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themonotonysyndrome · 3 years

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REDACTED verse - Another day in Dahlia

Summary: When worlds collide, Aaron and Smartass has the ‘old, married couple’ moment when a wolf is loose in a hypermarket.

Dahlia is lively today, the afternoon sunlight dazzling upon the city. Familiar faces, familiar sights and familiar roads are everywhere.

And yet, the man who couldn’t stop bickering with his lover since the two of them stepped out of IKEA is a changing man living in this familiar city.

Aaron likes to think that he retains his best qualities despite the passing of time. Firm, true and level-headed - traits that have served him well both in his personal and work life. Traits that have earned him recognition, achievements and praises. However, against a fiery soul housed within an infuriating yet gorgeous body, Aaron has never felt so breathless and helpless.

And most importantly, lovestruck.

Unstable and uncharacteristically hesitant, the pieces of himself that are held together with patience have been pulled apart by its seams. But they weren’t destroyed; no, they rearrange themselves into an amazing new form. Aaron isn’t quite yet certain what that new form brings, but already, he could feel himself grow into a man that wholly compliments his lover.

Like a planet revolving around a beautiful, bright star. He can’t help but be drawn by the star’s gravity.

There’s balance between them, despite their strong-willed personalities. They sooth the other when one burns too brightly, they offer guidance when the other is unsure. Balanced and happy, that’s what they are.

There’s never emptiness when silence envelops them. Isn’t there a saying that whenever you’re with your loved one, silence is never oppressive?

Although, to be fair, silence doesn’t last long whenever they’re together. Not when there’s always something to bicker, something to discuss and something to tease about.

Case in point, the ugly as fuck lamp that Aaron fought tooth and nail to convince his partner not to buy.

“Look, it’s not even your money; I was going to use mine for it!”

“It’s not about the money, Smartass.” Aaron replies back with a roll of his eyes. They’re at the parking lot getting ready to head off to the hypermarket next. The two of them had spent four hours of furniture shopping at IKEA after his Smartass made an offhand comment last week about his couch being way too old and lumpy for gaming nights and movie marathons.

But before either of them realise it, what was supposed to be a simple couch purchase turned into perusal of dining tables, desks and floor lamps. Aaron got them back on track when you excitedly pulled him towards that last part.

Aaron had never before questioned your taste in furniture before but at that point, he starts to draw the line at a red, human shaped floor lamp. It bows slightly with the most creepy smile he had ever seen on a statue before.

“I just don’t want to have a heart attack everytime I wake up, alright? You wanted it in our bedroom, beside our bed and it’s creepy beyond all reason.”

“It’s functional though.”

“So were the other floor lamps.” Aaron easily pointed out. He opened the car door and waited, unamused, for you to get in. Unfortunately, judging by how your arms folded across your chest in a stubborn pose, his spitfire didn’t want to drop their conversation.

“What if I put it in the living room?” You suggest instead, the familiar defiant spark made itself known.

Aaron held himself back from groaning in despair. Why are you so hung up about that lamp!? “I don’t think it’ll fit with the… aesthetic of our house, OK?” He tried the tactical approach first, knowing that a straight up no would not pacify his partner at all. “How about this; we’ll go with your couch and desk and my preference for the dining table. There. Is that good enough for you, Your Highness?”

You purse your lips, but the both of you know that you’re not so hung up about the floor lamp to drag this argument any further. Aaron wisely chooses not to comment how your lips slowly curve into a smile.

“Fine. I’ll let you win this round - ”

“Oh my god - ”

“But in return, I’ll be taking over for lunch later.”

Aaron immediately shut his mouth, surprise and secretly a little giddy that his Smartass had taken the initiative of making a meal for them. That lasted for about a split second before something dawn onto him.

“You want free reign at the hypermarket later, right?”

This time, you beam happily but say nothing as you finally slip inside of the Mercedes. And as usual, silence spoke louder than words. Aaron exhales loudly, not knowing whether to laugh or mutter a curse. Trust in his lover to have the final say, ultimately.

But that’s one of the many reasons why he fell so hopelessly in love with you.

The hypermarket is busy for a Saturday. Smartass pointed at the sales and promotions board display in big letters and numbers when the two of you entered the building, hand in hand. Ah, that makes sense. Children run about clutching snacks in their little hands to convince their exasperated parents into buying, worned out staff restock empty shelves and the scent of fresh produce and floor detergents clings in the air. A familiar sight.

“How do you feel about crabs?” Smartass begins the conversation. Aaron doesn’t understand why you bother asking him when you’re already dragging him towards the cold, seafood area. Aisles of fresh fish of all kinds are clearly displayed for visitors, the more expensive kind are packaged and a few men are working behind the butcher service counter.

“I can go for some crabs. It’s been a while anyway.” Aaron answered, grabbing a nearby stack of baskets for their grocery. He tried to recall the last time they had any seafood and his mind helpfully supplied a restaurant where they went to for dinner in March.

He lets you gather your thoughts as you stare at the frozen crabs critically as if they were spreadsheets. “I’m thinking of rice with a side of buttery crab meats, Salmon sashimi, Shiitake soup and lotus root salad. Sounds good?”

As soon as he invited his Smartass to permanently move in with him, you had totally taken over the kitchen. Apparently you weren’t terribly amused when he admitted that he’s not much of a cook but hey, he never once complained when you served the best homemade vegan burgers with a glare and a silent, “Go ahead. I dare you to say that they taste like shit. Make my day, Aaron.”

So instead, after he cleaned their dishes, Aaron proceeded to throw his lover on their bed to thoroughly thank you for the meal.

Four hours later, the flushed and surprised expression on your face was so worth it.

But we’re getting off tangents here.

“Sounds absolutely delicious.” Aaron replied and startled his Smartass with a sudden kiss on your cheek. “Now stop glaring at the crabs and pick some already. We have half of the ingredients back home and I’d rather not spend the rest of our remaining Saturday in the hypermarket. So let’s get to it.”

Smartass hum in agreement and grab your own basket. Together, they made quick work of what they needed to buy. Not just for lunch, but for the upcoming weeks too. Crabs, Salmons, some meat and later pea sprouts, red cabbages and lotus root - the both of them are more inclined to healthy meals rather than take outs and it really helps that Smartass suggest preparing ingredients that they could cook for the rest of the week, given their busy work lives. Vegetable dishes are flexible and easy enough to cook into anything anyway.

They moved on from the frozen, seafood aisles and the produce section to where the personal care products are. Aaron holds up his phone in between them so Smartass could check what’s next on the list.

“Oh shit. I totally forgot that my shampoo and conditioners just ran out.” Smartass blurted. “Thanks for adding that into our grocery list.”

Aaron scoffs. “You mentioned it twice during dinner last night - in between debating whether or not Game of Thrones is better than Lord of the Rings, mind you - so I can understand why you forgot” Colourful rows of shampoo bottles greeted them when they walk past a couple who’s pushing their trolley carts away from the shelves. He grabs your favourite brand and places them in his basket. “You’re brilliant, Smartass, but I can’t help pity that poor hamster living in your brain for having to run in its ball all day long.”

You gasp, affronted, while Aaron laughs at the look on your face. Even smacking his arm did nothing to stop his laughter. “You’re too easy to rile up sometimes, you know that Smartass?” He smirks and grabs a toothpaste next. They’re running low on that too. In retaliation for his remark, Smartass sneakily pulled that toothpaste out when Aaron was checking his phone and chose the one with the strawberry flavour instead.

When Aaron shot you an inquisitive look, you just smiled innocently and quickly distracted him by insisting that they need to get some snacks.

“That reminds me, it’s not on the list but we have to buy ramune soda. Oh, and some potato chips too.” You pointed out as the two of you rounded away from a large family who stopped in between the body wash shelves and hair serums. “Have you noticed that we go through ramune sodas like crazy lately?”

The snacks and beverage section is one of the highlights of this hypermarket, in Aaron’s humble opinion. Not only do they have an abundance of the local goods, they also have a wide selection of some really good imported snacks or as Aaon like to call it, your ultimate weakness.

“Yeah but be honest, are you really going to stop your addiction anytime soon?”

“What is this? Bully me day?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said it, not me, Smartass.” Aaron is quick to quip back and this time, you roll your eyes. Even if it’s true, it doesn’t mean that you have to like it.

But that’s Aaron - his words always serve a meaning and come straight from the heart when it’s for the things that truly matter. It’s annoying and yet, it’s one of his best qualities.

However, just as you were about to rebuke him, the two of you heard a passing conversation nearby the soda shelves.

“ - not going to play bartender at home again, Angel. Why not? Alright then; let me jog your memory, hmm? The last time I left you alone in the kitchen for more than 3 hours, you came out carrying a tray with the embodiment of everything unholy on this planet separated into three shot glasses.”

“It was just ramune soda mixed with rose syrup, grass jelly and vinegar!”

“Asher had a stomach ache for a week, Angel.”

“But Davey, how do you expect me to get better at it if you don’t let me practice? See? There’s a flaw in your plan!”

“I’d rather we go to a bar the next time you’re in the mood to poison the both of us.”

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation but you couldn’t help snicker at the stranger’s very much put out and deadpan tone. It gives an implication that this isn’t the first time this ‘Angel’ did something as crazy as mix sodas with vinegar. Hell, even the man’s comment earned a soft chuckle from Aaron.

“Sounds like he got quite a handful lover over there. Remind you of someone?” Aaron whispered. They couldn’t properly see the couple due to a stack of Dorito boxes in between them but you could spot a tall man wearing a pretty nice looking leather jacket and his partner beside him.

“If you’re implying that I’m unreasonably difficult - ”

“No, no. Just… hmm, passionately stubborn, I suppose.” Aaron nonchalantly replies with a smirk. He guffaws when you poke at his sides and spin around to the rows of ramune with a dramatic huff. Aaron easily follows suit with a fond smile.

This section of the aisle is quiet unlike the previous ones that’ve been, Aaron noticed. The humming of the air conditioner above them and the crinkling of a plastic bag of chips in Smartass’ hand were the only sounds that broke the comfortable silence. Even the murmurs from the other couple melts into background noises the further Aaron and his walk away.

That is, until a hair-raising snarl shattered the quietness.

What’s worse, it sounded like a wolf.

Aaron reacted instinctively. He opted for the defense - grabbing his Smartass’ free hand, pulling you close to him. His searching eyes are frantic while his mind is trying to make sense that a wolf is somehow in this hypermarket. Full of people. What the fuck!?

Smartass, however, opted for the offense. You grab the nearest glass bottle by the neck and were about to smash it against the metal shelf if it weren’t for Aaron’s quick thinking. He immediately grabs your wrist and shoots you an incredulous look. Silently judging your choices in life.

‘You have a better idea on how to deal with a fucking wolf!?’ Smartass demanded in silence. Your expression is bewildered; as if you couldn’t believe that Aaron wouldn’t let you shank an unknown threat just around the corner.

In return, Aaron pulls you closer to his body and glares out, ‘I’m not letting you throw yourself in front of a wolf!’

‘I’m protecting us!’ Smartass countered back, glaring just as heatedly.

A sweet giggle suddenly interrupted their mental argument. Their hearts skip a beat in fear at the unknown.

“Ok, ok. How about this, Davey: I'll let you dress me up when we go to the bar tomorrow. How’s that? Does that make my Wolf not jealous anymore?” The same voice they accidentally eavesdropped previously bargained in a teasing tone.

Smartass and Aaron exchange a bewildered and confused glance. What the fuck did they just said? My Wolf? Was the realistic animal snarl came from the boyfriend!? He must’ve some serious vocal cords and throat to be able to make that sound!

Aaron exhales loudly while Smartass allows him to grab the glass bottle that you were still holding to put it back on the shelf.

“I think I just lost five years of my life.” Aaron complains.

Smartass said nothing. Without even saying anything, you march to where the couple are. Aaron curses under his breath and quickly chases after you.

The man in the black leather jacket and his partner glanced at his Smartass when you approached them with a practised smile. One that Aaron knew meant trouble. How could he not when he’s the receiving end of that smile more than he could count.

When Smartass wants answers, you’ll do everything in your power to get it and Aaron is really not looking forward to wrangling his partner from starting a brawl in the middle of a damn hypermarket.

“Hi there.” His Smartass began, your body language deceptively open and friendly. “Are you two alright?”

“Eh?” The one standing beside the tall, frowning man replies with a blink. Upon closer inspection, Aaron realises that he and what looks to be the leader of a local gang are similar in built.

“Can we help you?” The gang leader interjects. He’s frowning but he doesn’t appear angry. Just confused like his partner. Though he nodded in greeting when Aaron slid up beside Smartass.

“Didn’t you hear that noise just now?” Smartass plays shock. “It sounded like someone released a wolf in the hypermarket!”

The man in the leather jacket suddenly looked like he just sucked a lemon; his eyes are comically wide. Meanwhile, his partner’s eyes are equally as wide. Aaron detects a hint of realisation glint in their eyes. Now isn’t that interesting?

Well, Smartass thought so too. You pressed on. “You heard it too right? Damn near give me a heart attack! I wonder if the nearby staff also heard it - ”

“It’s probably the ventilation system or something.” The gang leader quickly replied, his expression oddly shifted to neutral. Beside him, his partner opens their mouth to say something but he quickly presses his palm over it. They throw a pointed look at him but he resolutely ignores it. “Anyway, good luck with your grocery shopping.”

Aaron watches him grab his partner by the hand and gently drag them away. It was only when they’re out of sight that they started furiously chatting.

“Wow, Davey, your slip up was even worse than Asher’s!”

“We’re so not telling him about this, Angel.”

“...Does this mean I can tell Babe instead?”

“Wha - No, that wasn’t an invitation to tell his Mate!”

Aaron turns to Smartass who just shrugs. Neither of them could figure out what just happened. He’s just glad that you let them escape.

“Maybe they have some really kinky roleplaying thing going on.” Smartass guessed, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Aaron runs his palm down his face in exasperation. “I don’t give a shit, Smartass. Can we please just finish up our grocery shopping already? I’m starting to get hungry.”

“Alright, alright. We just have to grab a few more things and then we can pay.” Smartass assured him and off they continued on their way.

Though neither of them still couldn’t help but wonder how the hell that man managed to sound like a wolf so accurately.

Kinky roleplay or not.

I’m tentatively planning to make this into a mini series including the rest of the non-empowered characters with their lovers. I’m already writing for Oliver and Baby so we’ll see how that goes!

#redacted asmr #fanfic #second pov #they/them pronouns #gender neutral s/o #smartass (listener)#Aaron #david shaw #angel (listener)

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bigfrozenfan-fanfics · 3 years

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Chapter 05 - Elsa's excursion

Links: Chapter overview, Character list, Map, Glossar Rating: M over all Publishing cycle: each Friday on (link)

Remarks: all my chapters contain carefully selected music tracks. It’s your own decision if you want to use them or not while reading. The purpose is to musically support the respective mood of the plot. If you can please use a browser for reading (not the Tumblr app) due to the text formatting.

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Joná went to his little boat and pondered what had happened. He just wanted to help and hoped that Yelana would do something about it. Instead, she asked him to keep everything secret. He shrugged his shoulders and bent over the edge of the boat to get his catch out. Still thinking she already knew what to do, he turned with his full basket and froze. Behind him some men from the village had gathered and looked at him piercingly.

“Um ... why are you standing there staring at me like that? Is something going on?” he asked and put the basket down.

“We were just about to ask you that,” said the one in front, who had obviously led the men here. “We noticed everything earlier and wondered if you would tell us what you had so urgently to tell Yelana.” He crossed his arms and looked at Joná waiting.

Joná swallowed. He remembered what she had told him and didn't know how to begin. “Um ... well ... I was just so excited because ... because the fish I had on the line today are so big. One of them almost pulled me over the edge of the boat.”

The man in front of him cast a telling glance at his basket and then looked at him again with raised eyebrows. “Oh, yeah?”

“Not that one, no. But the one fish I was going to pull into the boat was,” said Joná, who noticed this look. “Really, I did. They were just too heavy for me and were tearing the string.”

A few moments passed, and the man finally nodded, “Well, we know your fish stories good enough. But don't you think you might have overdone it a little today?”

Joná sighed and let his shoulders sink. “Yes, maybe you are right. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to scare anyone.”

“Let's go, men.” They all turned around and walked slowly back to camp, some of them looking disappointed. But the leader of the group said quietly, “There's something he's not telling us. I don't buy that story. Not that I ever did, but ... ”

“Did you notice his nervous look and how insecure he was this time?” one of the men asked quietly and looked at him from the side.

He nodded, “Indeed.”

~~~

Elsa had been lying quietly on her bed for a long time, listening to the noises coming in from outside. It sounded very busy and once she heard a loud shouting and a name. Yelana. She didn't know this person, but she seemed to hold an important position. After that it was quiet again and she only heard a few birds chirping. A ray of sunlight came in from above and blinded her. She turned her head to the side and her eyes fell on the bundle of clothes next to her. Somehow she had had enough of just lying around here idly. She wanted to get out and look around.

Elsa bent her knees to see how far she was able to stand up. It still hurt a little, but it worked surprisingly well. She pushed the fur to the side and did stretching exercises with her legs, slowly and alternately. After some time she carefully sat up and bent over to massage her thighs and calves. A long blonde strand of hair fell into her face. “Oh ...,” she said in surprise and reached behind her head to pull more of her hair forward. She felt and looked at it. “I'd love to know what I look like,” she murmured and then continued to put her plan into action.

Finally she turned and let her legs dangle over the edge of the bed. She stood up, or at least tried to, because her strength was not enough and she sank back onto the bed. But Elsa didn't want to give up so quickly and pulled the wooden stool in front of her to support herself. After two attempts, she finally stood there a little shaky and made a satisfied sound. Then she picked up her clothes and slipped the leather tunic over her head. She touched the material. It was a bit rough, but very soft and felt a bit cool on her skin. She looked at the pants and sat down again to slip them over her legs, slowly stood up again and pulled them up. Everything fit her perfectly. Finally she put on the belt and slipped into the boots. Now she was ready for her first excursion and started to move slowly.

~~~

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Honeymaren had nothing else to do at the moment and therefore shuffled around the camp a bit bored and lost in thought with her head lowered. Unconsciously she took the way towards Elsa's kota. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed how the flap of one of the huts was pressed open. She looked over and couldn't believe her eyes. Elsa stepped straight out and kept herself wobbly on her feet. She looked around curiously and their eyes met. Elsa smiled at her and took a hesitant step forward, but almost fell over and held on to the edge of the entrance just in time. Honeymaren did not hesitate for a second and rushed to her to help.

“Careful, you're still too weak and you might hurt yourself in the fall. Let me help you.” She took Elsa's hand and put one arm around her shoulder to support her.

“Thank you. I just couldn't stand it in there anymore and had to try to get out.”

“I can understand that. I guess that's what I'd do. Although ... nothing like that has ever happened to me, so I don't know what ...” She bit her lip.

Elsa looked at her and said, “All right, it hasn't happened to me either ... I think.” She put on a crooked smile.

Honeymaren nodded, looked down at her and then smiled and said, “The Northuldra clothes look pretty good on you.”

“Thanks. It feels very comfortable too. What's your name anyway?”

“I'm Honeymaren.”

They looked into each other's eyes for a moment. “We know each other, right? I'm sorry if I can't remember anything about it.”

Honeymaren felt her heartbeat accelerate. Before all this happened to her, Elsa had always been so distant, almost unapproachable, and with her task as Fifth Spirit, she had rarely been seen in camp lately. Now would actually be the perfect opportunity to change this. But was she allowed to do that? It would amount to a lie. She hesitated.

“Yes, we know each other ... quite well.”

Elsa briefly squeezed Honeymaren's hand and sighed, “I hope I'll be able to remember this soon. Will you help me to look around a bit and explore everything? I am very curious.”

“I'd love to. I already know where we could go first.”

They walked with slow steps and she helped Elsa to keep her balance. She had never been so close to Elsa before; Honeymaren thought to herself. It was kind of exciting. Before Elsa promised to free the Northuldra from the impenetrable mist wall on that memorable evening, Honeymaren didn't know very much, trapped in this small world. She was born into this world as one of the few children and there were only a handful in her age with whom she could do something. The few of them were playful boys who were either too simple-minded or interested in other things. So she grew up, mostly alone with herself and her thoughts, only with her somewhat jumpy brother Ryder, to whom the reindeer meant more than anything else. Otherwise, it was their leader Yelana who had been her life anchor and she learned a lot from her, especially about the past of her tribe and its values.

At some point they finally reached the edge of the forest and stepped out onto a narrow strip of sand beach bathed in sunlight.

“This is one of the few beautiful places here by the sea, the rest is quite jagged and mostly full of big black pebbles,” Honeymaren said, and led Elsa to a smooth, almost white-washed piece of an old tree trunk that lay half buried in the sand.

They sat down on it and Elsa looked out into the distance. The sun sparkled on the softly rippling waves, which the gentle wind washed up and carried a salty scent. She took a deep breath, laid her head relaxed in the neck and closed her eyes. Honeymaren, on the other hand, did not care about the sea, because she had a completely different view in front of her eyes. She sat so close to Elsa that she could literally feel her and the temptation was great to gently stroke her long light hair. She felt the heat rising inside her, but she was not allowed to rush into anything and instead was content to admire Elsa's features, her light soft skin and the fine hairs on her gently curving neck. She sucked up every little detail and felt lost in time.

So she didn't even realise how Elsa finally opened her eyes again and noticed Honeymaren's behaviour out of the corner of her eye. She turned her head and looked directly at her. “What are you doing?”

Honeymaren took a frightened breath and stammered, “I ... nothing, I ... I was just admiring your long hair. Sorry, Elsa, I ... didn't mean to ...” Her cheeks turned red and her eyes were wide open.

Elsa raised an eyebrow in surprise. “Tell me, Honeymaren, how well did we actually know each other?”

Honeymaren looked down somewhat bashfully, not daring to say anything. She thought feverishly about what she could answer instead. Then she simply changed the subject. She didn't know how Elsa would react and whether it was wise to mention it. Still, now they were sitting here already and the opportunity seemed appropriate.

“I don't know if I should say it ... but I guess sooner or later you'll find out from someone anyway. This is exactly where they found you a few days ago, unconscious and lying half in the water.”

Elsa didn't miss the change of subject, of course, and she wondered about it briefly, but the mention of her accident distracted her and she gazed thoughtfully out at sea.

“I'd love to know what exactly happened to me,” she remarked shortly after.

“Only Ahtohallan knows,” Honeymaren murmured, daring to look up again.

Elsa gave her a questioning look, “Ahtohallan? Who is that?”

“Um ... that's something we should probably talk about another time. Be patient, everything will be fine,” she replied, a bit unsettled, and placed her hand comfortingly on Elsa's arm. She glanced around her. “Dusk is starting to fall, and we should probably start making our way back. Don't want you to miss a root in the woods and trip.” She giggled and Elsa fell in laughing.

Then she stood up and extended a hand to Elsa to help her to her feet. The embarrassing moment from just now was over and Honeymaren was really glad about it. Both of them took one last look at the setting sun on the horizon and Honeymaren let herself be carried away to another remark because of it.

“I somehow knew you would love this place. I often come here myself when no one is around and the fishermen are all out at sea. Then I think about different things and have my peace. It's a really good spot to relax and enjoy nature.

“Yes, you're right, and that moment a minute ago really did me a lot of good. I thank you for it.”

“You're welcome, Elsa,” she replied with a smile.

“Tell me, Honeymaren, is there a creek around here with a quiet spot where you can see a reflection of yourself when you look into it? I'd like to know what I look like.”

Honeymaren looked at her in surprise, “As a matter of fact, yes, there is. Come, I'll take you there.” Honeymaren held out her hand and they both slowly and carefully made their way back.

~~~

Yelana sat on the furs on the floor in her hut and thought for some time. A Northuldra woman who wanted to know something she had sent her away again and said that she didn't have time at the moment and would visit her later. She saw Elsa lying on the beach in front of her eyes, shortly before all the spirits had disappeared and now this description. Of all people by this fisherman, who was known for his stories. But what he told was just too extraordinary this time and it all fitted in with recent events. However, Ahtohallan would never do such a thing, what could be the reason for that.

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Except ... Yelana took a long scarf from one of her leather bags and put one end of it over her knee. Lost in thought, she stroked over the five symbols woven into it and stayed on the one in the middle. She had received this scarf from her mother when she was a child and has taken it out every time she has thought and searched for answers ever since. Maybe she hoped for some comfort and strength after her parents had died long ago. It was not unlike the shawl Queen Anna was carrying at the time, but it had a different colour and, of course, a different pattern on the edge that stood for the family that woven it for their descendants.

The fifth spirit before Elsa died during the events that ultimately trapped the forest for so long. She knew that for sure. But then who was it who had the powers of Ahtohallan and was responsible for all this today? There was no other fifth spirit, that much was certain. Could it be that ... no, that was impossible. Or could it? Could he have had a child? Then who was his mother? Someone in her tribe?

Slowly a certainty was forming in Yelana, one that she did not like at all.

~~~

He sat on the large rocky plateau near the river, far away from any Northuldra dwelling. Nobody dared to come here, because the earth giants slept here and did not like to be woken up. The place was perfectly chosen for his secret whereabouts.

He wore a dark, almost black fur coat, next to him were reindeer antlers, worked into a large fur hood. His eyes were closed, he breathed deeply and calmly in and out, and let his senses wander into the forest. He felt and he saw.

He could read their minds, at least of most of them. It was different from the nature spirits, where he never felt this limitation, but some people were strong-willed and it was as if he had to fight his way through a thick layer of snow. With very few of them he could only feel their emotions and nothing more ... like with this woman from the house of that hateful king, who was responsible for his father's death. Now, decades later, he still could see in his mind's eye that terrible image of how he found his father after the battle was over. As clearly as if it had been only yesterday. He was lying on the ground bleeding and not moving, peppered with half a dozen crossbow arrows.

His father had been his icon and was respected by all Northuldra, but also feared. For he had an ability that until now had only been considered a myth. He could change his shape. Therefore, some of the elders called him reverently Myandash, the reindeer shapeshifter, one of the centuries-old legends of his people. This legend said that his mother was a shaman and witch who could transform into a reindeer and that his father was a real reindeer. While Myandash was inside his tent he was a human, but he transformed as soon as he stepped outside. But the world in which he lived was that of the great reindeer spirit and not the realm of humans.

His father was therefore said to be the descendant of Myandash, who walked and protected among them. He had a great influence on the council of elders and his decisions were always taken seriously. But this was now in the past and he was alone. For decades he had hidden here and lived secluded from those of his people, learning, observing, training all his skills ... and planned his revenge. At least the king from the south was also taken to his death by someone from his tribe. But there were many of them, too many, and he hated them all.

He let his senses wander again and concentrated. Then he found a young Northuldra woman who had quite confusing feelings ... for another woman. He drew the corner of his mouth in disgust, but penetrated deeper into her mind and finally he saw through her eyes, saw what she saw, as clearly as if he would be present beside them ... a beach and that other woman sitting next to her. She was also wearing Northuldra clothes, but something was strange about her and different. Her hair, it was long and ...

He opened his eyes in horror. That couldn't be! How was that even possible? He had killed that blonde bitch, or at least made sure that she was doomed to drown in the dark sea and never appear again. How had she achieved her survival? He cursed. It hadn't been easy to take the magic away from her, or rather to make her forget all of it. It had cost him great effort and many preparations. To let Nokk dissolve under her was a piece of cake. After all, Nokk no longer had any connection to Ahtohallan, neither did the other nature spirits after he managed to establish the mist bell over the glacier.

It was all so well planned. But recently the Spirits had stopped obeying him and he assumed that it was directly related to Ahtohallan. But then he had been able to seize another of the secrets of Ahtohallan's power and outsmarted it. Only in this way had his plan become possible at all.

He would now have to try again. Then just by the conventional way. This time she wouldn't get away from him again, because now she had no magic and he was far superior to her both physically and mentally. It was just too bad that his father couldn't teach him to shape-shift anymore. He had simply been too young for that.

