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galebrainrot2024 · 3 months

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GalexTav Enemies to Lovers Part 20

Read on Ao3. Shout out to @thelittlepinkwitchblog for helping me source :)

Gale's Perspective. LOT of important plot in this one, dear readers. It's a little heavy. Enjoy!

Ten days. It had been ten days since they entered the accursed lands and it was taking a grave toll on all of them, despite Isobel’s protection and despite the Pixie’s blessing bestowed.

Gale felt fragile, more fragile than he had even with the orb. Now with it unlikely to destabilize, the appetites of man came roaring back to him like a lion stalking its prey. All he could think about was Tav. How he wanted her. How it would feel when their bodies were join together, weaving together in visions of celestial.

It had to be perfect. He had too much to make up for.

He was sat beside Karlach who was on dish duty. She dunked each plate in the stream, gave it a quick swipe with the smallest speck of soap she could manage, before putting it back on the cloth.

“Nothing like washing in the murky waters of the shadowlands to invigorate the spirit.”

“Doing all right, Gale?” Karlach asked, elbow deep in muck. She groaned to herself.

“Oh you know.. still alive and kicking, despite being surrounded on all sides by an endless manifestation of darkness and decay.”

She snorted. “That's one way to put it. MAN!” She threw up her hands in exasperation, “I fucking hate dish duty,” she stared down her hands, disgust contorting her face. “I hate it when my hands get all pruny like this. You’d think all that time in the hells and I would delight in this stuff. But, I always hated dishes. It was the one chore I threw a really big fuss about at home.”

“You’re showing remarkable guile and courage, pushing on through the perilous task of dishwashing!” Gale said teasingly, “That doesn’t surprise me in the least,” Gale chuckled at the image of a smaller Karlach refusing earnestly to comply with dish duty.

“You know,” she paused, thinking and looked up at the sky, “I didn’t throw massive tantrums. Not often, anyway. Certainly didn’t conjure myself up a Tressyum when my parents refused to get me a kitten.” She rose a brow at Gale knowingly, “There wasn’t so much able to rile me up in that way. Mom and pops were always going on about how the glass is half full, even when it seems half empty. Even when shit is really, really bad. There is always a little good you can find in that.” Her voice was hushed and had the slightest tremor. Gale put a hand on her shoulder and noted the mist that collected in her eyes. She turned away, as if to conceal the emotion. “What a mess,” she said to herself, wiping her hands on her pants. “What about you?”

“What about me?” His voice stiffened and his body tensed, concerned for the question to follow.

Karlach, “Come on,” Karlach read his dumb expression and rolled her eyes and smiled. “You know - any chores you hated? Any massive events that rocked your little world? Other than Tav of course.” His cheeks blazed red and she started to laugh harder. “Very iconic of you to tell her you wanted to smash by citing a book. Not really my thing, but good for both of you.” Gale’s stony silence forced her tongue, “I mean, listen, she was obviously into it. You two book-worms are made for each other. What’s holding you back?”

A short puff of air left Gale’s nose and he looked down and ran a hand through his hair. While fingering his earring, he whispered, “Everything.”

“Oh my gods,” Karlach groaned, continuing with the dishes. “Everything? Everything?” Gale didn’t answer. “Fine. Keep your secrets.”

Gale weighed the scales carefully. If he told Karlach, the crushing force of his secret might be alleviated, if only just. If he told her, he risked Tav finding out second hand. His voice was barely audible, “I’m not sure I can tell you.”

Karlach’s eyes widened and she rose her brows, “Sounds serious. If you don’t want me to pry-“

“A little late for that,” Gale scoffed, though not with hostility. “Might as well address the holiphant in the room. It might do some good, to tell someone about it after all this time.”

There was a faint rustling in the bushes and Gale snapped his head, scanning the darkness. Nothing. He was just being paranoid. Karlach gave him her rapt attention and he felt his stomach cave in on itself. His throat was sickly hot and viscous saliva filled his mouth. His heart threatened to pulse out of his chest, the thunderous roar drowning out the rest of his senses.

“I did something… unforgivable.” He said at last. Karlach, ever impatient, shook her head a bit and her eye brows rose more as if to say ‘go on, then.’

So then he told her. “It is, without doubt, the most wicked, cruel act I’ve managed. Thinking about it makes me bitter… full of regret.” He sighed heavily and rubbed his cheek. He gave Karlach a brief overview of Blackstaff’s presentations, where students in their final year would demonstrate their research and abilities to the finest Wizard’s in the realms, seeking both Mystra’s favor and a prime apprenticeship. She followed, with few questions. Once he clarified that with her, the words stuck.

“Gale… whatever it is, your secret is safe with me. How bad could it be?”

“Oh,” Gale whispered. “Worse than you could imagine, I’d wager. The amount of time I’ve spent mulling over how I would tell her, what I would say… how I would beg forgiveness…” he closed his eyes, the words taking on a life of their own. “I sabotaged her presentation, a cold fact I have been ashamed of from the day it happened.”

“You… what?” Karlach tilted her head, her mouth falling open.

Gale sighed. “You remember the sussur flowers from the underdark?” She nodded. “Marvelous capabilities. Their magical properties were often a topic of debate in our classes, their existence unconfirmed by many scholars and clerics outside of the underdark. They have the ability to create an anti magic aura, which you saw first hand. I managed to get my hand on one through some rather nefarious channels… and I slipped it into her pack, not before ‘accidentally’ spilling a cup of water on her.”

“Accidentally?” Karlach murmured.

“No.” He whispered, the words choking him. “Unfortunately, it was neither an accident nor water. It was wizard’s bane. A backup plan, in case she didn’t have her pack within close range during her presentation. I was on track to be one of Mystra’s chosen and I was so… terrified that Tav would take my place. She was - and is - remarkable with the Weave. I was blinded by jealousy and… none if it matters, now. It was a cowards choice. And, as it so happened, she was imbued with both.” His face was hot, his palms coating with slick sweat. He wiped them on his robes, unable to look at her. “Her face haunts me. The riotous laughter of our peers… I cannot erase it from my mind, no matter how hard I’ve tried. It is engrained into every cavern, every crevice of my memory. She couldn’t so much as conjure a simple mage hand. She fled the stage, and I….”

He stopped, folding in on himself. It was the first time in quite some time he admitted this out loud, let alone to another person. The pregnant pause drowned them until Karlach broke the suffocation with a lifeline. “Was this the first time you saw her since then?” He nodded. “Holy shit Gale…this is… a lot. A lot to take in. I appreciate you telling me, all the same. I can see the toll it’s taken on you - you were a kid at the time.. weren’t you? You never told her?”

Gale sneered, “Eighteen is hardly a child.”

“As far as I’m concerned, that’s still a child. You made a mistake. A really fucked up mistake, don’t get me wrong, and a mistake all the same. You can’t keep beating yourself up for something you can’t change. I should know that better than anyone.” She sighed and stood, taking his hand to give it a gentle pat. “Gale… you have to tell her.”

“I know,” he sighed, bowing his head. “I know. And I will… I just need time. To get it right. To figure out what to say.”

“You have to be prepared for her -“

“I know.” Gale cut her off. He knew he had to prepare for her to hate him, to want nothing to do with him. Yet, a sliver of him held out the impossible hope she would understand. “Thank you… for listening. I hadn’t told anyone that. Not even Tara.”

“I’m sure if she knew she’d give you an earful.” Karlach sighed and returned to the dishes. Gale was prepared to leave, embarrassed and uncomfortable from sharing his darkest memory. Karlach looked up at the sky, bringing him back to solid ground. “You know, I was just getting used to the sun again.”

“Fear not, Karlach,” Gale said, though his voice was still dejected, “Sun, moon, and stars are still there - waiting for us. Veiled just behind this evanescent darkness. No book or painting could ever do this strange land justice. But perhaps our stories might.”

“You’re not really going to do what Mystra said, are you?”

“There you go, cutting right through the ephemera to the heart of the matter. Your finest quality, I think. Though, there’s no point in debating what I’ve been tasked with,” he murmured, looking at his hands. “I’m sure you’ve seen it - the wall of the faithless.” The sigh she released was laced with crushing somberness. “I cannot concede to such a fate.”

“I know,” she said and squeezed Gale’s shoulder, “You’re the first friend I’ve had in a really, really long time soldier. It would be a damn shame for it to end so soon. Quite the peas in a pod, the two of us - if anyone is going to find a way to survive, it ought to be us.”

Gale ran a hand over his face. “There’s no use conferring about it one way or another. We’ll have to cross that bridge when we come to it. Stranger things are happening to us… what festers in our minds threatens to impel our bodies. We mustn’t loose focus of that.”

“How does it feel, to have the orb… settled?”

“Well, mother always taught me to be a gracious host.. whether to the parasite, or the orb.” Gale turned to grin at Karlach, staring at him gravely. His smirk erased itself. “It feels rather strange, if I’m being honest. I lived so long with its incessant hunger, to have it quiet… sickness has a nasty habit of making you feel trapped, if only within the confines of your own body.” Gale paused, before continuing. “I once spent weeks convalescing in the Hospice of St. Laupsenn after a nasty bout of ruddy pox. For all their kindness, leaving that place behind felt like freedom to me. Having the orb stilled… it feels very much the same.”

“What are you two whispering about?” Shadowheart’s voice cut through their conversation and Gale tensed. How long had seen been there? Had she heard everything?

Before Gale could respond, Karlach jumped in. “The horrors of doing dishes,” she laughed, waving a soiled plate at Shadowheart. “God’s favorite princess want to give it a try?”

“Oh… no thank you,” she tossed her hair over her shoulder and sat beside them. “Just looking for some company.. and a bit of gossip. So, Karlach, you and Dammon?”

Gale slipped away as the two chatted, feeling both relieved and terrified that someone finally knew the truth. Now all he had to do was figure out how he could possibly tell Tav the same thing.

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beybladefanfictions · 3 years

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Ryuga’s Return - Chapter 5

(Description: AU where Ryuga survives Metal Fury but loses L-Drago. He reunites with Kenta and struggles to figure out what he’s supposed to do without Beyblade, his purpose in life for so long. Character’s thoughts are in asteriks.)

Ryuga’s POV

Holding his hood over his head, Ryuga made his way into the familiar Bey stadium. A few people gazed at him suspiciously. However, if they recognized him, they said nothing as he passed. Ryuga glanced up at the bleachers. There were a lot more empty spaces in the crowd than there normally would be, despite the fact that the tournament was soon to start. Ryuga immediately went toward the emptiest space, which just so happened to be towards the front. *Perfect.* From this angle, it was less likely that someone would see his face.

He observed the bladers in the tournament. There were only eight of them and they were all sitting on a bench in front of the stadium, waiting for the first match to be announced. Kenta was among the group. Ryuga also noticed Kyoya and two other legendary bladers. The first match was Kyoya and a kid Ryuga vaguely recognized from America. However, it was hard to tell from a distance.

“Ready?!” The crowd began counting down with the announcer. “Three… two… one… let it rip!”

The two Beyblade clashed against each other, sending up sparks.

“Go Spiral Fox!” the American kid called.

*Spiral fox,* Ryuga rolled his eyes, *What a dumb name for a Beyblade.* He watched the two Beyblades clash as the Blader DJ provided somewhat irrelevant commentary. Leone was clearly winning. It was repeatedly smacking into Spiral Fox, driving the bey backwards towards the edge of the arena. With one hard smack, Spiral Fox knocked Leone back long enough for it to slip away and flee across the stadium. Leone quickly followed.

“Leone!” Kyoya called, “Lion gale force wall!”

As the wind picked up, Ryuga was forced to hold his hood in place so it wouldn’t blow off. He growled in annoyance. The wind swirled into a tornado, flinging Spiral Fox into the sky and ending the match with a stadium out.

*Kyoya is going to be a problem, like usual,* Ryuga thought as the wind died down. The crowd cheered around him. Ryuga didn’t bother joining in: the outcome of this fight was obvious to him from the start.

“Oh, hey Ryuga.”

Ryuga stiffened at the sound of a vaguely familiar voice. He looked up. The girl that worked at the bey shop was approaching him. *What did Kenta say her name was? Madoka? That sounds right.*

"You’re here for Kenta I’m guessing?” the girl asked, sitting in the seat next to his.

