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tartagilicious · 3 years

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history was all you left me > helios

𝓱𝓮𝔂 ✨ ｈｅｙ 👋 ᏂᏋᎩ 🧍🏼‍♀️what’s up yall long time no see- i’ve gotten some really creative requests in the time i’ve been busy/distracted, and i’m excited to finally be sharing them 🥺 also, thank you so much anon! your support and kind words mean the world to me! i took your request and ran with it a bit, so i hope you like it :D

“Hi, congratulations on 1800 followers! I love your writing and get excited every time I see something new from you 😊 can I request something that starts with “did it ever occur to you that you’re hurting me too?” and ends with “you’re not nearly as bad as you think you are” with Kiro/Helios? Idk if this fits, but could “the problem is, if I kissed you, I don’t think I would be able to stop” be added? If not it’s okay! Thank you 😊

[powerful by major lazer]

The best memories are often those you have hardly any of. The lone winter night where you shared an awfully small cup of coffee in a gas station, or the few times you found him lounged in your apartment after a long day at work, always resurface on evenings spent alone. But, that’s how it is now -- small echoes, though not the same as the person, will have to suffice.

A small part of you resents what wants to relive the moments Helios left you, but the other is what drags you out to spots that take a more prominent place: the street you first met him on, the hotpot restaurant tucked in an alleyway that he frequents, even the fountain outside your apartment complex that he’d frequently toss pennies into.

Everything, no matter how insignificant it may seem, holds you above water. You only hope it’ll continue to do so until the day you’re able to see him again.

Weeks pass unhindered, where parts of him continue to remain filtered into your everyday routine. Until one night as you’re walking home from work, and the real deal presents itself on the crosswalk some ways in front of you.

You only see him from behind, but know there’s not a chance you wouldn’t recognise him.

“Helios!” You shout the man’s name with every ounce of strength and dignity you have left, listening as the desperation in your voice reverberates in the night sky. Seeing him today wasn’t how you imagined it would go -- it never seems to be, but even now as you meet him by coincidence in the middle of the night, you’re reminded that everything has the chance to happen under the eyes of fate.

There’s not a soul around you due to the hour, disregarding the few common stragglers here and there. A jumble of embarrassment and regret quickly bubbles up in your chest as quickly as you do try to push it down. You weren’t even sure that he’d stop for you.

That wouldn’t come as much of a surprise anymore, though.

Even now, he stands unmoving out of his own liberty. Helios has been acting this way for a while, avoiding you and pushing back at any of your attempts to reach out, all while retaining his usual cold front at whatever cost necessary. You envied him bitterly for being able to brush you aside so easily, knowing that you, on the other hand, would never let go of him without a fight.

But this time, rather than ignoring you, he stops. It’s almost as if he’s sensed the way your gaze hangs on the back of his head. Whatever the case, though, you take it at face value; you don’t have the emotional capacity to dig any further.

“Seriously,” You sigh in relief as your voice comes out in a whisper. His figure steadily returns to its normal size as you walk closer, broad shoulders staggering almost undetectably as you stop behind him.

“What made you stop now that wasn’t there before?” You ask, trying very little to hide the bite in your voice. “There must be a good reason you’re ignoring me so shamelessly, right?”

His face is out of view, but you can almost picture the annoyance sparking in his blue eyes. Whether or not that’s what you want, taunting him might be the only surefire way to continue to keep him on a hook. You truly did need a fisherman’s patience when dealing with the man, that was for sure.

“I’m not ignoring you, I’m just busy.”

Your heart pricks with anxiety for a split second before you remember who you’re dealing with.

“What are you talking about? I’d understand if you’re busy, but you can’t even look me in the eye anymore.” You put a hand out in an aimless gesture as you speak, letting it fall back to your side as you finish quietly, “...Did I do something wrong?”

He hums amicably, at last turning around and meeting your gaze. Helios’s eyes are just as strong as you remember, but you don’t break away even as they narrow.

“If you always assume you’re at fault without explanation, I think that should be enough of an answer.” Without further comment, he turns back around and casually pushes the button at the crosswalk. Your jaw drops open at the unexpectedly straight response.

You walk up to him in a huff and put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to turn around reflexibly. “Why do you say one thing and then immediately imply the opposite? Are you trying to dance around the question, or just get away as soon as possible?”

“Aren’t you aware that both of those conclusions hurt?” You hesitantly retract your hand, sighing as you scratch the top of your head in a sudden fit of bashfulness. “I just thought we were friends, you know? I hate that the only part of you I ever see is your back.”

“___,” Helios sighs, looking back over his shoulder. “Don’t take it personally. It’s only in your best interest to distance yourself from me.”

You scoff. His words make your blood boil and drain your lungs of air.

“Who are you to decide that for me?” Your voice wavers as you shake your head firmly, crossing your arms under the scrutiny as he watches you carefully. “You’re not nearly as bad as you think you are.”

“I won’t let you paint yourself as some villain, or martyr that only hurts those around them. Not as long as the person who stands in front of me is the same.”

He cocks his head, mouth briefly falling open and closed before he waves his hand. “I don’t think you understand, in the end, it doesn’t matter how you see me, or how I think of myself. ___, I bring danger whether you like or not. I’m not the bad guy for wanting to keep you out of it.”

“I’m grateful for the sentiment, but your help does little but cause pain for us both. I’m not quite that different, danger always finds its way to me as well.” You chuckle sadly, missing the way his eyes flicker away. “I’m the queen. It can’t be helped.”

There’s something more to his words, his argument, even -- you can tell. But recognising the foreclosed look that takes over his expression just as well as you can his striking reluctance, you know that he won’t share his concerns any further.

“..Then, how about I simplify it?” Helios looks you straight in the eye, lips pursing as if making a casual agreement. “I don’t want to add to your plate.”

He then turns to push the button at the crosswalk, but you catch his wrist just as he moves away.

“Add to it. Or, are you afraid?”

Helios’s eyes silently trail down to your hand, and for a moment, you almost feel as if you’re in trouble. However, his low voice sounds just before you can admit any last minute regrets.

“...And how would you like me to do that?”

He bends closer to say this, warm breath hitting your ear awfully striking against the cold winter air. You move your head to meet his eyes at an awkward angle, brows pinched. “W-Well,” You briefly stumble over your words, letting your eyes wander selfishly over his face. “...A hello kiss would be nice,”

Helios processes this for a moment before scoffing, leaning back and placing a hand flat on your head. “You’re too spoiled.”