It was time to forge a new plan. One that was deadproof this time ... and he already knew approximately how he would proceed this time. It was time to act.

~~~

---

I hope you have enjoyed this chapter! Please leave a comment if you liked the story, I would be pleased to read your opinions, even criticisms. If you want to be tagged as soon I publish the next chapter please let me know.

Credits: Many thanks to HARU (@ xlayers) for the commissioned fantastic fanart!

Tagging: @karma26 @whether-near-to-me-or-far @annaofthenorthernlights @igotelsapregnanthelp

#frozen #frozen2 #frozen3 #fanfic #epic novel #the broken bridge #chapter 05 #bigfrozenfan

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atpk · 3 years

Text

Mermay (Convin)

There are two types of merfolk: one that lives in the warm clear blue of the carol reefs and the other that lives in the colder darker depths. The ones that live in the warm waters look closer to human, apart from their tails; the ones that live in the cold waters have evolved to have webbed hands and scales on their torsos to help them swim faster. Connor is one of the warm water merfolk. Gavin is one of the cold water merfolk. They don’t mix. Cold water merfolk think the warm water dwellers are weak and soft and way too full of themselves. Warm water merfolk tell stories to their children at night that if they’re very bad the cold water dwellers will come and drag them down into the depths never to be seen again.

So ...

Gavin is out hunting for lunch, and he spots a particularly tasty looking red snapper so takes chase, his perfectly streamlined body torpedoing through the dim cold water; he snags his tail on yet another sharp rock outcrop, potentially adding to the numerous scars he already had along his tail and torso, but doesn’t stop until — he realises the water around him has got warmer, instantly making him uncomfortable. He looks up and realises that he’s closer to the surface than he should be and very far out of his own territory. The red snapper has gone and he’s surrounded by fish he doesn’t immediately recognise.

Needing to get his bearings he carefully climbs the nearest rock formation, his webbed fingers perfect for adhering to the craggy surface. The sun is hot and he closes his eyes and turns his head away from the blinding bright light. He shouldn’t have come up here. It wasn’t safe. He was too close to the land. Shielding his eyes from the sunlight he moved higher up out of the water and stopped, his heart beating a scared rhythm. There on a sandy rock, basking himself in the suns rays, was not only a warm water dwellers, but also the most breathtakingly beautiful mer he’d ever seen. Gavin could only stare, lifting himself higher on the rocks to see better. The mer was oblivious, enjoying the sea spray crashing on his tail and body.

Gavin caught sight of his webbed hands splayed on the rocks in front of him and shook his head, angry at himself for wasting his time daydreaming about this pretty poser. The twofers (this is what Gavin calls humans bc they have two legs) hunted in this area and if that dumb mer wasn’t careful he’d find his tail on the end of a hook, and himself carted off to some aquarium or other.

Gavin slunk back across the rocks and dove back into the too warm water. He was still hungry and the fish swimming around him were too small to do anything but dull the ache in his stomach. Damn that red snapper for getting away and leading him so far away from home. Gavin dove deeper, leaving the surface far below.

Several weeks later, Gavin’d almost completely forgotten about the pretty posing mer, with his perfect tail glinting into the sunlight, and his perfect smooth torso unmarked by a single scale, and his perfect hair swept back from his face — and then Gavin spotted a flash of movement above him, and it was him. The same mer he’d seen sunbathing beautifully on the sand, and he was swimming against the current, struggling to put distance between himself and the dark shadow of the twofer hunting vessel above. Gavin had seen this too many times not to know what was going to happen next. The twofers had obviously tagged the mer while he was on the surface and now they could pinpoint him with almost perfect accuracy. The harpoon came out of nowhere and pierced straight through the soft flesh of the mer’s tail, the hook catching and starting to drag him back and up. Gavin took chase, gaining speed, but the mechanism dragging the mer out of the ocean was faster. And then the mer grabbed onto a nearby rock outcrop and held on for dear life, the only problem being his stupid unwebbed fingers were useless at gripping and holding firm and soon he was only stopping his ascent by the skin of his finger tips.

Gavin saw the moment the mer saw him, he saw the instant flash of fear, but that didn’t stop him from pulling out his blade and hacking at the metal coil attached to the harpoon. The mer screamed in pain as the harpoon ripped deeper into his flesh but Gavin was intent only on getting him free. The metal quickly dulled his blade and Gavin threw it aside using his razor sharp teeth to bite through the last the few strands

The mer was free but had passed out due to the pain and Gavin did the only thing he knew to do and wrapped his arm around the mer’s waist speeding them away from the surface and down into the safety of the dark. Gavin couldn’t bring the top dweller home, he couldn’t be seen fraternising with their sort, so instead he took him to his private hideout.

The cave was small but they were still able to fit at a squeeze. Up close, this mer was even more beautiful than Gavin had thought, but he was bleeding out and Gavin went to work cleaning and disinfecting the wound, and he continued to keep the wound clean for the next day, only leaving to catch food, until the mer finally woke up.

Again Gavin saw that fear flash in his eyes, and his anger spiked.

“Don’t worry, I’m not gonna eat you.”

The mer looked around them, taking in the cave, the supplies, his bandaged tail and finally looked back at Gavin.

“Thank you for saving me.”

“Whatever,” Gavin snapped and went out to catch some fish.

Connor, that was the pretty mer’s name. A pretty name for a pretty mer, and he liked to talk. He found everything of interest. All the unfamiliar fish that swam by, and their unfamiliar tastes. He marvelled at the lichen on the rocks and almost got his fingers caught in a few oyster shells as he reached in to get the pearl and they clamped shut. In the end, Gavin got him a pearl and Connor beamed at him so happily, it made Gavin’s stomach do funny little backflips. Connor almost died with happiness when Gigi, Gavin’s catfish, turned up to say hello.

“You’re not what I expected from, well, from a cold water dwellers.”

“You were going to say ‘webber’, weren’t you?’

Connor looked chastised.

“I’m sorry, it’s just, I’ve been told my whole life that your kind are dangerous. I was told your webbed hands were slimy. But they’re not. They feel so nice on my tail.”

Connor blushed and then so did Gavin.

“You shouldn’t believe everything you’re told.”

Connor was able to swim a little now without too much pain, his tail was healing nicely, and they’d swim together, their tails sometimes touching, Gavin showing Connor all his favourite places; but oddly enough, whenever Gavin brought up the idea that Connor could probably go home soon, a subject both of them had been avoiding, Connor’s wound would suddenly feel much worse and he’d go back to hiding in the cave.

“We both know you’re fine now.” Gavin bit out reluctantly.

“No, it still hurts.”

Gavin levelled a look at him.

“I don’t want to go.” Connor admitted. “I like it here, with you.”

“You can’t stay here, Connor.” Gavin muttered. “You don’t belong here.”

They both fell silent.

It was true.

Their kinds didn’t mix.

This was just a fluke.

An accident.

It was never supposed to happen.

But it had happened.

“We can carry on seeing each other.” Connor says hopefully. “I can come down, you can come up, and we’ll meet somewhere in the middle.”

Gavin did want that. He really did. But if his kind found out, he’d be ostracised. They already lived in a delicate balance and it wouldn’t take much to tip things over into the worse.

“It’s dangerous.”

“I like you.”

“We shouldn’t.”

“I want to keep seeing you.”

“Connor.”

“Please.”

“I’m sorry.”

Connor looked heartbroken but nodded, accepting Gavin’s decision.

“If you change your mind, I’ll be waiting.”

Gavin couldn’t take the risk despite how much he still wanted to see Connor, and he endured the next few angst filled weeks mourning his loss until he couldn’t take it anymore.

Going against his better judgement he swam as fast as possible to the rendezvous point Connor had given him, convinced that Connor wouldn’t be there, and his heart leapt when he saw that he was wrong. Connor was there, just as he’d promised to be, waiting patiently for Gavin. Gavin stopping, and did nothing more than float for the next few moments, just staring at his pretty mer, with his perfect tail and perfect torso and perfect hair that swept back from his face, and was just thankful that Connor hadn’t given up on him.

Gavin uncertainly approached and Connor turned slowly towards him and the smile that lit Connor’s face told him he’d made the right decision. Whatever came next, they’d face it, together.

And so they enter into a secret relationship, where they both have to be careful not to let anyone else know. Like Romeo and Juliet only in this one nobody dies and they all live happily ever after in the end.

#convin #gavin reed #dbh connor #rk800 #detroit become human #dbh #manips #my art #my manips #connor

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ibijau · 4 years

Text

Jin Rusong Lives / On AO3

Jin Rusong is reunited with his uncle Lan

Nie Huaisang wrapped the blanket around Lan Xichen, just as he would have done with Jin Rusong, and took a step back to look at the man lying in his bed. Lan Xichen really looked awful, worse than Nie Huaisang had ever seen him, but at least he was calmer now that he’d fallen asleep.

"I'll have the men who allowed this punished," Nie Funyu said from the doorway. "And we're moving you and Jin xiao-gongzi somewhere else for the night."

Tearing his eyes from Lan Xichen, Nie Huaisang threw his first disciple a severe look.

"A-Song sleeps too lightly to be moved," he pointed out. "It's already a miracle he didn't wake up when we went in his room. And if he spots Lan Xichen now, it'll be a mess. No, I'll finish the night in his bed, and we'll deal with this in the morning."

"Nie zongzhu! You can't sleep next door from that man!"

"What, you think he'd hurt me?" Nie Huaisang asked dismissively, as if he hadn’t nearly fainted from terror upon finding Lan Xichen on his doorstep. He laughed when Nie Funyu glared in answer. "You worry too much."

"You don't worry enough,” Nie Funyu snapped, both hands on his hips. “You're not sleeping here."

"I am still your sect leader, and I get to make my own decisions," Nie Huaisang retorted, fidgeting with his sleeve. "I'll be sleeping with SongSong, and that's final. But go warn the guards on duty to expect more Lans very soon. He wasn't sure that Jin Rusong was alive and his family wouldn't have let him come here alone if they'd known, so he must have found out and run away."

The idea almost made Nie Huaisang smile in spite of his nerves. The mighty and ever perfect Zewu-Jun, acting like a capricious child and running from his family. If the situation had not been so complicated, Nie Huaisang might have found that cute. Things being what they were, he was just worried about the repercussion this would have.

"Should they be brought to you if that's the case?" Nie Funyu asked.

Nie Huaisang hesitated, fiddling some more with the hem of his sleeve as he considered the question.

"No, make them wait at the gate," he decided, wrinkling his nose. "I'd rather not have to deal with Lan Qiren, or worse with Lan Wangji, more than I need to. But let it be known that Lan Xichen is here with us and safe, and that they’ll see him... if he wishes it."

He glanced toward the bed, and frowned.

"I want a healer here first thing in the morning," he added. “Nie Zhilan if she’s free, she’s good with reluctant patients. And breakfast must be brought for all three of us. I don’t know if Zewu-Jun will be awake to have it with us, but I’m not having him go hungry if he is.”

Nie Funyu pleaded and threatened a while longer, until Nie Huaisang at least agreed to allow him to come sleep in Jin Rusong’s room as well, for security. Nie Huaisang gave in, more because he was finally getting sleepy than because he thought it necessary.

While Nie Funyu went to transmit those few messages, and after one last look at the man sleeping in his bed, Nie Huaisang returned to Jin Rusong’s room. He did not bother undressing before climbing in bed with the child, too exhausted for that last effort. All he could do was pull the little boy against him. Jin Rusong protested a little, even cracking an eye open, but he relaxed and quickly went back to sleep when he realised it was just his uncle Nie holding him.

Nie Huaisang only stayed awake long enough to see Nie Funyu return with a thick blanket which he laid across the doorway, stubborn man that he was.

It came as no surprise to Nie Huaisang that he slept uneasily. He awoke several times, bothering poor Jin Rusong who grumbled and even kicked him the final time. Since it was nearly dawn, Nie Huaisang took it as a sign that he should give up on rest for that night. He managed, through great effort on his part, to leave the bed without waking Jin Rusong, but wasn’t so lucky with Nie Funyu who raised his head the instant he stepped on the floor.

“I swear I’m getting Zhilan to give you a sleeping draught,” he grumbled. “Zongzhu, it’s still night.”

“It is, so go back to sleep,” Nie Huaisang ordered.

He wasn’t shocked when Nie Funyu did no such thing and instead sat up to watch him as he returned to the main room.

All Nie Huaisang wanted was to grab something to occupy himself with until Jin Rusong woke up. A pile of Night Hunt reports from the juniors maybe, or a book if he felt like being kind to himself. But when he entered the room, in the pale light of a dawn that wasn’t quite there yet, he found Lan Xichen with his eyes wide open, lying down but staring at him as if surprised to see him.

Nie Huaisang’s first instinct was to run back into Jin Rusong’s room and pretend he hadn’t noticed the other man’s gaze on him. It was impossibly tempting, especially when Nie Huaisang had no idea what to expect from the man who had once been his friend. They hadn’t talked since that day in the temple… or even since long before that, in a manner of speaking. Nie Huaisang couldn’t remember when was the last time he had allowed himself to be honest and unguarded around Lan Xichen. Even before finding the truth about his brother’s death, there had been that other issue between them…

In the end, what stopped Nie Huaisang from running was the realisation that Lan Xichen looked just as unsure as he felt, if not more so. At least, it was a bad situation for both of them.

Though after looking at Lan Xichen more thoroughly, Nie Huaisang decided that actually, the situation was probably far worse for the other man. Lan Xichen had the air of a deeply sick man, weak and gaunt in a way few cultivators got to be, unless they were cursed or took truly awful care of themselves. It was doubtful that anyone would have dared to curse the great Zewu-Jun, who they all saw as the hero who had killed Jin Guangyao, so this pitiful state had to have been self-inflicted.

It angered Nie Huaisang that Lan Xichen had clearly been suffering, and he seized that anger with relief. At least that was an emotion he knew how to deal with.

“Zewu-Jun, you’re unreasonable to be awake at this hour!” he scolded in the same tone Nie Funyu had used on him just moments before. "Really, who would have expected you would be so wilful? And am I right in guessing that you barely took any breaks on the way here?"

Nie Huaisang stomped closer to the bed, rearranging the blanket quickly before stepping away to a safer distance. Startled at being addressed and treated this way, Lan Xichen nodded weakly.

"How troublesome!” Nie Huaisang sighed, shaking his head. “I've called for my personal doctor to come by later, you know. She's an awful sadist, and she's going to feed you the worst potions you've ever tasted, which you will deserve. Flying straight from Gusu, in this state! Zewu-Jun, that's really not very serious."

Again, Lan Xichen only nodded. Nie Huaisang wondered if he might manage to convince him to sleep some more.

"Can I see A-Song later?" Lan Xichen asked weakly.

Before he could stop himself, Nie Huaisang glanced behind himself, toward the door to the child's room. From where he was he could not see the bed, but Nie Funyu, who could, made a gesture to signify Jin Rusong was still asleep.

Nie Huaisang sighed in relief, and returned his attention to the man in his bed.

"I have no objections. We can have breakfast all together. SongSong will be happy to see you. He really has been asking for you, you know. He's missed you."

And he wasn't the only one to have missed Lan Xichen, though Nie Huaisang knew he would not be believed if he said as much.

"How much does he know?" Lan Xichen whispered, a shiver running through his body.

"Exactly as much as he needs to," Nie Huaisang retorted, a little more defensively than needed perhaps. "He knows his parents are dead, and he understands it means he'll never see them again."

He paused, waiting to see if Lan Xichen would scold him for burdening such a young child with the truth… but if anything, he thought he saw some approval in the other man's expression.

"He doesn't know how they died," Nie Huaisang added. "He hasn't asked, and I'm not in a hurry to tell him. When things are calmer in Carp Tower, maybe… but for now, he needs a little stability."

"He does," Lan Xichen agreed, and Nie Huaisang had to fight a smile.

Even like this, getting Lan Xichen's approval still affected him.

That attempted smile was easily dropped when he realised that he, too, had a question to ask, and that he was unlikely to enjoy the answer.

“He really does need stability,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “Though I’ll understand if you think here is not the right place for him to get it. Zewu-Jun, have you come here because you want to take him back to the Cloud Recesses?”

“What?”

“I won’t fight you on it,” Nie Huaisang sighed dejectedly, lowering his head. “You were closer to his parents than I was, you have more experience raising children and I… you know what I’ve done. I won’t fight you if you try to take him, although it might be best to check with Jin Rulan and Jiang Wanyin first, since they’re the ones with actual guardianship over him.”

To keep himself from babbling any further, Nie Huaisang bit his lip and waited, head still hung low. In the heavy silence of that room, he felt the piercing gazes of Lan Xichen and Nie Funyu on him, making him increasingly uncomfortable as time went on.

“Huai… I mean, Nie zongzhu, the child was entrusted to you,” Lan Xichen said after what felt like an eternity, his voice painful void of emotion. “You have been caring for him all this time, and it is my understanding that your care has been found satisfactory by his relatives. I could make no claim over him, least of all by waving my closeness to his father, when I… you also know what I’ve done, Nie zongzhu. I am already grateful I’m allowed to see A-Song, and I would not dare to ask for more.”

Nie Huaisang frowned. First, because Lan Xichen had never called him Nie zongzhu in his entire time as sect leader, and it felt like a final blow to whatever friendship might have once existed between them.

Mostly though, he had assumed all along that as soon as Lan Xichen knew about Jin Rusong (and he would have known sooner or later, the Lans weren’t half as good at keeping secrets as they thought) then of course he would demand to have the child given to him, and everyone would agree. It would not have been easy for Nie Huaisang to have given up on his ward, not when caring for Jin Rusong had given him exactly the sort of goal he had been lacking in life since he’d finished avenging his brother, but… but if it was better for the child, then he would have done it.

Jin Rusong deserved the best in life, and the best was to be cared for by Lan Xichen.

They stared at each other awkwardly, Lan Xichen clearly still too out of it to hold a conversation, Nie Huaisang too torn between desperately wanting to keep Jin Rusong at his side, and arguing for what would be best for him. It was selfish of him, but he was a selfish man, that was nothing new.

The tense silence was only broken when Nie Funyu, still carefully watching them, glanced in the other room.

“Nie zongzhu, I think he’s waking up,” he announced.

Immediately Nie Huaisang rushed into his ward’s bedroom, where indeed he found the little boy sleepily blinking at him. Nie Huaisang lingered near the door, wondering how to handle the situation, before deciding that a little fake joy would probably work best.

“SongSong, did you sleep well?” he asked, coming to sit on the bed.

The child shook his head with a pout.

“Uncle Nie moved too much,” he accused.

“What? So I have to put up with your cold feet when you join me but you can’t handle a little moving when it’s the opposite? How cruel to your uncle Nie.”

Jin Rusong yawned.

“Why did uncle Nie come to my room?”

“For a very good reason,” Nie Huaisang retorted with the largest smile his face could allow. “SongSong, we have a guest who arrived late last night, and I wasn’t able to have a room prepared for him, so I had to give him my bed. He is very, very tired because he’s had to take a long trip to come here, but he came all this way just to visit you. Can you guess who it is?”

“Is it LingLing again?”

“Even better. It’s someone you haven’t seen since you woke up, but you asked about a lot.”

Still half asleep, Jin Rusong blinked a few times, pouting harder as he tried to guess the identity of their guest. When he realised who it might be, he shouted and sat up, eyes wide with excitement.

“Uncle Lan?”

Nie Huaisang barely had time to nod before Jin Rusong scrambled out of bed, nearly falling face first on the floor in his haste. He passed by Nie Funyu without seeing him, and shrieked upon entering Nie Huaisang’s room. There was a bit of a commotion in there. By the time Nie Huaisang joined them, Jin Rusong had climbed next to Lan Xichen and was holding him close. Lan Xichen appeared a little overwhelmed at first, clearly no longer used to such demonstrations of affection, but he managed to recover enough to wrap his arms around Jin Rusong.

“Uncle Lan, I’ve missed you so much!” Jin Rusong said, pressing his face against Lan Xichen’s chest, before abruptly pulling away. “Mommy and daddy are dead you know,” he announced, as if expecting that Lan Xichen hadn’t heard it.

Nie Huaisang winced, especially when Lan Xichen visibly flinched at that reminder of what had happened. Jin Rusong noticed, and sighed heavily before tapping gently on Lan Xichen’s cheek.

“It’s okay if you cry,” he said gently. “Uncle Nie says it’s normal to miss them. I miss them a lot, and I’ve cried a lot. I still cry sometimes, and then uncle Nie hugs me and I’m a little less sad. If you want you can cry, and then I will hug you and also uncle Nie will hug you.”

“I’m pretty sure uncle Lan doesn’t want me to hug him,” Nie Huaisang objected with a nervous laugh. “But he’ll surely be happy if SongSong hugs him. A gentle hug, please. Uncle Lan is a little unwell, so try to be gentle with him.”

Jin Rusong nodded with great serious, before giving Lan Xichen a very forceful hug that knocked the breath out of him. Lan Xichen did not appear to mind. He seemed too dazed to care about something as insignificant as breathing.

Truth be told, Nie Huaisang was starting to worry. Hopefully Nie Zhilan would arrive soon and she’d tell him if Lan Xichen was simply tired from his trip, or if there was something else going on. He really looked too pale and frail, even for a man who had been in seclusion for several months. The only reason Nie Huaisang did not run out to fetch his doctor himself was that Lan Xichen, slowly, managed to smile at the child hugging him.

“A-Song has grown a lot,” Lan Xichen whispered. “You look so much bigger than last time I saw you.”

“It’s because I eat all my vegetables now,” Jin Rusong assured him. “Even the green ones.”

Lan Xichen let out a small puff of laughter, the sound of which made Nie Huaisang’s heart stop for a moment.

“A-Song is such a good boy,” Lan Xichen said fondly. “I am happy to see A-Song again, after so long, and to find he is still the best little boy I know.”

“I’m happy to see uncle Lan too. I know you were busy, but I missed you,” Jin Rusong claimed, before turning toward Nie Huaisang. “Uncle Nie, I don’t want to go in class today. I want to stay with uncle Lan. Can I, please? Please?”

“Only if you promise to be good,” Nie Huaisang replied as sternly as he could, which was not very stern at all. “And if Nie Zhilan says that you can. I’ve told you, uncle Lan has been a little unwell, so he will probably need rest. Can you let him sleep if he needs it?”

“I will be very good. I will let uncle Lan rest and I will be quiet and good. Please?"

Nie Huaisang made a show of hesitating for a moment, until he noticed that Lan Xichen looked as anxious for his answer as Jin Rusong.

"Of course SongSong can stay here. I don't think you'd manage to focus in class anyway. Now, while we wait for breakfast, why don't you tell uncle Lan about all you've been learning?"

That was all the prompting Jin Rusong needed to start chattering about his life in the Unclean Realm. Lan Xichen listened with great attention, as he'd always done with their nephew or any other children he came in contact with.

It made Nie Huaisang feel a little guilty that he was using such an underhanded method to show how well Jin Rusong was treated in his care. Lan Xichen had said he wasn't there to take the child away, but Nie Huaisang feared he might change his mind if he had any reason to think Jin Rusong was unhappy. Between the two of them, Lan Xichen had the higher claim over the little boy since he'd been sworn brother with his father. Besides, he had been around Jin Rusong more before the child was taken from them. If they had both been there that day Nie Huaisang found out the little boy had survived, he knew it wouldn't have been into his arms that Jin Rusong would have ran.

But it had happened this way, Jin Rusong was in his care, and Nie Huaisang dared not think what he would do if he had to give up on that little boy.

Before much longer, a servant came in to bring them breakfast, followed closely by Nie Zhilan who inspected Lan Xichen. Nie Huaisang and Jin Rusong both watched her work, anxious for her diagnosis.

"Lan zongzhu is exhausted," she declared when she was done. "He will need food and rest for the next few days, and then he will need exercise to rebuild his strength. I'm right in guessing Lan zongzhu had not used his sword in a while before flying here?"

"Those last few months have been rather quiet for me," Lan Xichen admitted. "Occasions have been lacking."

Nie Zhilan exchanged a look with her sect leader who grimaced. He did not know what those Lans did whenever they went in seclusion, which was common for them, but he was half sure Lan Xichen's seclusion had been different. He dared not ask though, and Nie Zhilan seemed to have enough respect for Lan Xichen that she satisfied herself with that answer for the time being.

"If he needs rest, does it mean I can't stay?" Jin Rusong asked in a small voice.

Again, Nie Huaisang and Nie Zhilan glanced at each other.

"I supposed there's no harm in you staying," she reluctantly granted. "If you are good and let him rest. In fact, I'm counting on you to make sure Lan zongzhu sleeps, like a good assistant."

Jin Rusong nodded eagerly, while Nie Huaisang rolled his eyes. Nie Zhilan had engaged Jin Rusong in her quest to bully her sect leader with healthier food, which was a constant pain in the ass for him. But if the little boy's attention could be directed elsewhere for a day or two, Nie Huaisang might manage to eat something properly greasy and without a trace of greens for his next meal. He'd have to drop by the kitchen to check if they too had turned to the enemy.

For the time being, breakfast had to be a reasonable affair. Nie Zhilan left to attend her other duties, but Jin Rusong made sure that both his uncles ate properly. He also ordered Nie Funyu to do the same and share what had been brought for them.

Nie Funyu, who barely listened to Nie Huaisang on a good day, obeyed without protest.

It was hard, when breakfast was over, to leave Jin Rusong alone with Lan Xichen. Not because Nie Huaisang had any fear that the other man would hurt their nephew, but because the more time they spent together, the more likely it would be that Jin Rusong himself would ask to follow his uncle Lan to Gusu.

Still, Nie Huaisang had promised.

He left with Nie Funyu who scolded him for trusting Lan Xichen so much, and went to see if he would manage to get any work done that morning. With the threat of more Lans likely to visit in the coming few shichen or days, Nie Huaisang wanted to get as much done as possible before being stuck dealing with that.

A series of requests for help to be split between different groups of disciples kept Nie Huaisang busy all morning, and hardly thinking about Lan Xichen and Jin Rusong at all. At least, so he told himself. Still, when lunch time came, Nie Huaisang went back to check on them.

He found Jin Rusong playing quietly on the floor while Lan Xichen had apparently fallen asleep, looking a little more peaceful than he had the previous night. Nie Huaisang huffed quietly, half annoyed that the other man had been so reckless and unreasonable. That was behaviour he would have expected of Lan Wangji, not of Lan Xichen. That seclusion of his must have been awful if he had lost all his good sense this way.

Since Lan Xichen was sleeping, Nie Huaisang felt no remorse in stealing away Jin Rusong so they could both eat a little. Nie Huaisang did not feel in the mood to join the dining halls. Instead, they headed together toward the kitchen to steal a few meat buns for their lunch. Those were not on the list of food Nie Zhilan approved of, but Jin Rusong was distracted enough not to mind. He looked very serious and deep in thought as Nie Huaisang took him to a garden to sit on a bench and eat. Serious enough, in fact, that it was starting to worry him.

“Did something happen this morning, SongSong?”

The child shook his head, then nodded.

"Uncle Lan is very sad," Jin Rusong said around a mouthful.

"He is mostly tired,” Nie Huaisang replied, relieved it was only that. “And I'm very proud of you for letting him rest. You have been so good, SongSong."

Normally, any praise would have had Jin Rusong beaming, but this time he instead frowned.

"He is sad when he looks at me. Like uncle Nie is sad sometimes. Did I do something bad?"

"Of course not!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed, nearly dropping his bun. “Sometimes, grown ups are just sad. And…” He hesitated, unsure how much to say. “When you were asleep for a long, long time, we didn't know about it. We thought our SongSong was gone. It made Uncle Nie and Uncle Lan very sad. And sometimes, when you're very sad for very long, it's hard to stop."

Jin Rusong’s frown deepened. He silently nibbled on his bun, clearly concerned over the way the adults in his life behaved.

“Uncle Nie, I want to draw for uncle Lan. He is always happy when I draw for him,” Jin Rusong pointed out as if he were imparting some great wisdom. “He says I’m very good. If I draw for him, he’ll stop being sad, right?”

“I think that’s a great idea,” Nie Huaisang replied, petting the little boy’s hair. “I think uncle Lan would be very, very happy if you did that. Do you want me to prepare some paper for you to take in the bedroom?”

“No, it should be a surprise. It will be a great drawing! I want to give him the best drawing ever, and then he’ll never be sad again.”

Nie Huaisang’s hand stilled a moment on the child’s head, thinking that it would need to be one spectacular piece of art to achieve that. He kept that comment to himself though, and patted Jin Rusong’s hair a few more times.

“If anyone can manage that, I know it’s my SongSong,” he said instead. “Now finish eating, and let’s both go work in my office.”

Jin Rusong promptly obeyed, finishing his own bun and Nie Huaisang’s, who had lost his appetite.

When they reached Nie Huaisang’s office, the first order of business was to settle Jin Rusong so he could work on his masterpiece. Nie Huaisang gave him some charcoal and a decently sized pile of paper that should hopefully last at least half a shichen, and asked him to be quiet so he could work as well. His occupation for the afternoon was a little less creative, but not necessarily unpleasant. Nie Huaisang started checking some bills that his sect had received, comparing them with the careful budget he kept to make sure nothing was out of line. It would have been nice to spend the rest of the day like this, just the two of them.

Hopes for a pleasant afternoon were quickly ruined when Nie Funyu came to knock on the door.

Lan Wangji and Wei Wuxian were at the gate, demanding to see Nie Huaisang.

#xisang #nie huaisang #lan xichen #jin rusong #mdzs #jin rusong lives #jau writes #this took a bit of time uh #4K of jin rusong being the best little boy ever and all the adults around him being complete messes

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the-darklings · 5 years

Text

—𝒃𝒖𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒍𝒚 𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒔 𝒊𝒏 𝒂 𝒋𝒂𝒓;

pairing: john wick x f!reader

word count: 14.2k+

summary: His lips shape your name.

warnings: emotional distress/trauma, ptsd, swearing, ANGST.

notes: I know you’re all looking at the WC and wondering what the hell I’m on but I honestly couldn’t split this part up anymore without losing tension (previous part and this one were originally going to be one piece if you can believe it lol) so please bear with. A LOT is going down in this part so strap yourselves in folks. You’re in for a ride. Enjoy!

children of ares series: 01 | 02 | . . | 04 |

You don’t remember much.