“Yes…” Ryuga replied, gazing at the bladers.

Kenta and Yuki, the kid with the glasses, were up next and the two of them were making their way toward the middle of the stadium.

"Three… two… one… let it rip!”

Kenta and Yuki both launched their Beys.

“Did Kenta make you come here?” Madoka asked, raising an eyebrow.

Ryuga turned to her. “Well, don't tell him I think that,” he grunted, his eyes narrowing at her.

Madoka just chuckled. “I won't, but you make it a little obvious."

“How?" Ryuga raised an eyebrow.

“You look bored.”

It was true. Despite his dramatic loss against Nemesis, the drive to fight blazed on in Ryuga’s heart, and being restricted to just watching these fights made him feel tied down and powerless. At least in this fight, Ryuga had someone to root for.

The two beys screeched as they slammed into each other, shooting up sparks. Due to the difference in the beys’ heights, Anubius was attacking Flash Sagittario’s spin track rather than its fusion wheel.

“Go Anubius!” Yuki called, swinging his arm.

Anubius suddenly retreated, rushing toward the edge of the stadium.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Kenta exclaimed. “Go Sagittario!”

Sagittario charged after Anubius. In a swift movement, Sagittario leaned forward and slammed its fusion wheel into Anubius. The blue bey was thrown into the air. Yuki yelped in surprise.

“Don’t give up, Anubius!” he called.

Anubius landed on the edge of the stadium, its spin wobbling slightly. Sagittario slammed into Anubius. The beys entered a fierce clash before Sagittario triumphed, flinging Anubius out of the stadium and bringing the blue bey to a halt.

“Yeah!” Kenta cheered, snatching his bey out of the air.

“Great job, Kenta!” Madoka called.

Kenta glanced at them. Ryuga smiled and dipped his head. Kenta smiled back before walking to the bench to wait for his next match.

“Oh, Masamune and King are up next.” Madoka was gazing at the stadium’s display screen. “That should be interesting.”

“Who?” Ryuga asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Masamune and King. You fought King on Beyster Island.”

Ryuga glanced at the screen. One of the bladers was clearly American, he had the obnoxious face of one, and the other was a kid around the same age with blue hair. Ryuga’s eyes narrowed. He did in fact recognize the kid from Beyster Island.

“Right…” Ryuga’s fist clenched. “He uses reverse rotation. L-Drago is-” Ryuga cleared his throat. “-was the only Bey that should be allowed to spin left. That kid is such a poser.”

King and his opponent started their battle. Ryuga’s gaze fixed on King’s bey which travelled around the stadium in the opposite direction of his opponent, as L-Drago had always done. King’s bey was even partly white. From a distance, Ryuga could almost mistake the thing for L-Drago.

“His bey naturally rotates left,” Madoka argued, her eyes narrowed, “How does that make King a poser?”

Ryuga trembled as he spoke. “I-he- ugh, it doesn’t matter. I beat him! L-Drago is w-was the superior bey.” Ryuga’s jaw clenched and he gripped the armrests of his seat in an attempt to stop himself from shaking. His chest began to ache.

“Oh…” Madoka’s voice softened. “You miss L-Drago…”

Ryuga glared at her. Was that pity in her gaze?! *She’s pitying me! HER pitying ME?! What kind of insult is this?!*

“That’s none of your concern,” Ryuga growled, looking away.

Thankfully, Madoka had enough sense not to question him further. Both of them gazed back at the battle. However, Ryuga couldn’t bring himself to look at the left rotating bey. It obviously wasn’t L-Drago. The sensible part of Ryuga’s mind knew that, but he couldn’t take his mind off his former Beyblade now that he had been reminded of it.

He must have zoned out for a while because when he looked back at the arena, two new bladers were fighting and somehow, neither of them were Gingka. Ryuga recognized Benkei as that one weirdly loyal follower of Kyoya’s and the white-haired kid from the helicopters.

“Where is Gingka?” Ryuga asked aloud. He didn’t even see his former greatest rival in the crowd anywhere. Surely he would show up to a tournament that so many of his friends and rivals had attended?

“I guess he didn’t sign up,” Madoka answered with a shrug.

“Why wouldn’t he?”

“I don’t know.” With a chuckle, she added, “Maybe he’s out getting burgers somewhere.”

Ryuga rolled his eyes. “That’s not worth missing a tournament for.”

“True!” Madoka exclaimed before giggling a bit. “But still, that boy would do anything for a triple or- quadruple- or whatever beef burger.”

“That much for food?” Ryuga raised an eyebrow.

“For that specific food yeah…” Madoka gazed at him for a second. “Oh yeah, you probably haven’t had a burger, have you?”

Ryuga stiffened.

However, Madoka just smiled and continued, “Don’t let Gingka figure that out. He’ll immediately drag you to the nearest burger place and make you try one.”

A shiver ran down Ryuga’s spine. “Noted,” he replied with a nod.

Madoka giggled. Ryuga smiled a bit. Though he didn't quite know what to think of Madoka, he was grateful to have someone to talk to. It took his attention away from his grief over L-Drago. However, in terms of this social stuff, Ryuga still didn’t know what he was doing and didn’t want to sound like an idiot so he fell silent. He gazed back at the arena. Benkei had won the fight and now two of the winners of the previous fights would battle. King and Kyoya stepped up.

“Oh, great, Kyoya,” Ryuga snarled the blader’s name.

“What do you have against Kyoya?” Madoka asked, raising an eyebrow.

“He’s going to give me away.” Ryuga held his hood in place, glaring at Kyoya and King as they started their battle.

“What do you-” Madoka froze. “Wait, are you trying to disguise yourself?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“That wasn’t obvious?” Ryuga rolled his eyes.

A gust of wind erupted from the stadium. Ryuga growled, ducking a bit and pulling his hood further over his head.

“Well, you don’t seem like the type to want to hide from people,” Madoka commented, gesturing to him.

Ryuga stiffened with anger. “I’m not hiding!” *I kind of am.*

Madoka rolled her eyes. “Whatever you say, Ryuga.”

Ryuga froze. *Is that her passive-aggressive way of saying she doesn’t believe me?*

“Lion gale force wall!” Kyoya called from the stadium.

Ryuga grunted. Down in the stadium, King’s reverse rotation bey was thrown into the sky and was flung around in the wind. King’s bey landed back in the stadium wobbling a bit. Leone rushed toward it. King’s bey weaved out of the way to dodge and the two beys slammed into each other from opposite directions.

“Who you rooting for?” Madoka asked, turning to Ryuga with a smile.

Ryuga thought for a moment. *What do I hate less? Kyoya or L-Drago wannabes?*

“Kyoya,” Ryuga decided, dipping his head. “Better him than that reverse rotation bey.”

Madoka’s smile faded. “Why do you insist L-Drago has to be the only left rotating bey?”

“Wasn’t that the whole reason L-Drago was the forbidden bey? The reverse rotation? Then all of a sudden there are two more and no one cares?! It makes no sense.”

“I suppose it’s weird… but Julian and King’s beys don’t…” Madoka shivered. “Steal their opponents’ power.”

Ryuga’s eyes narrowed. “So the reverse rotation is just a fancy extra feature for them. That’s what L-Drago’s most special quality has been reduced to? A trend?”

“Er… well…” Madoka looked away. *She knows I’m right.* “Do you regret it?”

“Huh?” Ryuga raised an eyebrow.

“Giving up L-Drago’s power to Kenta?” Madoka eyed him suspiciously. “Do you regret that?”

“Of course I don’t,” Ryuga sighed, his head hanging low.

*But I thought it would be my final act. I never thought I would have to live in a world without my L-Drago.* A gust of wind burst from the stadium, forcing Ryuga to hold his hood in place. There was a clinking sound. Ryuga looked up to see that King’s bey had been blown out of the stadium and stopped spinning. The crowd around him cheered. Benkei and Kenta, the next bladers, stood up and walked toward the stadium. Kenta glanced at the crowd.

“Go Kenta and Benkei!” Madoka called to them.

Ryuga nodded to Kenta. The kid nodded back then turned to the stadium and readied his bey.

“Get ready Benkei!” Kenta called, his eyes narrowed in determination. “Because I’m not going to lose here! Not with Ry-” Ryuga stiffened. Kenta put his hand over his mouth. “Not with my friends here supporting me!” he corrected, his determined gaze returning.

Ryuga let out a sigh of relief.

“I won’t let you win either!” Benkei countered, “Kyoya’s in the final battle waiting for me and I’m not about to let him down!”

“Ready?!” The blader DJ called. “Three… two… one… let it rip!”

Kenta and Benkei launched their beys.

“Sagittario!” Kenta called, “Switch to stamina mode!” Flash Sagittario’s fusion wheel shifted, making it rounder.

“Good choice,” Ryuga muttered, dipping his head.

“Hm?” Madoka turned to him, looking surprised.

“Benkei’s bey is a balance type by the looks of it,” Ryuga explained, “It will be weak to a stamina type.”

“You’re right. Dark Bull is a balance type…” Madoka looked almost impressed. “And Sagittario might need all the stamina it can get to withstand Dark Bull's attacks.”

“Dark Bull…?” Ryuga stiffened. That sounded like the kind of bey a Dark Nebula blader would use, but he couldn’t recall Benkei ever being part of that organization. “Where did he get that bey?”

“Um… Doji gave it to him a long time ago.”

“Thought so,” Ryuga grunted, his fist clenching at the memory of Doji.

He looked back at the battle. Dark Bull and Sagittario were clashing head-on, neither of them moving from their spot in the centre of the arena. Eventually, Dark Bull was thrown backwards. It wobbled slightly before regaining its balance and charging for Sagittario.

“You’ve gotten so much stronger,” Benkei mused aloud, “I can feel Ryuga’s power radiating from this new bey…”

“It’s not Ryuga’s power anymore, Benkei,” Kenta retorted, resting his hand on his chest. “It’s mine!”

Ryuga dipped his head.

“Go!” Kenta called. “Sagittario Flame- er…” He froze, his eyes wide.

*I took away his special move…* Ryuga let out a dry laugh.

“Go now, b-b-b-bull!” Benkei exclaimed, stepping forward. “Dark Bull red horn uppercut!”

Kenta let out a yelp of alarm. Bull charged for Sagittario, jumping into the air and ramming into Sagittario in midair

“Don’t quit Sagittario!” Kenta called, staring up at his bey.

Sagittario broke free from Bull's attack, wobbling in mid-air before landing back in the arena. Kenta sighed in relief.

“It’s not over yet!” he exclaimed, gesturing toward Sagittario.

The bey raced toward Dark Bull and the two beys entered a fierce clash. Bull smacked Sagittario backward. The bey landed with a wobble, allowing Bull to charge into it.

Kenta let out a grunt. “I have to do it! Sagittario! Switch to attack mode!”

Sagittario’s fusion wheel shifted, becoming more ovular as it dashed past Dark Bull.

“What is he doing?!” Ryuga blurted out.

Bull pursued Sagittario to the edge of the stadium. Sagittario didn’t stop. It flung itself into the air, spinning faster and faster as it flew higher into the air. A ball of fire formed around Sagittario. Ryuga stiffened. *That’s the same move he used on me!*

“Go!” Kenta exclaimed, his eyes narrowed in determination. “Special move! Diving arrow!”

Sagittario shot down from the sky like a comet, slamming into Dark Bull in an explosion of light. Ryuga shielded his eyes with his arm. When the light faded, Ryuga stared in awe at the stadium. Sagittario was spinning in the centre of the stadium, while Dark Bull was nowhere in sight. Ryuga looked up. The bey dropped to the ground beside Sagittario.

“Yeah!” Kenta cheered, retrieving his bey.

Ryuga couldn’t help but smile as pride for his friend surged through him. *He’s come so far…*

Madoka let out a gasp, dragging Ryuga out of his thoughts.

“Your hood!” she exclaimed.

Ryuga’s heart skipped a beat. He pulled his hood back over his head, looking around at the crowd. No one seemed to have noticed him. He sighed in relief.

“And now the final match!” the announcer called. “Kyoya versus Kenta!”

Kyoya stepped up, immediately readying his bey. Kenta seemed frozen. Taking a step back, he held up his launcher.

“Three… two… one… let it rip!” Kenta and Kyoya launched their beys.