You elbow him away as a flush spreads across your face. Helios takes a step back as a noise almost resembling a laugh leaves his mouth, hand slipping from your hair. There’s a distinct tinge to his pale skin as he mumbles, “The problem is, if I kissed you, I don’t think I would be able to stop.”

“Then, what I’m hearing is a no?”

“Didn’t say that.”

#mlqc #mr love queen’s choice #mlqc kiro #mlqc helios #mlqc x reader'#mlqc imagine #mr love queen’s choice kiro #mr love queen’s choice helios #mr love queen’s choice x reader #mr love queen’s choice imagine #kiro #helios #x reader #eheheheh have I mentioned how much I hate tagging things #god I hate it #but I don’t hate helios 😌 and that’s on priorities

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kimistorm · 3 years

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Don't do That! (Doctor Strange x Reader Part 7)

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe

Pairing: Doctor Strange x fem! Reader

Series: It's all a Little Strange, Chapter 7 Masterlist

There was the sound of magic coming from the library. Mordo and Wong clearly heard it too as they were running towards the library. You burst through the door and saw Stephen with the Eye of Agamotto open and running. Behind him, mirrored walls were starting to pop up from the ground. “Stephen no!” you shouted and ran at him to knock him down and hopefully break his concentration.

“Stop!” Mordo yelled as well and Stephen snapped out of his stupor a moment before you crashed into him.

“What were you thinking!” you demanded and got back onto your feet without helping Stephen to his feet.

“Tampering with the continuum of probability is forbidden!” Mordo shouted as he ran up to Stephen.

“I... I wa... I was just doing exactly what it said in the book!” Stephen stuttered in defense. “And what did the book say about the dangers of performing that ritual?” Mordo shot back. “Yeah, I don't know. I hadn't gotten to that part yet.” Stephen confessed. Mordo shook his head and explained, “temporal manipulations can create branches in time. Unstable dimensional openings. Spacious paradoxes! Time loops!” You interrupted Mordo, “you want to get stuck reliving the same moment over, and over, forever, or never having existed at all?” you asked in disbelief. Stephen tried to laugh, “they really should put the warnings before that stuff.”

“I told you that!” you shouted in frustration, “I told you that warnings go after the spell!”

“Either way, they really should-”

“Stephen!” you cried out, “your curiosity could have gotten you killed.” “You weren't manipulating the space-time continuum,” Mordo explained, “you were wrecking it.” He looked disapprovingly at Stephen, “we do not tamper with natural law. We defend it.”

“Don’t do that.” You stated stubbornly and refused to look Stephen in the eye, “don’t...mess with stuff you don’t understand.” You finished quietly and wiped a tear that had fallen.

“I clearly understood it if I could do it, and I read through the book.” Stephen protested.

“Ha! You didn’t ‘read through the book,’” you finally looked at Stephen and met your watery eyes with his shocked ones, “you only read part of it. Like you said, you hadn’t got to the warnings part yet.”

“Wha? (f/n), is this sentiment coming through?” he asked in amusement.

“Shut up Stephen!” You shoved his shoulder with enough force he had to step back to regain his balance. “I’d have to be pretty heartless to not care about you.” You answered, “though it seems heartless-ness is something you excel at.” You muttered under your breath.

“If you’re done having your domestic-” Mordo started.

“Oh my gosh Mordo!” you shouted, “this was not a domestic!” you pointed rapidly between the two of you.

Mordo ignored your outburst and trained his concentration on Stephen, “how did you learn to do that?” he gestured to the Eye of Agamotto, “where did you learn the litany of spells required to even understand it?”

“I’ve got a photographic memory,” Stephen explained, “it’s how I got my M.D. and Ph.D at the same time.”

“What you just did,” Mordo once again gestured to the Eye of Agamotto, “takes more than a good memory. You were born for the mystic arts.”

“Hold up,” you stepped into the conversation, “how can you conclude that?”

“It takes years for someone to have the skill to utilize the Eye of Agamotto. I’m sure you can’t even do it yet,” Mordo explained and you frowned at his comment, “and he was able to do it in weeks.”

“What about you,” you continued to sulk and crossed your arms, “can you utilize the Eye?”

“I’ve never tried.” Mordo answered simply.

Stephen shook his head, “I side with (f/n), my hands still shake.” He lifted his hands up to show that they were indeed trembling.

“For now, yes.” Mordo agreed.

“Not forever?” Stephen asked excitedly.

“We’re not prophets.” Mordo shook his head in denial, “come.” He gestured and led the way down the hall. You gestured for Stephen to go first and you were about to follow them when your pager shrieked.

“(f/n)?” Mordo and Stephen turned to look at you as you looked down at the pager.

“You guys go on ahead. Looks like I’m needed at the hospital.” You opened a portal into your room to change, “and it was my off day too.”

You hurriedly changed and portaled a block away from the hospital. You were still straightening your clothes when you burst into the hospital.

“Oh (f/n)! I’m so glad you could make it!” Christine gestured for you to follow her.

“What’s the emergency?” you asked and pulled your hair into a ponytail.

“Our other cardiovascular surgeon is in the middle of a surgery right now, but this guy needs immediate attention.” She explained and led you to a surgery room, “it’ll be quick.”

“Got it.” You responded and entered the room to do your job. Like Christine explained, it was quick and you were out in minutes. Which proved to be excellent timing as you got a text from Stephen. You frowned, you didn’t remember giving him your phone number. It was a simple text with one word, ‘Kaecilius’, and you jumped to look for Christine. “Christine!”

“Yeah?” she asked and looked at you.

“Listen, I’ve got to go. It’s an emergency.” You hurriedly told her.

“Go ahead. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“Thanks Christine!” you called over your shoulder and ran out of the hospital. You found an alleyway and portaled straight to the front of the New York sanctum and burst through the doors.

“I’ve got to hand it to you Kaecilius.” You called out and he spun around to face you, “you didn’t pick an awful time.”

“Who is this chick in scrubs?” you heard one of the zealots mutter.

“This ‘chick in scrubs’ is actually a doctor in scrubs!” you corrected, “and I’m going to kick your butt!” behind them you saw Daniel shaking his head. “Oops, guess I lost the element of surprise didn’t I?”

“Yep!” he shouted.

“Give me a break Daniel! I’m trying to be cool here!” you protested and noticed Stephen standing on the balcony above, “I need to be a cool mentor!”

“Quit while you’re ahead (f/n)!” Daniel laughed.