There are flashes of agony. Even more flashes of John’s face.

From what you later learn, the doctor worked on you for six hours straight.

A part of you wonders what it must have looked like to others: John in his usual sharp suit and expression severe enough to make lesser men scurry away in fear, and you bleeding and unconscious in his arms.

Tokyo Continental is silent as a graveyard when you finally come around. Maybe it’s the fact that you’re on the top floor, or perhaps because it seems to be the middle of the night.

Someone you assume to be the doctor—a short, stout woman with thinning silver hair and a fixed scowl—regards you critically when she notices your tiny twitches. She says something loudly in what you think is Taiwanese but your mind is too foggy to fully comprehend what language she’s using.

But then, you realise that she isn’t talking to you after all but rather to someone that steps into your line of sight, his gaze drilling.

John looks more dishevelled than you’re used to seeing. His tie is missing and there are creases in his dirty white shirt that speak of an eventful last 24 hours at least.

His lips shape your name.

Your cheeks hurt but you still manage a faint, relieved smile before everything fades once again.

“Stop moving, girl.”

A girl. That’s funny. No one has considered you a girl for a long time. To be a girl is to be pure and innocent, to be good and kind. You’re none of those things—not anymore.

You can’t force a single muscle in your face to so much as twitch in an attempt to show your amusement. Words burn against the back of your mind but they, too, fail to come. The silence is, perhaps, made even worse by John who stands like a watchful shadow in the corner of the room, observing you silently.

You’re not sure whose silence is more telling: yours or his.

The needle sinks into your skin again and it takes every last shred of self-control not to flinch. There’s a terrible urge in you to turn around and snap the old woman’s arm in half. The pain is slight in comparison to what you had to go through in the last ten days of captivity.

Just ten days.

Only ten.

Is it possible for ten days to feel so agonisingly long?

Clearly yes.

Shuddering, you allow yourself to flinch when the needle sinks into your skin this time.

“I said—”

For a split second, you’re not in the hotel room at all. You’re back underground. You’re back with Kishi and his touch still staining your skin—his hot, thick blood flooding your mouth and dirt smeared across your face.

Your fingers wrap around the woman’s neck ready to crack every bone in it before you’re sharply jerked back.

The scent and heat of the body holding you back are familiar but a strangled, manic, “Don’t touch me!” still tears out of you so loudly the doctor jumps.

She looks mortified as she gapes at you. Then, even worse, her weathered features crease with concern, with pity.

John’s arm tightens around your waist, and even though pain is prominent and twinges from every muscle and bruise, you still put up a fight. It doesn’t last long though.

Kishi fades, as does the fun room. The water and the electricity and the pain, the pain, the pain…

“You’re safe.”

John’s voice is barely a murmur against your ear and you slump against him. You’re only standing because he’s holding you up, anchoring you. Maybe because he pities you too—

Why won’t he? You’re so weak.

Once that voice sounded like your old school bully, then Tarasov, Kishi—

Now, it just sounds like you.

John mutters something in Taiwanese in that low, calm voice of his and you hear the doctor leave hurriedly.

It’s so quiet.

John doesn’t talk, he simply turns you around and patiently leads you towards the bed. He notices how you struggle to sit down, and holds your hand while his other stays around your waist, supporting you. Your hands are shaking so badly, you push your palms between your knees, lacing your fingers together.

Whatever will come out of John’s mouth next will be kind, you know that.

So, because you can’t stand the way he’s looking at you, you speak first, “Are they dead?”

John sits down beside you. The stretch of silence between you is painful, leaden with things unsaid. Eventually, his fingertips touch your unfinished shoulder and the tentativeness of his touch hurts more than the actual wound.

A part of you wants to ask him if it is pity. Another part of you tries to imagine what he must have felt. How you would have looked to him when he found you: bleeding, bruised, clothes soaked, covered in blood, and mud smeared all over your body.

You must have looked like a nightmare—an awful, broken thing who lost her mind to days of torture.

“Yeah,” he intones icily, his touch a stark contrast to the tone of his voice. “They’re all dead.”

Relief is the first emotion.

Second is, predictably, angry disappointment.

Third, surprise.

Tilting your head in John’s direction, you lock his eyes with yours. In that moment, you do see the Boogeyman. Baba Yaga. You see the reason he is feared when to you all he’s ever been is John. Just John. Your John. Except, of course, he’s not really—not even at all.

“Pity.”

Talking hurts too. Your voice is now reduced to a gritty, uncomfortable drawl.

Another few minutes pass in silence. There’s a thousand things you want to say and yet, you can’t seem to find the ability to form words that once came so easily.

The needle is slower, kinder, when John is the one doing the work and normally you would have joked about him making a mess by now. You don’t. He notices, of course.

“Did they—”

He cuts himself off. Frustration, rage, sadness; they flash through his expression so quickly you almost miss them before he rearranges his features into a familiar impassive mask.

There’s a lump in your throat. You know exactly what he wants to know. After all, you’ve been the one to remind him what happens to those who fail to protect themselves.

“One tried,” you force out, every word choked out with enough pain to still John’s hands. “I ripped—I ripped his throat out.”

It feels disgusting saying it, acknowledging that you’ve been forced to resort to animalistic instincts in order to survive, to live, to see him again.

Your ring gleams, still dirty, but it’s not like you can remove it for cleaning since the swelling hasn’t gone down yet. If anything, it’s gotten worse.

“You survived,” John states, his voice empty of judgement, empty of contempt. If anything, it’s full of terrible sort of understanding, and his simple acceptance of what you have done—of what you had to give up to be here—makes you feel warm for the first time since you’ve been taken. “You survived.”

“What if I didn’t?” you whisper, looking past his shoulder and a tremor shakes you. “I don’t feel like myself, John, I feel—I don’t—”

He doesn’t try to feed you false, hollow words to make you feel better and you’re immensely glad for it. He knows you better than that, and you know him enough to never believe something like that from him.

Instead, John finishes fixing your torn stitches and helps you get more comfortable in the bed. He does this is silence, your eyes occasionally meeting as if he’s trying to gauge how you’re feeling, if you’re still present in the moment with him.

These last three days have been lost to bouts of fear and anxiety that you haven’t escaped the underground after all; it now haunts your every waking moment.

Once that’s done, John sits on top of the covers beside you. He places his arm around your shoulders without a sound, and you press your lips together to stop them from quivering.

I’m here, his touch seems to say, and I’m not going anywhere.

He stays with you through the night. Simply holding you, and you lose count of the number of tears you shed until the sun kisses the horizon.

Tears of hurt, pain, fear and despair stop quickly enough.

But in their place blooms a slow, poisonous sort of numbness.

“You heal fast.”

The doctor regards you with a shrewd expression that speaks of her own wariness at being in the same space as you. She’s only been coming back because you can’t imagine John left her with much of a choice.

You regard her coolly in return.

It’s not that you’re ungrateful for her help but everything feels raw and delicate; everything from your mind to your skin, to your very essence. It’s hard not to snap at any unfamiliar touch. It’s even harder trying to smother the deadly instinct that screams at you that everything and everyone will hurt you.

Not John. John will never hurt me.

Oh? Where was he when they held you in the room with no air? Where was your John then?

He came for me. He came—

Far, far too late.

You exhale harshly, your shoulders curling defensively, stricken.

John meets your gaze from across the table in a silent question.

Let her check on you, his dark eyes plead.

What if I can’t?

Your eyes slide away from him, but you reluctantly hold out your arm out for the older woman to check. She hesitates, and rightfully so. Last time you almost broke her wrist. The time before that? Her neck. Then her leg, and once, you almost took her eye out with a syringe, too.

Deep trauma, she told John in heavy English the one time they had no choice but to sedate you and thought you were unconscious, she suffers because her mind refuses to let go. She no longer feels safe. You must stay with her, boy. Let her heal.

The woman works quickly to check your body, and you’re grateful for it.

It goes well for a while. That is until her fingers press too hard against your healing bullet wound, and your fist slams against the armrest, a helpless snarl twisting your mouth.

The doctor wisely staggers back, and you follow, your legs quaking when you stand too quickly.

John’s fingers curl delicately around your forearm, steadying, and you gasp for breath.

“I—I can’t,” you choke out, pressing your hand against your mouth, your voice a stifled mess. “I’m—”

Your chest feels tight, your stomach burns like it’s full of acid, and for a moment you feel like you might throw up again. Like the terror raging through your body will burn you from inside out till nothing but smouldering embers remain.

Your mouth is full of Kishi’s blood again and you’re choking, choking, choking—

John’s voice is the same low, comforting baritone when he places his hand against the curve of your face, directing your frantic stare to him.

The hatred that blooms in your chest is stronger, however, and you pull away from him, lurching towards the bathroom instead.

By the time the panic finally subsides, it’s night again and you only hate yourself more.

Sleep is hard to come by.

John still keeps you company though.

It’s been almost two weeks since Kishi. Your body is on a mend but peace of mind is not so easily found.

From the corner of your eye, you spot John checking his phone yet again.

He’s been doing that a lot lately. More so than you’ve ever seen him do before.

“Tarasov?”

John stills, his head lifting as he looks up at you in surprise.

It’s rare for you to speak after a nightmare so John is used you letting tranquil quiet keep you both company instead.

“Not this time,” he replies shortly, but there’s an odd tilt to his voice that makes you peel your eyes away from the large window and focus on him instead. “But he’s been informed about what happened.”

Those words sink in slowly, somehow even slower than your poison usually does.

“Is that so?” you remark tightly, and there’s something sharp and acidic about your own tone that catches you off guard. “And what did you tell him? That his little slave is broken?”

“You’re not broken.”

The firmness of John’s voice makes your glare focus on him instead. From nothingness, there’s a sudden, violent explosion of irrational anger in your gut.

“Is that why you watch me like I’m some wild animal?” you hiss angrily, your voice dropping to the point of cracking. “Is that why you keep checking your phone day in and day out? Like you rather be anywhere else? I rather not be a burden or a pity case to you, thanks. Just go.”

John frowns; a faint, disappointed thing and it makes you feel less angry and more…more lost, stupid.

Trapped. Always trapped.

Be it your life, your body, or your mind.

He saved you, he’s helping you right now when he doesn’t have to, and this is how you repay him?

The irrationality of your own anger embarrasses you, and you turn away from him swiftly, hoping he hasn’t noticed your wet eyes in the dim light.

“I’m not going anywhere, (Name),” he states, firm and insistent, and you cringe. Why is he still being kind to you?

Do you love me as I love you? Is that it?

Your lips part and those words are right there, ready to be spoken. But something holds you back. Something is always holding you two back, or so it seems.

John’s phone buzzes again. You look at him, expectant.

“It’s not him,” John repeats, and you try to figure out what the slight catch in his voice means. He doesn’t sound angry or disappointed. “But if you want—”

“I want to see him.”

His expression falters, brows pinching in a tight line that showcases his disapproval of your idea already. His clear hesitance says everything you need to know.

A scoff fills the room, and you roll your eyes. “Don’t treat me like an idiot, John. You’re avoiding him.”

“I’m not,” he argues but it rings false.

Your eyes return to the window, to the street below you. A gaggle of schoolchildren must be coming back from cram school and you watch them with detached sort of interest. Three people—two boys and a girl—walk in front, laughing and discussing something with that wild, feverish enthusiasm you can faintly recall too. Close behind them walks a couple, their hands laced together and eyes only for each other. The scene makes something pang in your chest; and acute, familiar ache.

From this high up you can just barely make out their faces, and you distantly wonder what they’re talking about, what is the thing that’s bringing them so much joy. If they’re really as happy as they look, or if it’s fake. They may breathe the same air you do, but they couldn’t be further away from you. To them, you only exist in movies and stories. You’re a shadow; a thrilling tale they share in their friend group, a faceless nobody. With that realisation comes a terrible sort of loneliness and your eyes flutter shut.

You’re dead to the world.

For the first time, Kishi’s words ring true.

Despite your many arguments, John still manages to put off the trip back to New York for another two weeks.

He even employs the doctor to drill you with the many reasons why you can’t go just yet.

Still healing, still need more rest, still not sleeping enough.

Still, still, still.

They might as well say you’re too weak and call it a day.

You’re not resentful with John though. You know he’s trying his hardest to shield you from what will be an undoubtedly epic explosion of Tarasov’s anger.

Your fingers twist in your lap and it’s near impossible to not fidget. Most of your physical bruises may have faded in the last month, but you know there’s still a mile and a half to go before you’re physically back to your old form.

At least you no longer fly into mindless fits of rage that made you attack the doctor trying to tend to you in the first place. Despite that, sitting through entire check-up is still an endlessly arduous task.

A warm, large hand lands on yours and you jump. Turning, you meet John’s stare and force yourself to relax. His dark eyes are softer than usual though he doesn’t say anything. His fingers stay on top of yours, keeping your own still. Without a word, he’s still able to pick up on your poorly veiled distress.

I love you.

It tickles the back of your throat but you don’t dare to say it out loud, not now of all times.

The closer you get to Tarasov’s office the harder it becomes to keep calm.

You recall the last time you visited this place, and you can recall in an even sharper detail how that meeting ended. How you’ve been so sure that you were walking to your death. But that was then.

What about now? What will he do now?

The taxi rolls to a stop in front of an all too familiar building, and John reaches into his pocket to pay but the cabby only shakes his head. “Free of charge this time, sir Wick,” he insists, and the older man’s eyes meet yours through the rearview mirror. “Welcome back Miss Vipress. Mr Winston sends his regards.”

John makes a small noise at the back of his throat and you blink, confused.

“Thanks?”

The cabby grins, a little awkward, but nods his head.

The journey to Tarasov’s office is more nerve-wracking than you expected. A part of you has assumed that after everything you’ve gone through in Tokyo, this will be easy in comparison, but it doesn’t feel easy at all.

Every inch of your body feels like a livewire.

Some deeper cuts that are still healing ache dully with every too sudden twitch of your body. John is beside you, a constant you’re more grateful for than ever, and you can’t stop yourself from grabbing his arm when Tarasov’s office door looms in the distance.

John stops immediately, turning to face you.

“We don’t have to do this,” he says quietly before you even open your mouth to speak, and you hate the fact that a part of you immediately wants to agree. “We can come back another time.”

“No,” you shoot back quickly—too quickly—and you both know it’s because you’re wavering. “Will you…?”

His features smooth and he dips his head. “I’ll be there.”

Stepping into Tarasov’s office is like stepping back in time. Suddenly, you’re years younger in your tiny, damp Moscow flat, facing Tarasov and his armed guards as you cook dinner through silent tears. You recall how Tarasov’s jovial voice washed over you as he explained—in great, visual detail—how your father died begging and your mother remained strong till the end.

One second, you’re still in that flat but then you’re back here, in this office, but only months prior. Taste of copper in your mouth as Tarasov pats your bruised cheek with a lingering smile.

I will have John himself put a bullet in your pretty little head.

Back then it sounded less like a warning and more like a promise.

A price to pay for failure.

Tarasov’s face suddenly comes into view and time seems to screech to a halt.

Fear, panic, anxiety—

It feels like someone is opening up your ribcage and scooping out all the emotions that live there one by one with frightening efficiency.

A sort of hush falls over you as you stand there staring at him blankly.

No matter how hard you try, you can’t force a single emotion to the surface. Fear that has once crippled you in front of this man, seems to have up and vanished like smoke.

John is speaking. Tarasov is too. His guards shift when you look at them. You recognise one of them. He was there when Tarasov beat you. Your lips curl into a faint snarl.

“What I need to know is how useful she will be—”

“I can still kill,” you speak up, but don’t recognise your own voice. “If that’s what you’re so worried about.”

Tarasov falls quiet, peering at you like he’s never seen you before. His eyes narrow in concentration before he glances towards John who stands stoic beside you. Then the Russian’s gaze goes back to you. He places the expensive cigar back into his mouth and hums in thought. The motion eerily reminds you of Kishi and a shiver crawls up your spine.

He regards you like one may regard a vicious animal, and he’s a lot less subtle about it than John is. His fleeting looks are at least laced with genuine worry as well. Tarasov simply looks at you like one would look upon broken goods. Judging their worth in that familiar, clinical manner.

“How long?” he rolls out his letters in what now feels like jarring Russian. “Before you can be back on the field?”

“Three months.”

“A week.”

Your head snaps towards John but he’s looking straight at Tarasov who exhales a puff of smoke and chuckles.

“Now, now, John,” he chides, leaning back in his chair. “We both know that’s not practical for business. The girl has already wasted me enough time and made a mess in Tokyo.”

John doesn’t expand on his argument for three months though. John simply stands there, unmoving, a looming shadow while minutes crawl by in a tense stalemate.

Much to your surprise, Tarasov’s amused smile fades first.

He’s uneasy. Truly and openly.

Afraid.

And that thought seems so ludicrous that you want to dismiss it immediately, except you can’t because the truth is right in front of you.

“A month,” you propose instead, absentmindedly fiddling with your ring.

Tarasov doesn’t look at you right away—in fact, it’s almost like he’s more worried about looking away from John in case John will leap at him the moment he does. Prey and predator. The comparison gives you an immense surge of smug satisfaction. But when the man does, eventually, reluctantly move his attention in your direction your face is fixed in an unmoving mask as well. Tarasov, despite his steely nerves and well-known ruthlessness, looks taken aback by this entire exchange and is doing a poor job of masking his surprise.

“A month,” he agrees reluctantly.

And then, for the first time since coming into his employment, you turn around and walk out of the room without waiting for dismissal.

John follows you without a word.

Tarasov doesn’t stop either of you.

Burying your face in a plush pillow, you sigh.

Being back in the New York Continental is a bit like being back home. Not that you’ve ever had a home for longer than a few years at the time, but the feeling still burrows under your skin.

You never thought you will get to see it again.

Your eyes crack open and you watch John move around the room. Neither of you has brought up what transpired inside Tarasov’s office only hours ago. Truth be told, it’s still hard for you to determine what exactly did happen. All you do know is that Tarasov has never looked at you like that.

Like he was actually seeing you. Like, for the first time, he regarded you as something more than a nuisance to be dealt with.

“Let’s run away.”

John stops in his tracks, his broad back facing you.

Your words are innocent enough, almost playful, but when John turns to face you, you realise that he didn’t take them as such.

“Run away?” he echoes, his tone flat. “Where would we go? The rules—”

“Fuck the rules,” you say, foolishly drunk on the faint glimmer of a dream you can almost see in front of you. “We could get away from it all. From everyone. Didn’t you say that’s what you wanted once?”

John appears stricken, and you feel your eyebrows pinch downwards at the look on his face.

“There’s no running from the High Table,” he replies, and the stiffness of his words surprises you. “You know that.”

Your lips part to reply but before you can do so, the sound of John’s phone buzzing rings through the room. He pulls it out right away, and you feel a sting in your chest at his deliberate ending of what you wanted to be a serious conversation.

You watch him carefully, and feel yourself swallow when you note how the slopes of his face soften at whatever he sees on the screen. You’ve been so sure that you’re the only one capable of doing that to him. Of making him appear this unguarded, this—

Loving.

“I have to do something,” he says, at long last, but it sounds distant in your ears, fragmented. “Will you be alright by yourself for a bit? If you want I can send—”

“Just go, John. Dear God,” you mutter under your breath as you snuggle into your pillow, trying to mask your uncertainty. “I can handle a few hours by myself, I’m not a toddler.”

“I’m surprised. Seems like you managed to fool me,” John replies dryly, and you close your eyes, flipping him off with a faint smile.

“Stuff it, old man.”

Silence greets your words. After another minute of waiting for a reply, you open your eyes to check if he left, and that’s when you find him staring at you from the doorway.

You can’t pinpoint his expression. But there’s something in it that coils your stomach with unease.

“What? What is it?”

Why is he—

“It’s nothing,” an easy and obvious lie.

You sit up slightly, leaning on your elbow and regard him frankly, “Then why are you looking at me like that?” you demand, narrowing your eyes in his direction.

For a brief second, you think John will tell you what’s on his mind. But then his lips press into a tight line, and he looks away as if settling on a different decision. The clear conflict on his face only fuels your confusion. John rarely lets anything slip by—rarely allows you to see anything besides the cool professionalism he radiates.

“I’ll be back soon.”

The hotel room door closes with a soft click and you fall back onto your pillow, staring up at the ceiling as his footsteps fade down the hallway.

Why were you looking at me like you’re saying goodbye?

The feeling of nameless dread chases you into a restless sleep that transforms into yet another nightmare.

[3 WEEKS LATER]

“If you don’t hurry up, I’m leaving without you.”

Not hearing a reply, you roll your eyes. Typical John.

Before today, John has never been late. But clearly, there’s the first time for everything since you’re the one forced to wait on him for once.

Winston has proposed dinner in the lounge area and you’re already running ten minutes late.

John who is always painfully punctual came back from one of his mysterious meetings late. Something has been going on these last few weeks and it makes you antsy to know what it is.

John is a private person and you’ve always respected that—have always accepted the fact that there’s certain things about him you will likely never know. But this was also before he started acting so oddly around you.

Whenever he thought you weren’t looking at him or openly paying attention, you would catch glimpses of this profound emotion on his face. You couldn’t help but wonder what it is about being in your presence that makes him look so sad now. It chills you whenever you think about it. He’s never been one for expressive emotion before.

“John is not one for emotional finesse. He’s not a man to feel easily or lightly.”

Marcus told you that once in a straightforward, blunt manner you’ve come to associate with him now, and you have taken his words as a fact ever since. Back then, of course, you read the deeper warning in his words, too.

John is not a man to love.

The last time you saw Marcus, his warning had been a lot more direct. “Kill it. Whatever it is you feel for him. It will never work.”

By the time you two had that conversation, it was already far too late, but you couldn’t tell him that. Your heart is your secret and no one else has any right to it.

A sound of phone buzzing fills your ears and your head turns slowly.

John’s phone is just barely visible as it sticks out of his suit pocket. He’s taken it off in a haste upon returning, apologetic and open to your teasing complaints.

Your fingers curl into a loose fist.

The answers, as far as you know, are all inside that phone.

It’s wrong to even consider a breach of confidence like this. But you have to know.

Have to confirm to yourself that you’re simply being paranoid and there isn’t some deeper meaning for John’s sudden distance.

He’s been a near-permanent fixture in your life since Tokyo—he would never leave you for longer than a day without at least checking in—but you have never felt further away from him.

This closeness should make you happy.

But right now this closeness is making you ache with longing instead. It’s like he’s right there, right in front of you, but you can’t touch him without a fear that he’s going to flinch away.

Maybe he hates you, maybe he thinks you’re a monster after all—

No. John wouldn’t. He’s one of the few who truly understands.

You keep repeating that to yourself as your gaze drills into his phone but an echo of those words feels unconvincing even to you.

You stand up on autopilot.

You walk across the room on autopilot, too.

Your fingers wrap around the phone and that’s when you hesitate.

There will be no need to snoop, you tell yourself, you will simply look who messaged him. See if it’s someone you know. Try to figure out if they’re the one whose been sending John messages ever since Tokyo.

Your finger presses a random button and the screen lights up.

The roar of your heartbeat drowns out all other sounds as the message flashes on the screen.

Thank you for the dinner tonight. I look forward to seeing you again soon—Helen.

Oh?

Oh.

“Sorry it took—”

John’s words die the moment he notices you. His phone is still in your hand but the screen has gone dark again and you stare at the small object between your fingers impassively. The roaring in your ears is so loud you think that a bomb could go off right next to you, and you won’t hear a thing.

The silence between you is deafening.

John knows because you know. Because he can no doubt read the blatant, bewildered shock on your face. The devastation. The hurt.

“When?”

Just like back in Tarasov’s office, you don’t recognise your own voice. You barely sound human and that hurts even more because it echoes that underground cave on outskirts of Tokyo too much.

But because John is John, he answers your bluntness with equal bluntness of his own, “Two weeks after your birthday. She’s a friend.”

You slam the phone in your hand back on the table with enough force to make your hand sting. The sound is like a gunshot tearing through the room, and you exhale slowly.

It still sounds strangled.

Your head turns towards him gradually. Every inch of it hurts. “Do not bullshit me,” you bite out with such ferocious anger soaking your words that your vocal cords actually hurt. “You do not chat with random women. You don’t take them out for dinner. She’s not just a friend. Do you really think you can hide her from this world? From Tarasov?”

His expression darkens like a sky before a terrible storm. “Tarasov will never touch her.”

God. God. Why does it hurt so much?

“After everything, I—” your voice breaks, and you inhale a shuddering breath. “After everything we went through—why are you even here?”

His expression transforms into that all too familiar, sad thing that you hate so much. You have never wanted to punch him more than at that moment.

“Because you needed me.”

“I don’t need you. I don’t need anyone.”

It’s more hysterical than assertive but everything spins in your head like a volatile cocktail of emotion, and you’re not sure if you’re about to burst into tears or tear this room to pieces.

“Yeah, you do,” John says so gently, so kindly, that tears sting your eyes despite your best effort to control yourself. “I’m sorry. I never planned for this to happen.”

You splutter in outrage. Just like that, the hurt starts to boil into something else. “Planned for it? Do you think I panned it? Do you think I wanted this?”

The nameless thing between you is like a third person in the room; that’s the amount of presence it has. You both know perfectly well what you’re referring to. You’ve made clear what you wanted from the start. It’s him that said that you couldn’t be together and now—and now—

“I know you didn’t. I—”

“No, you don’t know a goddamn thing. Not a damn thing, John.”

John doesn’t argue. He doesn’t look like he even wants to. He just stands there, looking at you with that pitiful stare.

So it is pity after all. Every minute he spent with you since Tokyo was likely spent wishing he was with this Helen instead. You’re just an obligation to him. A burden.

“She’s not one of us, is she?” you whisper and can’t help but laugh; an empty, cold sound. “Does she even know who you are? Does she have any idea how many people you’ve killed? Does she? You’ll never find peace with her.”

John sighs, looking down before he steps closer towards you but you shrink back, taking a step away from him. You almost wish he was angry in return but he is—as always—unfailingly patient with you. Understanding. Sorry.

“She does know,” he admits softly, like he knows exactly how much of a blow those words will land against your heart. And they do—God they do. “But you’re right. There will be no peace for us. That’s why—(Name), I’m leaving this world behind.”

Your vacant expression creases, uncomprehending, and at first you wonder if you’ve heard him wrong.

“What?”

“I’m going to ask Tarasov for permission to leave,” John explains like it’s so simple. “Cleanly. I’m going to retire and never return. Start a new life.”

It’s then that the nagging, ugly thought you tried to convince yourself couldn’t be true becomes unavoidable.

“You love her.”

You whisper it; as soft and as delicate as your own love for him.

John’s face falls and he reaches for you but you find that you can’t quite move. You feel shackled to the spot you’re standing in.

It hurts.

“No,” John’s voice is stern but you don’t believe him. For the first time in your life, you don’t believe him. “It’s not—it’s not like that.”

“I’m nothing to you,” you continue in a trembling murmur. “I’m an idiot. I’m a goddamn idiot. You n-never felt—”

John’s fingers wrap around your elbow, and he’s so close you can feel the warmth of his body, can see the shadow of devastation shrouding his features that he doesn’t hide from you. Like that’s somehow supposed to make everything better.

“You’re wrong,” he argues, but you’re already shaking your head, and everything inside you cracks further with every word leaving his mouth. “You told me you didn’t want a life outside of this and I thought that meant me, too. Tarasov would have never allowed it, either. But it’s different with Helen—”

“Don’t you fucking touch me,” you snarl, ripping your hand away. “You don’t know anything. You’re just like the rest of them. Go and be with your precious, darling Helen. I hope you’re both very happy. Except you never will be. Not ever. You will never get out, and even if you d-do this life will still come back and haunt you. You think you’ve earned it? Peace? Happiness? After all the blood you’ve shed? You don’t deserve it! You don’t deserve any of it.”

It’s acid. Vicious and destructive venom that seeps from your tongue so easily, you’re left gasping for breath after you’re done. It feels like you can’t get oxygen into your lungs fast enough to throw more hateful words at him.

You don’t need him. You’ve always been alone and it was stupid to ever expect him to feel the same. And now—now he’s gone ahead and fallen in love with another woman. In love. So in love that he wants to leave everything behind and start a life with her. Even if he won’t admit it, you know him enough to understand the gravity of such a decision.

It hurts so much.

It’s an awful kind of devastation to feel. After everything you’ve gone through just to get back to him. When Kishi was torturing you for hours, John was likely enjoying dinner with his new beloved. The thought makes you feel sick to your stomach. You try to imagine her. Is she beautiful? Kind? Funny? Smart?