“Sagittario! Stamina mode!” Kenta called out immediately.

Sagittario’s fusion shifted to its rounder form before clashing into Leone. A burst of wind erupted from the arena. Ryuga held his hood in place, grunting as the wind whipped in his face. He recalled his own fight with Kyoya back in Battle Bladers. Ryuga had only been using a fraction of L-Drago’s true power during that fight yet, even so, it was still impressive that Kyoya was able to last as long as he had against L-Drago. He was a formidable opponent, no doubt about it. This wouldn’t be easy for Kenta… When Sagittario and Leone clashed, it shot bursts of energy through the stadium.

“So this is the effect of Ryuga’s power…” Kyoya mused, though it was hard to hear over the roaring wind. He raised his voice when he continued, “I may not have been able to defeat Ryuga, but the same won’t be true for his protege!” Kyoya pointed at Kenta. “Leone! King Lion Crushing Fang!”

In moments, a tornado formed in the arena, lifting Sagittario higher and higher into the air. Kenta yelped in surprise.

“Now! Go, Leone!” Leone used the edge of the stadium as a ramp to throw itself into the tornado and toward Sagittario. Kenta’s bey was suddenly enveloped in flames.

“Sagittario diving arrow!” Kenta exclaimed, swinging his arm.

“Huh?!” Kyoya gasped.

Before he could back out, however, Sagittario slammed into Leone in a burst of flame. Ryuga shielded his eyes. When the smoke cleared, Sagittario was spinning steadily in the stadium, while Leone was nowhere to be seen.

“It’s not over yet!” Kyoya exclaimed, his eyes crazed with anger.

Moments later, Leone flopped into the stadium, its spin wobbling.

Kenta let out a grunt. “Sagittario attack mode!” he called, gesturing to the bey.

Sagittario’s fusion wheel shifted before charging toward Leone, smacking into it repeatedly. Leone pushed against it. However, it could barely keep up with Sagittario’s string of attacks. Ryuga’s heart lit up. *Kenta could win this!*

Kyoya let out a roar. “Leone!” He gestured for his bey to retreat.

Leone smacked Sagittario away and charged toward the edge of the stadium. Sagittario tried to follow. Leone hovered in the air.

“King Lion Reverse Wind Strike!” Kyoya yowled.

Ryuga’s jaw clenched. *How many special moves does this guy have?!* Leone flipped upside in midair. A tornado shot from its facebolt, slamming into Sagittario. Kenta yowled in alarm. An explosion of wind wracked the stadium, making the audience yelp in shock. Ryuga squinted. Through the wind, Ryuga spotted Leone slamming Sagittario against the ground, as Sagittario struggled to push back. The ground of the stadium cracked open. Sagittario was shoved into the ground, its spin stopping with a screech. The wind died down. Leone ceased its attack, landing with a wobble beside Sagittario.

“The-” The announcer sounded stunned. “The winner is Kyoya!”

“Sagittario!” Kenta yowled, falling to the ground on his knees.

Kyoya snatched his bey out of the air. In a moment of adrenaline, Ryuga vaulted over the railing separating the audience from the stadium and raced toward Kenta. The movement had blown his hood off. Ryuga didn’t care to notice until the sounds of terrified gasping echoed through the air.

“I-it's Ryuga?!” the announcer gasped.

Ryuga skidded to a halt.

“Ryuga?!” Kyoya exclaimed, his eyes wide.

The crowd’s eyes were all on Ryuga. He froze in place, his heart pounding out of his chest.

Kenta looked up at him, his gaze teary-eyed. “Ryuga…?”

“Kenta! Ryuga!”

Ryuga looked over his shoulder. Madoka was rushing toward the two of them. Finally working up the nerve to move, Ryuga slipped into the stadium and yanked Sagittario out of the ground.

“Come on,” Ryuga muttered as he passed Kenta and Madoka, the latter of whom was helping Kenta get to his feet.

Ryuga fought the urge to run away. He tried his best to look dignified as he speed-walked toward the exit.

“Ryuga!” Madoka called.

“Ryuga! Wait up!”

Kenta and Madoka raced after him. Ryuga avoided the gazes of the crowd by staring at Sagittario. It was covered in deep scratches. Thankfully, however, no pieces had broken off. Once the stadium was far behind him, Ryuga finally stopped, allowing Kenta and Madoka to catch up. They stopped beside him, struggling to catch their breath. Ryuga handed Kenta his bey.

Kenta let out a gasp. “Sagittario!” he yelped, grabbing it and staring in horror at the banged-up bey.

Madoka glanced at Sagittario.

“It got damaged pretty badly…” Her eyes were wide as she spoke.

“After it was just fixed! Gah, I’m so sorry, Sagittario!” Kenta’s voice descended into a sob as he clutched his broken Beyblade.

“It’s not your fault Kyoya decided to implant it into the ground,” Ryuga growled, “What a-” He bit back his next words.

“Oh, come on, I don’t think Kyoya meant to go that far,” Madoka insisted, sternly. She turned to Kenta and added gently, “Regardless, Kenta, I don’t mind repairing Sagittario again.”

Kenta looked up at her. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, it won’t take long…”

“But don’t you still have Tsubasa and Yu’s beys to fix from the Nemesis battle?”

“And Tithi, Dynamis, Chris, and Aguma’s…” Madoka shuddered. “B-but it’s not a big deal! Like I said, this is minor compared to theirs. I can fix Sagittario tonight and maybe even have time to finish with Eagle’s repairs.” She laughed even as her eyes were wide. “That would be nice. Here, I’ll take it to my workshop now.”

Madoka gestured for Kenta to follow. Ryuga and Kenta trailed after her, ending up a few paces behind her.

“I was so close…” Kenta murmured to himself.

“Hm?” Ryuga looked down at him.

“I thought a few more attacks would do it… I didn’t count on him using Reverse Wind Strike… Kyoya has so many special moves, I can’t keep track of them all!”

*Me neither, Kenta.*

“You’ll have another chance to beat him.”

“Y-yeah… that’s true.” Kenta looked up at him with a smile. “Hey, thanks for coming to watch. I really do appreciate it.”

Ryuga just nodded. *I wish I could have been part of it.* He struggled to push the thought away as he continued on.

When they got to the shop, Madoka held the door open and ushered Ryuga and Kenta inside. Kenta handed her Sagittario. Ryuga followed them down a flight of stairs to a basement of sorts. Madoka placed Sagittario down on the desk. Nearby, were six other much more broken Beyblades, including Eagle and Libra.

“Wow, you really weren’t kidding…” Kenta gazed at the torn-up Beyblades.

“Ha, yeah… It’s a lot of work for one person.” Madoka rested her hand on her forehead. “But I can handle it! No big deal!” She laughed in that nervous way again.

However, Ryuga had already tuned the two of them out. Everything in this room was related to Beyblade somehow: the broken Beyblades on the desk, the tools that would likely fix them, and the drawers nearby filled with spare parts.

Memories of the tournament raced through Ryuga’s mind. *I could’ve beaten Kyoya. I could’ve beaten everyone there, no problem, but I didn’t even have a chance. I’ll never have a chance again.* Ryuga stared at the broken Beyblades, unable to ease the longing in his heart.

“Well, we should be getting home.” Ryuga zoned back in and gazed at Kenta. “Dinner is probably going to be ready soon.”

“Actually, Kenta…” Ryuga bit his lip.

“Huh?” Kenta tilted his head to the side.

“I…” Ryuga glanced at Madoka. “Can I stay here a while longer?”

“Wha-” Madoka stiffened. “Um, okay, sure. That’s… fine.”

Ryuga dipped his head.

“Ryuga?” Kenta stared at him.

“I’ll be there later,” Ryuga insisted.

“Okay… see you then.” Kenta reluctantly began to walk away. “Bye guys!” he called, before going up the stairs.

“Bye…” Madoka waved. Once Kenta disappeared, she turned to Ryuga. “Um, I’m gonna get something from upstairs then work on those repairs. You can uh… chill here I guess.” She made her way upstairs.

Once Madoka was out of sight, Ryuga immediately began looking through the drawers full of Beyblade parts. One had just blank facebolts. Another had just spin tracks, then just fusion wheels, and just performance tips. They were all fairly bland and basic. However, Ryuga couldn't help but stare at the parts as well as the broken up Beyblades nearby.

“What are you doing?” Ryuga froze at the sound of Madoka's voice. She was coming back down the stairs, a phone in hand as she gazed at him in confusion. Ryuga slowly pushed the drawer closed.

“No, no, it's fine," Madoka replied, hopping down the steps. "Just don't break anything.”

The mechanic grabbed another chair and pulled it up in front of the desk before sitting in the chair right beside it. Ryuga took the extra chair. He went back to the drawer of spare parts, shuffling through them and placing anything that stood out to him on the desk.

“Is it okay if I put on some music?” Madoka asked, gesturing to her phone. “I work well with music.”

*Why is she asking me?*

“It’s your workshop."

“Um…” Madoka looked away. “I’ll take that as a yes. I guess.”

She put the music on and set her phone aside facedown, before starting work on Sagittario’s repairs. Ryuga kept his eyes on his own work. He took one of the performance tips, a blue one for an attack type, and attached it to a spin track of a similar colour. They likely didn’t actually go together. Then Ryuga combined the spin track with more parts that didn’t go with it: a white fusion wheel and a plastic red facebolt. All together, they created the dumbest looking Beyblade Ryuga had ever seen.

*I need a life,* Ryuga thought as he spun the Beyblade around with his fingers. Madoka looked up from her work.

“Hey, that bey looks a bit like…” She stiffened. “Oh…”

Ryuga looked at the Beyblade, his eyes going wide. He hadn’t intended it, but the makeshift Beyblade did resemble L-Drago somewhat, having the same colours and an attack type performance tip. He had even spun it to the left.

Madoka paused her music with a sigh. “You miss L-Drago that much, huh?”

Ryuga stopped the bey with his fingers. “You’re not a blader, you wouldn’t get it,” he grunted.

“You’re right, I don’t fully understand. Your fight against Nemesis was…” Ryuga winced. Madoka hesitated before continuing, “Well, I don’t have to remind you. Yet despite that, you still want to Beyblade so badly. Why?”

“Because Beyblade is…” Ryuga let out a sigh. “Was my life. It was my purpose, and watching that tournament reminded me how much I want to fight…” He stared at the makeshift Beyblade. “But I can never replace L-Drago. So I have to accept this new life.”

“Do you not like your new life?” Madoka asked, tilting her head to the side.

Ryuga clenched his jaw. “I never said that.”

Madoka was probably about to reply when a beeping sound cut them off. Ryuga glanced at his phone.

-Kenta’s Mom: Be home before dark.-

Ryuga grunted as he typed out a response.

-Ryuga: Ok-

Muting the phone, he placed it aside facedown with a grunt.

“Ugh, parents.”

“Ha, yeah.” Madoka chuckled. “They can be overbearing… Kenta’s parents, you mean?”

Ryuga nodded.

“Yeah, I’ve met them. I’m convinced they would adopt all of us if they could.” Madoka smiled and raised an eyebrow. “How long did it take for them to want to adopt you?”

“...five minutes.” Ryuga wished he was exaggerating.

“Yep, sounds about right.” Madoka continued to work on Sagittario’s repairs as she spoke, “To be honest, I’m surprised they haven’t officially adopted you.”

Ryuga stiffened. “They’d better not,” he growled.

“Well, you’re older so I’m pretty sure they would need your permission to make it official,” Madoka replied with a shrug.

Ryuga let out a sigh of relief. “Good.”

Madoka looked up at him, placing Sagittario aside. “So, uh, when are you going home exactly?”

“Am I overstaying my welcome?” Ryuga asked, standing up.

“What? N-no, I don't mind.” Madoka stood up as well, gazing up at him. “I'm just confused. Ryuga, if you don't mind me asking… Why are you here? Is it really just to play with Beyblade parts?”

Ryuga’s eyes narrowed. “I'm not playing with them.”

"Then what are you doing exactly?” Madoka asked, gesturing to the makeshift Beyblade on the desk.

“One question at a time.” Ryuga rested his hand on his forehead.

“Ugh, fine. Then answer this, wouldn't being in a place like this just depress you?” Madoka held her hands out, gesturing to the room around them. “Being surrounded by Beyblade stuff?”