“Shut up Daniel!” without warning a zealot ran at you with his spear poised to stab you. You jumped and spun around in the air and kicked him in the face as you spun around. “At least give me a chance to change!” you shouted indignantly and formed a shield on your left forearm to block the next attack. You flipped over the zealot and landed on his back while simultaneously transforming your shield into your favorite weapons. The two ice chakrams. Before the zealot had a chance to throw you off you jumped off of him but the other zealot ran straight into the area where you were about to land.

“Nope!” you heard Daniel yell and a whip shot out and pulled the zealot away from you.

“Hey Stephen!” you shouted and ducked another stab, “if you feel up to it, you can join in!” you brought a chakram around to slice at the zealot’s legs but he jumped out of the way. You jumped up and threw both chakrams at him.

“Oh, so now I can fight?” Stephen asked in annoyance.

The chakrams returned to you and you snatched them out of the air, “only if you want to. It’s experience!” the zealot ran at you and you spun around and kicked him away. “Daniel and I got this!” you smirked and risked a knowing glance to Daniel.

“Are you still good at that one spell?” Daniel questioned and grunted as he ducked an attack, “because now would be a good time!”

“On it!” you responded and your chakrams dissolved as you summoned a fiery whip and hooked it onto the balcony above the lobby and swung yourself up.

“What are you doing?” Stephen asked as you stood next to him and held your hands together in a symbol.

“Magic.” You replied without looking at him since you’re eyes were closed, “now stop talking.” You started to chant the incantation for the spell and a wind was throw up around you and snowflakes started to form within the whirlwind. Beside you, Stephen had staggered back and held up an arm to shield his eyes. The whirlwind was picking up speed and the snow around you was thickening with you in the center of it all, chanting the entire time.

Neither you nor Stephen noticed a zealot run at you and land a punch straight to your face through the whirlwind. You screamed and fell to the ground and the whirlwind dissipated in a second. You scrambled to get back up in your dazed state but a weight landed itself onto your chest and you blinked to recognize the zealot sitting on you.

“She’s too much trouble,” you heard Kaecilius call out followed by a grunt as he dodged a punch from Daniel, “kill her.”

“No!” you heard two voices yell out and the zealot formed a space shard poised for your heart.

“(f/n)!” you heard Stephen scream and the weapon rushed down at your chest.

Everything seemed to move in slow motion. One of your arms raised to meet the zealot’s arm to block the blow. It didn’t completely block it, but it did cause the zealot to lose her mark and instead stab you in the stomach. Time resumed it’s normal passage and you screeched. Not even a moment later the zealot was yanked from your body as Stephen’s whip wrapped itself around her and tossed her ungraciously over the railing.

“(f/n)! (f/n)!” Stephen rushed to your side.

“There’s still a battle going on Stephen!” you winced, “it’s not fatal.” You used one hand to push him away while the other clutched at your wound to stanch the bleeding, “help Daniel.” When he didn’t move you shoved him harder, “go!”

That shook him out of his reverie and he scrambled up to his feet to go and help Daniel, “stop!” he cried out and leapt over the railing of the balcony to deal with what had happened.

You looked down at your stomach to see the dark red blood quickly seeping through your scrubs, “and these were my nice ones too.” You sighed. You took your shirt and ripped off the lower half of it. Not enough to reveal too much, but enough to provide pressure for your wound. You took it and wrapped it around your wound and tied it tight.

“This better hold up.” You muttered to yourself. Stephen, followed by Kaecilius and his two zealots bound up the stairs and you were no longer hidden from them. You drew out a whip made of the normal red matter as one of the zealots ran at you. You swung the whip around in an attempt to keep the zealot away. It registered in the back of your mind that Daniel was nowhere to be seen. The zealot broke through the line of fire and you barely managed to put up a shield before the zealot was in your face with the space shard pressing down on your shield.

“I don’t want to kill you.” You told the zealot.

“Too bad,” she snarled, “because I do.” She abruptly spun away and came at you with renewed vigor. At the last moment you dodged her and ran out of the balcony to keep you from being cornered in the wall. Your adrenaline was quickly muting the pain from the wound.

You turned around the next corner and fell into the ceiling. The hallway was spinning round and round at Kaecilius’ whim. The other zealot fell around the corner but got back up onto her feet much quicker. At the end of the hallway was the Rotunda of Gateways with one of the gateways broken open. The hallway turned again and this time everyone grabbed onto something to keep from falling through the gateway.

You formed a whip out of the cooler blue substance and hooked it onto the wall. You then swung up to face the other zealot and kicked her hand that was holding onto the ledge of the wall. She screamed and fell down into the gateway, barely skimming past Stephen.

“A little warning would be nice!” he called up to you. You gave him a cheeky smile and dropped down as well. Your whip wrapped itself around a door, but it wasn’t necessary since the hallway corrected itself. You ran towards the dial in front of the gateways but another zealot stopped you by throwing a space shard at you, which you (luckily) dodged.

Stephen then interfered by punching the zealot in the face. You took this opportunity to turn the dial, therefore trapping the other zealot. Stephen managed to throw the zealot into the forest and you spun the dial.

“Good job.” You panted. You started to calm down and the wound made itself known. You winced and placed your hand on the wound. It was bleeding more profusely than ever and the fabric was hot and sticky from blood. You leaned against the wall as your knees started to feel weak.

“(f/n)!” Stephen gasped as he saw how bloodied your clothes were and how pale you were.

You shook your head (which you regretted since you were taken over by a wave of nausea), “Kaecilius. Where’s Daniel?”

Stephen’s answer was interrupted by Kaecilius running up to Stephen with his space shards poised to hit. Stephen ducked and ran down the hall. Kaecilius then turned to you and you dodged and ran down the hall that Stephen ran down. Each step sent pain through you and your vision started to fade in and out. You gritted your teeth as you followed Stephen.

You turned a corner and nearly ran into Stephen who was pulling down a wardrobe, “it won’t do anything, leave it!” you commanded and continued to run.

The two of you made it into the room full of relics, “(f/n), hide. You can’t fight like this.” Stephen ordered.

“I won’t just leave you.” You argued.

“You’re a lot less helpful if you’re dead. You’re losing blood, we don’t have time. Hide!” he shoved you aside and you stumbled, but you followed his words and ducked into another hallway and tucked yourself behind a cabinet.