What does she have that I don’t?

“(Name).”

“Leave.”

This exchange feels hilariously delicate in comparison to what just transpired a few minutes ago. The air—previously so charged with a violent mix of emotions—now feels empty of anything other than unspoken kind of sadness; dense and suffocating.

John’s head lowers. He doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and in that time you almost hope that he will say something that will give you hope. That he’s changed his mind. That he realised how he wants to stay here. With you.

He doesn’t.

John turns. And he begins to move towards the door.

Don’t let him go, your heart begs, gushing with despair.

You stumble forward a step. “If you walk out of that door,” you state harshly, your voice cracking. “I never want to see you again.”

John stops. His head turns slowly, and he glances at you from over his shoulder. Your eyes meet across the room. You don’t understand the look in his eyes.

I love you.

The door clicks shut behind him.

In the white cracks of the ceiling, you view your whole life.

You see the failures (so many), you see the victories (too few), and wonder how one person can feel everything and nothing all at once.

Your vision blurs and you close your eyes. They ache; a dull, persistent kind of throb, and you turn your head to the side in hopes of alleviating the sensation.

Your phone keeps ringing, and ringing, and—

Eyes still closed, you pull it out of your jacket and press it to your ear.

Hours after John left, and you’re still in the same spot he left you in. Except, the moment that door closed, you felt the last shred of self-control and strength crumble away into nothing. Your knees caved, tears coming in earnest, and you fell away to nothing.

“What?”

“Are you quite done feeling sorry for yourself?”

“Fuck you, Marcus,” you croak out, feeling angry that you didn’t check who was calling before answering. “What do you want?”

An inpatient sigh sounds through the line. “I want you to pull yourself together and listen to me carefully.”

Pressing the heel of your palm against your eyes, you exhale impatiently, “While I’m certain this would be a riveting conversation, I’m not really in the mood for one.”

“Shut up and listen,” Markus snaps and you feel a twinge of pain through your temple at his tone. “John went to Tarasov. To ask for his freedom.”

You’re silent as you digest his words. Already. He’s gone to Tarasov already. John must have gone straight to his office from the Continental.

“You knew about her,” you conclude shrewdly, and Marcus is silent which really says everything you need to know. “Why should I give a damn? He cut me loose. He showed exactly how much he cares about me.”

“John cares—”

“Don’t you dare,” you snarl, low and furious, and feel the mangled edges of your heart sharpen your trembling voice into something harsh. Cruel. “Don’t you dare to tell me he gives a shit about how I feel because he doesn’t.”

“Can you stop being a whiny child for one second, and think of something other than yourself,” Marcus cuts in coolly, his own voice losing any guise of warmth. “Tarasov gave John a task he will not survive.”

And then Marcus explains. Tarasov’s task. The mad, hilarious impossibility of it.

You can’t help but laugh—can’t help but marvel at the victorious surge of satisfaction you feel. “I told him he will fail. It can’t be done.”

“No, it can’t. Not unless someone helps him.”

Your laughter dies. “No one will go up against the Russian.”

Marcus hums and even that manages to sound annoyed. “We both know that’s not quite true,” he insists knowingly. “Camorra might. The Italians might.”

You scoff. “The old man will never, and Gianna is too smart for something like that. And—”

Marcus is silent once again and you drag a hand down your face.

You feel raw as an open nerve.

The realisation is gradual and you curse yourself for it. “That fucking hypocrite.”

“Last I heard you’re quite chummy with Santino,” Marcus remarks, and doesn’t bother hiding the judgement in his voice. “Make sure that when John asks for help, he gets it.”

You sit up so quickly, the sudden rush of blood to your head bathes your vision white. “No,” you snap coldly. “Is that clear? No. I don’t owe him anything.”

“Listen to yourself,” Marcus speaks stiffly, and sounds both irritated and disgusted all at once. “After everything he’s done for you? After Tokyo? You can really sit there and say you don’t owe him? You owe him your life. And we both know that I’m right. So stop crying and whining about how bitterly unfair this all is. I told you what will happen if you allow yourself to feel for him, but did you listen? Hm? Did you?”

“I love him, Marcus,” is your tiny, wet whisper. It’s the first time you’ve ever spoken those words out loud and they taste so bitter. “I would have followed him anywhere if only—I love him. But he loves her instead.”

Just when you think that maybe Marcus hung up on you because you couldn’t put up with you anymore, he answers, “I know,” he utters quietly, and in that moment, he’s the kindest he’s ever been. “I know you do. Which is why I’m asking you this now: will you be able to forgive yourself if he fails, and you’ll have to live on with the knowledge you could have done something to save him? You know the Russian. You know what will happen if John fails.”

“He can’t kill him,” you breathe, but feel unsure of your own words.

“Perhaps not,” Marcus agrees but he, too, sounds worn. “But you and I both know that it’s not the worst thing he can do. And you also know John. You know what will be unleashed then.”

That’s not quite right, either.

You did know him. Once.

Now though…

Now, you think that you hate him for making you love him more. Now, you truly and fully feel the realisation that John is gone sink into your bones. If he succeeds, you will never see him again. He will be gone and you will be alone once again.

Not just alone.

Trapped. Again. This time without anyone to fall back onto.

“(Name)?” Marcus wonders after you fail to respond.

A tear rolls down your cheek, and you wipe it away with an angry scowl. “I will speak with Santino,” you tell him, emptying your voice of any emotion. Of heartache. Of John. “But after today, you don’t ever mention his name to me again.”

You don’t wait for his reply before you hang up.

You pause in front of the table, waiting for the guards to check you but a chuckle greets your hesitation instead.

“Please, cara mia, we’re friends, no?” Santino greets with a slight smirk, nodding his head to the seat opposite to him. “Please, sit.”

“Santino.”

You sit down in front of him, meeting his curious stare. The restaurant he’s picked is as fancy as you would have expected from him, and it takes substantial effort to stop yourself from rolling your eyes.

Seconds go by in mutual quiet.

Santino observes you through narrowed eyes, his expression growing grimmer with every second that ticks by. “I know about Tokyo—”

“Don’t.”

His scrutiny doesn’t let up. “Why didn’t you come to me?” he asks, his displeasure clear. Then, like a storm passing his features soften, almost disappointed. “I’m not a charitable man, you know that, but I would have helped you. Taken care of you.”

A small noise escapes you. Under different circumstances, it might have been a chuckle but now it lacks any kind of joy or amusement. “Is that what you think I need? To be taken care of?”

His expression strains. “Why do you twist my words?”

“Because I’m not here to discuss this.”

“Then at least tell me who did this to you,” he demands, his tone icy, and his head tilts. “Give me their names and it will be done.”

You look away, frustration boiling in your chest. The very last thing you need or want right now is a trip down the memory lane.

“It doesn’t matter,” you tell him. “They’re all dead now.”

Santino exhales in frustration, leaning back in his seat, and folds his arms elegantly on the table. “Pity.”

You almost laugh at that. Almost.

“I think you already know why I’m here,” you say, and watch him watch you as his eyebrows arch. “So don’t give me that look.”

“Contrary to what you believe, cara mia,” he responds with a roughish little smile. “I am not a psychic. It would be truly beneficial if I was, of course.”

You roll your eyes. “Santino,” you address him directly, not in the mood for his teasing. “I’m here to talk about—”

“The infamous John Wick, yes, I figured you were,” he cuts you off, his words clipped. His piercing eyes flicker away for a moment, and he grabs an expensive-looking bottle sitting on the table between you. “Champagne?”

“No thanks,” you mutter quickly, “So you know why I’m here then?”

Santino pours himself a glass, turning his head from side to side as he hums. “Well, I believe I can wager an educated guess,” he remarks thoughtfully as he looks up at you. “But I’m afraid that you are too late.”

“Too late?”

He takes a small sip and sighs, his eyes closing. Just as you start to feel your frayed nerves begin to rip even further, he finally speaks, “John has already come to me, asking for help with his Impossible Task. I refused him.”

His words leave such potent silent between you that you can hear your own irregular breathing.

“Why?”

Santino takes another sip and smiles that slippery, sly smile of his. “Why what? Why did I refuse? Why won’t I? Everything has a price, cara mia. You know this. Besides, John and I have never seen eye to eye when it comes to…certain things.”

His clever eyes drill into you, and you rack your suddenly empty mind for something else to say. You never accounted for a scenario where you would have to go into this on a back leg.

“He would have offered you something in return.”

Santino nods in agreement. “He did. But it just so happens that our visions did not align. Not to mention he still owes me from the last time.”

“The last time?” you repeat, uncomprehending. “Since when does he owe you?”

He blinks as if caught off guard by your words, and a gleam of realisation reflects back at you. “Interesting.”

“What’s interesting?” you mutter, your words wrapped with frustration. “What the hell is it that you want, Santino? There’s always a catch with you.”

The sharply dressed man in front of you sighs again, and rests his chin on his folded palms as he gazes at you, assessing. “I do believe that the real question here, cara mia, is why are you here? Did you come to bargain with me? Are you going to beg in his stead?”

Your jaw clicks and your eyes narrow. For a long, tense moment you both simply stare at each other. “Everything has a price,” you quote, at last, your voice distant. “What’s yours?”

His lips flatten in dismay and he lifts his chin, fingers unlacing as he gestures to the side. One of his many guards comes closer and you instinctively tense, your hand wrapping around your poisoned blade. Santino takes note of your taut body right away, signalling for the man to stop and approach slower. He doesn’t look happy about your reaction. The guard casts a wary look your way and places whatever he was carrying into his boss’s awaiting hand.

Santino rolls the object between his fingers deliberately, considering, before placing it on the table in front of you. Not quite halfway, but close enough for you to touch it if you want.

A Marker.

Your throat goes dry.

“You—Winston is not here to witness it,” you whisper unsteadily, feeling trapped once again. The spacious restaurant suddenly feels like a cage, and you feel your heartbeat spike.

“Semantics,” he rebukes easily, lazily. “We both know no one will doubt the legitimacy of this.”

Your eyes finally peel away from the smooth metal and drag up towards him. He’s watching you curiously, expectant. Your heart is in your throat as you do the same. No matter what alternatives you try to think up, they all seem to lead to the same destination.

Bound to yet another contract. Chained to whims of another power-hungry man.

“What do you want?”

You sound angry. Good.

You’re furious.

“A favour.”

“What kind of favour?”

Santino regards you with something close to gentleness, and it makes you even more enraged. “I am not Viggo Tarasov. I will never ask you to do something that will go against your moral fibre.”

Your responding scoff is as disbelieving as it is mocking. “Of course,” you agree sarcastically, and ignore the way Santino’s guards bristle at your clear show of disrespect. “Because I’m supposed to just believe that you’re not all the same. Power-hungry and selfish.”

“Oh, I’m most certainly am, cara mia,” he intones coolly even though his lips twist into a smile. “But if you want this, then you’ll have to take that chance, won’t you?”

Your expression falls and you press your mouth into a tight line, peering down at the object between you.

Is John truly worth it? After everything he’s done?

Here you are, seriously considering selling yourself and for what?

A man who loves another woman? Who wants to leave everything that you’ve had together behind and move on? John is effectively abandoning you—has abandoned you. But, at the end of the day, it’s not like he owes you anything. And maybe you don’t owe him anymore either, not after this. You promised Marcus that you will talk with Santino, and you have, but you never agreed to this.

Haven’t you done enough? Sacrificed enough?

“Will you be able to forgive yourself if he fails, and you’ll have to live on with the knowledge you could have done something to save him?”

No. The awful truth is that you won’t be able to live with yourself.

John may have torn your heart to pieces by walking out of that door, but that didn’t make your feelings for him magically disappear in a matter of hours.

Let him go.

But I can’t.

You have to. He doesn’t want you.

Maybe this is exactly what you need. If you do this, John and his departure will always be tied to this Marker. It will be a constant, terrible reminder of your own lack of freedom. Perhaps, with time, the bitter anger and disappointment that comes with it will help you forget how much you love him.

Your fingers touch the cool metal gingerly.

But before you can take it, a larger, elegant hand lands on top of yours, squeezing.

“Really?” Santino practically hisses, his eyes narrowed into slits as he leans closer to you. “That’s all it takes to get you to sign yourself onto a Marker? And for what, cara mia? A man who does not love you?”

You jerk your hand back but Santino’s fingers wrap around your wrist, holding your hand next to the Marker.

“I confess myself disappointed,” he intones tightly after a brief pause, calmer now, but his eyes still rage. “He left you. For another woman. An outsider to our world, no less. You. The Vipress. And you would still give yourself away, would still tie yourself to me with a blood oath for him. Why? Tell me, do you truly love him that much?”

You glare at him for a heated moment.

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

He jerks back like you’ve struck him, his grip on your wrist loosening. Wasting no time, you drag your arm back, still glaring at him.

It shouldn’t surprise you to see a glimpse of pure envy contorting Santino’s face, but it does. His intentions in regards to you have always been clear, and he’s always been forthcoming about them. For all his tricks and sly games, he’s always been surprisingly clear cut with you.

The only problem is that you’ve never taken him seriously until this moment.

Men like Santino D’Antonio crave excitement and bore easily.

But perhaps you’ve been too quick to judge him.

He leans back, his palms dropping down to his lap and he regards you critically. You wonder what he sees when he looks at you—if the fresh scars you wear are visible to him. The way he looks at you makes you think that perhaps he can see them after all. That perhaps that’s why he looks so calmly furious right now.

The silence between you hangs, hangs, hangs—

“Very well,” he mutters, his smile a sharp, unpleasant thing. “I will help your precious Johnathan.”

A relieved sigh escapes you and you reach for the Marker. Santino grabs it before you can and lifts it to his face, shaking the object a little in your direction with a stilted smile before he pockets it.

“I don’t understand,” you whisper as you watch him rise from his seat, smoothing wrinkles in his suit. “You said everything has a price.”

“Indeed it does,” he insists as one of his guards’ hands him his overcoat. He shrugs it on calmly, an elegant motion that only adds to his effortless charm. His eyes find yours and he looks at you for a long moment. This time, you find his expression impossible to read. “But my mother who was a great lover of art always told me that life is like poetry,” he explains, a thoughtful frown on his face. “It rhymes.”

He steps towards you but you find that you can’t move a muscle. “John was here because he wants the freedom to start a new life, you are here because of John, and as for me…well, I’m simply here. So no charge, not this time, cara mia. But only because I believe that everything eventually comes around full circle.”

He reaches down and gently takes your hand in his. His lips press against your knuckles, the warmth of his breath prickling your skin and making you shiver. His eyes don’t drop away from you the entire time, and you both know that he lingers for far longer than would be deemed appropriate for two friends.

“Besides, something tells me that you and I will be seeing each other again very soon,” he breathes, and you almost jump when he presses another tender peck to your skin with a glimmer of a crooked grin. “Remember, I’m not doing this for him but for you.”

He pulls back, letting go of your hand reluctantly. “Speak to you soon, cara mia.”

Then he turns around and walks away, leaving you alone in the expensive restaurant.

The text comes two days later in the early hours of the morning.

Marcus’s name flares like a sunbeam across your phone screen and you linger on the Unlock button. Regardless of what this message contains life as you knew it is over. You don’t want to lose it yet, don’t want to let go. Not yet. Either John is dead or…

Or he truly chose that stranger and his new life over you.

‘He did it.’

You exhale slowly—in pained relief, in anguish; raw and entangled in each other—and lift your eyes to the ceiling.

The phone in your hand smashes to pieces when it connects to the wall opposite to you.

[1 YEAR LATER]

“Miss Vipress.”

Charon’s greeting is full of subtle surprise, and the slight smile that twitches his lips to one side is a welcomed sight.

“Charon.”

The man inclines his head. “May I say that it is most pleasing to have you back with us again,” he tells you as you place golden coins on the counter. “The usual, I presume? For how long shall I book you in for?”

Clicking your tongue, you glance around, soaking in the feeling of being back here again. “Thanks. And let’s say two weeks?”

The rest of the exchange is familiar to you and a faint, genuine smile lingers cross the seams of your mouth as you look around, spotting more than one familiar face in the lobby.

“There is one more matter that I’ve been instructed to bring to your attention upon your arrival,” Charon begins, and the slight hesitation in his tone catches your attention. “The manager has requested to see you.”

Your eyebrows arch. “Winston? He’s in at this hour?”

“The manager is always in,” he answers, a glimmer of amusement colouring his words. “Would you like me to announce you?”

You nod absentmindedly. “Uh, yeah, sure. The lounge?”

“Indeed, Miss Vipress,” he says, passing your key across the counter. “Please do enjoy your stay.”

Shooting a quick smile his way, you head towards the bar, knowing that Charon will take care of your travelling bag.

Considering that it’s early hours of the morning, the bar is more active than one would expect. Most of the people here are used to the nightlife though, and come from many differing time zones. You’re all nocturnal creatures, living in the shadows because that’s where you feel most alive.

You greet a few familiar individuals with a slight nod of your head and ignore their invitations to join them for drinks.

Instead, you cut a straight path across the lounge to a corner that has long since been dubbed “Winston’s corner”. The man himself sits silent and focused as he examines a small pile of golden coins placed before him.

“New shipment,” he calls by the way of greeting. “Bad timing but impeccable quality as always.”

“Winston,” you greet in return, and the man finally lowers his glasses, looking up at you. “Little nighttime indulgence?”

Your gaze pointedly fixates on what you can only guess is a glass of brandy.

“Can’t an old man enjoy life a little?” he questions with mock surprise and you smirk. Winston gestures to the empty seat. “Do sit down. We have much to discuss. It has been a year after all. How are your new friends?”

Noting his tone, your eyes narrow. “I don’t have friends,” you rebuke swiftly, coolly, “Not anymore. Learned my lesson last time. Now I assume there’s an actual reason why you wanted to see me?”

Winston nods his head, lips twisting thoughtfully. “But of course,” he says like it should be obvious. “But before all that, I want us to discuss some things. For example, your involvement with Santino D’Antonio. Honestly, out of all the people you could have gone to—”

Your expression warps with disbelief and you scoff under your breath. “Is that judgement I hear in your voice?”

“Goodness no,” Winston shoots back, but his bright stare is cutting. “I’m merely questioning your sanity. I don’t think I need to remind you what kind of man he is. His interest in you, for all intents and purposes, is bound to come with an expiration date. And then what?”

“Then,” you force out painfully slow in order to control your tone. “It won’t matter anymore. Because they will all be dead. Honestly, Winston, what did you expect me to do? Lay down and let them kill me? How can you sit there and judge me for doing everything I can just to survive.”

He exhales wearily, and his slumping shoulders make him look older just for a moment.

“Johnathan was a top-level associate of ours, a legend in his own right,” he begins and that name being spoken out loud cuts through you like a knife. “I always knew that his departure would cause a rather large power vacuum in our world. As his closest associate, I also knew that some people may see fit to try and take out their old grudges on you. Johnathan had as many enemies as he did friends. But he did his best to protect you. The depth of his care for you—”

“I’m sorry, his care?” you repeat, soft and disbelieving, as you consider the man in front of you. “His care came in the form of abandonment. He as good as threw me to the wolves. He left without so much as a second glance, so please tell me again, where exactly was his care?”

“I assure you, he went through great lengths to ensure your protection,” Winston replies calmly, and there’s that hint of chilly authority in his voice that usually makes people shut up and listen. It’s a sore spot for a topic, and you know that’s the only reason why he’s tolerating your cracking disposition and sharp tongue. “What I’m hearing from you right now is bitterness and jealousy. You’re better than that. We both know that what you truly resent is not the fact that Johnathan left, but that he did so without you. But what did you expect?”

“Excuse me?”

“Let me be blunt,” he begins and lifts his glass, sloshing the amber liquid inside from side-to-side. “Viggo was onto you. He knew that there was more going on between you two than a simple partnership. He would have had you killed if he got so much as a shred of proof. Johnathan knew that too. He did you a kindness by pushing you away. He was more fond of you than you can ever truly understand. Too fond. I warned him against it. But he couldn’t let you go. The distance you imposed after his rejection—if you can even call it that—came at a good time. Meeting that woman was an accident. In her, Johnathan saw a chance for a different life. Saw a way for both of you to be safe and happy. You told him that you couldn’t see a life for yourself outside of this, did you not? He left so he could forget you and keep you safe. And I imagine that Santino D’Antonio did not, in fact, help Johnathan with his task out of the goodness of his heart. Especially not when Johnathan already owed him for Tokyo. So I think you’ll forgive me when I say that I don’t quite buy into your supposed hatred for him.”

You stare at Winston in dumbstruck silence. Forcing air into your lungs, you clear your throat, trying to process everything you’ve just heard.

“What—” your voice creaks and you swallow again, determined. “What do you mean John owed Santino for Tokyo?”

“Of course I’m referring to—you don’t know,” he concludes astutely, an eerily familiar understanding washing over the contours of his weathered face. The same understanding that you saw on Santino’s face a year ago on that dreadful night. “Oh, how typical of Johnathan. He left you to believe whatever was the easiest. What do you think happened, my dear? How did Johnathan get there, do you reckon?”

“He—but Tarasov—”

Winston tuts, and places his glass back on the table.

He looks almost sorry when he speaks next. “Johnathan noticed your absence quickly, and you’re right to assume he went to Tarasov first,” he tells you quietly, and the words rattle through your mind like marbles. “But Tarasov refused him. He did not care. So Johnathan went to someone he knew would.”

“Santino.”

Winston dips his head slightly. “I do not know the terms of what exactly they agreed but I do know that Santino was less than pleased with the outcome. He didn’t tell you this but…John called in a great number of favours and burned an even greater number of bridges to get to you. He did not rest until he got you back. Except he didn’t, did he? A part of you died in that damp, dirty underground pit. You haven’t been the same since Tokyo.”

“Does that surprise you?”

“No.”

Your eyes move away, and you try to subtly swallow the sudden lump in your throat. Despite your best effort to appear unaffected, it still feels like you have lead sitting in your stomach. You want to stand up and walk away from him, but you also respect the man in front of you too much for that.

“Why did you help him?”

You let out a weak chuckle. “Come now, Winston, we both know why. Why even bother asking?”

“Because I need to know that I can give you this,” he replies, taking out a white envelope and placing it on the table between you. “Without the worry that you will do something…unwise.”

Your gaze zeros in on the white material and for some reason it frightens you more than you would care to admit.

“What is it?” you ask, already regretting the question.

“I don’t know,” Winston says, all nonchalance, and you wonder if it’s because he knows what this is doing to you. “But Johnathan took a great risk to call in this favour. It came to me three months ago. I would have had it sent to whichever Continental you were staying at but Johnathan was very clear that it’s for your eyes only. I couldn’t take that chance.”

“Burn it,” you tell him stiffly. “I don’t want it.”

Winston shakes his head, a flash of displeasure crossing his features. “You will regret it if you don’t take it. Make this the closure you need it to be. You never said goodbye properly. Maybe this can be the full stop in this tale that you so desperately need.”

Your lips part and you hurriedly lick them, feeling even more frustrated than before. There’s truth to Winston’s words but it feels too much like picking at a scab that has just healed over.

Tapping your fingers against the table, you finally reach over and snatch the envelope, rising to your feet.

“What do you plan to do about the people still coming after you?” he wonders idly, curiosity lacing his words.

The letter burns in your hand, an enormous weight that makes you feel like you’re being dragged to the ground.

“What I do best,” you inform him without turning around. “Kill.”

If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought that Winston’s laughter followed you out.

You consider the envelope for a long time.

You consider ripping it to pieces and throwing it away.

But a part of you that sounds suspiciously like grumpy Winston stays your hand.

So instead you eat, shower, stare at the envelope, pace your room, and stare some more.

You’ve moved on.

Or have been trying to, at least.

Life without John is a different experience. It’s a colder, even crueller place than it was before. So, to a degree, you understand what Winston meant when he said that John has been shielding you from the worst of it before.

But he’s gone now. And you’re relearning everything from scratch.

Santino’s offer, now more than ever, burns through your mind.

You did not give him your answer before leaving Italy, and a part of you wants to call him right now—let him be the voice of reason that will tell you to throw the letter away.

You’re done with John. You are.

Falling heavily onto the loveseat, you reach for the envelope.

It feels heavy but not too full. Something hard is inside but it’s still bendable when you test its limits. Curious, you bring it up to your nose, inhaling, and run your fingers through the length of it to see if anything suspicious sticks out.

Nothing.

No odd odours, no unusual edges or bumps.

You stare at it.

There is nothing but your name scribbled in a familiar, cramped font on the front. Your fingertips trace over it and you feel a pang in your chest. Your hand hovers over the envelope and you watch your viper ring gleam against the white paper.

You still wear it. Isn’t that a sign enough that you haven’t let go?

Even if you’ve been trying—so hard—it still manages to feel fresh. It’s unhealthy and you deserve better than to torture yourself over this. But this last year has already been torture for a multitude of reasons, so is this really any different?

Gritting your teeth, you rip the envelope open. You can’t allow it to have power over you. You can’t allow John to have that power, either.

A card slips out first, clearly the heavier object, and you check the inside to find a letter, too. You rub your fingers together, hesitating, before you take it out and unfold it.

Dear (Name),

I know I have no right to ask this of you, and I will understand if I never hear from you again. But it would mean a lot to me if you could be there.

- John

Short and direct enough for any doubts about its authenticity to crumble away from your mind.

Your eyes slide towards the card that lays facedown on the coffee table.

Swallowing, you pick up the expensive paper, turning it around.

You are joyfully invited to the wedding of—

The invitation slips from your hand, falling clumsily through the air before it lands on the table once again.

You stagger to your feet, swaying, dazed, and wander towards the window. Your forehead presses against the freezing glass, and a breathless sound rattles free from deep within. It’s a low, devastated sort of noise and like a wounded animal you fold into yourself, breathing deeply.

A wedding.

John is getting married.

Is this some cruel joke?

Is he doing this on purpose? Why else would he invite you to the one occasion you would never want to attend? Especially after how you last parted ways.

But John is not one for cruel tricks, not one for mindless harm for the sake of amusement.

Last time you saw him, you told him that you never want to see him again, but it’s clearly not a sentiment he shares. The problem is that you’re not sure if you can handle it. For all your struggles, for all the ferocity to keep living, this could be the one thing you will not be able to overcome. That night, a year ago, was already bad enough.

Your head moves back, and you look over your shoulder towards the invitation still laying innocently on the table. It’s the type of startling white that sticks out in the dim room like a beacon.

Feet unsteady, you walk back towards it, reaching for it once again. Your hands are shaking and you clench your fists till your rapid heartbeat evens out. Then, gritting your teeth, you force yourself to read through the entire thing.

Finally, your eyes snag on the time and date printed, and you feel your heart stutter in your chest.

Tomorrow.

You shouldn’t have come.

You don’t know why you did.

No—that’s not quite true, is it? You do know why you came.

You came because, in order to be free of him, you have to see this through. You have to allow John to drive that one last knife into your chest and twist it for good measure. Then, perhaps, you can finally let go once and for all. Strip him out of your heart till there’s no trace left of him. A full stop in this story just like Winston said.

Still, this decision kept you up for the entire night, restless and hurting, and it wasn’t until two hours before the ceremony that you finally decided to come.

The venue is stunning. A warmly lit, open space and you can’t help but envy the beautiful composition of colours and flowers.

The attendant—a stunning blonde with bright green eyes and an extravagant gown—greets you with a beaming smile, taking your invitation.

“Bride or groom?”

Your mind is so chaotic that at first, you don’t really register her words; they’re a distant murmur only. Wincing, you give her an awkward, pained grimace of a smile.

“Sorry, jetlag is a killer.”

The woman looks sympathetic and nods her head in understanding. You likely look terrible and just sleep-deprived enough for her to buy into your words.

“And, it’s…” you trail off, suddenly unable to speak. The groom. It’s easy to say. If you can’t even speak what’s the point of coming here? Just to embarrass yourself further? “The groom. Groom’s side, I mean.”

“Wonderful! Please sit on the right, then,” the attendant says with a happy chipper in her voice. You can’t hear any forced cheer in it either which surprises you. “You’re running a bit late. The ceremony has already begun but I think you’ll still make it in time for the exchanging of vows.”

Great.

This is torturous.

It’s been a year but it feels like yesterday.

You should have taken Santino up on his offhand, deliberate offer to go to Paris together. You could have prolonged your trip for just another week and would have missed the wedding entirely. Then, you would have had an easy explanation, an out.

On instinct, your eyes sweep over the crowd. Despite it being a wedding, you still have blades and needless on you; most of them are soaked in some of your latest inventions. Each as nasty and as lethal as the last. You’ve learned from your mistakes. Never again.

