcoholic/addict and — I thought — doing pretty well in that respect.
So there we were, sitting side by side on the porch because I wouldn’t let him smoke in the house (and he was a heavy smoker), and he’s talking about his latest girlfriend (who was very sweet, I liked her a lot) and how it wasn’t going to work out. But then he turns to me and instead of saying anything, he just looks at me, and I look at him, and it was this odd moment of intensity that stretched on for about a minute, maybe longer. It was like he was looking at me for the first time, like he’d never really done that before. We were sitting very close together and if it had been a romantic movie, we probably would have kissed. But it wasn’t that kind of movie. Instead, he finally said:
"You look good in red."
Which was funny, as he was red/green color blind.
He moved back to New York City after that year. I haven’t thought about him in almost two decades. I wonder what he’s up to, if he’s even still alive.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: SWTOR/Pacific Rim AU
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Characters: Nikolai Tyen
Series: Part 4 of Argent Victor
Summary:
Nik Tyen was plagued with nightmares in his younger years. The old nightmares have resurfaced after an unfortunate event when his sparring partner snapped and attacked him. The nightmares disturb his sleep and the sleep of other candidates around him. He's unaware that there's a solution to his problem, though.
Since I’m apparently going through stories I never finished, I really should complete these. Someday. Most have been languishing for about a year, although the first was only abandoned in January.
Gerain returns to Csaus and is met at the spaceport by Nikyri.
[This was written awhile back but not posted because there was no interest. But whatever. Trying to post the finished stuff.]
Nikyri glanced around the near-empty car as they settled into a seat on the rail transport, then slid his hand into Gerain's, the telltale flush across his cheeks broadcasting embarrassment even as he smiled. Gerain causally placed his pack on the floor and squeezed his friend's hand, entwining his fingers with Nikyri's. The dry scent of recycled, heated air and grease and just a hint of cleaning solution swirled around them.
"Thank you for meeting me at the spaceport," Gerain murmured. He turned to Nikyri, eyes glowing softly as he studied the freckled face under the harsh lighting. "I appreciate it," his smile turned playful. "You saved me the trouble of knocking on your door at an unacceptable hour just to say hello."
"No hour is too late, Gerain. Not for me, although my room mate might not agree," Nikyri smiled. "I'm so glad you're back," he slid along the molded plasteel bench so that their shoulders and thighs met, warmth exchanged. "I couldn't wait to see you," he laughed, "if that wasn't obvious already." His easy smile transitioned into a self-conscious smirk as he leaned in to whisper, "I would have kissed you if it hadn't been so public back there. I want to kiss you now." Nikyri sat back, sighing.
Gerain unconsciously licked his lips then chuckled, squeezing Nikyri's hand again. His eyes brightened as he drew in a deep breath and shook his head.
"You still shouldn't have skipped out on your lecture, though," Gerain's gentle tone lacked conviction. "I hope you don't regret it."
"You're more important," Nikyri shrugged.
With another glance around to see if the car's other riders were paying attention (they weren't -- one was sleeping, the other reading a datapad), he removed his hand from Gerain's and slipped his arm around the man's waist, pulling himself closer. He chuckled as he felt Gerain tense, then relax against him, shifting to wrap an arm around Nikyri's shoulders, fingers subtly caressing.
"I missed you so much, Gerain. I even looked into the cost of a trip to Csilla," Nikyri frowned, "in case you stayed there." He shifted to lay his head on Gerain's shoulder, snuggling against his friend. "Later, you can tell me what went on, if you wish."
Gerain quietly sighed, and Nikyri felt breath warm on his scalp. He closed his eyes, taking in Gerain's quiet breathing and his warm, lightly spiced scent, the sound of distance markers as the cars approached and rushed by, the thrum of the rail power, the slight buzz of the lighting above.
"Are you tired? It is getting late." Gerain's soft voice was concerned.
"No," Nikyri shook his head against Gerain's shoulder, grey hair flopping across his face. Gerain reached to push the locks off Nikyri's forehead, smiling shyly as the blue Chiss opened his eyes and looked up at him, returning Gerain's smile. A look passed between them, an intimacy that Nikyri would later recall felt like a jolt, a profound certainty that this was right. He wrapped his other arm around Gerain, embracing him tightly.
I actually have a few of the Blue Grey-Pacific Rim AU stories hanging around but I've been hesitant to post them because they aren't exactly part of the PR fanfic universe yet. How Nik Tyen and Gerry Tareg fit into the larger universe with the canon characters remains to be worked out but because I have the feels for our OTP, I seem to have this problem. I want to write them in that setting.
This bit comes straight from my headcanon and has no real basis in the movie or graphic novel. I like to think that the Pons training includes deliberately triggering a strong, usually scary or disturbing, memory while the team is connected and letting one follow the RABIT. How quickly the team can pull the one back from that episode likely determines how successful they will be in action.
I also have a headcanon that the psych analysts and minor officers have a few betting pools for what pairs they think will 1. make the final cut and 2. will fall in love and become a couple.
I'd put all bets on these two. Both pools.
He flinches, raising his arms to block the incoming blow, thought becoming action as the memory surfaces. No! Stop! Don't look! he warns the other in his head. Wood clacks against wood so quickly he can't turn away as he watches the stick slide towards him. His hands are numb from the vibrations. Pain blooms along his jaw and his ears ring. Didn't anticipate! He swells with outrage and fright and confusion, staring at the anger on his sparring partner's face, and he's caught in the memory. Stop! He backs away, position low, hands scrabbling over the mat for his dropped hanbo. You're a failure. The instructors step in, but he's still searching for something he can't find. Disappointment. There's nothing there, nothing but dirt and concrete. He crouches, tries to make himself small and unseen, tries to wedge himself in the hollow at the side of the bridge but they've seen him. He howls when they drag him out and take away his bag and throw him into the river choked with dead fish. Fear. They empty his bag on the ground and take his dad's Iron Man figure. He wasn't supposed to touch it but he wanted to bring it in for Show and Tell and now he'll get in trouble. Anger. With a growl, he launches himself out of the water and hits them with his fists but they call him a crybaby and they kick him and shove him back into the river and run away. He's standing there, soaking wet with dead fish bumping against his calves and he's whimpering.
He hears movement and flinches as hands cover his, gentle and warm, but they hold him firm.
Nik, I'm not going to hurt you. You can trust me. Listen to me. Concentrate on me.
The voice in his head is soothing. It's familiar and he wants to hear it, he wants to trust it. He does trust it. It's part of him, but he's still there in the river with the stench of dead fish--
What did you do?
He wades to the shore and shoves his belongings into his bag, then stomps down the road to the tiny police station.
I swore I would never let myself feel helpless again. I filed a stolen property report. My dad got his action figure back. I was grounded.
Both men laugh, but there are flashes of the first Kaiju attack and Nik sitting in his dorm room watching the scenes repeat over and over and feeling helpless.
Nik feels Gerry squeeze his hands and the images fade.
We're not helpless. We're the opposite of helpless.
Encouragement washes through Nik, whisper-soft. He opens his eyes and he gazes at the man in front of him. His hands relax and shift and he's interlaced his fingers with Gerry's. He smiles and his face flushes bright red.
I trust you. I do.
In the observation room, the officers and analysts compare notes.
"How long did that reintegration take?"
"12 seconds."
An officer grunts in surprise.
"Tyen responded to Tareg that quickly?"
"Yes."
"Promising. They might just make the final cut."
Behind the officers, money is quietly exchanged as bets are settled.