You ripped a piece of fabric from your pants and wrapped it around your wound. You took deep breaths as you tried to calm down your racing heart. You winced as you heard the sound of breaking glass. As much as you wanted to run to Stephen’s aid, you had to trust that he could hold his own. There was the sounds of more fighting, shoes being dragged against the ground, and then silence. As much as you had faith in Stephen, you couldn’t stand sitting down doing nothing. You tried to get back onto your feet, but the blood quickly rushed from your head and you fell forward. ‘Sorry Stephen.’ You thought to yourself as your eyes closed.

Masterlist

Taglist: @panhoeofmanyfandoms @daydreamer-in-training @marine-captain-deku

#doctor strange #doctor strange x reader #stephen strange #stephen strange x reader #doctor stephen strange #doctor strange x you #reader insert #x reader #marvel #marvel reader insert #mcu #mcu reader insert #marvel imagine #dr strange #benedict cumberbatch #marvel reader insrt #fanfic #marvel fanfic #marvel fanfic series

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zoryany · 4 years

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Hi! I REALLY liked that Skysolo AU where Han has to meet the royal family, if I prompt you ‘8. I know of your reputation all too well.’ could you possible continue it so he meets Vader? 🥺 (totally understand if not, great AU either way!!)

I’m glad you enjoyed it and I ABSOLUTELY can continue it with that prompt, thank you !! (I’ve definitely blurred the line between “ficlet” and full-blown fanfic at this point tbh…)Imperial Royal Skywalker Family AU Pt 1 || send me ficlet prompts – optionally include characters

After they’d finished their tea, Luke was quick to excuse himself and Han, ushering his guest towards the suite he’d prepared earlier. A wave of relief rolled off Han the moment they left the parlour, and Luke couldn’t help but share the sentiment. Everyone had been civil enough for the duration, but Luke had felt the tension that lingered beneath the polite conversation. Mother and Leia were both furious with him, he could tell, and though both would maintain a proper amount of decorum in front of their guest, Luke knew exactly what he was in for once Father returned.

That was not something he was looking forward to.

As he led Han through the corridors between the parlour and the guest room, Luke tried to stay relaxed and exude as much nonchalance as possible. “Well, that wasn’t so bad, was it? I’d say you’ve won over two out of three already. Probably helps they’re both so upset with me that it’s easier for them to speak to you without snapping right now. Though I will be getting an earful later…”

“Gee, that makes me feel real great about this whole thing,” Han grumbled. Luke couldn’t help but feel sheepish at that, which Han instantly noticed and grimaced in response. “No, I just meant that – look, I’m sorry you’re in this mess, and I’m sorry if it’s ‘cause of me…”

“Hey,” Luke said sharply, “none of that. You didn’t make me leave home in the first place, and while I’ve definitely been enjoying our time together, don’t flatter yourself into thinking you’re the reason I’ve stayed away this long.” Chuckling lightly at the look of offense he was getting from the smuggler, Luke continued. “Don’t get me wrong, there’s no way I would’ve stayed on Ord Mantell as long as I did if not for you, but truth be told… well I actually would’ve stayed away longer if we hadn’t met – just on some other planet.”

He could feel the curiosity burning within Han. They never really talked about why he ran away or what he was doing on Ord Mantell. That was part of the reason the two of them had gotten along, initially – no obligation to speak about their pasts, just focus on the present and the future. Even now, Han wasn’t pushing him despite his clear curiosity, but Luke couldn’t avoid his responsibilities forever.

Reaching the door to the guest room, he let out a sigh as he pushed the door open and gestured for Han to enter first. The smuggler hesitated slightly before breezing past the threshold and into the suite. It was not nearly so resplendent as the Royal Rooms, but it was still the height of luxury. Luke had been sure to select one of the smaller rooms and furnish it modestly enough so Han wouldn’t be overwhelmed, but he was all too aware of how extravagant it was. Simple yet tasteful artwork lined the walls, a large window revealed a magnificent view of Coruscant’s upper levels, and the bed that dominated the space was a plush four-poster with a dreamsilk canopy draped over it. Most of the bedding in the Palace was expensive and made of some form of soft, silk-like material, but Luke had managed to dig up a set of lighter sheets made of Alderaanian cotton that would better suit Han’s comfort level. And, sitting on top of the bed was –

“Mother…” Luke groaned as Han held up the finery and examined it. “She wants you to dress for dinner. Probably sent Threepio to set these out for you while we were distracted by tea, and I’m willing to bet my lightsaber that those will fit you perfectly. I’ll throw in my speeder and guess that I’ve got an outfit set out, too.”

“She seriously expects me to wear this?” Han was holding the dark-coloured suit as though it was made of tissue and would shred if he gripped it too tight. “I’m pretty sure the shirt alone cost more than I’ve made – or ever will make – in my entire life.”

Grimacing, Luke felt a pang of embarrassment, knowing full well that he couldn’t deny that. It was part of the reason he’d left in the first place. He’d never felt comfortable with his status, preferring instead to tinker with mechanics or get to know the people or practice flying over the city. Being a prince just never sat quite right with him. But his parents insisted on nothing short of the best for their children, and nothing quite surpassed their desire to keep the twins safe. They meant well. Luke knew they meant well. They were just… stubborn.

He wasn’t ready for that conversation with Han yet, though, so instead he just let out a breezy laugh and shook his head. “I think you’ll look dashing in it. Mother does have impeccable taste, after all. You don’t gotta put it on yet, though. We still have a bit of time before dinner. I can give you a tour, show you all the places I hid and the secrets I discovered growing up.”

***

Tugging lightly at his collar, Han shifted in his seat, hoping he didn’t appear too awkward as he tried not to stare at Luke sitting across from him. When the two had met, he never would have guessed that the scruffy blond with grease on his cheek and dirt under his fingernails could possibly be anyone even remotely noble. He looked like just about every other down-on-his-luck scoundrel just trying to scrape by, even if the kid had a lot more enthusiasm than most. But if Han thought the difference in his voice when speaking to his mother was jarring, seeing Luke dressed up and put together was staggering.

Though his hair wasn’t quite slicked down – Han wasn’t sure if that was even possible, anyways – it was obvious that Luke had at least put some effort into making it presentable, and it lay a lot smoother than usual, framing his face. A white shirt was visible beneath a black tunic, and he wore matching black trousers, all made from the same, expensive-looking material. The real highlight of the outfit, however, was the deep blue cape secured around his neck with a bright golden clasp and a silvery pattern woven throughout the material like constellations. Luke wore the night sky, which only served to make his features appear even more like a radiant sun.