It surprises you but you see no familiar faces in the crowd. A part of you expected John to invite Winston or at least Marcus—his oldest, most trusted friend.

It’s startling to realise that you’re wrong. That on one of the most important days of his life, you’re the only one here.

John has truly torn out his old life root and stem and this is proof of that.

Your eyes finally find him standing hand in hand with his bride and your stomach coils.

He looks—

He looks so happy.

The happiest you’ve ever seen him.

He stands tall and proud, his dark gaze warm and full of love as he speaks his vows.

He looks in love. At peace. Happy.

It’s like a punch to the stomach to see him like this. To know that he’s found those things you told him so cruelly he didn’t deserve to have.

And Helen…

She’s beautiful. Practically glowing with happiness as she beams up at John.

So many times—there’s been so many times when you had imagined that she wasn’t anything special. That maybe she’s ugly or stupid. That John will never be happy once the initial attraction fades. So many times when you unfairly demeaned her in your head just to make yourself feel better. But you’re wrong.

Helen is stunning. The type of woman you can’t help but admire.

It hurts so much that you feel—for the first time since that night John left you—tears begin to blur your vision.

“You may now kiss your bride.”

John smiles, a small but loving curl of his mouth, and leans down to kiss his new wife.

A shuddering breath escapes you, swallowed by the crowd that explodes into wild applause and cheers. You watch as the new-wed couple exchange words, intimate and soft, and John places a protective arm around Helen’s waist.

Your gaze drops.

The crowd is still a roar.

“What a beautiful couple, don’t you think?”

Head turning, you glance at an old man you’ve never seen before and find him clapping as loudly as the rest of the crowd.

“Yes,” is your empty whisper. “Yes, they are.”

It’s okay. It’s over now.

Your eyes close and you turn away from the happiness and cheer, walking blindly. As long as you get away from this, it will be fine.

Soft music fills the air when you stumble outside, swallowing large gasp of air and pressing your hand against your chest. Your head falls back and you look towards the sky. The sun has just set, the furthest corner of the sky already allowing first stars to peak against the darkened expanse. Then your chin drops, your vacant stare lingering on all the beautiful fairy lights wrapped around trees and bushes.

Putting one leg in front of another, you stagger forward. It feels like being back underground. It feels like that time Kishi pressed his heavy boot against your lower back, keeping you still after you tried to crawl away. It feels like you can’t move, walk, jog, breathe, exist.

Yes, I can.

You take another step and another, feeling...it’s devastating, it is. But with every heavy, pained step also comes a sense of calm. Of finally—

“You came.”

You freeze.

Blinking, you try to compose your expression before you turn around.

John comes closer, hesitant, as his dark eyes take you in. As always it’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, and it’s so obvious now that he’s always been so guarded around you. So unlike moments ago when he showed just how open he can be with the person he loves.

“Well,” you halt, nibbling on the inside of your cheek to gather yourself. “I couldn’t miss your wedding. Some friend I would be if I did.”

“I didn’t think you would come,” he says, stopping right in front of you. “But I’m glad that you did. I wanted to talk to you.”

You laugh weakly, and it sounds so forced you regret it immediately. “Yeah, well, impeccable timing as always, John. Congratulations, by the way.”

His expression is unreadable, but you feel a whisper of surprise when he extends his hand towards you.

Then, with that gesture, comes the understanding.

You were right. None of this has been about hurting you. Everything; from the invitation to this, is about giving you both closure.

John didn’t want the last interaction you’ve had to be a hateful one. And, until this very moment, you didn’t know you didn’t want that, either.

You place your hand in his and he pulls you closer. Then, arms careful and hesitant around each other, you begin to sway to the distant music coming from the reception.

“You should be back there,” you tell him quietly. “Celebrating.”

He meets your stare, calm and patient as always. “There’ll be time for that later.”

Silence follows his words and you move together for a while without a sound. Your eyes flutter closed, and you rest your cheek lightly against his chest. His scent, his warmth; they sink into you gradually and you add them to your memory.

“I just wanted—”

“Winston told me.”

John looks down at you. “I asked him not to.”

Your smile feels sad, weary. “The old man likes to gossip, I guess,” you mutter in a poor play on humour, and tighten your fingers around his. “John I—I just wanted to say that—I didn’t mean what I said that night—”

“You don’t have to apologise, (Name),” he tells you, and his expression seems strained, so unlike the previous joy you saw earlier. “I hurt you.”

Shaking your head, you glance away, and try to smile again. “I was angry…and hurt. But it still did not give me the right to say that to you. You—you of all the people deserve this more than anyone. I’m happy for you. I am.”

“(Name) I—”

“Please,” you cut him off before he can continue. “Please make this easy for me. I’m trying to do the right thing here but it’s so damn hard. It’s so hard and I—just thank you. Thank you for everything. You saved me and I will never be able to thank you enough for it. But I had to at least try before this goodbye.”

“Then don’t make it a goodbye,” he whispers suddenly and your eyes find his, full of surprise. “We can keep in touch. You’re my friend.”

You chuckle; a wet, weak sound. “We both know that’s too dangerous,” you answer him, and hate how sad you sound. “You’re out, John. You’re free and you’re happy. That’s all I could ever—”

Your voice cracks and you lower your head, swallowing. John’s cheek rests against the top of your head and he squeezes your fingers when he feels them tremble between his own. You stand still for a while. Simply breathing together and you love him for the fact that he allows time for tears escaping your eyes to dry.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you breathe, choked. “You tried to keep us both safe and found happiness on the way. My anger was selfish. And sometimes…sometimes people can be good together but it still doesn’t work out.”

You pull back slowly, carefully turning your fingers to free your hand from his grip. Staring at the ground beneath your feet, you allow yourself a silent moment of grieving.

For what you had.

For what you still could have had.

John stands still, sensing that you need this moment and you feel a small smile twist your mouth. You lift your head and place your hand—his ring gleaming—on his chest. He looks so handsome in a tux.

“So,” you begin with a smile. “This is me letting you go, John.”

You lean closer and press a gentle kiss against his cheek. Your expression crumbles, and you tilt your face till it’s next to his ear, so he won’t see your pain.

“Please be happy.”

Then you pull back, your hands dropping away, letting go.

“(Name), wait—”

“John? There you are. What are you doing out here?”

Your head snaps over your shoulder, catching a glimpse of Helen. She looks even more beautiful this close up. She walks down the steps, lifting her stunning wedding gown and recognition flashes through her eyes when she spots you.

“Oh, you must be (Name),” she greets with a kind smile. “I’m Helen. John has told me a lot about you. I’m glad you’ve been able to come. Wouldn’t you join us inside?”

Your eyes slide towards John who looks as torn as you feel. You give her a smile too. Whatever resentment you once felt towards this woman has up and vanished into thin air.

She comes to stand beside John and you’re momentarily speechless. They look good together. Like they belong.

“It’s lovely to meet you. And I’m sorry, but I can’t,” you say, keeping your smile intact. “I have, ah, a job…that I need to get to. But it was a beautiful ceremony and—take care of him for me, would you? He’s so awful at it. And…”

Your voice wavers but you’re still smiling even though neither Helen nor John are.

“I just wish you both…all the happiness in the world. Truly.”

You nod your head, inhaling deeply, and laugh.

Your eyes meet John’s for one last time and you grin at him. “Goodbye, John.”

Not waiting for a reply, you turn around and start walking away.

In and out. In and out.

The cool evening air kisses your burning, tear-streaked cheeks but you keep walking with your head held high.

Alone. Just like it’s been for so long.

A butterfly trapped in a mason jar.

Never to be free.

. . .

an: hope you all enjoyed that pain fest (˵ ͡~ ͜ʖ ͡°˵)ﾉ⌒♡*:･。.

#john wick #john wick x reader #john wick fic #john wick imagine #keanu reeves #santino d'antonio #winston #marcus #fic: children of ares

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cynicalrainbows · 4 years

Note

Fanfiction request here!! Anne drinking energy juice and everything’s fine until later on during the show she starts to feel ill..... Aragon just wants to make sure Anne doesn’t vomit on stage....

Sorry for this being so very late, anon.

Not sure if what you wanted was Very-Soft-Aragon but...well, what you got was Very-Soft-Aragon.

She doesn’t want to cry, not on the tube, not in front of everyone, but she does.

She can’t believe how much she’s let everyone down. She doesn’t even have tiredness as an excise- yes, she’d been tired (they were all tired) but no one else had been stupid enough to think that three energy drinks plus caffiene tablets on a two show day was a sensible solution.

It hadn’t even worked properly, that was the really frustrating thing- she’d still felt exhausted, just jittery too, and she’d barely been able to keep still throughout the show. And she’d never even considered the other side effects- she’d felt sicker than she ever had in her life,to the point that she’d had to duck into the wings during House of Holbein, for fear she’d actually throw up on stage, and on top of everything, she’d just felt so paranoid, so anxious.

Her voice had sounded wavery and weak even to her own ears, her cocky stage-persona unconvincing. The end of her song was deliberately a bit shrill but this time, she’d sounded terrified from the first verse.

God, what a mess.

She can only imagine what the fans thought of her disaster performance, and she’s trying not to think about how the other queens are going to react when they finish with stagedoor and come home.

It hadn’t exactly been agreed that she’d leave early or that Aragon would take her home- it’s just what ended up happening. A little part of her is afraid that Aragon just wants to scold her privately, to tell her what a disappointment she is- and the thought makes the tears come a little faster.

Aragon doesn’t comment or even look at her, keeping her eyes on an advert for Kumon lessons (extremely clean looking children bent studiously over blank workbooks) but she slips an arm around her shoulders and gently rubs up and down her upper arm.

It’s unexpected but still nice. She takes a chance and lets her head rest against Aragon’s coat, lets her eyes close and the tears slide slowly down her face to her jaw, drying stiff on her skin. When she licks her lips, eyes still shut, she can taste the salt.

She’s so very tired.

She hates you for ruining the show. They all hate you for ruining the show. She’s not talking because she hates you-

She just about manages to shut the train of thought down, with some effort.

She knows Aragon doesn’t speak for the other queens but it’s a comfort at least to feel that at least one person is still on her side. Aragon may not be talking but she keeps up her gentle movements on her arm and it soothes away the nibbling anxiety that’s never too far from the edge of her mind- no one pets angrily.

Eventually the tube shudders to a stop and Aragon unwinds herself. There’s cold air in the place of warm queen as they walk to the ticket barrier and it makes her want to cling and refuse to be unpeeled- she knows how quickly her mind can spiral if left to its own devices- but just as she’s beginning to feel herself getting shakey again, Aragon nudges her arm.

‘Ok?’

She nods and tries to smile.

‘We’re nearly home-’ Aragon says something else, something about ‘all sorted out’ but a lorry passes, laying on it’s horn and drowns nearly everything out.

‘Oh- yeah-’

Of course they’ll need to sort this out- of course that’s the priority (she pushes down her very-strong desire to crawl under her duvet and forget everything for a few hours, she tries to stop thinking about how long it’s been since she’s eaten anything, about the headache throbbing behind her eyes).

‘Should I-’ She desperately wants to show Aragon that she’s taking this seriously, that she understands how bad it is, that she’ll do everything she needs to do to make amends. ‘Do you think I should do a tweet or a video first? Or- or see what everyone is saying first, see how bad it is-?’

It will take hours, she knows how quickly comments pile up online...but it’s the least she can do-

‘What are you talking about?’

Aragon has stopped walking and is looking at her really strangely and it makes her stomach clench up- perhaps she really is angry, perhaps she really does think that she’s an attention-seeking, self absorbed, shallow, pathetic, worthless-

‘Anne?’ Aragon touches her arm and brings her out of a spiral for a moment. It’s a gentle touch but it still makes her flinch a tiny bit.

‘Just-’ Her voice is very small. ‘You said- you said we need to get everything sorted out-’

‘I meant-’

Aragon pauses and she holds her breath, waiting: her eyes are burning again and as much as she’s trying to hold herself together, a tear escapes. Stupid, selfish, attention seeking.

She’s squeezing her eyes shut as she waits for Aragon to say the words out loud- she surely must be thinking them, she just hopes she doesn’t tell all the others about how she’s still, after everything, trying to manipulate pity.

Then gentle fingers brush her cheek. ‘I meant you, you silly thing. You look awful, you need a hot shower and some sleep. And when did you last eat actual food?’

She shrugs, not meeting Aragon’s eye.

‘I knew it! Supper, shower, bed then, in that order, and no more energy drinks. At least we’re all off tomorrow, you can have a day to rest up-’

Aragon is confusing her- why is she talking as if she’s sick and deserving of sympathy, as if this whole thing isn’t of her own making?

‘But what about- what people will be saying? I ruined the show-’

Aragon is looking at her with her familiar look of fond exasperation. ‘I don’t give two hoots about what people are saying- and that’s assuming anyone even noticed anything was different-’

‘But-’

‘For all they know, you were just playing yourself a bit differently tonight- who are they to say you weren’t?’ Aragon tucks her under her arm and starts walking again- it’s a little bit difficult to keep in step but there’s no way she’s going to move away. ‘If anything, I’m sure the fans will love it-’

‘But- how could they?’

‘Remember when Jane and Anna had that bet on?’ Aragon’s voice is very certain, very assured, and she clings to that certainty- perhaps she hasn’t completely destroyed their reputation.

‘Yes-’

‘Remember how much the fans went wild for it? Remember the hashtags? And all the people begging them to keep it up? Remember how disappointed everyone was when they went back to normal?’ Aragon’s voice has fallen into the soothing cadence of a bedtime- and she DOES remember, how Jane spent a show imitating Anna’s brash cockiness, while Anna made herself temporarily vulnerable, and how fans had blown up the whole thing into a story of almost mythical proportions.

‘Do you really think they’ll think that for me?’

‘Of course. And if not- well, we can always tell them that’s what you were going for.’ As they get to their familiar front door, Aragon turns and looks her straight in the eye. ‘It’ll be all be ok, alright? I promise you, it will be fine.’

She can’t quite bring herself to agree, but she doesn’t want to contradict her either, settling for a shaky nod.

Aragon smiles as she digs out her key and unlocks the front door.

‘You’ll see I’m right, and when I am, I’ll remind you of it forever. You’ll be sick of me saying it.’

She gives a weak smile, that fades as she realises just how queasy she still feels. Aragon notices and tilts her head sympathetically.

‘Still feeling bad?’

She manages a nod.

‘Let's get you upstairs- you’ll feel better after some sleep. The others won’t be back for a bit-’

Standing under the shower is an effort but it’s a relief to wash off the stickiness of the day, even if she has to steady herself with a hand against the tiled wall.

Damp-haired and pajama clad, she makes her way back to her bedroom and finds the covers of her bed turned down and her curtains drawn. As she gets under the covers, she finds a hot water bottle at the foot of the bed and the thoughtfulness of it almost makes her want to cry again. Or maybe she’s just really tired and overly emotional and coming down from the biggest caffeine high imaginable.

It’s hard to tell really.

There’s a tap on the door and then Aragon enters, balancing a tray which she sets down on the bedside table.

Water, paracetemol, a mug of soup, some anti-nausea pills.

‘Here- I know you probably don’t feel like it but you should try and have something.’

‘Thanks.’

She expects her to leave but instead Aragon settles herself down on the edge of the bed, and she finds she’s grateful for the promise of company, even if she’s still half waiting to be told off.

‘Jane texted while you were showering-’

She pauses, the glass halfway to her lips.

‘She said to tell you that they all hope you’re ok.’

It’s a surprise, for all of Aragon’s reassurances.

‘Really?’

‘She said they all feel bad for not coming with us- she said if you’re asleep when they get in, they’ll try not to make too much noise.’

‘Oh.’ The thought warms her heart: they’re not angry, they’re not angry.’

‘They also say-’ Aragon shifts position and she makes room for her against the headboard. ‘The fans were sad not to see you at stagedoor- they were all apparently very moved by your new spin on your character…’

Aragon puts her phone down with a smile like a cat in a vat of cream. ‘What did I tell you?’

It’s such a relief, she can’t even reply- it’s all ok. She hasn’t ruined anything. It’s ok.

She leans into Aragon, all the tension leaving her at once, and lets out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding. Aragons hands move through her damp hair- it feels good, she lets her eyes drift shut.

‘Hey-’ Aragon taps her arm. ‘No falling asleep on me until you’re properly hydrated- you don’t need to wake up with a headache-’

She knows she’s right but still- she just wants to enjoy the feeling of being able to relax properly for the first time in hours (in days) for a little longer.

‘In a minute.’

Her voice is muffled against Aragon’s shirt but she must have heard- her arms actually go around her properly, pulling her closer.

Her voice is faintly amused and so very warm, so loving.

‘Alright.’ A chuckle vibrates Aragon’s chest as she burrows infinitesimally closer. ‘In a minute.’

#six #six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #sixfic #six fanfiction

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bee-kathony · 5 years

Photo

Formerly Fraser - Epilogue

written by @julesbeauchamp & @curlsgetdemgurls

a/n: thank you so much to everyone who has read and left comments on this story! we’re sad that it’s over, but we hope you enjoyed it!

Previous Chapters

5 years later

Since that day when Jamie came tumbling through Claire’s window and they vowed to reconnect, things hadn’t been smooth sailing. Every day was work and it was tough to build back that trust and foundation that they had lost over the years. Together, they took their relationship one day at a time, connecting in old and new ways and always putting the other one first.

Only five months after admitting they never truly stopped loving one another, they remarried in the Highlands. It was a small affair with only their children and Louise in attendance.

Claire was nervous. Even after all these years, Jamie still had the ability to make her knees weak with just one look. They didn’t want to make a big deal out of getting remarried which was why their whole family had come up to the Highlands to a cottage fit for all of them. Of course, Claire had invited Louise to come along, mostly just to help calm her nerves and also to help her look beautiful.

“There,” her friend brushed lightly against her cheeks and then took a step back. “Magnifique,” she kissed the tips of her fingers. “Very natural and light, but very beautiful. I wasn’t there for your first wedding, which is why you ended up marrying in Converse but I’m glad I’m here now.”

Claire chuckled and shook her head, “I’m glad you’re here too, Loulou.”

Turning around on the plush stool, she looked at herself for the first time that day in the mirror. There were certainly a few more lines and grey hairs that hadn’t been there on her first wedding day to Jamie. Her wedding dress wasn’t a dress, but a cream colored pant suit that showcased Jamie’s favorite assets of hers. The riotous curls couldn’t be tamed, but Louise managed well enough and pinned it elegantly back to frame her face.

“What do you think girls?” Claire asked her daughters, standing up from the stool and doing a little spin.

“Gorgeous Mama!” Elena smiled, clapping her hands.

“Da is gonna lose his mind when he sees ye,” Julia smirked, taking a picture of her mother.

“I can’t believe I’m getting married again,” Claire took a deep breath, “And to the same man!”

Everyone laughed and as the laughter died down, Claire opened her arms to hug her two girls. “I love you very much my darlings. Your father and I both do, I just want to thank you both and your brother of course, for putting up with us while we sorted things out.”

“We love you too, Mama and we’re so happy you both are together again. We really are,” Elena and Julia kissed her cheeks. “Now, it’s time to get you married!”

“I suppose it is!”

Claire twisted the silver ring on her right hand – it had once been on her left hand, but Jamie had been dropping hints of a new ring. Not that she needed something new, but it was sweet of him to want to mark the occasion.

Louise held the door open of the small room and Julia and Elena went first, followed lastly by Claire. The ceremony was being held outside near tall standing stones that were behind the cottage. Jamie had arranged for a priest to officiate the wedding and Claire could just see them now – Jamie, Alex and the priest all waiting outside.

A highlander in full regalia is an impressive sight no matter how old, ill favored, or crabbed in appearance. A tall, straight bodied, middle aged highlander was breathtaking. And he was all hers.

Claire started to make her way toward Jamie slowly, their eyes locked. She couldn’t do anything but smile and felt a lump in her throat as she noticed how teary Jamie’s eyes had gotten. The wind blew all around them, lifting up the end of his kilt and Claire couldn’t help but giggle a little.

It wasn’t a long walk to him, but when she finally reached him, she breathed a sigh of relief. There was no turning back now.

“Ye look beautiful, Sassenach. The most stunnin’ bride I’ve ever laid eyes on,” he took her hands, squeezing them tightly.

“You’re not too shabby either, my darling,” The corner of her mouth flicked up into a mischievous grin. Jamie knew what wearing his kilt did to her.

They followed the priest’s instructions fairly easily and when it came time for the rings, Jamie did in fact pull out a new ring, holding it delicately in his hand. “It belonged to my mother,” he smiled proudly. “I always planned to give it to ye someday, now seems like the right time.”

“It’s gorgeous, Jamie,” Claire smiled, tears filling her eyes as Jamie slid on the ring. It really was beautiful, vintage of course with a silver band to match her other one and adorned with a white diamond in the middle, surrounded by two emeralds. Once the ring was safely on her left hand, Claire slid Jamie’s ring onto his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“Now it’s time for the symbolic blood vow,” the priest said and Jamie pressed his wrist to Claire’s.

“Ye are blood of my blood and bone of my bone, I give ye my body, that we two might be one,” Jamie smiled and Claire finished, “I give you my spirit, til our life shall be done.”

The priest looked at them, slightly smiling, “I now pronounce ye man and wife. Ye may kiss yer bride,” He looked at Jamie.

Claire stepped a bit closer, her eyes never leaving his, and smiled, “Da mi basia mile…”

Jamie cupped her face, he had tears strolling down his cheeks and so had Claire. He leaned down and sealed their lips for a long moment.

“Ye go, Da!” Elena exclaimed loudly as everyone erupted into cheers.

Claire chuckled against his lips, holding him close, “We’re married!”

“Aye, Sassenach,” He smiled widely, “Thank Christ, we are.”

After their little wedding and a honeymoon in Italy, Jamie and Claire went back to a routine as a married couple. Claire realised how much she had missed having him around, even to simply share silence with. She also finally felt like the missing piece of her heart was back. And she felt like she was walking on a cloud. She cut back from the hospital and started a private practice to be able to spend more time at home with Jamie, and with the children. Annalise reacted to the news better then they both had anticipated. After a tantrum at the ceremony and another when Jamie finally went to talk to her, things calmed down. When Claire went to work the monday following the weekend that should have been Jamie’s wedding to the nurse, she had resigned and moved back to Paris.

Now, she was married to a rich french investor and she was busy spending all his money Avenue Montaigne. Or at least, that’s what Louise – who knew all of Paris – told Claire at a dinner once.

Days turned into months and into years. Julia had gotten married two years ago and recently gave birth to a little girl, Isla. Alex had moved to London and Elena worked with Jamie at his law firm.

Everyone was up in the Highlands to spend the holidays there. While Jamie was sound asleep next to her, Claire was restless and looked at the clock. It was the middle of the night and she could hear the baby cry on the other side of the hall.

Carefully, she got up and put on her bathrobe. She gave a look towards her husband before walking out silently. She found Julia walking around, rocking her daughter, and she smiled at the sight. Her baby girl was a mother now. It was funny how time flew by without anyone noticing.

“Darling,” Claire said in a low voice, walking over her daughter, “Do you want me to take care of her?”

Julia smiled softly, nodding, “She ate, I don’t know what’s wrong with her…”

“Go back to bed, my love,” Claire kissed her daughter’s temple and took her crying granddaughter in her arms. “I’ll take care of her.”

She held her close, slowly rocking her and whispered, “You do have great lungs, wee lamb. You’re going to wake up everyone, at this rate.”

Julia watched them, “Thank you mom, I owe you one.”

“I don’t mind at all,” She smiled, not taking her eyes off her granddaughter, “It’s just some colics, I’ll make them pass while you go and rest.”

“I love you,” Julia kissed her cheek and her daughter’s head before going back to her room.

Claire made her way downstairs to the library and sat down on the leather sofa. She laid Isla on her chest and slowly started to rub her stomach.

“It’s not nice to keep your mother up at night like that, but I guess it’s payback for when she did it to me huh?” Claire couldn’t help but smile, thinking about her own children when they were that age and how desperate for sleep and silence she had been.

“But then you have an excuse, you have colics,” She whispered, noticing her granddaughter was settling and her cries had stopped, “Your mother only cried because she wanted to be held.”

Claire pulled her leg up and shifted the baby carefully, laying her against her legs and holding her little hands, “You look just like her and like your grandpapa.” She smiled, kissing the tip of her nose. Claire didn’t know it, but Jamie had woken up as she climbed out of bed and was now standing in the doorway, watching his wife and granddaughter.

During the years they spent apart, he had wondered what it would be like when they had grandchildren. He was just happy now that they were together and could all be a proper family again. There was nothing Jamie loved more than seeing his wife smile and he saw that same sweet smile on Isla’s lips. Knocking lightly on the door so not to disturb them, he smiled as Claire turned to look over at him.

“I thought you were asleep,” Claire whispered. “Did I wake you?”

“I always wake when you do, Sassenach; I sleep ill without ye by my side.” Jamie kissed the top of her head and sat down beside her, stroking Isla’s cheek.

“How did you manage for all those years without me then?” She leaned her head against his shoulder.

“I didna,” he shrugged, kissing her mass of curls. “Worst years of sleep I ever had, Sassenach.”

“Stop,” Claire blushed, nudging his side. “Well, I’d be lying if I didn’t say the same. I always feel safe when you’re beside me.”

Sliding his arm around her shoulder, he pulled her close, resting his head on hers and looked down at his granddaughter. “D'ye ken that the only time I am without pain is in your bed, Sassenach? When I take ye, when I lie in your arms-my wounds are healed, then, my scars forgotten.”

“Then you must never leave my bed,” Claire turned her head to kiss him, her hand reaching up to stroke his chin. “You are my best friend, Jamie. My lover, protector… husband and I want nothing more than to lie in your arms for all eternity.”

“Tha gaol agam ort, Sassenach,” He whispered against her lips, “Let’s bring this ween back to bed and then get back into ours, aye?”

“Let’s just stay here for a bit longer,” she smiled, her finger gently stroking their granddaughter’s cheek.

“Alright, a nighean,” He smiled, watching them.

Neither one of them knew for how long they stayed on the sofa, surrounded by silence and a wrapped in bliss. They were just happy. In a warm home, their children asleep upstairs and them here, with the little miracle of a granddaughter. One they never thought they’d see grow up together only five years ago when they were divorced.

After awhile, Jamie carefully picked up Isla and Claire got up, following him back upstairs. She kissed the baby’s head and let him bring her back to Julia’s room while she went back to their own. She laid back in the canopy bed, waiting for Jamie who reappeared five minutes later, proudly holding two glasses of whisky.

Grinning, Claire sat up and watched him, “That’s exactly why I married you.”

“Because I look verra handsome while holdin’ alcohol?” He closed the door and made his way to the bed.

“Yes, but also because you know when to bring alcohol,” She took a glass out of his hand and kissed him.

Jamie wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close, “I’m glad we talk before bed now, like when we first started datin’. That’s what I missed the most, talkin’ to ye about anything. No matter what I would think or say, ye would never judge me, ye always listened and if I wasna well, ye comforted me.”

“I missed it too,” Claire sighed, pressing her cheek against his chest. “All I need in life is you, our children, granddaughter and a nice glass of whisky.”

“Aye, Sassenach,” Jamie smiled tenderly, softly brushing his thumb against Claire’s cheek. “Yer all I’ve ever needed.”

A failure is not always a mistake, it may simply be the best one can do under the circumstances. The real mistake is to stop trying. Failure is the key to success; each mistake teaches us something. A smart man makes a mistake, learns from it, and never makes that mistake again. - B. F. Skinner

#formerly fraser #outlander fanfic #em and jules write the things #divorce au #not anymoreeeeee #jamie x claire #outlander #outlander fanfiction #jamie fraser #claire fraser

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tsarifr · 4 years

Text

Stolen Shadows

I couldn’t resist this theme week with my new fandragons, so I wrote... what is essentially a 5.5k word story.

They’d only stopped to rest on the way home, perching on the edge of the Focal Point. It had been less of a rescue mission and more of a bonding session, in all honesty, with Scott going with John and their Thunderbirds to deal with a small earth tremor in the Ashfall Waste. By the time they’d got there, the worst was already over and no-one was left in danger. Clearly, the denizens of the area were used to trouble of that nature. It was luck that they’d stopped just outside the cave that needed them - sudden cries for help interrupted Scott and John’s conversation and neither brother, nor their ‘birds, needed any more incentive to hurry inside. Two hatchlings, days old at best, clung to the tattered remains of their nest as it tipped precariously from the ledge it was constructed on. Not old enough to fly, if the nest pitched over with the hatchlings still inside, neither would survive. Scott reached them just in time, One hovering alongside him as he plucked the pair from the nest just before it collapsed. Whimpering, they clambered onto his shoulders where they clung tightly enough to hurt - even with hatchling claws. “It’s okay,” he told them as he glided back down to the cave floor, John and Five joining him. “Now, where are your parents, hmm?” They grizzled at him, clearly not yet old enough to speak, and he shared a fond look with John before heading for the cave entrance. Five noticed the tremors first, nudging Scott and John forwards as the rear of the cave began to shake - no doubt another section of land was on the cusp of being torn upwards, as was common in the Starfall Isles. Conscious of the two hatchlings on his shoulder, Scott charged for the exit, trusting John and the ‘birds to follow. They were greeted by a nocturne dragon as they emerged, a large dark female who landed in front of them. The mother, Scott presumed, a theory supported by the hatchlings on his shoulder detaching themselves instantly and scurrying forwards to stop in front of her, looking for all the world like adoring children. It was a sight he’d never get tired of, families reuniting safely, and he made to turn away and look for his brother when a terrified scream blasted through the air. “NO!” A young blue nocturne hurtled towards the reunited family, followed immediately by a black one. “SHADOWSONG!” Both seemed determined, and Scott turned back around just in time to see the hatchlings that had been perched on his shoulders morph, twist and change into shadow monsters, smothering the female as she attempted to retreat. Before he could start to react to the bizarre sight, the nocturne and the shadow creatures were gone, and the diving youngsters were crashing into the ground.