“It doesn't.”

If he was honest with himself, Ryuga found this environment peaceful. Beyblade was something that was familiar to him. So even though this was a new environment, it felt familiar and almost safe to him. Ryuga sat back down.

“That Beyblade’s not going to fix itself, you know,” he grunted, returning his focus to his makeshift Beyblade.

“Huh?” Madoka looked back at Flash Sagittario. “Oh, right…”

She unpaused her music and continued working. Ryuga looked back at his makeshift Beyblade, unscrewing the facebolt and reaching for more parts from the drawers. He tried out several combinations of parts and watched them spin. Ryuga put his head down on the table. He hadn't realized until now how tired he was and the familiar whirring sound of a Bey spinning was strangely relaxing. Even the music and the sounds of Madoka fixing Sagittario beside him were somewhat peaceful now. Ryuga's eyes slowly fluttered shut.

----------------

Ryuga opened his eyes with a yawn, confused to find himself sitting at Madoka's desk still. He glanced at the mechanic. She was sitting next to him, her head rested on her arms beside a mostly repaired Sagittario. Ryuga gently nudged Madoka. She yelped in surprise, her head shooting up.

“Oh, hey,” she greeted with a tired smile. “Good morning.”

“When did we fall asleep?” Ryuga asked, reaching for his phone.

“I dunno…” Madoka rested her hand on her forehead. “Ugh, I do this all the time. I really need to break out of this habit.”

Ryuga couldn’t bite back a gasp: thirteen unread text messages, six missed calls. He stiffened. A cold feeling wracked his body.

“What? What’s wrong?” Madoka asked, her eyes wide.

Ryuga was completely frozen for a few seconds, his heart pounding out of his chest. Finally, he stood up.

“I have to make a call,” he explained, his voice icily calm again.

He went up the stairs and toward the shop exit as casually as he could. Closing the door behind him, Ryuga booked it behind the building. He looked at his phone. Every message and missed call were from either Kenta or his parents, all demanding to know where he was. Ryuga called Kenta. He tapped his foot impatiently, waiting for the kid to pick up. It went to voicemail. Ryuga grunted. He stared at Kenta's parents' contacts, a sudden shiver running down his spine.

*They're going to yell at me…* Whichever one he called, Ryuga anticipated either of Kenta's parents yelling at him for this. They had never yelled at him or Kenta before but the idea chilled him. Everyone had their limit, surely? Doji would've certainly yelled at him if Ryuga had done something like this.

*I'd rather get yelled at over a phone than to my face.* Ryuga hesitantly called Kenta's mother, unable to suppress a shiver. She immediately picked up.

“Ryuga!”

“I’M SORRY!” Ryuga didn't realize how loud he had yelled until he saw birds fly away in panic. He lowered his voice and continued, “I lost track of time and fell asleep at the shop. I won’t…” Ryuga shivered. “I won’t do it again.”

Ryuga couldn't bring himself to continue; he already sounded pathetic enough.

“The shop, okay.” Kenta's mother sighed in relief. "That’s where Kenta said you were last. Thank goodness you’re okay.”

Ryuga froze. “You’re not mad?”

“No, of course not." She sounded almost alarmed. “We were just worried something happened to you.” She fell silent for a few moments before adding, “Kenta went out looking for you a few minutes ago, will you two come home?”

“...okay.”

“Okay, I love you, sweetie.”

Before Ryuga could reply, Kenta's mother hung up. Ryuga froze. *Maybe they don’t want to control me…* His eyes narrowed. *Then what do they want from me?! Why would they care this much about me if they didn’t want something from me?!* Before Kenta, the only person that seemed to want Ryuga around was Doji, who had used him for his own dark plan. Even Kenta initially only followed him to help his other friends. But what reason did the kid’s parents have to care?! *This has to be some kind of trick…*

“Ryuga!” Madoka’s voice shook him from his thoughts. She was running toward him. “What happened?” she asked, struggling to catch her breath.

“Nothing,” Ryuga grunted, putting his phone in his pocket. “I just told Kenta’s mother where I was.”

“Oh, yeah, his parents were probably pretty worried about you.”

“Clearly.” Ryuga began to walk away. Madoka followed, walking by his side and looking up at him.

“Well, uh, parents can be like that,” she replied with a shrug.

“They’re not my parents. I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get what?”

Ryuga froze. *Why did I tell HER that?* He stopped in front of the bey shop, letting out a sigh. *I suppose I have nothing to lose by telling her this.*

“Why they care so much. It doesn’t make sense.”

“How does it not make sense? They might not be your biological parents but you are living with them now and you’re close to Kenta. Is it really surprising his parents think of you as a second son?”

Ryuga looked away, unable to come up with an answer.

“Ryuga!” Kenta’s voice called.

Ryuga looked up to see his friend rushing toward him from a distance. *There he is.*

#beyblade #beyblade metal saga #beyblade metal fight #fanfictions #ryuga #ryuga kishatu #kenta yumiya #madoka amano #kyoya tategami #he's there a lot I guess #bey battles are a pain in the ass to write #very fun #but very difficult #also enjoy Ryuga/Madoka shippers #I don't ship it at all #but I thought it worked platonically here

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yourdeepestfathoms · 4 years

Text

time to play your dead man’s hand (Day 1)

Life is Strange AU!!!! I don’t even have the first chapter done. It’s too long for Tumblr all together.

Also part one is kinda a test. I don’t know if I’ll continue this, but it people like it I will. But if this only gets, like, 10 notes then I’m not gonna slave myself over the LiS script to write this correctly.

Also also: I literally had no idea who should be Anne’s stepdad, so “Edmund” is just a filler name. If anyone knows someone who would make a good step father for her, please let me know!

One more thing- The Anne in this is Bowman!Anne! Because I like her more than Millie even though her character is supposed to be punkish

TW: Gun violence, death

——————

Part One- Chrysalis

The first flash of lightning wakes her. She cannot really recall falling asleep, but she is certainly awake now. The sky turns white again and then the rain, hard and relentless, begins. Another flash of lightning and, this time, thunder accompanies it. The massive boom shakes her to her toes and makes her feel small in comparison.

Her senses are a mess. She can hardly smell through the rain, and all she can see is the dark until the lightning intermittently burns the sky.

She’s lying face-down in the mud. The brown sludge slides down her face, slippery and grimy. It coats her clothes, but the rain is quick to wash it away and replace the drench with some of its own. She nearly slips as she’s pushing herself up to her feet, suddenly shivering.

The thunder cracks again, but this time she hears something inside of it. A shout. Several shouts, like the wail of anguished souls. She sees lightning, and then in the fading light, she sees shadows leftover.

She’s on a sloped path that has turned into a river from the rushing water. Her shoes and socks are soaked in an instant, already rubbing her feet raw and chafing blisters against her ankles. She tries to speak, but her throat is closed up in horror.

Where am I? What's happening? She thought, looking around. A storm? Why am I in a storm?

A burst of lightning torches the sky, splitting it in two in a magnificent silver slash. It illuminates the towering shape of the lighthouse just up the hill.

Wait... There's the lighthouse... I'll be safe if I can make it there... I hope...

Wind whips at her at dizzying speeds and the rain drives hard enough to push her to her knees. It is only through force of will and sheer luck that she manages not to be thrown clear as she began to stagger up the slippery path and to the cliff where the lighthouse is situated. She could scream, but the storm screams louder and its cries are deafening.

Time ceases to mean much as the storm pummels her and the world around her. She cannot see more than a hand's span in front of your face- she’s having to shield her head and squint so those subzero jerks couldn’t stab her blind. She’s exhausted by the short trek and is nearly prepared to give in to the whims of the storm and let it blow her where it will when she pulls herself up to the top of the incline.

Before her is the ocean, as dark as wine, and atop is a massive tornado. It was much too large to be real, but there it was, caged in flashing bolts of lightning and thick gales.

And it was heading right for Whitby.

Holy shit...

Suddenly, the storm whips up a large boat that had been thrashing in the waves near the beach. It was sent flying, crashing into the lighthouse and causing the top half to come crumbling down, down, down-

————

Maggie awoke with a start. Cold sweat is beaded on her brow and runs like slick snail trails down the back of her neck. She doesn’t scream, thank god, because she realizes that she’s in her art class at school. Warm rays of sun are bleeding in through the window, casting grand, golden shadows across pastel canvases and abstract parchments and colorful tapestries strung up along the walls. There was no sign of a storm in sight.

Woah, She thought. That was so weird.

A line of sweat starts to make its way down her pale face and she quickly swipes it away. Her heart is still racing, pounding painful inside of her chest. She tries to steady it and just focus on the calming voice of Mr. Tudor, the art teacher.

Okay... I'm in class...

At the table in front of her, Agnes Tylney’s pen falls on the floor and she reaches down to pick it up.

Everything's cool... I'm okay...

Catherine Aragon throws a paper ball at Joan Astley.

“Now, can you give me an example of a photographer who perfectly captured the human condition?” Mr. Tudor is saying.

Jane Seymour’s phone vibrates.

I didn't fall asleep, and...that sure didn't feel like a dream... Weird.

“Diane Arbus.” Jane answers. Her voice is like honeyed venom- sweet but stinging. Maggie knew the potency of the poison in her words all too well.

“There you go, Jane!” Mr. Tudor praised, “Why Arbus?”

As Jane was explaining, Maggie looked down at her table. Her basic school needs-pens, pencils, journal- were scattered out on the blacktop, along with her camera and a photograph. When she picks it up, she looks upon the horrid image of her standing in front of dozens of other pictures tacked on her dorm wall.

Look at this crap! How can I show this to Mr. Tudor? I can hear the class laughing at me now.

She sighed and set it back down. Her eyes cast over to the analog camera and she carefully picked it up as if it were a baby bird. She was always so cautious with the old thing.

Her thumb grazed over the washes out yellow top portion before gently pressed a button. The camera flashes in her face, taking her by surprise.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Mr. Tudor piped up. “I believe Maggie has taken what you kids call a "selfie"... A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Maggie...has a gift. Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800's. Your generation was not the first to use images for ‘selfie-expression.’ Sorry. I couldn't resist. The point remains that the portraiture has always been a vital aspect of art, and photography, for as long as it's been around. Now, Maggie, since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”

Maggie grits her teeth and tried not to sink into the bottom of her chair and evaporate into the abyss. Eyes were boring in on her from all sides. Tiny flames light up in her ears.

“I-I did know!” She stammered. “But I kinda forgot...”

Mr. Tudor narrows his eyes. He usually looks so lax and kind, so seeing him bring out the Disappointed Look cut deep.

“You either know this or not, Maggie.” He said, frustrated, “Is there anybody here who knows their stuff?”

“Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created ‘daguerreotypes’ a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Jane said, as boot-licking as always. She swivels her head around to Maggie, her eyes gleaming like a hungry tiger that just found its next meal. “Now you're totally stuck in the Retro Zone. Sad face.”

Maggie’s spine chafed painfully against the back of her chair as she hunches her shoulders in to seem smaller. Her ears were fully on fire, now- she hopes her hair is hiding them.

Just as Mr. Tudor is finishing his lecture on Jane’s answer, the bell rings. Students are instantly leaping up and scampering out of the classrooms.

“And guys,” Mr. Tudor says, “don't forget the deadline to submit a photo in the "Everyday Heroes" contest. I'll fly out with the winner to London where you'll be feted by the art world in the Tate museum. It's great exposure, and it can kickstart a career in photography. So, Agnes and Maud, get it together. Catherine, don't hide. I'm still waiting for your entry, too. And yes, Maggie, I see you pretending not to see me.”

Maggie stands up slowly, unfurling her shoulders from their hunched position. As she’s waiting for the muscles to stop aching from the sudden uncoil, she sees Jane beeline to Mr. Tudor’s desk. Maggie rolls her eyes.

Jane doesn't waste a second kissing ass...

She gathers her things and heads for the door. Before she could make her escape, however, Mr. Tudor’s smooth voice rang out.

“I see you, Maggie Wyatt. Don't even think about leaving here until we talk about your entry.”

Maggie tenses and then gives in. She turns around and approaches the front desk. She does her best to avoid Jane’s drilling gaze.

“I'd never let one of photography's future stars avoid handing in her picture.” Mr. Tudor said.