Han had been mostly quiet through the meal in an effort to keep himself from saying anything overly foolish, sticking to polite acknowledgements and general courtesies. He was so caught up in maintaining decorum that he didn’t even really hear much of the conversation around him, catching only snippets here and there.

Luke looked much more at ease than Han was, and he even appeared to have relaxed since the tense tea session they’d had earlier. He was sharing lighthearted banter with his sister (who kept shooting Han suspicious glances, albeit less frequently than before) and chatting pleasantly with his mother (who seemed far warmer and more genuine than earlier). It was clear that, despite the conversations the family still needed to have, they maintained a strong bond and genuine love for one another.

(Han was decidedly not jealous of that. Not at all.)

The pleasant air in the dining room carried on into dessert, by which time even Han had relaxed a bit and would make the odd remark or share the odd barb with the Princess. They had almost finished working their way through the decadent assortment of cakes and pastries when the atmosphere suddenly shifted.

The change was most obvious in Luke, whose eyes blew wide and a shudder rippled through him as he stiffened in his seat. Gasping with a shaky breath, he lifted his gaze and fixed it on something behind Han’s chair.

“Father.” Oh. Kriff. He probably should have been able to guess that. “I, uh – you weren’t due to return home until after dinner.” It was incredible how quickly the kid’s composure could crumble, switching instantly from the picture of Imperial Royalty to the naive, stammering vagabond who could not lie to save his life.

“No, I was not.” The basso tone produced by the vocoder seemed to fill the entire room, and Han had to suppress a shudder as the towering dark form crept into his field of view like a shadow. Darth Vader loomed over Luke, who looked absolutely tiny next to him, and Han had to give the kid credit for not cowering when a gloved finger was pointed between his eyes. “I do, however, have every right to alter my schedule when matters arise concerning my son.” Luke did cringe a little bit at that. Vader wasn’t done. “My son, who I have not heard from in several weeks, who has returned home with… company.”

Han could not say he deserved the same credit as Luke as he cowered the moment that death mask turned to face him. “Ah yeah, hi, that’s me, uhh nice to meet you, Mr. Vader, sir, I’m –”

“Captain Han Solo.” His jaw dropped and he gaped at Vader as he cut him off. “Yes. I know of your reputation all too well.”

Luke’s eyes had gone wide again, and his jaw dropped down as well. Even the Princess seemed taken aback, though the Empress seemed unfazed.

“You – you know who I am?”

“I make a point to know who the Hutts choose to have dealings with.”

Oh. Kriff, he’d forgotten about Vader’s vendetta against the Hutts. “Hey, hey, I don’t go makin’ a habit of it or anything, just a few jobs for Jabba – who didn’t even like me, anyway. Put a bounty on my head when I dropped a job after realizing the cargo wasn’t spice. I don’t smuggle people. Far’s I’m concerned, the galaxy’s better off without him.”

Vader inclined his helmet slightly while keeping his gaze fixed on Han. The dark, deep crimson of the eyeplates felt like they would burn twin holes right through him. “I must admit,” Vader finally said, “that I can agree with you in that regard, at the very least.” For the briefest second, Han got the impression of amusement before the temperature in the room plummeted again and he had to work to keep his composure. “That does not, however, change the fact that you are still a criminal, nor does it excuse the rest of your misdeeds.”

“Well,” said Han, silently cursing his uncontrollable disregard for his own wellbeing, “ya got me there. But I’m a changed man, honest. I’m pretty aware of your reputation, too, and I got no interest in experiencing it firsthand.”

From across the table, he caught a glimpse of Luke’s expression, which was a confused jumble of amusement, horror, mortification, disbelief and resignation. Beside her brother, the Princess concealed a snort, passing it off as a cough. Han was pretty sure he was done for when Vader took a step forward, his arms uncrossing from his chest as he reached a hand towards him, but the Empress had fluidly risen from her seat and appeared at his side.

Resting her hands delicately on his arm, she gazed up at him with a gentle, soothing expression and whispered something that sounded like “Ani.” Her next words were clearer while still remaining gentle and placating. “Captain Solo here is Luke’s guest, and I have personally offered him our hospitality. Please refrain from terrorizing him tonight. You know how our children feel when you frighten off their company.” Luke and Leia both flushed pink and sunk in their seats.

On the surface, it was a standard family interaction, mother holding back father, father upholding authority, children doing all they could to mitigate their embarrassment, but Han could not think of anything more surreal. The mother in question was the most politically powerful person in the galaxy, dressed in resplendent garments of deep crimson as she looked lovingly up at her husband. The father was the most dangerous man in the galaxy, cutting an intimidating figure and dwarfing his wife while still, somehow, managing an unexpected level of tenderness. The children were set to inherit the galaxy, twin Highnesses -- one of whom he was involved with -- and no less dangerous than their parents.

And Han... had no idea what to do with himself.

Far more gentle than he would have ever expected possible, Vader rested a hand on his wife’s cheek and the two shared a brief embrace, seeming to exchange something entirely private and intimate. In their seats, Luke and Leia flushed deeper, and Han found himself wishing he was anywhere else. Withdrawing his hand, Vader seemed somewhat reluctant as he took a step back.

“Very well. This is clearly not a conversation for the dinner table. I shall retreat to my study to tie up what loose ends I can while you conclude your meal. However,” Vader turned to face his son, “your mother and I have much to discuss with you, boy. Do not attempt to needlessly delay this discussion.”

Luke, who had slid about as far down in his seat as he could without falling right off, grimaced and looked up at his father with an expression of contrition. “Yes, sir,” he mumbled before stuffing a small pastry in his mouth.

Vader turned on his heel and swept out of the dining room, leaving it in a thoroughly uncomfortable silence. The Princess was resting her hand on Luke’s shoulder and giving her brother, who appeared mortified, a sympathetic look. The Empress had returned to her seat, looking nonplussed, though she had regained some measure of her former severity.

Once again, Han shifted in his seat and avoided everyone’s gaze. He was starting to get a clearer picture of what he’d gotten himself into. Now he found himself wondering if he’d finally manage to get in over his head.

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lamentalia · 3 years

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Amelia - Chapter 7. Part 2

★

Oh man… she is in way over her head here.

Amelia had only JUST walked through the gates of Achena moments ago and she’s already overwhelmed.

Lovino had advised her against stopping and looking at the map he’d given her if at all possible. She’s supposed to hurry and find “the market” as soon as possible and not wander or stop long enough for anyone to pay her any attention, but… there is just too much here! How is she supposed to tell one building or street from another? How is she supposed to concentrate through the hum and bustle of cats walking around everywhere??