She’s mine now, my little ones.

The voice, coming from nowhere, startled Scott long enough to miss catching either dragon as they collided painfully with the ground. What was that? Where had it come from? A scan around the area showed no other dragons, and Five also appeared to be coming up blank with her own searches. John had hurried to the side of the blue dragon, who didn’t appear to be moving after her collision. He looked around for the other and leapt forwards, catching hold of the black one as he tried to stand up with a groan. “My sister..?” the dragon rasped, wincing in pain as he tried to look around. “Your sister’s the blue one? Yes, she’s alive,” Scott reassured him, giving him a brief once over and determining that he was good to move. “What happened? The hatchlings- that dragon just vanished, and that voice wasn’t normal, either.” “We have to find her.” The blue dragon was already looking better as John patched her up. “We’re still apprentices. We were supposed to learn the last of our craft this night. With Shadowsong gone, we don’t have the spells… we can’t protect you…” “As soon as we’re healed, we have to go,” the black one added. “If we don’t rescue Shadowsong before this long night ends, she’ll be Thana’s forever.”

Scott didn’t fully understand what was going on. Hatchlings transforming into monsters was a new one on him (literally, at least - he’d dealt with it figuratively four times, once per younger brother), and the terrified youngsters were babbling about spells while voices boomed out of nowhere. If he was honest with himself - a rarity nowadays, being honest meant admitting fear and he had four younger brothers to be strong for - he felt completely out of his depth. Until the youngsters said “rescue”. He didn’t need to look around to know that his brother had pricked his ears up at that word, too, or to sense One gliding over to his side in something almost bordering on anticipation. Fake hatchlings and unseen voices aside, it was a Rescue. That, they could - would, had to - do. “Tell us where,” he said, John now done with patching up the first youngster and coming over to treat the other. Five followed silently, her eyes glowing keenly as she looked from dragon to dragon. Beside him, One vibrated in that way he’d come to learn was her communicating with her sister. “We’ll find her.” “W-we told you,” the female squeaked. “We don’t have the spells, we can’t protect-” “I heard you the first time,” Scott interrupted, his voice low enough to almost be a growl. He ignored John’s sharp “Scott!” as the younger dragons flinched at his tone. “It doesn’t matter.” “What Scott means,” John cut in, and Scott frowned at him but let his younger brother continue, taking over the healing at an unspoken suggestion from the other. There was a reason John was their organisation’s voice, after all. “Is that we’re used to facing danger. Tell us everything you know; even if you can’t physically protect us, you can warn us.” The two youngsters - Scott should really get their names - looked at each other before beginning to babble. Something about “Shadowsong” - the kidnapped dragon, he presumed - “Singers”, and “Thana”. Most of it went straight over his head, tales of Mimics and an alliance with a rogue Singer sounding fantastical in a way that ordinarily he wouldn’t believe if he hadn’t already seen it happening. Realising that he wouldn’t learn anything like this, he busied himself with continuing basic first aid on the male and trusted John and Five to absorb the information, process it, and hopefully give him the simple, non-hysterical rundown in a much more sensible fashion later. The moment he withdrew from healing the young male, the dragon was on his feet and flapping his wings. The female followed suit, and it took both Scott and One to catch them before they flew off who-knew-where. “Oh no you don’t,” he said firmly, setting them on the ground and holding them there. John and Five helped to box them in. “You’re injured; I’m not letting the pair of you go chasing off after a mad dragon.” “We have to save Shadowsong!” they insisted in tandem. Scott merely rolled his eyes before looking over at John. If he could wrangle Gordon and Alan while they were trying to tag-team him, he could handle a pair of apprentices. “Those things will eat you alive,” he retorted. John nodded and Five spread her wings. “Stay. Here.” He dragged the pair over to Five, who immediately gripped onto them tightly. Their attempts to break away were all to no avail, as he knew they’d be. “You want to help? Everything we need to know, tell Five. She’ll relay it all to us.” Any further protests they made, he tuned out as he instead turned to face John once again. “John-” “I’m coming with you,” his younger brother cut in, drawn up to his full height and matching his gaze evenly. “You and One aren’t handling this alone.” Beside him, One made a concerned noise, and Scott agreed with her. Leading any of his brothers into a danger zone never sat well with him, and this seemed particularly dangerous - and John, of all of them, was least experienced at actual rescues. His immediate younger brother was far more suited to support roles in the background, away from danger. He’d almost rather take the injured youngsters along with him than John, but his brother would never agree to that. He couldn’t out-debate John, either. Not in the narrow time frame they had to get deep into the Tangled Woods and find this Thana’s lair. John knew this, of course. His genius brother had become annoyingly good at manipulation - helpful when it was the Terrible Two needing to be brought under control, frustrating when it was him at the receiving end of it. “Keep up,” was all he said, before they were in the air. John was not built for speed, but that didn’t matter with One around, scooping both pilots up and pushing her limits fast, fast, faster, until the ground far below them was a blur. Pink chalcedony gave way to pustile-encrusted wasteland, which in turn faded into the deep dark purple of the Tangled Woods. Somewhere, anywhere, in there, Thana laid in wait with her prisoner. Whoever this Thana was, anyway. “Thana is the kidnapped dragon’s sister,” John broke into his thoughts, as though he’d heard them. “Think of it as though the Hood kidnapped Kyrano. It seems to hold several parallels to that scenario.” Scott hid a shudder - that was not a scenario he was keen on. “So those youngsters are what, baby weak Kayos?” he asked, only half joking. John nodded, his face set into the familiar expression he wore when figuring out a particularly tough rescue. “Mimics are masters of disguises,” he continued. “They can look like anything - or anyone - they want, and apparently only Singers can tell the difference.” “Singers being..?” “Singers being a certain sect of nocturnes who have a strong sense of self-identity. They train hard to identify and defend against Mimics.” John paused for a moment, just long enough for Scott to realise what he was about to say and groan. “Those youngsters we left behind are Singers.” Typical. Youngsters. Why was it always youngsters? Scott’s thoughts strayed to his youngest brothers, not much older than the two dragons they’d rescued, and thanked whoever was listening that they’d been elsewhere and therefore not involved in this. “I’ve set up a link to them through Five,” John continued. “They’ll keep an eye on things from a distance and let us know if they notice anything out of the ordinary. The method isn’t foolproof though, Scott, so don’t rush in.” “You sound like Virgil,” he groused, somewhat wishing the steady middle brother was with him, but at the same time glad he wasn’t. He still didn’t really want John there either, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and his brother was clearly going nowhere. “Maybe you should listen to him more often.” John’s response was as scathing and pointed as expected. Scott chose to ignore it. “Where do we start?” he asked instead as One circled around a brightly-lit clearing, a cyan blue that looked nothing but eerie against the deep purple backdrop of the woods. “By finding the Mimics,” John answered, cool and unflappable as always. Scott had always admired that about him, even as it occasionally frustrated him. Now was somewhere between the two. “Five has collected all the data our young Singers can give her and is collating it into an algorithm to help us. There should be a distinct edge to the aura of the magic used in their disguises, so if we can identify that and do a sweep of the area, we should be able to find the greatest concentration without getting in too close.” “And if we can’t?” Scott asked, already gearing up to launch himself down into the forest below - that bright patch of cyan had suspicious written all over it. “If we can’t, then we’ll have to find another- Scott!” John’s frustrated voice followed the eldest brother as he tucked his wings in tightly and dove down into the tree tops. For his part, Scott just pulled his wings in tighter and willed himself to go faster, faster, knowing exactly what his little brother was about to try. They didn’t have time, why couldn’t John accept that? Sure, John was the fastest he knew at creating and implementing algorithms, but Scott couldn’t sit back and wait while they tried it out. “Oomph!” Too slow. The tree tops brushed at his feet but sharp claws had snagged his shoulders and pulled him up. Scott was fast, but One was faster. Usually, that didn’t matter; they did everything together. Usually, One didn’t have John whispering in her ear and convincing her that he was being a danger to himself and needed to be stopped. “We’re on a time limit here, John!” he yelled up at his younger brother, but John was clearly ignoring him as he played with his own lights. Sparks flitted around his foreclaws as he drew patterns in the sky. Watching him work was never anything short of magical, but Scott’s mind was full of images of injured dragons and the fear on the kidnapped dragons’ face before she’d vanished, occasionally superimposing them with images of his own brothers. He couldn’t wait any longer, he couldn’t. But One had him tightly and no matter how much he struggled, there would be no breaking free unless she let him. “There we go.” John sounded triumphant, his foreclaws now flicking at what Scott vaguely recognised as a complete algorithm and sending it out. That had been fast, even for him and Five working together. No doubt Eos had added her own assistance, a fact Scott was glad for, even if he still didn’t fully trust her. One rose higher into the air, Scott still hanging limply and somewhat irately from her claws, and he watched the lights dance across the entirety of the forest. Streaks shot back towards John at irregular intervals, all caught with ease and constructed into some sort of grid pattern. Scott craned his neck to look up at it, trying to decipher the information as fast as possible so he could start the rescue part of the mission. John, frustrating little brother that he was, kept the grid at an oblique angle to his line of sight, making it impossible to infer any information from it. He made his displeasure known with another groan. “Almost got it,” John told him, not taking his eyes off of the data that he was keeping away deliberately. “Just wait another few seconds and I’ll be able to tell you where the highest concentration… is. Got you.” Scott craned his neck further, trying desperately to see his brother’s results. With a sigh, John tilted the grid towards him. “Where’s that?” he asked after a moment of fruitlessly trying to decipher the information. John rolled his eyes at him, whispered something to One, and then they were off again, Scott still clutched in her claws like a naughty child. He was going to kill John. Except he wasn’t, because John was his little brother and no matter how annoying they were he’d never hurt any of them. “The Foxfire Grove,” said annoying younger brother told him, clearly well aware that that, too, meant nothing to Scott. He growled and finally John relented. “That brightly lit patch of brambles over your ten o’clock.” Scott looked over and, sure enough, there was the brightly lit area in question. He knew brightly lit meant trouble. “I’m going in,” he said, twisting in One’s hold. “John, you stay here.” His brother was not used to being on the front lines, and with aggressors opposing them he was not about to risk him. “F.A.B.” John agreed - finally - and One’s claws released him. Enough time had been wasted already, so Scott folded his wings in tightly and dived. He could hear John’s resigned sigh but ignored it. They had a Singer - whatever that was, he still didn’t really understand that part - to save. And he was all alone to do it. Well, not entirely alone, as One joined him in his dive, pilot and Thunderbird together as one. As it should be. He left her hovering just above the brambles, waiting for his signal as he continued down, landing as quietly as he could amongst the thorns. They rustled, a sign he would usually have dismissed as critters in the undergrowth or even just the breeze. Knowing that he’d just dived into a lair of Mimics - that part he had understood - he instead paid close attention. Nothing here would be real, he reminded himself as he padded forwards, senses on high alert for an attack. He couldn’t trust his eyes, had to find the dragon he’d seen taken right in front of him (yes, maybe that was rankling him just a bit), and then get out of there. No heroics, no fighting the bad guys. He was a rescuer, not military. Even this - more a hostage situation than anything else - was technically outside of his jurisdiction, but Scott was never one to leave someone to suffer. And maybe the frightened youngsters losing their mentor hit a little too close to home for comfort. He shoved those thoughts away, aware that his paranoia was creeping up the longer the undergrowth rustled and hissed but nothing showed itself. There was an evil dragon in here he had to avoid, and a victim to save. Usually he wouldn’t mind a bit of confrontation, but he had no idea what this Thana was capable of, and no real desire to find out, either. The undergrowth’s hissing turned into footsteps, unsteady and lurching as a figure came out of the shadows in front of him. “Help… me…” the young dragon rasped, covered in blood as they stumbled to the ground in front of him. Scott flinched. Nothing is real he reminded himself, even as they lurched forwards, stained claws reaching for him frantically. Not real. Not real. Not real. Dammit. He knew better, really he did, but helping those in need was something he’d sworn to always do. He had to save everyone, no matter who they were. He crouched down, slowly, reluctantly, but unable to turn away and leave this almost certainly fake dragon to their fate. “No!” Three voices in tandem reverberated through him, John and Five’s nifty communications setup linking him as promised to the youngsters left far, far away, as well as his brother still circling far overhead. “That’s a Mimic!” the youngsters continued to babble. “Don’t stop; they’ll get you, too!” But- Scott knew they were right, of course they were, but ignoring his eyes and heart was far more of a challenge than he’d anticipated, and it was one he wasn’t sure he could beat. “You can do this, Scott,” John told him, cutting straight through his doubts in the way only his immediate younger brother could do with his cool logic and calm voice. “It’s a fake. No-one is actually hurt, I promise.” John was as anti-suffering as he was. In fact, if there was any brother more determined to save lives than Scott, it was John. If there was even a chance this distress was genuine, John wouldn’t stop him. Scott clung to that truth, his faith in his brother, as he backed off. The injured dragon warped, fading into smoke just like those two hatchlings he’d thought he’d been saving had, and with a hiss, the shadowy creature launched itself at him. “Woah!” The cry was instinct, Scott dodging to the side with all the speed he could summon as the shadow streaked by, vanishing into the undergrowth. He braced himself for another attack, turning slowly in a circle and trusting One and John to be keeping a keen eye on him from above, but nothing happened. The Mimic had seemingly dissolved into thin air, leaving Scott even more on edge than he had been previously. They hadn’t pursued their attack further - why? Was he of no interest to them, or did this Thana know he was here and have other plans? One of those options did not bode at all well, and he was willing to bet that was the one. Nothing was going to be gained by standing around, so Scott cautiously ventured in further, hearing the hissing and rustling from the brambles increasing in intensity and volume as he did so, but no further attacks came. “I don’t like this, Scott,” John told him. Scott made a noise of agreement - he didn’t like it either, but somewhere in here was a dragon in need of saving, and he wasn’t going to leave without her. He continued his advance, taking comfort in the quiet sound of One flying overhead - out of reach of Mimics, hopefully, but close enough to be at his side in an instant if he needed her. The darkness was growing more and more oppressive the further he got, eerie cyan glow interspersing it without actually supplying much light by which to see. He chanced a glance upwards, to look for One, but her glowing eyes blended in with the rest of the cyan, rendering her and her shiny silver scales invisible to him. He knew he wasn’t alone, but right then it felt like it.

Just one dragon, all alone, thinks to enter my lair?

The Voice boomed again - Thana, he presumed. Well, at least that meant he was in the right place. He heard the youngsters start to babble again, a distracting duet of voices in his head when he really needed to concentrate. John’s soothing tones cut in, quietening them, but the damage was done - Scott’s concentration had wavered.

Shall I show you what happened to the last one?

He braced himself, anticipating an attack. It was so much worse. “Scott!” John cried, but he didn’t hear him. Nor did he hear One’s gentle noises increase in volume until she was roaring in frustration, trying to get through to him. “He’s not real!” the youngsters joined the chorus in vain as Scott stumbled forwards, eyes wide and disbelieving, yet too full of hope to acknowledge the trap. “Hello, Scotty,” his father said. He was in a bad way, collapsed on the ground and bleeding out. Scott had seen enough death to know his father was knocking on the door. “Dad!” he cried, lunging forwards, deaf to the myriad of protests from the others. “Dad, you… you-” You’re alive! He’d almost given up, in the back of his mind, considering his absent father dead because after so long, what other fate could there be? But here, now, in front of him, his father was alive - barely. He couldn’t lose him again. He was at his side in an instant, pressing against the worst of the wounds as best he could whilst channelling as much healing energy as he could summon. It flowed through him and into his father’s dying form, life seeping away no matter what he tried. “No, not like this!” he ground out, pushing more, more, the back of his mind wondering why John wasn’t here to help him but realistically knowing that there was nothing to be done. Reality could go stuff itself, as far as Scott was concerned. Slowly, his father’s body began to shift, smoke curling up from it in enticing tendrils that wrapped around Scott soothingly. Gentle caresses coaxed him in further, deeper, as he poured everything he had into saving the disintegrating figure of his long-lost father. He failed, foreclaws making contact with the earth below as the last of the form dissolved into smoke - smoke which no longer felt soft, soothing or enticing. It bound him tightly, constricting his movements and suffocating his breathing as it wrapped around him again, again, and again. He fought, writhing against the tangible smoke in a desperate attempt to free himself, but to no avail. Vision blurred, and a sharp pain spiked in his shoulders. “-tt? -cott! SCOTT!” Clarity came back to him in an instant, eyes he didn’t remember closing snapping open as he began to fight again. Above him he could see the face of his brother, teeth set in a grim determination as he tore at the shadows. A humming beneath him - furious, vicious humming - told him he was on One’s back. “And stay away!” John spat, as vitrolic as Scott had ever heard his usually calm brother, as he hurtled the last strands of tangible smoke away from them, down to the forest below. For a moment, Scott did nothing, gasping as he lay on One’s back, with John hovering over him anxiously. “Scott?” he asked gently, tentatively brushing against his shoulder. “I’m okay,” he lied, still panting but after a moment pushing himself back up. “I’m okay. We still need to save Shadowsong.” “It’s too dangerous,” John protested, tentative brushes of his shoulder turning into a firm hold. “We have to save her,” Scott overrode him, wriggling out of his brother’s grip with an ease born of years of practice - John was far from the strongest of his brothers. “If you go back down there, I’m going too,” John snapped. Scott saw the manipulation, saw him preying on his own desire to never, ever let his brothers get hurt. Not this time. He’d led brothers into danger before - never happy about it, but he’d done it. “Fine,” he retorted. “But you follow my orders, got it?” “F.A.B.” John replied. Scott wished he didn’t know it wasn’t an agreement and that John would do exactly what he wanted to do, regardless of his orders. They didn’t have time to argue. Thana’s deception - cruel and evil, which still clouded his mind if he let himself dwell on the image of his father dying so he didn’t, because if there was one thing Scott had got very good at since his father had gone missing it was lying to himself - had cost them far too much. They dived down, side by side this time, with One once again following behind only to break off at the treeline and wait as backup. John pushed forwards as they got closer to the ground, and against his better judgement Scott let him, because he knew John had been analysing everything and knew the best place to land. Sure enough, his younger brother led them unerringly to a hidden alcove, completely invisible from above, inside which a fully grown nocturne lay limp and unmoving on the ground. This, Scott was sure, was Shadowsong, even before the youngsters piped up through their link from Five in an excited clamour to confirm they were seeing the real dragon, and not another Mimic in disguise. Scott had had quite enough of those to last him a lifetime. He hurried forwards, John hanging back and keeping a careful watch out for Mimics, or worse, Thana, as he tried to rouse the dragon. His efforts were to no avail; whatever Mimic magic had her in its thrall, it was something far beyond what Scott could break. Given time, John probably could, but time they did not have - had not had all night - so Scott hauled her onto his back with a grunt. “We’re leaving,” he told his brother, who made no protest as he leapt into the sky. Scott followed, the deadweight on his back little more than an inconvenience as he kept a careful eye on her to ensure she wouldn’t fall. The treetops loomed ahead of them, and for a moment he thought they’d made it.

I don’t think so.

“It’s Thana!” the youngsters screamed, somewhat unnecessarily as a nocturne loomed in front of them in the darkness, forcing them both to a halt. Her ill intent rolled off her in waves, and Scott instinctively moved closer to John, shielding his younger brother with his body. There was no protest, unusually, but Scott didn’t let himself dwell on that right now. Thana was powerful, terrifyingly so, and he had no intention of letting her take his brother, or the dragon he’d just rescued.

My sister belongs to me. Give her back without a fuss, and I’ll allow you and your brother to leave unharmed.

Even directly in front of them, her voice boomed from nowhere and everywhere while her mouth stayed still. Ventriloquism, or something more sinister? Scott was a skeptic, despite everything - father there, father dying, father never there - and pulled himself up to his full height. “Why should we believe you?” he demanded, looking for a way out and hoping that John’s silence meant he was thinking, not that he was frozen in fear - or worse. He couldn’t look back at him, not right now. Taking his eyes off of Thana would be a fatal mistake - that, he was certain.

I do not think you are in a position to debate the matter.

There was definite humour in her tone - that of a cat who had cornered a mouse. Scott wasn’t very fond of it as his mind raced through options. He could try and make a break for it - even with Shadowsong on his back, he was confident that he was faster than the nocturne or her Mimics - but John would never keep up. One could dive in to get them out of there, fastest of them all as she was, but that would give Thana warning, and who knew what she’d do. Or he could give Shadowsong up, but that, too, was unthinkable. “I think we are.” John’s voice was as calm and collected as ever. Thana’s gaze shot to him, and this time when Scott moved to place himself in the way, John stopped him.

You are surrounded by Mimics, in the heart of my lair, and you think you have a hand to play against me? What a fool you are.

“There’s always a hand to play.” John was smirking, a glint in his eye Scott knew all too well. It was the one that meant John had outsmarted everyone around him and knew it. Even Thana seemed to recognise something was wrong, not quite backing up but no longer the looming presence she had been before.

And what, pray tell, would your hand be?

“Me.” The weight on Scott’s back shifted, no longer an inelegant lump but a conscious and powerful Singer. John’s silence and uncharacteristic willingness to hide behind him suddenly made sense. “The three of us are leaving here, Thana, and your friends the Mimics will trouble us no more.” Scott had difficulty following what happened next; a clash of magic beyond his comprehension from the two nocturnes with him in the middle fanned out around them. He pulled John close, wanting to be certain he was safe as spells and curses whipped around them all. Mimics rose at Thana’s call, only to splutter and fall as Shadowsong retaliated with magic that could only be described as a Song. Faintly, he was aware of the youngsters - Singer apprentices - singing quietly, bolstering their mentor even from a distance. It lasted both a second and eternity, but Thana crashed from the sky, landing inamongst the remains of her lair and Mimics, and Scott could breathe again. “It’s over,” Shadowsong whispered in his ear, her voice hoarse. “I apologise, but I will require help to leave this place. Battling my sister took everything I had.” There was pain in her voice, one Scott almost thought he could understand. The idea of ever having to battle one of his own brothers like that brought immeasurable agony - so he didn’t think about it. “That’s no problem,” he reassured her. “Just hold on. One and I will do the rest.” “There are two very happy youngsters who’ll be delighted to see you,” John added in. “Voidsong and Nightsong have been frantic.” So that was their names. Of course John knew. “I’m sure they have,” Shadowsong said, fond amusement in her voice as she relaxed on Scott’s back. One swooped down from where she’d been circling impatiently and scooped all three dragons up, ready to make the supersonic journey back to Five and the youngsters.

This isn’t over, sister.

Thana’s voice was as hoarse as Shadowsong’s, taking out any intimidation it once held. They ignored her as One accelerated away from her lair. “She will recover,” Shadowsong admitted. “But we have bought time to finish training more Singers. With luck, her next move will be her last.” Scott could only agree.

#flight rising lore #fr lore #fns: Scott #fns: John #NotN #fns: Thunderbird One #fns: Thunderbird Five #flight rising #Scott Tracy #John Tracy #TAG #Thunderbirds are go #fandragons

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 5 years

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Keep Your Eyes On Me Part 9

Ya’ll, I went back to school. And school is kicking my ass. And so I’m treating myself. And this is the absolutely self indulgent happy ending and for all intensive purposes, Neveah= Naboo. Because when I saw Episode 1 of Star Wars I was like THAT, I WANT TO LIVE THERE, THAT’S NEVEAH in my mind anyway. because I’m weak for that architecture and it’s just SO PRETTY. And looking at pics of Charlie Hunam with kids has me feeling some kind of way because I mean LOOK AT HIM. So precious. Anywho. Thanks to @waiting4inspiration for hosting this. I’m looking forward to seeing your 3k writing challenge and if you do something like this again, TAG ME. also @the-immortal-marshal wanted to be tagged as well. Enjoy.

Part 9

You were halfway there when you had your first contraction and you faltered and freefell a good couple hundred feet for a moment before you gained control and climbed back to altitude again.

“Oh no.” You realized when another contraction hit and your water broke.

“Shit, shit, shit, fuck, not yet baby, don’t come yet.” You begged as you held your belly and did your best to keep flying, flying harder and faster than you had ever flown before- before you reached a sonic boom, that was sure to gain some attention before you mentally screamed out to Bjorn who woke up from a sound sleep to go outside and search the sky but because it was pitch black, he couldn’t see much but he was ready to catch you. You did your best to slow down so you didn’t crush Bjorn but you did fly straight into his arms and he did fall backwards to the ground but he caught you.

“I got you Baby,” Bjorn grunted as he held you tight as your wings folded back into place before half the order jumped into a circle around you.

“Zara, we gotta go, we gotta get back, you can’t give birth here.” Muse said as she tried to help you up but all you could do was get on your hands and knees as another contraction hit.

“I’m not leaving without Bjorn!” You cried as you reached out and grabbed a hold of him with an iron grip.

“Ok,” they agreed before they put a marker on him and transported you, Dyre and Bjorn back to the launch pad, your family and a medical team already waiting for you before your wings receded back into your body and you hit the button on the cocoon around Dyre so that it revealed him strapped to your chest before the straps were cut off and he was handed off to Bjorn as he was told to follow you as you were put on the gurney and wheeled to the medical wing.

“Mom!” You cried out in relief as she came and took your hand and squeezed it.

“Hey sweetie, I’m here, we’re all here.” Your mother reassured you, having had the surprise of a lifetime when Morgan had called your family and let them know you were pregnant after Sephira ensured the pregnancy, that was months ago in the jump but for them, it was a matter of hours in the present.

“Mom, meet my husband Bjorn.” You introduced as you gestured with a laugh. Never thinking you’d say those words in your life.

“Hi, I’m Ziri, Zara’s mom, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” Your mom chuckled as she greeted Bjorn while she kept in step with the bed before you were wheeled into a room.

“Ok, we got to get her cleaned up and prepped.” Dr. Fabian ordered before your mom let go and kept Bjorn back.

“Ok, she has to get washed and prepped, you need to cleaned up too, so here, I’ll tade you these for him, hey sweetie, I’m Grandma!” Your mother greeted Dyre excitedly as she traded Bjorn a bag of clothes for Dyre before a nurse took him to a bathroom where there was a tub of hot water and soap so he could get washed up and cleaned up and thankfully there were picture diagrams of how to get dressed in the clothes provided and just after he got out the room, your family was waiting for him to greet him properly yet their excitement could hardly be contained, knowing it would take someone exceedingly special for you to settle down with. They had also cleaned up and changed Dyre into some new baby clothes as your family passed him around to greet him and love on him before they brought him and Dyre back to your room where you had just gotten an epideral to help with the pain and you were dressed in a hospital gown and much calmer and much more at ease now.

“Hey,” you greeted Bjorn with a relieved smile as you reached out to him and he came over to you.

“Are you ok?” He asked.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine, I got an epideral, I’m much better now.” You answered before the anestesiaologist explained to Bjorn what an epideral was.

Your family and Bjorn waited patiently for your labor to progress and after it did, you gave birth to your son- Rowen. Who was practically perfect.

After a few days of recovery you took your new family home to your family’s estate and Bjorn was in a constant state of awe of how magnificent everything was and how nice and welcoming your family was. The dragons were very eager to see you again and see your sons and Bjorn and Bjorn was blown away that such great magnificent creatures acted like puppies towards him and Bjorn was all too happy to learn how to fly them and was a natural and he happily gave up his old life to stay with you because once he laid the foundation back in his time, his presence was no longer needed.