“Do I have to? I just don't think it's that big a deal.” Maggie said.

Jane snickers. Mr. Tudor has an almost-sympathetic look.

“Maggie, you're a better photographer than a liar...” He said. “Now I know it's a drag to hear some old dude lecture you... but life won't wait for you to play catch-up. You're young, the world is yours, blah blah blah, right? But you do have a gift, you have the fever to take images, to frame the world only the way you envision it. Now, all you need is the courage to share your gift with others. That's what separates the artist, from the amateur.”

Maggie can only bob her head shyly and mumbled a soft, “Yes sir.” Mr. Tudor takes it and lets her leave.

Stepping out into the hallway from the art class was like stepping into a hurricane. While the art class was serene and peaceful and illuminated by the sunshine’s warm glow, the hallway was a tiled jungle with fluorescent suns. Student were weaving every which way like colorful, talkative birds of paradise and the teachers peering out from their classrooms were the watchful jaguars. Dozens of conversations were going at once, laughing came from every direction, and the clatters of lockers were white noise for the cacophony. Everyone seemed to know what they were doing, boldly showing off their tail feathers and wings without a care in the world. Everyone except Maggie, that is. She sighed and shoved in her earbuds before she could hear Aragon from across the hall finish her statement about someone being “so fucking shy.”

Her destination was the bathroom, where she needed a serious timeout to unwind from her classroom embarrassment. She made herself as small as possible, narrowly avoiding the rushing figures of other students. Her awkward swivels and side-steps definitely earned her a few odd glances, but she tried to ignore them until she finally got into the safety of the bathroom.

Empty. Good. Nobody can see my meltdown. Except for me.

Maggie washes her face using one of the sinks, letting the chill of the tap water sink into her cheeks. She keeps her hands there for a moment before sighing and dropping them. She takes out her polaroid photo after turning the sink off.

Just relax. Stop torturing yourself. You have “a gift”.

She stared and stared and stared at the photo, but it just seemed to appear worse and worse the longer she looked.

Fuck it.

She tears apart her photo and drops it on the floor. The way the pieces fall to the ground are as delicate as the flutter of the butterfly’s wings that just flew in from an open window. Maggie blinks and follows it. It lands on a bucket behind a stall and spreads its emerald green wings into the light bleeding over it.

Holy shit. Maggie thought. Well...when a door closes, a window opens...or, something like that. She takes out her camera. Okay girl, you don't get a photo op like this everyday...

Maggie slowly approaches the butterfly and takes a photo of it. At the flash, the butterfly takes off, flapping in a blur of brilliant green that almost seems to glow in the air. As it dashed for a safe landing, the bathroom door opens and closes and a guy walks in. Maggie recognizes him as Thomas Cromwell, the richest, most pompous kid on the campus, from his slick hair and letterman jacket. He does a quick scan of the bathroom, not noticing Maggie hiding, and then began pacing. His pale, bat-like face is twisted with enraged horror. He looks like he was about to shatter at any second

“It’s cool, Thomas... Don't stress... You're okay, bro. Just count to three...” He was muttering to himself. “Don't be scared... You own this school... If I wanted, I could blow it up!” He laughed. Craziness oozed from the fractures in his voice- or maybe directly from his fragmented brain. “You're the boss.”

A moment later, the door swings open and a girl strides in. She’s a little heavier set, but carries herself with great pride and power. Her dark eyes are impish and on fire. Green is spilled out over the top of her hair, long, dyed tendrils of emerald coiling with brown locks. When she speaks, her voice comes out in a (familiar) confident growl.

“I hope you checked the perimeter, as my step-ass would say.” She said while checking the stalls. Maggie has to back up in her hiding spot- it’s a wonder neither of them have caught her, especially with how she’s peeking out to watch. “Now, let's talk bidness—”

“I got nothing for you.” Thomas said. He’s trying to keep his composure, Maggie can tell just by listening to him, but it’s about as cracked as his sanity.

“Wrong.” The girl said. “You got hella cash.”

“That's my family, not me.” Thomas grits. He’s grinding his teeth now.

The girl laughed. “Oh, boohoo, poor little rich kid!” Her tone becomes serious. She marches over to Thomas, who is hunched over the sink, bracing himself. “I know you been pumpin' drugs 'n' shit to kids around here... I bet your respectable family would help me out if I went to them.” She leans into his ear, “Man, I can see the headlines now—”

“Leave them out of this, bitch.” Thomas snarled.

“I can tell everybody Thomas Cromwell is a punk ass who begs like a little girl and talks to himself—”

Thomas rounds on the girl. There’s now a gun in his hand, which he must have been hiding in his jacket. The girl backs up into the wall, the fire in her eyes going out in an instant, and Thomas stands in front of her, one arm against the wall beside her head and the other pointing the gun at her stomach.

“You don't know who the fuck I am or who you're messing around with!” He roared.

“Where’d you get that? What are you doing?” The girl babbled. Her fearless mask has dropped in an instant at the presence of a weapon. “Come on, put that thing down!”

“Don't EVER tell me what to do! I'm so SICK of people trying to control me!” Thomas howled. Whatever was holding the crack in his brain together has broken apart at the seams and every bad thing is pouring out at a horrifying rate.

“You are going to get in hella more trouble for this than drugs—” The girl grunts. She can feel the biting metal of the gun’s muzzle press against her stomach. She’s so rigid.

Thomas leans into her ear. His voice is curled with dark ice. “Nobody would ever even miss your ‘punk ass’ would they?”

“Get that gun away from me, psycho!!”

The girl shoved Thomas away from her and makes a break for the door. Her sudden movements jar Thomas and he pulls the trigger. Blood splatters against the wall and from the girl’s mouth as the bullet passes through her stomach.

“NO!!” Maggie screamed.

She’s running out from her hiding spot without realizing it. She stretches out her right hand, as if she thought she could actually do something to help. The gun and the girl are falling to the ground in slow motion. Maggie’s breathing picks up. Everything becomes blurry. Black and white and grey splotches haze her vision. Every nerve is filled with painless liquid fire, buzzing inside of her. Red is the only other color she can see- the dark red of hot blood. Of her blood, maybe. She can’t tell anymore, but, suddenly, awareness returns to her- intense shock fades and leaves behind wet adrenaline in its wake, soaking her to the core. She opens her eyes- when did they ever close?- and finds herself in the art class again.

Warm rays of sun are bleeding in through the window, casting grand, golden shadows across pastel canvases and abstract parchments and colorful tapestries strung up along the walls. There was no sign of a storm- of a gun- of a dead body-

Whoa! What the fuck?! Maggie’s body lurches back in her seat. A few kids glance curiously at her before focusing back on Mr. Tudor, who was giving his lecture on Alfred Hitchcock and photography. How- how— I— She looks around again. I was in the bathroom... He shot that poor girl... I held up my hand...and now I’m back here.

Agnes Tylney’s pen falls on the floor and she reaches down to pick it up.

I already heard this lecture...

Catherine Aragon throws a paper ball at Joan Astley.

Now Joan is being hassled again... And if Jane’s phone rings...this is real.

Jane Seymour’s phone vibrates. Maggie’s heart leapt in her throat and her body flinches as if her fear had taken a physical form and punched her. Her clumsy limbs scramble awkwardly and one arm knocked her camera off the desk. It breaks into pieces upon hitting the ground.

Shit! Oh my god, I cannot believe this... Okay, if I'm crazy, I might as well go all the way... Can I actually reverse time?

Maggie holds up her right hand and, like an instinct knowing when to be triggered, her vision turns grey. She feels like she’s floating, maybe vibrating, and she watches as her broken camera pieces itself together and rises up to sit in its original position. When Maggie releases the force, Mr. Tudor is just getting to his Diane Arbus question. However, Maggie can barely hear him or Jane’s know-it-all answer. She was too busy staring in awe at her hand.

Holy shit. Holy shit! I’m a human time machine! H- how— Okay, okay, don’t freak out, Maggie. Not yet.

She looked at her newly-repaired camera and picked it up. She presses the photograph button and the flash momentarily blinds her. Just like before.

“Shh, shh, shh,” Mr. Tudor pipes up, “I believe Maggie has taken what you kids call a "selfie"... A dumb word for a wonderful photographic tradition. And Maggie...has a gift. Of course, as you all know, the photo portrait has been popular since the early 1800's. Your generation is not the first to use images for selfie-expression. Sorry.”

The teacher’s voice is barely processing in Maggie’s mind. She just couldn’t get herself to care about what he was saying. She was too worried about the girl she had seen die.

If I can go back in time...what if that girl isn't dead yet? Can I save her?

“Now Maggie,” Mr. Tudor is rounding on her, just like he did last time. “since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”

Maggie opened and closed her mouth for a moment. The words are thick at the back of her throat.

“I-” It’s hard to enunciate properly. If she wasn’t so worried about that green-haired girl, she might have been more embarrassed over her squabbling. “I'm sorry, Mr. Tudor, I feel sick. May I be excused?”

“Nice try, Maggie, but you're not gonna get away that easy. We can talk more after class.” Mr. Tudor said.

Maggie swallowed hard. As much as she loved Mr. Tudor, she really wanted to slap him right about now. She wasn’t feigning illness- she genuinely felt sick to her stomach with anxiety and fear. She was sure she was ghostly white, too. How could Mr. Tudor not see that?!

“Is there anybody here who knows their stuff?” Mr. Tudor asked.

“Louis Daguerre was a French painter who created "daguerreotypes" a process that gave portraits a sharp reflective style, like a mirror.” Jane answered like before. And, like before, she looked at Maggie mockingly and said, “Now you're totally stuck in the Retro Zone. Sad face.”

“Very good, Jane.” Mr. Tudor praised. “The Daguerreian Process brought out fine detail in people's faces, making them extremely popular from the 1800's onward.”

It was Jane’s snide remark that snapped Maggie slightly out of her worried trance. She side-eyed the blonde and clenched her jaw. She decides to test out her new power again and ‘rewind’.

“Now Maggie,” Mr. Tudor said, marking the ability a success once again. “since you've captured our interest and clearly want to join the conversation, can you please tell us the name of the process that gave birth to the first self-portraits?”

“The Daguerreian Process.” Maggie said, practically reciting Jane. “Invented by a French painter named...Louis Daguerre. Around 1830.”

Mr. Tudor looks a little surprised, but smiled at the girl. “Somebody has been reading, as well as posing. Nice work, Maggie.”

Jane gives Maggie an annoyed look, which she can’t help but feel empowered about.

“The Daguerreian Process made portraiture hugely popular, mainly because it gave the subjects clear defined features. You can learn more when you actually finish reading the assigned chapters. Maggie is so far, way ahead of everybody.”

The bell rings. Maggie practically flies out of her seat and began collecting everyone as quick as she could.

“And, guys, don't forget the deadline to submit a photo in the ‘Everyday Heroes’ Contest!” Mr. Tudor said, “I will fly out with the winner to London where you'll be feted by the art world in the Tate museum. It's great exposure and it can kickstart a career in photography. So Agnes and Maud, get it together. Catherine don't hide, I'm still waiting for your entry too. And yes Maggie, I see you pretending not to see me.”

Maggie, you are not crazy. You are not dreaming. It's time to be an everyday hero.

Instead of trying to leave, already knowing she’ll be halted, she hurries over to the front desk. Joan watches her with those lamb eyes of hers from where she’s still seated.

“Excuse me, Mr. Tudor, can I talk to you for a moment?” Maggie asked.

“Yes, excuse you.” Jane said, narrowing her eyes at Maggie.

“No, Jane, excuse us.” Mr. Tudor said. He turns to Maggie. “I'd never let one of photography's future stars avoid handing in her picture.”

“I’m not avoiding, just...”

“Biding time, waiting for the elusive ‘right moment’?”

“Exactly.”

Mr. Tudor chuckled lightly and said, “Maggie, my dear, don't wait too long. John Lennon once said that ‘Life is what happens while you're busy making other plans.’ Go on now, don't let me stop you.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Maggie exits quickly and delves right into the jungle that was the hallway. She pushed through the brambles of students to get to the bathroom, making it there in record time.

Okay, Maggie, retrace every step... I washed my face- She washes her face. I shredded my photo- She shredds her photos. Then the...butterfly flew in- The butterfly flies in. And I took a photo...