Amelia looks ahead at the wide main road filled with cats and lined with so many wooden buildings, they stretch farther than she can see! And she knows that there are tons of branching streets and alleyways too, each with their own lines of wooden buildings.

In the distance, looking over the roofs of buildings on her right, she can see a group of buildings towering over the whole town. They’re the tallest structures she’s ever seen before. Even the leaning one that looks to be supported by a giant tree is taller than the Sanctuary!

Not only are they huge, though. They’re obviously two-canes ruins. The familiar, smooth rock walls, perfectly square windows and sharp edges, though crumbled in many places and exposing their mysterious metal skeletons, are unmistakable. Much like the Sanctuary, wooden frames, scaffoldings, and even verandas are built over the ruins by cats in order to make the structures more habitable.

Amelia remembers Lovino pointing out that area on the map, but she just can’t catch her bearings like this. She’s glad Lovino’s cloak is hiding most of her face because she’s having a hard time keeping her uneasy expression off of it. On the other hand, it impedes her vision quite a lot more than normal and she bumps into two or three cats as she walks. Perhaps because they’re all taller than her by varying degrees, they don't see her in their path. Again, Lovino told her not to speak under any circumstances or it would be all over, but while she was figuring out a way to excuse herself without speaking, it seems like the cats had already moved on.

Amelia guesses that cats must bump into each other all the time here… So weird. How can they stand it?

Come to think of it, if she’s not allowed to speak, how on earth is she going to find Mattie in all of this mess? Lovino told her to find Gil and Ludwig’s shop first. A logical idea, now Amelia sees how vast and crowded Achena really is, but if she can’t ask anyone how to find it… Amelia wishes she’d remembered the map better, but honestly the tangle of lines and squares didn’t make any sense to her. She thought she’d get by just on her instincts and tracking capabilities… Now she knows, there’s no way that’s happening.

“Hey kid, you dropped something!” Says a voice behind her. Amelia staggers for just a moment as she almost turns around to face the cat who’d called out. In this crowd, she can’t be sure that it was her he was referring to, and even if she had dropped something, it wasn’t likely anything worth engaging a stranger for. So she walks on, pretending she didn’t hear.

“Oh, don’t be like that, brother. I’m not gonna hurt you.” The voice continues and Amelia can tell that it’s owner is falling into step behind her. Dammit… “Look, I have it for you right here.”

Amelia quickens her pace, but finds that doing so makes it harder to dodge the many passing cats. She can feel that the presence behind her doesn’t seem to be in any hurry to catch up with her, but it continues to follow steadily. He’s stopped calling out. She really doesn’t know what it means. The cat isn’t exuding any kind of fighting will but something, likely the paranoia that had been instilled in her by the Sanctuary cats, has her on the run from him.

While she’s distracted she bumps into the arm of someone hard enough to knock her square into the chest of another. Or abdomen, more like… Amelia is so shocked at how tall and broad the cat standing before her is, her mouth falls open when her eyes finally trail high enough to find his face. The big guy’s own violet eyes widen in shock, mirroring her sentiment, at the sight of her much shorter self. They stand frozen like that for what feels like a very long moment. A long and horrifying moment, when Amelia realizes her hood’s fallen back and those violet eyes are scanning her face, ears, eyes, neck…

“Sorry about that!” That voice from behind Amelia calls out once again. “Hahaha! My friend here never watches where he’s going.”

A chill raises the fur on the back of Amelia’s neck at the sound of that voice this time. She can feel now that there’s something wrong about him, and it’s not only because of the lie he’d just spun to “cover” for Amelia’s clumsiness.

Perhaps the chill had shown on her face as well, because Amelia can see the big guy’s expression change in an instant to one of understanding and then to one of recognition. He opens his arms wide and smiles at Amelia joyfully.

“Alyosha! It has been too long! Imagine, meeting like this!” He has a surprisingly delicate laugh, but gives a hearty pat to both of Amelia’s shoulders, then smoothly fixes her hood so that it covers her face again. “Tell me, how was your journey? Oh, but my manners. This tom here is your friend?”

Big guy gestures to the figure behind her and Amelia takes the opportunity to shake her head without looking back at him.

“Oh, dear! Well, an honest mistake I am sure.” Big guy says looking up, and she’s too close and he’s too tall to see whatever exchange is had between the two toms, but all she can hear behind her now is deathly silence. Big guy turns and places a large hand at her upper back to guide her forward into a dark and narrow alley, squished between two tall and long, wooden buildings. “Come, Alyosha, we have so much to catch up on.”

Ok… this… doesn’t feel any safer. But Amelia’s brain isn’t working fast enough in this unfamiliar situation to find an alternative escape route from either of these strange toms. Big guy continues to urge her further into the alleyway until the bustle of the main street is muffled and she can tell that they’d be difficult to see in this shade if anyone were looking in from outside.

Suddenly, moving unexpectedly fast for such a large framed cat, Amelia finds herself being lifted and thrown over a massive shoulder, and hauled up the side of one of the alley walls.

★TBC★ A/N: I’m posting these up so quickly after I write them.... Y’all are getting ROUGH pieces. xD; I get the feeling I’m gonna need to fill in a lot of stuff when I get to actually editing this chapter. Sorry again if it reads weird. If the newly used rusame tag brought you in, you can find a description of this project on my blog and the finished chapters at Ao3. 💕

#lamentalia #aph america #aph russia #rusame #nyo!america #hetalia au #hetalia fanfic #hetalia fantasy au #hetalia #Amelia Chapter 7 #nekotalia #kind of #they're catboys/girls

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treksickfic · 3 years

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Comfort in the Little Things

An Election Day fic for you, even if you are not in the States. There seems to be a collective sense of angst in the air and I needed to read a cozy story; maybe you do, too.

Featuring TOS Spock and McCoy, but not Spones. Self-avowed “bulletproof” McCoy is miserable with a case of Kamaraazite Flu and Spock steps in to help. A short and sweet fic at just around 1800 words.

My immense gratitude to @soupandtissues for the beautiful stories that have comforted me and inspired me to write my own.

The door chime startled Leonard McCoy from a restless half-slumber. He considered standing and crossing to the door but who was he kidding? He lacked the strength to even roll himself over in bed.

“Come,” he croaked, as loudly as he could, and the single word triggered another coughing fit. He propped himself up on one elbow, all the better to not choke to death, he thought, hand pressed to his chest. As the paroxysm gradually passed, he sagged back to the bed, sweating and shivering but too exhausted to do anything to ease his discomfort.