Your wedding to Bjorn was the most beautiful in the order and it seemed all of Neveah was in attendance and the sister estate next to your parents’, so that you had your own space while still remaining close- you moved into it right after and it seemed to be filled to the brim with gifts that took forever to go through and you thought your fingers were going to fall off from all the thank you cards alone and a few years after that, your daughter was born, Astrid. And life with your family was all you could ask for. You had a husband who truly loved you and was never abusive to you and treated you with loving respect and kindness always. You had two sons who were as thick as thieves and while they got into plenty of mischief, they were good boys and Bjorn was an amazing father and was completely wrapped around his daughter’s finger.

Once all your children were in school, you prepared yourself for going back into the field. Working out and getting back in shape and rehoning your skills while Bjorn settled into fatherhood and his new life being a dragoner- better than you would have thought he would but he was especially resilient.

But as Dyre got older, he looked more and more like Ivar. You could see it in his smile, in his eyes, also in his personality. He was too smart for his own good but it was tempered with the sweetness Freydis had. Because while he looked like Ivar, his personality was more like his mother which made him the favorite by his classmates and popular in school and good at sports while Rowan was the first of his kind since no other agent had been able to conceive while the serum was injected and active. Thankfully he didn’t have any adverse affects, he took after his father in looks and personality while Astrid was a beautiful blend of both Bjorn and you.

And then one day, you moment you were secretly dreading happened.

“How come I don’t look more like Dad?” Dyre asked as the two of you were preening your dragon, Bora-Bora, rubbing special oils into her scales so that air and water alike glided over her body easier and made her faster than the wind- in the stables as you paused and gauged whether or not to tell him the truth before you realised he would find out sooner or later.

“Because Dad isn’t your biological father.” You confessed. “The more you grow the more you’ll recognize that you don’t take after me or your Dad, but you do take after your biological parents quite a bit.” You revealed.

“Who were they?” He asked curiously, having suspected something like this for a little while now.

“Ivar the Boneless and his first wife, Freydis. You are their firstborn son, you were born as Buldur Ivarson. Freydis is not really mentioned in the sagas if you look him up. I was on a mission to protect Dad and when your mother gave birth to you, you were deformed and because of your deformity, your biological father rejected you and abandoned you in the forest, thinking it was more merciful to let you die young than have you live in agony, there was no way for you to survive without intervention, so I intervened. I used every tool in my arsonal to save you and heal you and it was the best decision I ever made. Dad and I love you very, very much and you are just as much our son as Rowan is. That’s why Dad abandoned his old life in that time to come with me to the present, to be with us. Because I was taking you here with me one way or another, even if I had to smuggle you in.” You explained.

“Well can I ever go with you and meet him?” Dyre asked.

“Maybe when you’re a little older. But I would not advise you to get any closer than we are to Midnight.” You said as you nodded over across the barn to Bjorn’s dragon Midnight who was this super dark inky blue dragon with a purple shimmer to his scales as Bjorn and Rowan were doing what you were doing to him what you and Astrid was combing the long fur on a silky dragon in the middle of the barn as the other dragonlings gathered around her, like puppies.

From then on you could tell Dyre was researching all he could about Ivar the Boneless and when he found a picture of him that you had taken with your contacts, his breath crashed from his chest, he looked just like him but soon he ran out of information and you could tell he wanted to know more.

“Come on, you’re coming to work with me today.” You told him one Saturday morning before he got his things together and came with you into the Order’s headquarters where you took him to your bay and he looked in awe at everything. All your clothes for all the different time periods, all your armor, all your weapons and technology and even the new advancements that had been made over the last several years before you showed him the feeds you had gathered on your last mission and had built a little movie for Dyre to see when it was time for him to learn the truth about himself and you sat with him and watched for hours. Watching Dyre watch it and react to it.

He started crying when he saw what he was born as, touching his face and realizing how it had changed, how you had changed it and him and saved him. To hear Ivar’s speech to him was both beautiful and heartbreaking. To see how Ivar was with Freydis, sweet and loving one moment and violent the next. How convoluted he was and how he had his head so far up his own ass he honestly thought he was a god. It was madness. To see the scene unfold of Ivar strangling his own wife, Dyre's birth mother enraged him. But that's where the feed ended.

“After this moment, he disappears from the record. No one knows what happened to him. He most likely slipped away in a disguise. He probably lived for a little while longer but….we just don’t know.” You informed him.

Dyre nodded in understanding and the ride home was quiet as he contemplated everything before you reached over and held his hand.

"Thank you." Dyre said quietly. "For showing me, for saving me." Dyre added as he brought your hand up to his lips and kissed the back of your hand while your heart melted before you mirrored his actions.

"You're welcome. Please know that I would do it a thousand times over, a million times, a billion times. Because I love you and you are my beloved and precious son. And I will always love you and be here for you." You vowed.

“Ok.” Dyre nodded.

#Vikings #Vikings Imagines #viking reader insert #Viking Charlie Hunam

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deztinywarriors · 5 years

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The Linked Charms - Episode 33 (Multi Liverpool players)

Title: Linked Charms

Pairings: Trent/Marina(oc#1), Mo Salah /Dr Karina(oc#2), Andy/Yvonne(oc#3), Virgil/Amelia(oc#4)

Trigger warning: domestic violence

https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLo5ZFGia7m-cTVrdeBxcBTNFFriZlFXtR Soundtrack list

That evening, the mansion atmosphere became chaotic once Amelia dragged crying Christoph and Anya upstairs before locking themselves inside the kids bedroom “You’ve just disgraced me for today. I never taught you both to become a bully!” Marina, Karina and Yvonne rushed upstairs, stopped by the door as they called her “Ami, calm down!” Marina knocked the door, heard Amelia’s shout and the kids pleading cries. Sje tried to open it but it’s locked from inside. Yvonne slammed her hand to door “Ami, what are you doing inside?” That’s when they heard a belt clinking sound which it makes the girls thought Amelia was going to hit them with it to release her anger against them. The kids cried louder “Mama, please stop!” PIAP! PIAP!! PIAPP!! The girls panicked by the belt slap against the kids makes Imogen came there as well “What’s the matter?” Until she heard the noise from inside the bedroom, she quickly knocked the door “Amelia, can you please open the door? Amelia!!” But it was no avail. The belt slapping sound became more frequent and the kids kept crying. Around five minutes later, the boy’s cars arrived by the front yard. Virgil rushed upstairs when they heard Imogen’s shout. “Virgil, help us. Amelia locked Christoph and Anya inside the room. And we heard the belt sound. We don’t know what she is doing against them” Karina pleaded as she, Imogen and the other sisters stepped aside. “Stay here” he commanded to the girls and Imogen as he slammed the door with his shoulder. After three times attempt slamming the door, it opened wide revealing crying Christoph and Anya sat against the edge of bed while angry Amelia with holding a belt swinging it to hit them continuously. Virgil rushed toward Amelia, gripping her wrist with holding belt makes she shouted “I’m going to give them a lesson!” “This is not a solution, Ami. Calm down!” He gripped another wrist to make her facing him. Christoph and Anya still crying with some red slapping mark on their arms and legs “I just heard this from Imogen but this is not a right way to teach them a lesson” he added then asked “What they’ve done for today?” Imogen shushed as she whispered to the girls “We better leave them for privacy” she closed the door while the girls went downstairs. Christoph and Anya climbed up on bed, sat up as the little boy said “Brian and Mandy bullied Anya recently. I punched him on his face to defend Anya” “I know you’re defending your sister but violence is not a solution” Virgil said “You’re supposed to lodge this to your teacher” “But Papa-” Christoph replied. “Enough. Luckily you both only been sent back home for today. If you both get dropped out because of this case… how am I going to face everyone that my children is a bully?” Amelia sadly interrupted as she cupped her cheeks. “You both just make mistake for today. As a punishment, there’s no TV for a week” Virgil stood up as he added “Just make your homework then wait for us before dinner” then he glared to Amelia “Ami, we need to talk” Both of them headed out from the kids bedroom before entering their bedroom, locked the door “I never expected you have this kind of side, Ami” he said bluntly then scolded “And I’m really disappointed on you. Is this how you taught them a lesson if they made a mistake?!” Amelia sat at edge of bed, looking down with gloomy expression “Es tut mir leid, Liebling. I can’t control myself” “This is not an excuse. When I seen you rewarded them with books and toys, playing with them, I thought you’re the greatest mother for them. And now…” then Virgil continued “Is this how you taught them a lesson if they’re making mistakes? Hitting them with this?!” He threw the belt that he snatched from her to floor. Amelia quickly hugged his legs as she begged “Liebling, I’m sorry. I know I was wrong but please…” she sobbed lightly then added “Please punish me! Anything!!” His stern look turned into evil smirk when he heard she requested to get punished “Say it again” he whispered. “Punish me!” Amelia pleaded then looked down since she realised that her request might be a prayer then she asked “Liebling, how did you know that I have thing on some sex kinks?” “I’ve read your secret journals when you’re asleep” Virgil replied then explained of when he get it. *Flashback start* There was one night Amelia fell asleep on work table with her three notebooks found inside opened electronic diary. The door opened as Virgil came in, noticing she was asleep makes he gently brushed her hair, kissing her head before carefully grabbed each three notebooks from inside electronic diary. The first journal was about Amelia’s dream life with her prince charming. That’s when he found a poem written: Victory can’t be reached by only single step. Intelligence and hard work pays it all for him. Revolutionary man who changed the world of mine. Gripping the whole dream from the heaven above Indicated by how faithful and honesty he is. Light is waiting upon him when he knew the time comes. Victory doesn’t come by its own without his determination. Achieved by combination of hard work and passion. Naturally, he is the perfect one. Delightfully surprised that he finally reached his dream. Intentionally making everyone love how great he is. Jeopardising the whole memories to become a new legend. Kind words of his to make world a better place. Virgil only chuckled when he read the stanza of the poem about himself before he read the second journal that written essays of Amelia’s rebellious dream to be anything what she want for. From being a singer, artist, engineer, sportswoman, author, fashion designer, chef, detective and others. He only able to shake his head, finding out her wide imagination until he picked up third journal which it revealed detailed erotic stories written by Amelia. That’s when he found out the note of her turn on’s and off’s written…. ****** Let’s see what are my turn on’s when having sex. I like my man talk dirty in other languages: German, Dutch, Swedish, Russian… as long as I could understand it. I like when my man kissed my breasts. My mind was thinking of ’ Oh God… he know my weakness. I’ll let him worship my body’. As well as feeling his hands kneaded my ass, looks like he loves my body more than I am. For my turn off’s, well… I hate distracting noises during having sex. Just like when Virgil fucked me and suddenly Gini called him which it makes me unable to think straight once I heard his voice in loudspeaker mode. Scheiße! And one more thing, I don’t like baby kink thing. Forcing me to wear diapers, put pacifier on my mouth. Please… I’m a big girl! ********* Remembering the moment they both had sex for first time until Gini called him makes he chuckled, sounds weird but funny sometimes when he recalled it. And then he read the other pages where he found lists of her favourite kinks. It written… ****** I love of being control by my man actually, just sometimes I’ll get my hands to take charge in case I have good mood. I also like bondages, been tied with belt or anything making me effortlessly to move. And I also like to feel the pain. Feeling his hand slapping my ass makes me want more from him. And I love having some toys too. Melt candle? Sharp knife? Hmm… depends on my mood… Hehe~ And I also wanted to call him daddy once he gets in control. Feeling him choking me, pulling up my hair… And a camera filming us having sex makes me think that I’m gonna be his whore. Haha~ ******** “Fucking shit. What did I just read?” He asked in whispering tone before noticing Amelia grunted lightly makes he gently brushed her hair before noticing she continued asleep. He flipped another page when he found bunch of stories about her sex fantasies written…. ********* Episode 1: Rape fantasy (I know it might be triggering) “Please sir. I don’t want you to kill me. I can give you anything!” I screamed as he climbed up the bed. The tall and dark skinned man with wearing a face mask just intruded my house and now he found me wearing only short nightgown and lace panties. I noticed he glared to my thighs makes he spread my legs wide, caressing them while I cried “Oh please, please… right there…” I just closed my eyes when he played the hem of my panties, pulling it down. Scheiße… is he want to soil me…? ******** Episode 2: My Dreamy PE teacher What a handsome teacher who just came far away from Netherlands. Mr van Dijk is his name, the PE teacher. And now he just called me once PE class ended for private talk. I don’t know what he’s going to do to me. We both locked ourselves inside sport equipment store room while I noticed he glared to my short tennis skirt makes he asked me “Why are you wearing that kind of skirt? It’s too exposing” “Oh… my bad” I giggled lightly before noticing he kept glaring over my skirt. “And did you wear underwear beneath it?” Scheiße. Looks like he knows that I’m going to seduce him with wearing tennis skirt with no panties underneath. Can’t wait for him to see my pussy and eat them out. I really want him to be mine…. ********* Episode 3: I need a Doctor… “Yes doctor. I really need you” I whispered to him while he climbed up on bed where I laid down. My headache is going critical and he told me that there’s only one solution to heal without surgery. Feeling his tip rubbed along my pussy makes me pleaded “Doctor, please…!” “Call me Virgil. Remember that name when you’re with me” he replied to me as he pushed his dick in. Ah scheiße… he’s too huge for my tight pussy. But I love it. I moaned to him “Fuck yes… I only need your cock as remedy for my head. Please…” My voice getting louder when his whole length filled inside me makes me smiled wide. He really great on healing his patients, and he’s treating me on the bed…. ******** Episode 4: The Queen’s Forbidden Lover I know that I need a heir for my throne but there’s no royal came upon me makes me desperate wanted to have one or two for my kingdom. Until my personal knight, Virgil came over as I invited him to my bedroom. I caressed his hair as I pleaded “I have a request from you. I need a heir for my kingdom and I’m really desperate” “Do you wanted me to make love to you, your highness?” He asked then shook his head “It’s wrong” “It’s my order, Virgil. I want you to impregnate me. Maybe for this time but I really need it. Please…” I pleaded again. He’s such a handsome and strong man. I bet he can give me a perfect heir for my throne. Even just one night. ******* Episode 5: Project V8791 I keep chuckling when I felt his tongue licked along my pussy, it’s really great I programmed him of varied sex positions and he acts like he knows everything. V8791 or his human name: Virgil van Dijk had been progressing not just with varied chores, even he can entertain his client, women of course since I only able to programme him as heterosexual man. I sensed his tongue entered my walls as I tilted my head up. Oh yes… I can’t believe he’s so talented. I wanted him more and more… ******* Just when he wanted to read another episodes, he noticed Amelia slowly awake makes he quickly put down the journal on her table, getting back to sleep like nothing happened. She glared to her journals then to her Dutch lover, giggled lightly. *Flashback end* “Oh well… you just read my secrets” Amelia stuck her tongue out before getting up in her feet, kissing him deeply. They both fell on bed, getting their lips met while their hands caressed each other’s hair. That’s when Virgil picked up the belt he threw down, wrapping it around Amelia’s wrists to pin her down. “I can’t wait for you take charge on me” she chuckled then mewl “Meow~” Meanwhile Christoph and Anya just finished their homework, rushed downstairs as they both headed outside to their treehouse. Imogen asked them “Have you done with your homework?” “Yes, granny” the twins replied. It makes Imogen sighed as she continued reading the book while the kids went to the treehouse, climbing up the ladders to their hideout. Around two hours the German - Dutch lovers having their times on bed with several rounds of rough fucks, Amelia sighed in relief, chuckled softly as her wrists still tied up , some bruises on her thighs by hard slaps but she didn’t care. She has thing on BDSM kinks and finally Virgil just knew it. Relief moan escaped from her lips when she felt him gently brushed warm towel along her pussy, wiping out her leaked juices and his seeds while he leaned down to give her a gentle kiss. It was like a routine for them. “This is so perfect, Liebling” Amelia giggled lightly before noticing him placed a towel on bedside table, then heading out to bathroom. The Dutch giant just prepared a warm bath, noticing a jar of varied flower petals and orange peels makes he poured them down inside tub filled with warm water. Then he came back to bedroom, carefully carrying Amelia in bridal style to take her for warm bath to soothe her down. As Amelia get her body fully soaked inside water with flower petals and orange peels inside tub, she giggled lightly since she really loves to be pampered like a queen, and it makes her legs no longer aching “Come and join me, Liebling” It makes Virgil smiled back, shaking his head “I don’t want to hurt you with another round of fucks” it makes they laughed while she playfully pinched his nose. “Alright, alright. Keep this queen in company, okay?” Amelia winked. Agreeing on her request, Virgil with only wearing towel around his waist grabbed a book from work table which it’s Amelia’s untitled work-in-progress novel, sat next to the bath tub while she rested her chin on her arm to get closer to him. He read the beginning of the novel which it’s about the adventure of two strangers: Emmi and Viktor which it’s kinda knock off of themselves - received the anonymous parcel makes they discovered a key to the new dimension named Utopia before they facing the adventurous journey besides they started getting their love story began. As Virgil completed reading each full pages, he gave Amelia a deep kiss before flipping to net page, continue reading it despite there’s a few complicated German and Dutch words that he needs to pronounce. And she also enjoyed her bath time and having someone in company. ————— That night, Miroslav gathered Ernst, Imogen, the girls and boys inside living room as he said “Bad news. Paula Speichern had been escaped from psychiatric hospital last night” Amelia cupped her mouth since her ‘mother’ just escaped and roaming around the town while Virgil grabbed her hand to calm her down. “Is she going to take vengeance on us? She already murdered my mom and now?” Yvonne asked. “Possibly. Doctor told me her bipolar was getting worst day by day even they just discovered that she became more aggressive once she heard any news about Amelia or Papa” Miroslav explained. “What was running in your mind, Paula?” Ernst muttered as he still remembered something “You cheated on me before… and you murdered Yolanda. And now… this?” “Wait… 'mother’ cheated on you? But how?” Amelia asked. Ernst silenced for a while, removing his glasses before he replied “She has a son from her previous relationship without telling me” “But it doesn’t mean she cheated on you, Papa” Amelia said “And that son was Ariel” “Ariel?” All of them asked, except Virgil shown them normal expression since he already knew it. “My 'mother’ used to marry someone named Wilhelm Speichern but divorced since he cheated on her for other woman. They had a son named Ariel. Unfortunately, Ariel died when I was three, fell down from apartment in Paris” Amelia explained. “I’m sorry for that, Ami. It might be hurts when you lose your own sibling” Imogen sighed. “So that means you’re Franco-German mix” Karina interrupted “Your mother maybe a French and she married to German man” “It is. My 'mother’ maiden name was Boonefoy. Paula Marie Boonefoy” Amelia replied. “Now back to the topic. Is there anyone know motive for Yolanda’s homicide?” Marina asked to change topic. “So far, there’s no valid information about it. But there’s only one theory” Miroslav replied “She has grudge on everyone especially Papa for breaking her heart. And the only daughter she had, for leaving her for a man who will protect her” “And it’s me…” Amelia gasped as she cupped her chest, feeling light pain since she worried of her safety until she felt Virgil pulled her close to him. “But it doesn’t mean the rest are safe” Miroslav added “She knew the remaining generation of Vambürt family still survived so she decided to finish them once for all” “This is too much. She must be stopped by all cost” Trent said. Miroslav nodded lightly “We have to be more careful with her. She diagnosed with bipolar disorder. And her behaviour is too unpredictable” “And wait the minute. Usually those who has bipolar disorder usually will inherit their traits to their children” Karina interrupted. It makes everyone silenced before glaring to Amelia. “Why are you looking to me?” Amelia shocked. “No wonder we noticed you have multiple talents, Amelia. It’s one of the symptoms of bipolar disorder” Ernst said “And you started having maniac and depressed mode, depends on your mood” “So that means she also behave like her mother?” Andy asked. “Not necessarily. Amelia might be inherited her mother’s beauty and talents…. but not her insanity” Ernst replied then he clapped his hands “Alright. Forget about it. Next week, we will have a family event. It’s one year anniversary of our family reunion” “Papa, I’m going to Marseille next week to visit my family-in-law” Miroslav whispered. “Postpone it. We have most important event here” Imogen interrupted making the blonde photographer pouted. “And how about we make murder mystery party?” Marina suggested “It would be fun since we have large scale family party” “Are you forgot that we have kids here?” Mo asked suddenly since he realised Christoph and Anya already sleeping upstairs and it makes everyone silenced. “A murder mystery party, but not too eerie” Amelia corrected “Since we have kids, we need to think the suitable theme that fit for a whole family” “Maybe [Family Reunion] helps” Trent suggested “It’s like what we used to experience when we met for first time. But the difference is the host invited all his children to meet for a dinner and they brought along their husbands-” Miroslav coughed lightly before Trent added “And we maybe need some change. All of his daughters and they brought their husbands. That’s when they have some surprises of having unexpected guests and…” “There would be a murder?” Andy asked to interrupt. “Maybe….” “Alright. So I will be the host since I have to invite his daughters for reunion” Ernst asked “How about you?” “I’m of course gonna play as typical stepmother who marrying the host after their mothers death” Imogen huffed. “And I’m as a family butler?” Miroslav shrugged lightly. “So we need to make a background details on all of us” Marina said “We can’t simply said our husbands are footballers. It will ruining the party themes” “Let’s see… Marina would be a lawyer, I’m as vet of course. Yvonne might be a street artist-” Karina suggested. “Fuck off” Yvonne huffed, crossing her arms. “And I’m maybe as an ordinary housewife. Mother of two kids” Amelia interrupted. “And how about the boy’s background?” Ernst asked. “I was thinking of the street musician” Trent suggested then shrugged, chuckling lightly. “Not bad, mate. I’m maybe as working class people. A clerk, perhaps?” Andy asked. Karina nudged Mo as she asked “How about you, sevgilim?” “I think I’m as a model?” Mo chuckled. “Mohamed, I’m not encouraged you for that as your background for the party. Family reunion usually about the daughter brought along their ordinary husbands” Ernst advised. It makes Mo silenced again, thinking until he asked “I think a barista” it makes everyone fell down on floor with their legs raised up on air while Karina playfully slapped his arm. Amelia asked to Virgil “How about you, Liebling?” It makes him thought of suitable background job for the murder mystery party before he suggested “I think a policeman or fire fighter” “Well….” Amelia started to think the logical theory if a daughter can bring her husband who a working in uniformed services then nodded “Alright. My king is a policeman” it makes him looked down in embarrassment. “Wait the second. Virgil has long hair, right? Policemen usually has shorter hairs” Miroslav interrupted which it makes both of them thought of another idea again. “How about a young tycoon? Maybe you’re a new businessman in the making. You marrying his secretary but then she switched to be housewife to focus on her family” Amelia suggested to him, making him blushed again. “Technically Amelia marrying a rich man” Yvonne interrupted, chuckling lightly. “I think we just got our roles. Unless if you want to bring your friends along, inform them about the roles they’re going to play with” Ernst said “And for costumes, there’s no need to be fancy. Just make yourself comfortable, and fits for the character” “So when are we going to make the party? I mean the exact date for it” Trent asked. “We encouraged to make it this Saturday night” Ernst replied. “Easy. It’s a day after our match against Sheffield United” Mo added “Can’t wait to inform Dejan” —————— Meanwhile, Paula just arrived at the prison where Julian had been imprisoned, holding a long cord as she strangled the security guards by the gate before she used their clothes for disguise. Holding a baton, she walked inside the prison and hit another warden in charge and get another outfits to wear on. And she found bunch of keys makes she knew how to do. As Paula in warden outfit walked upstairs to high secured cells, no one suspected anything until she arrived at Julian’s cell. The bad guy was drawing something on wall noticed Paula stood by the door makes he rushed there “What for?” Paula silenced as she unlocked the key before opened the door wide. “What the fuck?” Julian walked out in disbelief as he asked her “Seriously?” Paula just nodded before watching Julian walked along the corridor to the switch room to activate emergency alarm. As the siren rang loudly, it makes around 40 Julian’s men rushed out from their cells, excitedly cheered of their escape day “All Hail Neumann! All hail Neumann!” The remaining warden who just realised the loud siren get their weapons ready to attack the escaped prisoners but it makes they had been outnumbered, been beaten up badly or shoot down before rushing out through the gate. It was a chaotic night in London when all people quickly shut down windows and doors when they heard loud screams out there. ———– Meanwhile back in mansion, the family gathering had been interrupted by Dejan’s phone call as Mo answered it “Mo, switch on the TV hurry!” It makes Miroslav switched on the television as it revealed the breaking news. The news anchor said “Around 40 prisoners had been escaped from London Central Jail in last few hours including the most dangerous criminal in United Kingdom, Julian Neumann. If any of you seen any of these faces, everyone advised to contact the police” the TV screen shows 40 faces of the escaped prisoners including Julian. It makes everyone shocked on what they’ve just heard. Another trouble came in, waiting for another drama. “Fucking shit” Virgil groaned, brushing his hair back.

#football fanfiction #Trent Alexander Arnold #andy robertson #Mohamed Salah #virgil van dijk #Football imagine

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kpopwriters · 6 years

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Ooh I have a prompt! This is based on the time woojin said that he wished he could switch places with Jeongin because he gets lots of love and all. So Woojinnie is like feeling really down and insecure so he practices like crazy to 'be good enough' and everyone gets really worried for him and just a big OT9 mess of a relationship with woojin! centric💜💜💜

hey~ ^^ im sorry it took so long. i put a lot of thought into how i wanted to write this.before you read, this story has mentions of overworking, lack of eating and general weakness and depressing thoughts. if you’re sensitive to any of things, i suggest you skip this.

This has been going on for days, weeks even. Woojin would wake up and head straight to the studio, skipping breakfast, lunch, and dinner since he’s no time to lose, and end up arriving back at the dorm in the late evening. He’d pick up some groceries and snacks for the other members so they would be too distracted to ask where he’d been. He had gotten used to the burning and growling of his stomach, telling himself that enough water will subside the inconvenience. Maybe the others are too busy to notice it, too caught up with their own practice, but he’s glad they aren’t picking up on it. They’ll be surprised when he shows them, everyone, in their next comeback, that he’s finally good enough, even better.

It’s a chilly, rainy day in Seoul. The windows of the bus are fogged up with the crystal-like raindrops from the light shower. It’s about 6am, so the sky is still dark. Grey clouds surrounding the sky in the Korean autumn, it gives Woojin a drowsy feeling as he travels to the studio. He clicks skip on his playlist, the soft piano of “I Need Somebody” by Day6 starting to sing into his ears. He closes his eyes for a moment, appreciating the calmness of the piece, before the bus pulls to a halt to his stop. Pulling his bag over his shoulder, he drags his feet through the almost empty bus and falls out into the rain. Like every other morning, he takes a few minutes jog to the studio. The weather has been worse lately, with the showers of rain striking at the most unfortunate hours for Woojin.

He enters the building, the warm air of the indoors hitting him harshly. The patches of wetness from the rain feel cold against his warming skin. He pats himself down before going to for, so he doesn’t create a mess. With a soft smile at the receptionist, he makes his way to the changing room and switches his casual clothes to his practice clothes. He looks at himself in the mirror, pulling at his t-shirt that he never noticed looked baggier on him. Maybe he has been losing a bit of weight the practice must be getting to him. Woojin takes a deep breath, looking at his grayed, dim eyes, tired and sad, in the mirror.The studio is cold, dark and empty. He opens the blinds, letting in the small amount of light that leaked through the clouds into the room. Plugging his phone into the stereo, he puts on some light dance music and begins stretching. He starts from his neck, feeling the hot sensation travel through his spine. There was something about stretching at these early morning hours that really got to Woojin. It always felt so homely to him. His spine cracked with satisfaction as his movements begin to speed up, his limbs feeling loose and free. It was always a feeling he enjoyed.

Meanwhile, back at the dorm, Minho was beginning to wake up moments after Woojin left. He sighs, noticing the empty space in Woojin’s bed. It became a regular sight, but not one he liked. It’s still so early. He doesn’t see Woojin too much these days, apart from when they have a group rehearsal. Times are tough for everyone. Chan, Changbin and Jisung don’t come back until the younger members are preparing for school. Some of the younger members are lacking or skipping classes to practice. This comeback is important to everyone as always, there’s no time to rest. They feel it’s necessary, but they all feel hurt watching themselves.Groaning loudly as he stretches his back and arms, he pulls himself out of bed to walk to Chan and Changbin’s room. “Changbin-ah~! Channie~!” He calls from outside their room, “I’m coming in~”Chan, still asleep, stays unbothered by the racket Minho makes. Changbin, however, expresses his annoyance in a long, tired sigh.Minho claps his hands hard to alert the pair, “Hello? Woojin has left again and it’s not even six.”Changbin sits up, rubbing his eyes, “He… Sorry say that again, I wasn’t listening.”Minho purses his lips and lets out a quiet grunt, marching over to Chan, “Jeez, when did you go to sleep, mister?”“An hour ago…? What time is it?”