The camera flashes. The butterfly leaps up from the bucket and flaps away. The bathroom door swings open. Thomas Cromwell strides in.

Maggie stays hidden behind the stall, listening. She hears Thomas mutter darkly to himself, then that girl enters. She unknowingly taunts Thomas and he soon snaps. By the sudden yell, Maggie knows the gun was out.

She began looking around as the terrified yelling rattles through the bathroom. She dreads the gunshot that was soon to come if she didn’t do something.

She notices the fire alarm on the wall. Grabbing a fallen hammer by the bucket, Maggie smashes the glass encasing the alarm and pulls it. The siren began to wail.

“No way...” She hears Thomas mutter. Then, he grunts in pain as the girl knees him in the groin and shoves him away. Maggie watches in relief.

“Don't EVER touch me again, freak!” The girl yelled before running out.

Thomas totters on his feet for a moment before picking up his fallen gun. He growled softly, noticing the photograph scraps on the floor.

“Another shitty day...” He mutters before walking out.

Maggie emerges from her hiding spot. Cold sweat is prickling on her brow, sliding into her bulging eyes. She doesn’t even bother to wipe it away.

That did not happen! This cannot be real! I just saw a girl get shot and then saved her! What the fuck is going on?

She waits a moment before exiting the bathroom. Outside, the hallway is empty, aside from a few fleeting figures of running students. And the school’s security guard.

Edmund coming at Maggie nearly startled her back into the bathroom. He’s upon her in an instant, his sharp voice tearing strips off of her before she can even think of something to say.

“Hey, do you hear that fire alarm? That means you should be outside.”

“I had to use the bathroom...” Maggie said.

“Girls always use that excuse.” Edmund rolled his eyes.

“Excuse for what?” Maggie said, slightly ruffled.

“For whatever you're up to. Your face is covered in guilt.”

“The alarm tripped me out!”

“Then trip on out of here, missy. Or are you hiding something? Huh?”

Maggie was about to consider crying to get herself out of that situation when Principal Dudley emerged from his office and called out.

“Thank you, Edmund, the situation is under control. There's no emergency here.” He said. “Leave Miss Wyatt alone and please turn off that alarm, since that's your job.”

Edmund didn’t argue, but he did give Maggie a suspicious look before lumbering away. Maggie sighs in relief and starts for the front doors to leave and evade the incessant siren, but Principal Dudley stops her.

“You look a little stressed out, Maggie.” He said. “Are you okay?”

Maggie chewed on the inside of her cheek. “I'm...I'm just a little worried about my...future.” The lie was horrid.

“You're sweating pinballs.” Principal Dudley points out. “Is that all you're thinking about? You can always be upfront with me, Maggie. Or have you done something wrong... Is that it?” He’s making Maggie even more anxious with his prodding. “Well, Maggie? Talk to me.”

Maggie clenches her jaw, then let’s the truth spill out. She had to tell- Thomas was a danger to the school!

“I just saw Thomas Cromwell waving a gun around...in the girls' room.”

Principal Dudley’s eyes go wide, but then his brows furrowed when he really processes what had been said to him.

“Thomas Cromwell. You sure?”

Maggie is shocked at his doubt. Sure, it may be normal to ask for complete sincerity, but Principal Dudley doesn’t seem very convinced at all. He must be swayed by all the money the Cromwell family has. Even then, could he not see how Thomas was breaking apart at the seams?!

“Yes!” She said. “He was in the bathroom talking to himself with a gun. I saw everything! He was babbling like crazy—”

“Okay, slow down, slow down.” Principal Dudley said. “So you saw this...without him seeing you?”

“I was hiding behind a stall.” Maggie said. Impatience and desperation are oozing into her voice. “I have the right to be there. It's the girls' room—”

“I know, I know.” Principal Dudley said. “I just want to be completely clear what happened. Mister Cromwell happens to be from the town's most distinguished family. And one of Blackwell's most honored students. So it's hard for me to see him brandishing a weapon in the girls’ bathroom. So what happened next?”

Maggie went to tell him about the girl and their conversation, but stopped herself. She didn’t want to make herself a suspect if this all blew up in her face.

“Then...then he left. I ran out here wondering what to do.” She paused. “Are you going to bust him?”

“This is a serious charge.” Principal Dudley mutters. “I'll look into the matter personally. Thank you for bringing it to my attention.”

Maggie nodded. She wished Principal Dudley would do more than that, but she should have known. The Cromwell family practically owns Blackwell Academy. She just hopes she didn’t just throw her entire scholarship down the toilet.

She steps outside and is immediately bathed by the warm rays of the golden-orange sun. Beams of light hit the Blackwell campus in just the right way to show off how grand and pristine it was. It was a private school, after all.

As Maggie is walking down the front steps, she notices some papers scattered out on the ground. She picks one up and reads it.

MISSING- KATHERINE HOWARD

MISSING FROM: Whitby, Yorkshire

DATE MISSING: Monday, April 22, 2020

OTHER:

Age: 15 years old

Height: 5’0 Weight: 110lbs

Hair: Blonde, dyed pink Eyes: Hazel

Katherine Howard... She looks so hopeful and pretty. I wonder what happened to her...

Maggie set the paper back down and started to walk to the dorms. As she does, she gets a text from Cathy Parr, a good friend of hers. The girl was asking if she could have her flash drive back. Maggie texts back saying she will and would meet her in the parking lot. However, getting the flash drive was a lot harder than she expected, starting with the way Jane and her goons, Aragon and Jane Rochford, were lounging on the steps to the girl’s dormitory like watchful hawks. When Maggie approaches, Jane stands up with a wide smirk.

“Oh, look, it's Maggie Wyatt, the selfie ho of Blackwell. What a lame gimmick. Even Henry-” She slips for a moment, but corrects herself quickly. “Mr. Tudor—falls for your waif hipster bullshit. ‘The Daguerreian Process, sir!’ You could barely even say that. I guess you got your meds filled.” Behind her, Aragon and Rochford laugh. “Since you know all the answers, I guess you have to find another way into the dorm. We ain't moving. Oh, wait, hold that pose!” Jane snaps of photo of Maggie and sneers. “So original. Don't worry, Maggie, I'll put a vintage filter on it right before I post it all over social medias. Now, why don't you go fuck your selfie?” She sits back down on her perch.

Maggie steps back, grinding her teeth. She looks around the dorm’s courtyard, trying to find something to help her. Anthony Lee and Peter Meutas were throwing a football ball to each other, but Maggie didn’t dare approach boys in their primal sport. Maud was reading on one of the benches and Joan was sitting all alone near the shrubbery, but she didn’t want to bother them, either.

And then there’s a rattle from above.

The school’s most well-known janitor, Duke, is up on a ladder painting. The bucket of white paint he’s using is supposed to be hooked on the side of the rungs, but Maggie watches as it falls and splatters all over Jane.

“No way! No fucking way!” She screeches.

Aragon and Rochford leap up in an instant. Their eyes are wide- a look of such shock is unusual on them.

“You okay, Jane?” Aragon asked.

Jane glared at her. It’s enough of an answer.

“Hold on, hold on, we'll get some towels!” Rochford said. “We'll be right back!”

“So move your ass, before I dry!” Jane barked.

Aragon and Rochford scramble inside. Maggie waits for a moment before slowly approaching Jane- or, rather, the door, but she got dragged into a conversation anyway.

“Uh...hey, Jane...”

“What do you want, Maggie?” Jane hissed. Her eyes are narrowed in a warning.

“I’m sorry about what happened. That was an awesome coat...”

Jane blinked at the passivity of the younger girl’s comment. She loosened up a little and stopped baring her teeth like an enraged white tiger.

“It was.” She sighed. “But there will be another.”

“Well...” The conversation was actually going smoothly. Might as well keep it up and try to get on Jane’s good side so she’ll lay off. “you always seem to know how to pick the right outfits.”

“I do have some talent. Mr. Tudor told me-” Jane stops herself. Maggie is sure she’s biting her tongue.

“I've seen your pictures.” Maggie said. “You have a great eye, Richard Avedon-esque.”

“He's one of my heroes...” Jane’s eyes, usually so judgmental and cruel, scan Maggie without an ounce of mockery in their gaze. “Thanks, Maggie.” She looks over her shoulder at the doors to the dorm. “I hope those sluts get me a towel before they hang a sign on me.” She turns to Maggie again. “You deserve a better shot. Sorry about blocking you and...and the ‘go fuck your selfie’ thing.”

“That was mean...but pretty funny.” Maggie admitted, laughing slightly.

“Just one of those days, you know?”

“I know exactly what you mean, Jane.” Maggie said. “I'll see you later.”

“Au revoir.”

Maggie notices that Jane offered her a small wave. She returns it with a slight smile before stepping into the dormitory.

The dorm building is about as basic as one could get- a long hallway full of doors with one branching path that led to the bathroom. Maggie walks down the corridor, glancing at the slates beside each dorm that could be written on. Hers was blank when she got to her room at the end. She didn’t think much of it and stepped inside.

Home, sweet home. My favorite cocoon...

Her room is a basic setup- bed in the corner near the door with a fuzzy ferret stuffy sitting atop the pillows like a duvet guardian, lanterns strung around the ceiling for lighting, a drawer with a radio at the foot of her bed, a desk, a bookshelf with a few potted plants, a small couch, a guitar, her closet, dozens of photos tacked on her wall. It was cozy, and it was home now.

While she’s searching for the flash drive, Maggie noticed a sticky note on her desk. When she picks it up, it reads, “Hey girl,”-the I has a heart instead of a dot, a little something that made Maggie’s touch-starved heart flutter-“I borrowed your drive so I can watch some flix while I study. If you need it back, just track me down! XoXo, B.”

So it’s in Bessie’s room...

Honestly, Maggie didn’t mind. Bessie Blount was nice to her and super sweet, despite having obvious baggage of her own. She was strong and smart in a way Maggie wished she could be.

As Maggie leaves her room, she sees Maria de Salinas charge out of Bessie’s dorm and lock the door. She leans against it as Bessie knocks loudly.

“You can't get out now, Bessie! So tell me the truth, or rot in there!” Maria growled.

“Let me out, Maria! This is so stupid! You are ridiculous! If you don't let me out, I will scream!”

Maggie blinked. She approaches slowly, but Maria doesn’t glare at her when she gets near.

“Hey, Maria,” Maggie said. “Is everything cool?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Oh, yes, Maggie. I've locked Bessie in the room because we're ‘cool’.”

“What did she do?” Maggie asked.

“What didn't she do?“ Maria’s anger bubbles up again. “Shes been sexting with my boyfriend, that’s what she did.”

“No I didn’t!!” Bessie yelled from inside the room.

Maggie winced. “Ouch. How did you find out?”

“Uh, why do you care?” Maria said. “Why are you even asking me? You never talk, just zone out with your camera.”

“That's why I'm talking to you now.”

Maria crosses her arms. “What's my last name?”

She’s being tested to her an answer. Maggie blinks.

“Maria de Salinas. Duh!”

Maria is surprised. “I'm flattered. I didn't even think you knew my name at all.”

“Of course I do. Just because I don't talk a lot doesn't mean I don't care. So, how did you find out about them?”

“According to Jane, Bessie would do anything to date a football player.” Maria explained. “She saw the sext. And William won't answer his phone. Once Bessie admits it, she can go. Straight to hell.

“Maggie, I swear I didn't do ANYTHING!” Bessie cried from behind the door. “But I bet Jane did! I know the proof is in her room!”

Knowing that she couldn’t go to Cathy without the flash drive; Maggie agrees to do a little trespassing and snuck into Jane’s room, which was about as pristine and neat as she expected.

After printing an email Jane sent to Aragon about the whole ordeal going down, Maggie returned to Maria and showed her the evidence.

“Of course...” Maria muttered. She turned and opened Bessie’s door. “I'm an asshole. I'm sorry, Bess.”

“You are, and I hope so.” Bessie’s eyes softened. “You really think I'd mess around with William?”

“No. But I get stupid jealous. I owe you dinner. Still love me?”

Bessie smiles and chuckled. “And you do my laundry.”

Maria turns back to Maggie with a relieved look. “Thanks, Maggie. You're like the Blackwell Ninja. Now let's see what William has to say about Jane...” She storms out of the dorm.