He closed his eyes when he heard measured footsteps approaching the spot where he lay in misery. Chapel again, or M’Benga. Well, he didn’t feel like talking or listening to their chatter and he certainly didn’t need anyone hovering over him. Maybe if he pretended to be asleep, whoever it was would leave.

“So it appears you are not bulletproof after all, Doctor.”

McCoy’s eyes flew open at the deep, measured voice.

“Spock,” he said, resignation in his tone. He’d changed his mind. He’d prefer his over-solicitous nurse or brisk Dr. M’Benga to this. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“When Captain Kirk expressed his concern that you may be affected by the recent outbreak of Kamaraazite flu you said, and I quote, ‘I’ve been in Starfleet Medical for thirteen years, I’m bulletproof by now.’ Clearly you are not.”

McCoy tugged at his blanket to cover himself, feeling exposed under the unrelenting gaze of Spock.

“Kamaraazite flu is a nasty business,” he said. “Thought I was going to sneeze out a vital organ at one point.”

“Patients have been known to do just that. But in your case it was not the virulency of the flu itself, it was overwork and neglecting to administer the serum to yourself in order to ensure an adequate supply for the crew.”

“Hubris, in other words.”

“Not hubris, Doctor. You simply made the mistake common to senior officers, assuming you are indestructible.”

He started to respond and then felt a deep, burning ache in his sinuses. He drew in a quick breath and then folded forward with a powerful sneeze. That might have been my spleen, he thought. When he dared to look up, Spock was standing near the bed, holding out a box of tissues with one hand. McCoy snatched them from him.

“Thanks,” he said, taking a handful and blowing his nose. “For the tissues and for the pep talk. Now what do you want? Did you come here to laugh in my face? Maybe mock my puny human immune system?”

“Not at all, Doctor. I find nothing about your illness amusing. I simply wondered if you were in need of any assistance. Your cough has been quite persistent this evening.”

“And how would you know?”

“Our quarters share a common wall. I have been aware of your distress for some time now.”

“Have you now? Took you long enough to check on me.”

“I assumed you wished to be alone.”

McCoy snorted, which triggered a cough. “Typical heartless Vulcan logic,” he said when he was able.

“Not logic, Doctor,” Spock replied. “A simple inference. You shouted at the last person who attempted to check on you, indicating a strong desire to be left alone.”

“Well, I don’t need your help. And I do want to be alone, so you can leave now.”

“Are you certain? The quality and intensity of your cough is showing evidence of increasing chest congestion and inflammation, but yet you seem unable to clear your airway.”

McCoy tried to respond but curled in on himself as another fit overtook him. He coughed harshly into a handful of tissues, aware of the deep ache in his lungs, and more concerning, the constriction and the rattle when he tried to take a deep breath.

Damn it if he isn’t right.

“Is there any effective medical treatment or does the illness have to run its course?”

McCoy gestured vaguely toward a table in the front room.

“There,” he managed to wheeze out after a few moments, gesturing toward a table in the front room. “Two hyposprays.”

For some reason, he’d left the sprays out of reach. By the time he’d staggered in from Sickbay, his fever had been spiking and he wasn’t thinking straight, just dropped his whole kit on the nearest surface. By the time the fever broke, he’d been too exhausted to fetch any of it.

He flopped backward against a stack of pillows that hadn’t been there a few minutes ago. He felt drained of all energy and was only vaguely aware of Spock’s movements around his quarters. If he could just get some sleep, that’s all he needed to throw this off.

“Is there a preferred location for administration, Doctor?” He reluctantly opened his eyes to see Spock standing nearby, disengaging the hypospray lock with his thumb.

McCoy tilted his head to one side. “Right there,” he said, indicating the exposed arc of his neck. “About the same place you’d give me a nerve pinch.” Not a bad idea at that, instant unconsciousness, but the corophizine would provide the same effect in about twenty minutes or so. He sighed, echoing the hiss of the hypospray.

Spock’s face showed just a hint of distaste, likely a conditioned response from the many times he’d been sick after receiving medication. He administered the second spray and then strode decisively from the room, depositing the hyposprays back into their cases. McCoy turned his head to watch as he busied himself in the small kitchen area. Spock returned to the sleeping quarters carrying a heavy glass mug, steam swirling from the top.

“What’s this?” McCoy said, accepting the drink from him..

“It is tea, with lemon and honey. I understand many humans enjoy it when they are experiencing symptoms of an upper respiratory illness.”

McCoy took a cautious sniff, not that he could actually smell anything, and looked up at Spock.

“Not the Vulcan swill you drink, is it? That stuff could strip paint off a wall.”

“Vulcan spice tea is appropriate for more refined palates. This is plain black Oolong with Andorian honey and lemon. You should find it unassuming enough for your tastes.”

“I’m not sure if I should be insulted or not.” He closed his eyes at the first careful swallow. “It’s good,” he said. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

Spock perched at the edge of the bed. “Whatever you may think of me, Doctor, I do not wish to see you suffer unnecessarily if I can assist you. If that means making you a cup of tea when you are ill, I am willing to do so.”

When he opened his mouth to reply, McCoy began to cough again, a combination of the medication and the tea having the desired effect. He felt the cup lifted from his hand and heard the clink on the bedside table as it was set aside. His cough was productive now, and he felt a gentle hand settle on his back and rest there, unmoving. No unnecessary movement or sentimental patting, just a welcome gesture of support and comfort.

He could barely catch a breath in between violent coughs and when he did, he felt the deep rattle of congestion shifting in his chest. It must be disgusting to listen to. He scrabbled for the box of tissues Spock had given him earlier and felt it placed in his hands. He kept his head turned away as he struggled, trying to make a neat pile as he went through nearly the entire box of tissues. The fit seemed unending but finally he was able to take a deep breath without triggering another cough and he sank back to the pillows, covered in sweat, head pounding, chest aching, but feeling some relief.

Spock disposed of the tissues and now sat with a wet cloth in hand, a look of utter concentration on his face as he carefully bathed McCoy’s forehead and temples.

“I can do that,” he said, reaching for the cloth but without much conviction in his voice. It was humiliating to be tended to by Spock, but he felt too weak to do much about it.

“Lie still, Doctor.” he said, running the damp washcloth along the sides of his neck.

“Y’know, if you’re going to play nursemaid, you can use my first name.”

Spock made no response, folding the cloth and setting it near the mug when he’d finished.