~~~

After a few hours of practice, Woojin finds himself soaked in sweat against the mirror of the practice room. He rubs his hands against his warm face in distress. Since he hadn’t rested well last night, he feels he didn’t do well today. God, he just felt so useless. At this point, he couldn’t even notice any improvement. Of course, he was working his ass off day and night, but he feels stuck in this loop of not advancing his skills, and for what? What is he gaining? It feels like nothing. Is it that he’s not working hard enough? Is it that he’s gotten lazy, too lenient with his practice?He holds his breath for a long moment, picking himself up from the ground. He feels his legs wobble in weakness, making him have to use the mirror to support him. He tuts to himself, “Can’t even keep myself upright. I’m hopeless.”In the changing room, a familiar face waits for him. Concern, worry and sadness is written all over his face, and as soon as Woojin spots him, he feels his heart sink to his feet. The atmosphere of disappointment lingers around the two, so much that Woojin can’t rip his gaze from the ground.“I’ve been waiting in here for hours,” He speaks up, his voice croaky. He coughs to clear his throat, his eyes wandering around the room, “Have you been practicing for all this time?”Woojin doesn’t answer.“Woojinnie. You have, haven’t you?”He nods, slowly. He feels like a middle schooler at the principal’s office after doing something wrong, his chin glued against his chest and his throat clogged up.Chan sighs, pulling him by the hand, “Come sit, Woojin.”Woojin drags his shaky legs along with Chan, slumping against the lockers. His eyes stay locked to the ground. For some reason, something about Chan’s aura makes him feel too shameful to even lift his gaze.

“I’ve been in that position before,” Chan starts, looking towards the showers in front of him, “You feel like you have to be better, so you practice like crazy. But it gets to a point where you stop improving, and your effort just goes backwards. You start to deteriorate, emotionally and physically. Your body only feels the constant ache of self-disappointment.” His head turns to look at Woojin, whose head is buried in his hands.“The feeling seems to get worse the older you get. There are all these prodigy children getting love from every each corner and you think to yourself, ‘Will they be the ones to replace me?’.”He pauses for a long moment, staring into space.“And it sucks. It really does. There’s nothing more to it. It hurts. But, I can assure you, no matter your skill level, no matter how good or bad you are at any position, you’re good enough. For us, you’re more than that.”There’s another long pause.Woojin finally tears his head from his hands, looking towards Chan but refusing eye contact, “I’m sorry.”“Talk to me, Woojin.” Chan brushes off the unnecessary apology and places a hand on his thigh.

~~~

They’re on the bus together, Chan and Woojin. Chan keeps his friend under his arm as he sleeps on his shoulder. A weird feeling of nostalgia hits him in the stomach. A similar situation happened between Young K and Chan before, quite a long time ago, actually. He takes some time to look at him, deep in thought. What was it that did it for Woojin? What made him fall that deep?Chan tears his gaze away and sighs, holding Woojin tight. Woojin moves a bit under his arm, pulling on his hand, but Chan doesn’t mind. How did he let Woojin slip so far away? Why didn’t he pick up on it sooner? He had figured Woojin wasn’t around in the early hours of the morning and the later hours in the evenings, it was no secret to him. But, he never asked why, what he was doing. He can’t help but feel that it was partially his fault. If he had just payed more attention, like a good leader should, then maybe…“Channie?” Woojin’s tired voice speaks up, his eyes wide looking at him.Chan manages a smile, “Yeah? Are you feeling alright?”Woojin sits up, so Chan takes his arm away from his shoulders, “I guess. What time is it?”He pulls out his phone from his pocket furthest from Woojin, “Eleven thirty-ish.”Woojin rubs his eyes. Chan notices that his skin had gotten paler. Woojin always had tan, honey-toned, glowy skin. Recently, it looked colourless. The warm colour in his cheeks isn’t there anymore, Chan realises. He’d been too busy to notice, too caught up in work that he wasn’t paying enough attention.

Thinking about the things Woojin said he felt makes Chan’s heart shatter to pieces. To know someone as amazing, as wonderful as Woojin is feeling so worthless burns him to the bone. Does everyone feel the same way? Is he really so selfish that he won’t pay attention to these things?

When they arrive back at the dorm, the rest of the members are sitting on the ground in the living room. As the door clicks to a close, the members all turn their head to look up at Chan and Woojin, sadness and concern in their eyes.That’s what hits Woojin hardest. They weren’t supposed to know. They weren’t supposed to care or worry. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want to be in the way. He didn’t want to hurt them.“I-” Woojin opens his mouth, choking on tears, “I’m so sorry.” And that’s where he breaks. All this emotion and pain he’s been holding in and bottling up for all these weeks finally got the best of him. He cries, and he cries, and he doesn’t stop. It feels good. It’s refreshing. He cries for the nights he never came back home. He cries for the early mornings when he sees his members knocked out, or when some aren’t home. He cries for the growling, never ending pain in his stomach from the lack of food. He cries because he knows, now, he knows how hard it is for everyone in this room. He knows it’s been hard for himself.

All of the members scramble up from the ground and dash to give Woojin a big hug. Usually it was Woojin comforting the other members, but not this time. It feels nice. In between the nine of them are mutters of “It’s okay.” and “Don’t be sorry.”Of course, because they care about him. Because they love him in the same way he loves them. They’re his family.“Alright,” Chan pulls apart, clearing his throat. The members slowly back away, turning their heads towards time.“I suppose it’s time we talk about this.”

did you enjoy it? i really liked writing it ^^ thank you for submitting your request!-ten ( @straynation)

#kim woojin #woojin #stray kids #kpopwriters #straynation #stray kids fic #kpop fic #kpop scenarios

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tmsbrainrot · 6 years

Text

SOS

Summary: You were living a pretty normal life until someone, or something, broke into your apartment one fateful night. Now you find yourself in the middle of a war, one that will test the very limits of your mental, physical, and emotional strength. No way are you doing this without your best friend.

Genre: Fantasy AU, genderless reader + EXO

Word count: 3,795

------------

Three hours and four pizzas later, you lay on the floor of your living room, utterly exhausted. Kyungsoo steps over you, a pile of blankets and pillows clutched in his arms. He dumps them on the sofa then turns to you. “You know I oppose this decision very much, right?”

You close your eyes and sigh. “I am painfully aware.”

“Good,” he says, kicking your outstretched leg gently. “You should go to bed. You look like crap.”

“Gee, thanks,” you grumble.

Kyungsoo crouches down next to you. “Seriously, you should get some rest. I can keep an eye on the squatter.”

Turning your head to the side, you glance at the light-haired man’s prone form. His limbs are thrown carelessly over Yixing’s recliner, and his mouth is hanging open. Fluffy blonde tufts fan out around his head, making him look ten times more innocent than he really is. “I can’t believe he ate two whole pizzas then passed out like that.” You shake your head. “Incredible.”

Baekhyun stirs in his sleep as if he can hear your words. His eyebrows come together in a frown and he mumbles something in gibberish. The corners of your mouth twitch and you feel a peculiar surge of affection for the stranger sleeping so comfortably in your roommate’s favourite chair. You shake your head again, this time at yourself. He’s not a stray puppy, so stop treating him like one, you berate yourself silently. Rubbing at your tired eyes, you attempt to sit up. It doesn’t go well.

“I can’t get up,” you tell Kyungsoo, holding out your arms. “Carry me.”

Kyungsoo stands up, grabs one of your arms, and begins dragging you towards your room.

“Ow!” you yell, slapping at his hands. “You’re going to pull my arm out of its socket!”

He stops and releases you. “I thought you wanted my help,” he deadpans.

You haul yourself to your feet, massaging your shoulder and hissing, “asshole,” under your breath. Kyungsoo shrugs and returns to the living room. You stick your tongue out at his retreating back before walking to your room and closing the door firmly.

A haze of exhaustion hangs over you as you execute your night-time routine. By the time you crawl under the covers you are pretty much already unconscious.

~~~~~~~~~~~

Bright sunlight bathed the park in its golden radiance. Children’s carefree laughter filled the air and smiles lit up the face of every parent present, including your own.

From your spot at the top of the slide you could clearly see your mother and father. Your mother was whispering something in your father’s ear and his eyes sparkled in amusement. Your mother pulled away, grinning widely. The amount of pure love in their expressions as they gazed at each other was obvious even to your childish senses.

“Mum! Dad!” you called out. “Watch me go down the slide.”

They turned to face you and your breath caught in your throat.

Blood coated the side of your mother that had been hidden from view. It ran from her temple down to the ground, where a puddle was swiftly forming. An icy sensation trickled down your spine, making you shiver violently. A shadow passed over the sun, sucking the warmth out of the scene. The previously carefree laughter now sounded sinister, and the smiles plastered on the adults’ faces bore an unsettling resemblance to those painted onto the faces of clowns.

“M-mum,” you choked.

She was still grinning widely, the gesture marred by the rivulets of blood that trickled over her lips. “Don’t worry darling,” she said sweetly, “it’s not my blood.”

Your heartbeat was as loud as a jet engine in your ears.

“Come down sweetheart-- your father wants to speak with you.”

You shook your head, the jerky movement causing your vision to blur momentarily. When it cleared your father was stood at the bottom of the slide, his arms outstretched as if to catch you.

“Don’t be afraid,” he said.

Whimpering, you tried to back away from the edge, but it was as if an invisible force was preventing you from doing so.

“Quickly,” your father snapped, all trace of love and amusement gone.

“I’m scared,” you said, beginning to cry. “I’m so scared.”

Your father sneered at you. “You’re weak. I should have let them take you. If I had, I would still be alive.”

You sobbed. “What do you mean? You died in a car accident-- how could giving me up have saved you?”

The look of absolute hatred in your father’s face made the sobs die in your throat. “You stupid child. You really think I died in something as mundane as a car accident? I died because of you. Because of what you are.” He struck the bottom of the slide with his fist.

With a yelp of terror you found yourself teetering on the edge of the slide, pushed by the invisible force. For a split second you hovered on the brink, mouth open in a silent scream, then you were hurtling down the slide and into your father’s blood-stained hands. His grip crushed your upper arms, and in your panic you kicked out, desperately trying to free yourself from the monster that bore your father’s face...

~~~~~~~~~~~

“Ouch! It’s me, you idiot. Wake up.”

The gruff voice pulls you through the last barrier between sleep and wakefulness, and your eyes fly open.

Kyungsoo is pinning you down; his hands on your arms and his legs straddling yours. You fight his hold for a moment until your brain catches up, then you relax. “What the hell?” you say sleepily, brow furrowing.

He stares at you incredulously. “I should be asking you that. I came in to check on you and you attacked me. You nearly kicked me in the goods.”

Your frown deepens. “I was having a nightmare. My parents were there, and my dad was yelling at me for something... The details are blurry.”

Kyungsoo’s expression softens. “Must have been one hell of a nightmare.”

“Yeah, must have been. Sorry for attacking you.”

“It’s like I always say: no harm, no foul.”

You laugh. “I’ve never heard you say that before.”

Before Kyungsoo can reply, a deep voice laced with contempt interrupts your conversation. “Wow, you two look like you’re having fun.”

Both you and Kyungsoo whip your heads round and stare at the one who had spoken.

Chanyeol stands in the doorway, casually leaning against the door frame. Baekhyun stands to his side, grinning at your and Kyungsoo’s matching ‘deer-in-headlights’ expression. You can just make out the silhouette of another man behind Baekhyun, but there is not enough light coming through the window to illuminate his features.

Kyungsoo tumbles off the bed in haste. “It’s not what it looks like,” he says quickly, his ears turning red.

“So you weren’t having fun?”

“Yes. No. We weren’t-- Stop smirking at me.”

“Whatever you say, D.O.”

You diplomatically decide to change the topic. “What’s D.O.?”

Baekhyun answers enthusiastically whilst Chanyeol winks at Kyungsoo. “It stands for his two most frequently used sentences: ‘Don’t.’ and ‘Out.’”

“How long have I been asleep?” you ask, dumbfounded at the idea of Chanyeol or Baekhyun giving your best friend a nickname.

“Long enough for Jongin to find Chanyeol, then me,” Baekhyun says cheerfully.

“About eighteen hours,” Kyungsoo clarifies.

You leap out of bed. “What? Why didn’t you wake me up?” You run to the closet and start throwing clothes onto your bed. “I have to go to work!”

“Hey, relax.” Kyungsoo puts his hand on your shoulder. “I already called in sick on your behalf. Besides, even if you leave now, by the time you get there your shift will pretty much be over.”

You let your head fall back, taking a deep breath in through your nose and exhaling slowly. “Okay. I’m calm.” Your stomach growls loudly. “And hungry.”

Smiling, Kyungsoo steers you towards the door. Chanyeol and Baekhyun move aside and you jump as the shadowy man is revealed. You’d completely forgotten he was there.

Straight chocolate-coloured hair parted to the side fell delicately onto his forehead, resting just above his eyes. Dark brows could be seen through the gap in his fringe. Warm, golden skin accented his plump pink lips. His eyes were a beautiful shade of brown. In fact, everything about him was beautiful.

You are openly staring, jaw slack as you wonder how someone so physically perfect can exist on this earth. It isn’t until Baekhyun giggles that you realise everyone is witness to you checking this guy out. Cheeks burning, you close your mouth so hard your teeth clack together. Now Chanyeol is chuckling. Kyungsoo peers over your shoulder to see why you stopped so suddenly. He sees the man and introduces him as Jongin. Jongin smiles shyly at you and you smile back sheepishly.

Kyungsoo steers you around Jongin and into the kitchen. You plop down on a stool at the breakfast bar as Kyungsoo busies himself, pulling out various cooking implements-- half of which you didn’t know you owned-- and tying an apron around his waist. “So,” you begin conversationally as he raids the fridge for ingredients, “are you going to tell me what drugs you were on when you willingly let the, quote, “mentally-disturbed man” back into my apartment? And whilst I was sleeping, no less.”

Sighing heavily, he starts explaining. “He showed up at nine this morning with Jongin. I wasn’t going to open the door but Baekhyun got to it before I could stop him. Next thing I know they’re all standing in the living room and I’m stood by an open door like an idiot. I tried kicking them out but they completely ignored me-- they were too busy yelling at Jongin for his shitty portal. In the end I gave up. I figured you wouldn’t mind, seeing as though you’re all about embracing the weirdness now.”

You chewed on a piece of carrot thoughtfully. “I don’t mind as much as I should, which is a recurring theme.”

Kyungsoo hums in agreement, slapping your hand as you reach for another piece.

“Baekhyun said Jongin found Chanyeol. How?” you ask, rubbing your stinging fingers.

“A simple tracking spell,” Chanyeol answers, strolling into the kitchen. He eyes up the ingredients on the counter but thinks better of it when Kyungsoo glares at him. Instead, he sits next to you and drums his fingers on the bar. “He used a tracking spell to find me, then Baekhyun.”

“I see.” Of course. A spell. Magic. Something that is definitely real. “Why don’t you use this spell to find the map?”

“Unfortunately it only works on things that Jongin has seen. No-one knows what the map looks like, so the spell won’t work.”

“Have you tried?”

“Why would we when we know it won’t work?” Chanyeol says dismissively, not even attempting to keep the scorn out of his voice.

Your shoulders tense in annoyance. “I was just making a suggestion. Why are you such a dick?”

He shrugs. “A superiority complex?”

Kyungsoo snorts and you shoot him an accusatory glance. “Unbelievable. A few hours together and you’re laughing at his jokes. What’s next-- cooking for him?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You didn’t think all this food was for you, did you?”

Chanyeol laughs heartily as your jaw drops. He repeatedly slams his hand on the bar and Kyungsoo’s lips quirk into a small grin. You shake your head in disbelief. They really did become closer while you were asleep. Or maybe you were still asleep and this was all a dream. The latter seemed more likely.

When Chanyeol’s guffaws finally subside you try again. “You should at least give it a go.”

Wiping his eyes, Chanyeol responds absentmindedly. “Give what a go?”

“The tracking spell, you dweeb.”

“What’s a dweeb?”

“Oh my god, can you please focus.”

“Why do you even care about the map? It’s nothing to do with you.”

“The faster you find it the sooner you’re gone, right? That’s enough incentive for me.”

“Harsh. I thought we were bonding.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose and count to ten silently. “You said it yourself, no one knows what the map looks like. Maybe Jongin has seen it before. You should at least try the spell.”

He rolls his eyes. “Fine. If it’ll make you quit nagging I’ll get Jongin to do it after we eat.”

You give him your sweetest (and most fake) smile, and flutter your eyelashes. “Thank you~”

Kyungsoo pulls a face. “Can you not do that in my kitchen. It’s unsanitary.”

“Bitch, this is my kitchen,” you remind him, grabbing a handful of freshly cut cucumber then scampering away like Gollum.

Kyungsoo’s threats follow you as you escape the kitchen and join Baekhyun and Jongin in the living room. They glance in your direction briefly before returning to the TV. Some random children’s show is playing; brightly coloured animated animals dance across the screen. You collapse on the sofa next to Baekhyun and offer him a slice of cucumber. He shakes his head vehemently and you shrug, stuffing the slice into your mouth with the delicacy of a starving raccoon.

After several minutes Chanyeol walks into the room, multiple bowls of side dishes cradled in his arms. Kyungsoo follows him, holding a ginormous pot of kimchi spaghetti. They cram the food on the coffee table and you quickly distribute utensils. Everyone showers Kyungsoo with gratitude and praise as they tuck into the feast, and you notice corners of his mouth lift minutely as he claims a portion. You hide your smile behind a forkful of spaghetti. Extraordinary circumstances aside, nothing makes Kyungsoo happier than people praising his food. And nothing makes you happier than seeing Kyungsoo happy.

You can’t remember the last time you had more than two people over for dinner. Before Yixing left on placement, dinner had usually consisted of you and him sharing a takeaway and watching medical dramas-- with Yixing complaining every two minutes about how unrealistic the scenes were. Kyungsoo had joined the two of you on the rare occasions that he was not working at the high-end restaurant downtown.

When Yixing left for placement, Kyungsoo had tried to come by more often. He knew how much you hated being alone-- especially in the evening-- but his boss seemed to delight in working him to the bone, so you were alone most nights. Finally Kyungsoo’s patience had snapped and he’d quit. It had been very difficult for you to contain your relief when he’d told you. You were sorry that the job he’d wanted so badly had turned into a nightmare, but the selfish part of you was glad that you would no longer have to spend your evenings in solitude.

Now, sandwiched between Kyungsoo and Baekhyun, surrounded by the sound of chatter and clinking cutlery, you wonder if you will ever have a quiet night again. You sincerely hope not. To be completely honest, you are quickly becoming attached to the men around you. Even Jongin, who you’ve known for less than an hour, is winning you over with his shy smiles and natural pout.

Perhaps the most surprising of all is the fact that Kyungsoo seems to be sharing your sentiment-- at least to a certain degree. Seeing him joke around with Chanyeol and endure Baekhyun’s playful teasing is a small wonder. Never before have you seen him grow so close to someone in such as small period of time. Hell, it had taken you three weeks of continuous pestering just to get him to drop the honorifics when addressing you; yet here he is, discussing hobbies with Jongin like they’re childhood pals. Maybe it was some kind of magic.

Suddenly you remember the agreement you made with Chanyeol. As soon as everyone finishes eating, you, Kyungsoo, and Jongin (the most polite out of your guests) clear the plates away. When you return, you nudge Chanyeol and give him a meaningful look.

He plays dumb, furrowing his brow and giving you a questioning look, so you glance pointedly at Jongin. Chanyeol mouths ‘What?’. You huff in frustration then mouth the words ‘tracking spell’. He shakes his head a little, feigning ignorance. You raise your head threateningly and he hastily puts his hands up in surrender, grinning at his success in riling you up. Child, you think bitterly.

“Hey, Jongin.”

Jongin looks up at Chanyeol’s call, abandoning the piece of string he was twirling around his fingers. “Yeah?”

“Our most gracious host has requested that we perform a tracking spell to locate the map.”

Frowning, Jongin replies, “But the spell won’t work if I’ve never seen the map.”

“Exactly,” you and Chanyeol say simultaneously, causing you both to glare at each other through narrowed eyes.

“Exactly,” you repeat, still glaring at Chanyeol. “‘If’.” You turn to look at Jongin, expression softening. “Maybe you’ve seen the map and you don’t know it. Maybe not, and the spell won’t work. Either way, it’s worth a go, don’t you think?”

He tilts his head to the side, considering you argument. “I guess it wouldn’t hurt to try...”

“Cool!” Baekhyun claps his hands together. “So who’s going to be the blood sacrifice?”

Kyungsoo chokes on the large gulp of water he had just inopportunely taken. Water sprays out of his mouth like a fountain, scoring a direct hit to the back of Chanyeol’s head. Chanyeol leaps to his feet, yelling incoherently, and Baekhyun roars in laughter, rolling off the sofa and onto the floor. You frantically pound Kyungsoo’s back, causing more water to come trickling out, this time with significantly less projectile force. He takes a couple gasping breaths and you cease your thumping as he doubles over. “B- blood sacrifice?” he coughs.

Baekhyun is too busy wheezing to answer, so Jongin steps in. “He was just kidding. There’s no blood involved in this spell.” He looks at you sheepishly. “Sorry about him.”

You wave off his apology, shoulders relaxing in relief. “It’s fine. No harm done.” Kyungsoo and Chanyeol make matching cries of indignation. “Well, no lasting harm. No one died.”

“Yet,” Chanyeol says ominously, shooting daggers at Baekhyun.

“Alright, let’s calm down and get this thing over with. I swear to god I’ve aged twenty fucking years since I met you assholes.” You glance at Jongin. “Not you, Jongin. You’re a sweetheart and also my favourite.”

He drops his head in embarrassment, but not before you see his trademark smile light up his face.

“Whatever,” Chanyeol says sulkily. “Stop blushing like a schoolgirl and get your shit, warlock.”

Jongin hurries into the hallway and disappears from view. You take the opportunity to give Chanyeol a stern look. He rolls his eyes, flicking water out of his hair and settling back into his seat. Baekhyun has finally composed himself and is sat on the sofa, grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Sighing heavily, Kyungsoo falls onto Yixing’s recliner and closes his eyes.

Peace is restored. At least for the moment.

When Jongin returns he is balancing a collection of items on his arms. He places them on the coffee table, then proceeds to arrange them. You watch him curiously.

First, he spreads a piece of parchment across the length of the table, then weighs down the corners with four large candles. Next, he picks up a container full of what looks like ink and pours it on the centre of the parchment. He lights the candles carefully with regular matchsticks, then pulls a small satin bag out of his pocket. From within the bag he pulls out a conical crystal attached to a cord. He moves to lift the crystal over the parchment, then pauses.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, the excitement at potentially seeing magic performed making you impatient.

“Um, could you back up a little? You’re kind of making me nervous.”

Your cheeks turn bright red. “Oh, sorry.” You ignore Chanyeol’s snickers and perch on the edge of the recliner. Kyungsoo opens an eye, regards you for a moment, then closes it again.

“Thank you,” Jongin says, kneeling over the coffee table. He places his empty hand directly over the pool of ink and closes his eyes, eyebrows furrowing in concentration.

You lean forward in anticipation, staring at the parchment. Your eyes widen as the ink starts to move, spreading out from underneath Jongin’s hand in thick tendrils, like the limbs of an octopus. The tendrils split and dance across the parchment, reforming to create linear patterns. With a jolt you realise you recognise the patterns. They’re streets. The streets of your neighbourhood.

“No fucking way,” Chanyeol breathes, leaning in to get a better look.

Jongin opens his eyes, staring down at the table. He raises the hand holding the crystal and holds it over the centre of the parchment, then begins to swing it in a circular motion. The crystal moves slowly, lazily, hovering above the inked streets. Then, as swift and true as an arrow, it stops spinning and points to a spot on the map.

A spot that you know depicts your apartment building.

“Holy shit,” you whisper.

“Hold on,” Jongin says, frowning. “I think I can zoom in a bit more.” He wipes a hand across the parchment and the lines are a pool of ink once more. He repeats the initial process, but this time the lines look more like the blueprints of an apartment. An apartment identical to yours.

Your head is spinning. This can’t be happening. This is too much of a coincidence. There’s no way that the very thing these-- these aliens are searching for is in your apartment. It can’t be. You would have noticed it, right? You would know if something from another damn realm was in your apartment, wouldn’t you?

“Isn’t that...” Kyungsoo inhales sharply. “No fucking way.”

You’ve stopped breathing. Your eyes follow the crystal as it rotates once, twice, stops. It’s pointing to one of the larger rooms; the very room that you are currently sat in.

You stand up abruptly. “That’s impossible. It can’t be here. I would have noticed it.”

Kyungsoo takes your hand gently but you pull it out of his grasp. You spin on your heel, not sure where you intend on going but knowing that if you don’t leave now you may lose your mind completely. A sick feeling is growing in the pit of your stomach, and you know with absolute certainty that a truth you have been denying for years is about to be revealed.

You are nearly out of the room when a collective gasp stops you in your tracks. Turning slowly, you face the four sets of eyes gazing at you in shock. You know what Chanyeol is going to say even before the words leave his mouth.

“It’s you.”

-----------------

A.N.: Dun dun duuuuunnnnnnn!! I bet most of you already guessed, right? I hope at least some of you were surprised!! Anyway, I hope you guys enjoyed reading this part (and that it was worth the wait lol)~~ I’ll be back with the next part soon, I promise!!

#exo fanfiction #exo fanfic #exo au #kyungsoo fanfic #jongin fanfic #updates

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