“You set me free!” Bessie laughed. “Thank you. Cathy’s flash drive is on my desk.”

Maggie retrieves it quickly and heads out to the main campus. However, she stops when she sees Edmund stalking towards a very scared-looking Joan.

“...so don't think I'm blind!” The security guard was saying. “I see everything here at Blackwell! Do you understand what I'm saying?

“No!” Joan cried. Her eyes are glistening with tears. “Leave me alone!”

“You can't fool me. I know everything about this school. I cover the waterfront. So you better figure out what side you're on...”

“Please, leave me alone!” Joan is crying, now.

Edmund is about to say something else when there’s a flash from a few feet away. He notices Maggie holding her camera and grits his teeth before storming off. Maggie instantly went to Joan’s aid, but the blonde didn’t seem to be in the mood for pity.

“Hope you enjoyed the show.” Joan grits, wiping away tears. “Thanks for nothing, Maggie.”

Maggie watches her run to the dorms with a frown.

Poor girl...

#life is strange au #six the musical #anne boleyn #jane seymour #henry the eighth #catherine of aragon #maria de salinas #maria on the drums #bessie on the bass #jane rochford #thomas cromwell #catherine parr #katherine howard #tw: gun violence #tw: death

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everlarkbirthdaygifts · 7 years

Text

Happy birthday, pagedancer87!

On this 20th day of September, we want to wish @pagedancer87 a very happy birthday! To help you celebrate, @booksrockmyface has written a special Everlark story just for you! Hope you have a great day! :)

Title: Switch-Up

Gift for: pagedancer87

Rating: T

Author’s note: In all honesty, the first thing that came to mind with body swapping was Charmed. There’s an episode where Piper and Leo have their powers swapped by their unborn baby when they are fighting. So that was the original inspiration. I hope it brings you heaps of joy on your birthday! Many thanks to @writingbutunpublished for reminding me of more details of that episode, helping me come up with this concept, and helping smooth it all out in the end.

________

I slowly open my eyes, feeling the pressure on my chest. It’s odd because I’m usually the one stretched over Peeta.

And then I see the dark hair. Not blonde.

“What—” I cut off before I can say anything else. It was deeper than my own voice. But it came from my mouth.

The head on my chest stirs and looks up at me.

With my eyes.

“What the hell?” She says. She looks down at her body and then back to mine. “Katniss?” She asks tentatively.

“Supposed to be.” I sit up and look across the room to the mirrored closet. I touch my face and Peeta in the reflection touches his. “What happened?”

“I don’t know.” My own reflection is caressing my body, but it isn’t my hands doing it.

“Could you stop that?” I ask sharply, finally looking over.

Seeing a very Peeta-like smile on my own lips is unnerving. “But it feels so good.”

I grab my—no his—hands. This is going to be confusing until we get it fixed. “We should probably get Prim and Annie to help whatever this is.” I move out of bed and head toward the door.

“Maybe you should get dressed first.” Peeta suggests.

I look down. Peeta’s body is clad only in boxers, morning erection very prominent. “That’s what that feeling was.”

Peeta chuckles, so surreal hearing the sound from outside my body. “It’s kind of a relief not to have to deal with that first thing in the morning.”

“I hope this doesn’t last long.” I comment as I make my way to the en suite bathroom. “I like your body, but from the outside.”

Getting dressed for the day is a challenge. Not only do I have extra appendages to deal with, Peeta’s clothes have a lot more variety in color than mine. I don’t know how to match colors nearly as well as him. I pick the most neutral things I can find.

In contrast, Peeta has chosen the most colorful clothes I own to clad my body with. These are things I wore exactly once after buying them and then left shoved in the back of the drawers.

In the kitchen, Prim sees us and immediately says, “It backfired.”

“What backfired?” I ask, making Peeta’s voice harsher than I’ve ever heard even in our biggest arguments.

Peeta places a delicate hand on my arm. “Don’t jump the gun, Katniss.”

Prim holds up her hands. “I was only trying out a new spell. You two have been bickering a lot and I wanted to fix it for a bit.”

I grit my teeth. “Our relationship isn’t something for you to experiment with.”

“Wow, you’re scary.” Prim swallowed. “I didn’t mean anything by it, Katniss. It’s just that I know Peeta has his gallery showing soon and you’ve got the trials for the Olympics and I didn’t want the stress to mess that up for either of you—”

I cut her off with the wave of my hand. “Did you ever think that maybe that was part of the stress?”

Peeta steps in before Prim and I can get into a fight. “Okay, now that we know what happened, how do we fix it?”

Prim looks down and says softly, “I’m not sure I know.” She swallows. “But Annie could probably fix it. She’s better than me.” She looks up again. “Does Peeta have your powers?”

I turn my gaze to Peeta, wearing my body. It wasn’t even something that crossed my mind. “Try to move that.” I point to a fork on the table.

His form is bad, but I can’t fault him for trying. It’s an imitation of something that has become second nature to me. The fork does move just a little.

“Well, that answers that question.” Prim walks over to the table and picks up her notebook where she scribbles her trial spells before they are perfected enough to go into her official spell book. She flips to the last page and hands it to me. “I’ll get Annie.”

“Make sure to knock and give Finnick enough time to put on some pants or something.” I comment as I look over the words in Prim’s neat script. “Don’t need you scarred for life.”

She lets out an uncomfortable laugh and heads quickly out of the kitchen, but Annie steps around the corner at the same moment.

“Where’s the fire?” Annie asks, catching Prim by the shoulders.

Prim explains in a low voice what happened to me and Peeta while I look over the words on the page. Peeta gets to work on breakfast.

“Don’t put any egg yolks in that body, please?” I say, looking over the spell for the third time.

“Sure.” The voice is clipped. There is an implied, “I wasn’t planning to.” Thankfully we are both focused on our tasks for anything else.

Annie slides over beside me and gives me a look up and down. “Good thing Finnick had to leave already or he’d have a field day.” She looks at the spell and lets out a long, low whistle. “You have to resolve your differences.” Annie squints. “Do you have major differences?”

Peeta looks over from the stove glaring at me with my eyes. “One.”

I sigh. “I thought we’d figured that one out.”

“You did.” Peeta pours some scrambled eggs onto the plates he’s gathered and takes some toast out of the oven. “Let’s eat.”

“I’ll take mine to my room.” Prim picks up a plate and starts out of the room. “Got a test Monday.”

Annie does the same. “I’ll eat in front of Good Morning America.”

Peeta and I are left alone.

I take the plate of egg whites and heave a sigh as I pass them back with a mumbled apology and pick up the other plate. “Are you going to the range for me today?”

“I don’t know. Are you going to paint that portrait I’ve been struggling with?” Peeta gives me a smirk. My lips never smile like that. It kind of pisses me off.

“Gale will know.” I say, sniffing the eggs. “And he won’t be happy about it.”

“Then we stay.” Peeta sits at the table and indicates the opposite seat. “And we work this out.”

“I’m not—” I start, but he holds up his hand.

“I know. We’ve gone around and around it.” Peeta sighs. “I just still don’t understand.”

I swallow and put down my fork. “Do you know how many times my life has been in danger?”

“I don’t—”

“Twice.” I interrupt. “Just this week.”

“Katniss…”

I look down at the familiar hands in my lap. They look different through these eyes. “You make me feel safe, Peeta. But that doesn’t mean I am safe.”

“You and Prim together are strong. With Annie here now, it’s just more power.” Peeta reaches across the table to me. “I get that you’re scared. God, Katniss, I am too. But Annie was telling me that there are all kinds of protections spells you three could weave together. Stuff for the house or cars. Charms to wear. Even spells that can be put into clothes and stuff that don’t go away with a wash.” He squeezes my hands. “I want a family with you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted since I fell in love with you.”

I rub my thumbs over his hands. His thumbs, my hands. “Maybe we can work out a few compromises.”

Peeta nods. “Okay, what do you suggest?”

“A separate place to live, for starters. I love living with Prim and Annie, but I feel sometimes like we’re all on top of each other.”

“Not too far away, I hope.” Peeta says.

I shake my head. “I was kind of thinking we could modify the garage. No one’s used it for a car since my grandparents lived here. And it’s huge. Plenty big enough for us and a couple kids.” I thread our fingers together. “It probably wouldn’t take very long if we can get our live-in carpenter to help us out with the big stuff.”

Peeta smiles. “It sounds perfect.”

“And then we can move in. And depending on how this next couple years go with my training and all the trials, we could start our family then.” I feel a bit of a tingle at the tips of my fingers and toes.

“As long as you’re sure?”

“I am.” The tingle slowly shifts up my arms and legs. “Anything you want to add?”

“I’m already getting what I want with the baby.”

“You always said you wanted to marry me, too.” My heart is beating so fast, I can’t catch my breath.

“You always said that too.” Peeta grins and grips my hands tighter.

My whole body is now vibrating. “So let’s do the traditional boring things first.” I start to feel light.

“Not too traditional.” Peeta says. “I’ll go to the courthouse with you on Monday if we can start working on that garage later in the week.”

“I’m not giving up the Olympics.”

“I don’t expect you to. I never want you to forfeit your dream for mine. Ever.”

There’s an explosion behind my eyes and everything goes really bright for a moment. When my eyes focus again, I look across the table and see Peeta’s face. His real face. We have switched back.

“Was that for real?” I ask, surprised to hear my own voice again. “You want to marry me Monday?”

“I’d marry you today if the courthouse was open.” Peeta says, his face lighting up. He kisses my hands. “I love you, Katniss. Don’t ever stop fighting for the gold medal. I’ll still be here.”

I walk around the table and sit on Peeta’s lap. “Thank you for finally understanding.”

“Thank you.” He leans in and kisses me softly, smiling against my lips.

“Are you back?” Prim asks tentatively from the kitchen door.

We look over to see her and Annie with their heads stacked on top of each other comically. I smile and nod. “We’re back.”

“We’re getting married Monday.” Peeta adds.

“And we’re renovating the garage to turn it into a house, if that’s okay.” I give Prim a pleading look.

Prim grins and steps into the room. “I like the sound of that.”

Annie asks, “You’re not going to back out of the Olympic trials, are you?”

“Never.” I reply. “But as soon as it’s all over, you may be hearing the pitter-patter of little feet.”

Peeta holds me tighter a moment and buries his face in my hair.

Prim twists her fingers. “I’m really sorry I got you into that mess. I won’t ever do it again.”

I get up and walk around the table, hugging my sister close. “Just be careful with spells. You’re still learning. Maybe let me and Annie look over them before you cast them. Especially Annie since she’s been doing this a little longer than me.” I kiss Prim’s temple and step away. “Now, I really should go to the range and get some practice in.”

It’s good to be back in my own skin.

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #everlarkbirthdaydrabbles #everlarkbirthdaygifts #fan fic #by booksrockmyface

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18 The boy from District 1 dies before he can pull out the spear. My arrow drives deeply into the center of his neck. He falls to his knees and halves the brief remainder of his life by yanking out the arrow and drowning in his own blood. I'm reloaded, shifting my aim from side to side, while I shout at Rue, "Are there more? Are there more?" She has to say no several times before I hear it. Rue has rolled to her side, her body curved in and around the spear. I shove the boy away from her and pull out my knife, freeing her from the net. One look at the wound and I know it's far beyond my capacity to heal, beyond anyone's probably. The spearhead is buried up to the shaft in her stomach. I crouch before her, staring helplessly at the embedded weapon. There's no point in comforting words, in telling her she'll be all right. She's no fool. Her hand reaches out and I clutch it like a lifeline. As if it's me who's dying instead of Rue. "You blew up the food?" she whispers. "Every last bit," I say. "You have to win," she says. "I'm going to. Going to win for both of us now," I promise. I hear a cannon and look up. It must be for the boy from District 1. "Don't go." Rue tightens her grip on my hand. "Course not. Staying right here," I say. I move in closer to her, pulling her head onto my lap. I gently brush the dark, thick hair back behind her ear. "Sing," she says, but I barely catch the word. Sing? I think. Sing what? I do know a few songs. Believe it or not, there was once music in my house, too. Music I helped make. My father pulled me in with that remarkable voice - but I haven't sung much since he died. Except when Prim is very sick. Then I sing her the same songs she liked as a baby. Sing. My throat is tight with tears, hoarse from smoke and fatigue. But if this is Prim's, I mean, Rue's last request, I have to at least try. The song that comes to me is a simple lullaby, one we sing fretful, hungry babies to sleep with, It's old, very old I think. Made up long ago in our hills. What my music teacher calls a mountain air. But the words are easy and soothing, promising tomorrow will be more hopeful than this awful piece of time we call today. I give a small cough, swallow hard, and begin: Deep in the meadow, under the willow A bed of grass, a soft green pillow Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes And when again they open, the sun will rise. Here it's safe, here it's warm Here the daisies guard you from every harm Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true Here is the place where I love you. Rue's eyes have fluttered shut. Her chest moves but only slightly. My throat releases the tears and they slide down my cheeks. But I have to finish the song for her. Deep in the meadow, hidden far away A cloak of leaves, a moonbeam ray Forget your woes and let your troubles lay And when again it's morning, they'll wash away. Here it's safe, here it's warm Here the daisies guard you from every harm The final lines are barely audible. Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true Here is the place where I love you. Everything's still and quiet. Then, almost eerily, the mockingjays take up my song. For a moment, I sit there, watching my tears drip down on her face. Rue's cannon fires. I lean forward and press my lips against her temple. Slowly, as if not to wake her, I lay her head back on the ground and release her hand. They'll want me to clear out now. So they can collect the bodies. And there's nothing to stay for. I roll the boy from District 1 onto his face and take his pack, retrieve the arrow that ended his life. I cut Rue's pack from her back as well, knowing she'd want me to have it but leave the spear in her stomach. Weapons in bodies will be transported to the hovercraft. I've no use for a spear, so the sooner it's gone from the arena the better. I can't stop looking at Rue, smaller than ever, a baby animal curled up in a nest of netting. I can't bring myself to leave her like this. Past harm, but seeming utterly defenseless. To hate the boy from District 1, who also appears so vulnerable in death, seems inadequate. It's the Capitol I hate, for doing this to all of us. Gale's voice is in my head. His ravings against the Capitol no longer pointless, no longer to be ignored. Rue's death has forced me to confront my own fury against the cruelty, the injustice they inflict upon us. But here, even more strongly than at home, I feel my impotence. There's no way to take revenge on the Capitol. Is there? Then I remember Peeta's words on the roof. "Only I keep wishing I could think of a way to. to show the Capital they don't own me. That I'm more than just a piece in their Games." And for the first time, I understand what he means. I want to do something, right here, right now, to shame them, to make them accountable, to show the Capitol that whatever they do or force us to do there is a part of every tribute they can't own. That Rue was more than a piece in their Games. And so am I. A few steps into the woods grows a bank of wildflowers. Perhaps they are really weeds of some sort, but they have blossoms in beautiful shades of violet and yellow and white. I gather up an armful and come back to Rue's side. Slowly, one stem at a time, I decorate her body in the flowers. Covering the ugly wound. Wreathing her face. Weaving her hair with bright colors. They'll have to show it. Or, even if they choose to turn the cameras elsewhere at this moment, they'll have to bring them back when they collect the bodies and everyone will see her then and know I did it. I step back and take a last look at Rue. She could really be asleep in that meadow after all. "Bye, Rue," I whisper. I press the three middle fingers of my left hand against my lips and hold them out in her direction. Then I walk away without looking back. The birds fall silent. Somewhere, a mockingjay gives the warning whistle that precedes the hovercraft. I don't know how it knows. It must hear things that humans can't. I pause, my eyes focused on what's ahead, not what's happening behind me. It doesn't take long, then the general birdsong begins again and I know she's gone. Another mockingjay, a young one by the look of it, lands on a branch before me and bursts out Rue's melody. My song, the hovercraft, were too unfamiliar for this novice to pick up, but it has mastered her handful of notes. The ones that mean she's safe. "Good and safe," I say as I pass under its branch. "We don't have to worry about her now." Good and safe. I've no idea where to go. The brief sense of home I had that one night with Rue has vanished. My feet wander this way and that until sunset. I'm not afraid, not even watchful. Which makes me an easy target. Except I'd kill anyone I met on sight. Without emotion or the slightest tremor in my hands. My hatred of the Capitol has not lessened my hatred of my competitors in the least. Especially the Careers. They, at least, can be made to pay for Rue's death. No one materializes though. There aren't many of us left and it's a big arena. Soon they'll be pulling out some other device to force us together. But there's been enough gore today. Perhaps we'll even get to sleep. I'm about to haul my packs into a tree to make camp when a silver parachute floats down and lands in front of me. A gift from a sponsor. But why now? I've been in fairly good shape with supplies. Maybe Haymitch's noticed my despondency and is trying to cheer me up a bit. Or could it be something to help my ear? I open the parachute and find a small loaf of bread It's not the fine white Capitol stuff. It's made of dark ration grain and shaped in a crescent. Sprinkled with seeds. I flash back to Peeta's lesson on the various district breads in the Training Center. This bread came from District 11. I cautiously lift the still warm loaf. What must it have cost the people of District 11 who can't even feed themselves? How many would've had to do without to scrape up a coin to put in the collection for this one loaf? It had been meant for Rue, surely. But instead of pulling the gift when she died, they'd authorized Haymitch to give it to me. As a thank-you? Or because, like me, they don't like to let debts go unpaid? For whatever reason, this is a first. A district gift to a tribute who's not your own. I lift my face and step into the last falling rays of sunlight. "My thanks to the people of District Eleven," I say. I want them to know I know where it came from. That the full value of their gift has been recognized. I climb dangerously high into a tree, not for safety but to get as far away from today as I can. My sleeping bag is rolled neatly in Rue's pack. Tomorrow I'll sort through the supplies. Tomorrow I'll make a new plan. But tonight, all I can do is strap myself in and take tiny bites of the bread. It's good. It tastes of home. Soon the seal's in the sky, the anthem plays in my right ear. I see the boy from District 1, Rue. That's all for tonight. Six of us left, I think. Only six. With the bread still locked in my hands, I fall asleep at once. Sometimes when things are particularly bad, my brain will give me a happy dream. A visit with my father in the woods. An hour of sunlight and cake with Prim. Tonight it sends me Rue, still decked in her flowers, perched in a high sea of trees, trying to teach me to talk to the mockingjays. I see no sign of her wounds, no blood, just a bright, laughing girl. She sings songs I've never heard in a clear, melodic voice. On and on. Through the night. There's a drowsy in-between period when I can hear the last few strains of her music although she's lost in the leaves. When I fully awaken, I'm momentarily comforted. I try to hold on to the peaceful feeling of the dream, but it quickly slips away, leaving me sadder and lonelier than ever. Heaviness infuses my whole body, as if there's liquid lead in my veins. I've lost the will to do the simplest tasks, to do anything but lie here, staring unblinkingly through the canopy of leaves. For several hours, I remain motionless. As usual, it's the thought of Prim's anxious face as she watches me on the screens back home that breaks me from my lethargy. I give myself a series of simple commands to follow, like "Now you have to sit up, Katniss. Now you have to drink water, Katniss." I act on the orders with slow, robotic motions. "Now you have to sort the packs, Katniss." Rue's pack holds my sleeping bag, her nearly empty water skin, a handful of nuts and roots, a bit of rabbit, her extra socks, and her slingshot. The boy from District 1 has several knives, two spare spearheads, a flashlight, a small leather pouch, a first-aid kit, a full bottle of water, and a pack of dried fruit. A pack of dried fruit! Out of all he might have chosen from. To me, this is a sign of extreme arrogance. Why bother to carry food when you have such a bounty back at camp? When you will kill your enemies so quickly you'll be home before you're hungry? I can only hope the other Careers traveled so lightly when it came to food and now find themselves with nothing. Speaking of which, my own supply is running low. I finish off the loaf from District 11 and the last of the rabbit. How quickly the food disappears. All I have left are Rue's roots and nuts, the boy's dried fruit, and one strip of beef. Now you have to hunt, Katniss, I tell myself. I obediently consolidate the supplies I want into my pack. After I climb down the tree, I conceal the boy's knives and spearheads in a pile of rocks so that no one else can use them. I've lost my bearings what with all the wandering around I did yesterday evening, but I try and head back in the general direction of the stream. I know I'm on course when I come across Rue's third, unlit fire. Shortly thereafter, I discover a flock of grooslings perched in the trees and take out three before they know what hit them. I return to Rue's signal fire and start it up, not caring about the excessive smoke. Where are you, Cato? I think as I roast the birds and Rue's roots. I'm waiting right here. Who knows where the Careers are now? Either too far to reach me or too sure this is a trick or... is it possible? Too scared of me? They know I have the bow and arrows, of course, Cato saw me take them from Glimmer's body, but have they put two and two together yet? Figured out I blew up the supplies and killed their fellow Career? Possibly they think Thresh did this. Wouldn't he be more likely to revenge Rue's death than I would? Being from the same district? Not that he ever took any interest in her. And what about Foxface? Did she hang around to watch me blow up the supplies? No. When I caught her laughing in the ashes the next morning, it was as if someone had given her a lovely surprise. I doubt they think Peeta has lit this signal fire. Cato's sure he's as good as dead. I find myself wishing I could tell Peeta about the flowers I put on Rue. That I now understand what he was trying to say on the roof. Perhaps if he wins the Games, he'll see me on victor's night, when they replay the highlights of the Games on a screen over the stage where we did our interviews. The winner sits in a place of honor on the platform, surrounded by their support crew. But I told Rue I'd be there. For both of us. And somehow that seems even more important than the vow I gave Prim. I really think I stand a chance of doing it now. Winning. It's not just having the arrows or outsmarting the Careers a few times, although those things help. Something happened when I was holding Rue's hand, watching the life drain out of her. Now I am determined to revenge her, to make her loss unforgettable, and I can only do that by winning and thereby making myself unforgettable. I overcook the birds hoping someone will show up to shoot, but no one does. Maybe the other tributes are out there beating one another senseless. Which would be fine, Ever since the bloodbath, I've been featured on screens most than I care. Eventually, I wrap up my food and go back to the stream to replenish my water and gather some. But the heaviness from the morning drapes back over me and even though it's only early evening, I climb a tree and settle in for the night. My brain begins to replay the events from yesterday. I keep seeing Rue speared, my arrow piercing the boy's neck. I don't know why I should even care about the boy. Then I realize. he was my first kill. Along with other statistics they report to help people place their bets, every tribute has a list of kills. I guess technically I'd get credited for Glimmer and the girl from District 4, too, for dumping that nest on them. But the boy from District 1 was the first person I knew would die because of my actions. Numerous animals have lost their lives at my hands, but only one human. I hear Gale saying, "How different can it be, really?" Amazingly similar in the execution. A bow pulled, an arrow shot. Entirely different in the aftermath. I killed a boy whose name I don't even know. Somewhere his family is weeping for him. His friends call for my blood. Maybe he had a girlfriend who really believed he would come back. But then I think of Rue's still body and I'm able to banish the boy from my mind. At least, for now. It's been an uneventful day according to the sky. No deaths. I wonder how long we'll get until the next catastrophe drives us back together. If it's going to be tonight, I want to get some sleep first. I cover my good ear to block out the strains of the anthem, but then I hear the trumpets and sit straight up in anticipation. For the most part, the only communication the tributes get from outside the arena is the nightly death toll. But occasionally, there will be trumpets followed by an announcement. Usually, this will be a call to a feast. When food is scarce, the Gamemakers will invite the players to a banquet, somewhere known to all like the Cornucopia, as an inducement to gather and fight. Sometimes there is a feast and sometimes there's nothing but a loaf of stale bread for the tributes to compete for. I wouldn't go in for the food, but this could be an ideal time to take out a few competitors. Claudius Templesmith's voice booms down from overhead, congratulating the six of us who remain. But he is not inviting us to a feast. He's saying something very confusing. There's been a rule change in the Games. A rule change! That in itself is mind bending since we don't really have any rules to speak of except don't step off your circle for sixty seconds and the unspoken rule about not eating one another. Under the new rule, both tributes from the same district will be declared winners if they are the last two alive. Claudius pauses, as if he knows we're not getting it, and repeats the change again. The news sinks in. Two tributes can win this year. If they're from the same district. Both can live. Both of us can live. Before I can stop myself, I call out Peeta's name.

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