“You’d have made a good physician, Spock.”

He raised one eyebrow. “How so?”

“You’re calm, you don’t panic. You do what needs to be done with no fuss. Guess that’s what comes from having no emotions. Wish I could manage it.”

“Vulcans do experience emotions. So powerful that if we were to allow our emotions to dominate, it would mean a return to the savagery of our old ways. We are taught control from a young age.”

Spock had alluded to the old ways before but McCoy had difficulty imagining him as anything but cool and unflappable. But maybe, just maybe, in those mysterious eyes, there was a hint of what was possible.

“Nurse Chapel will be delighted to know you have emotions. Or maybe disappointed.”

“Christine already understands this aspect of my nature. She is one of the few who does.”

The medication was having its desired effect. The urge to cough lessening, his breathing easier and a lazy, floating drowsiness taking over. McCoy waggled his eyebrows lazily at the sound of his head nurse’s first name.

“‘Christine’ huh?’ Why, Spock, I had no idea.”

“It is not what you are assuming, Doctor. Nurse Chapel is sensitive, insightful and makes no assumptions about other species. You are fortunate to have her on your staff.”

“What’re you still doing here?” McCoy’s voice was beginning to slur as he changed the subject. He didn’t have the energy for their usual banter.

“I am, as you say, ‘keeping you company,’” Spock replied. “You don’t need to do that.”

“On the contrary, Doctor. The sooner you fall asleep, the sooner I can return to my preferred evening activities.”

“Nearly there,” McCoy murmured.

“Then I will leave you to your rest.” Spock stood. “Shall I check on you later?

McCoy waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, I’m feeling pretty good.”

And then he closed his eyes, vaguely aware of a sleepy half-smile on his face. Through his half-asleep haze he felt a hand settle against the top of his head.

“Then sleep well, Leonard.” Spock said. “We need you back in sickbay.”

McCoy responded with a click of his tongue and a fingergun gesture without lifting his hand from where it rested on his chest. “Will do.”

The last thing he heard was a sigh, the sound of the door to his quarters sliding shut and then all was dark and peaceful.

#sick fic #sickfic #star trek sickfic #sick bones #caretaker spock #hurt/comfort #star trek hurt/comfort #that's probably enough tags #I hope you enjoy

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kusunogatari · 4 years

Text

[ ObiRyū October | Day Twenty-Two | Domino Effect ] [ @abyssaldespair ] [ Uchiha Obito, Suigin Ryū, Jiraiya ] [ Verse: Best Years of Your Life ] [ Vulgarity, blood ]

[ Previous ] [ Next ]

Sometimes, a single, seemingly-innocuous action can begin a chain of events that no one could have predicted.

She begins the day so nervous, it feels like she’s going to throw up.

It’s only been three weeks since they moved here. Three weeks to adjust to a new city, new neighborhood, new house...and now, a new school. Ryū hasn’t even unpacked all of the boxes in her room. But today she starts the final year of her high school experience knowing absolutely no one, and dreading having to start completely over.

A knock sounds on her door, and she spins around to it, immediately feeling foolish for being so jumpy.

Catching the movement, her father perks a brow. “...everything okay in here?”

“Yeah, just…” Her arms lift in a gesture of general hopelessness. “...y’know.”

Jiraiya softens into a warm smile. “I know this is cliche to say, but...it’s gonna be fine. Rough at first, I’m sure. But you’ll find a niche eventually. ‘Just be yourself’ and all that stereotypical fatherly advice, hm?”

She gives a flat snort. “...I guess so. I guess I just wish it wasn’t so close to the end...feels like it’ll be over before I even settle in.”

Sighing, Jiraiya rubs at his neck. “I know, I’m sorry honey...but wherever work calls, you have to follow. I know your mother wasn’t sure about this move, but…”

“But, that’s how it goes,” Ryū finishes quietly, having heard the sentiment more times than she can count since word of her mother’s relocation was broken to her. “I’m not...mad or anything. I know there wasn’t any choice. I just have so much to...start over with now, and when I already have a new phase coming up in just a year with college.”

“Believe me, your mother and I talked about it for weeks when this whole thing came up. She didn’t want to go, either. None of us did, really. But you’ll get it figured out. I know it’s a shakeup you weren’t expecting. But it’ll work out in the long run. Just keep your head up.”

“...I will.”

“Well...I’ve got breakfast all ready. Want any?”

Ryū’s face turns a bit queasy. “I...dunno if that’s a good idea. I don’t feel so good, and...I’d rather not give my stomach any ammunition.”

In spite of himself, Jiraiya laughs. “That’s fair enough. You sure you don’t want me to take you?”

“I’m a big girl, Dad...I can handle it.”

“All right. Well...I’ll be ready for you to sob on my shoulder when you get home.”

“...thanks.”

Fetching her stuff, Ryū heads out to her car and tosses it into the passenger seat. She still has plenty of time to park, head in, and find the right classroom for her first period class. Thankfully she and her parents got a tour a few days ago, and it...mostly stuck.

Now to put her memory to the test.

The parking lot at the end of the building is mildly empty, and she finds a decent spot. Doing her best to blend in with the crowds heading inside, Ryū tries to look far more nonchalant than she’s feeling.

Whether or not it works...she can’t really tell, too focused on staring straight ahead and going over her mental map.

First thing is first: find her locker, put away anything unnecessary, and then head to first period. Should be simple enough, right? It’s crowded, but she knows the number, eyes flickering between the plates on the doors and her path to avoid bumping into anyone.

Once in place, it’s a matter of recalling the combination. Or, rather...looking to her palm where she’s scribbled it: one less thing to have to memorize quite yet. It opens at her urging, and she shrugs her bag off her shoulder just as her neighbor shows up.

And oh gosh...what a neighbor they are.

She gives a glance, and then does a double take. This guy is huge! Tall, bulky, and from her position to his right...she can see a pattern of scars along the side of his face.

For a moment, her eyes go wide in shock. What could have happened to -?

“Heads up!”

Behind them, someone barrels into the pair of them...or rather, mostly into her neighbor, clipping her in the process.

“Hey!” she cries out at the impact, having to catch herself as not to end up in her locker.

Beside her, the guy isn’t so lucky. A book, notebook, and several utensils clatter to the floor in a racket. Immediately, laughter breaks out.

And Ryū forgets where she is.

Puffing up like an angry bird, she calls, “Watch it, jerkface!” Of course by then the perpetrator is too far away to bother responding, but...it makes her feel better. Under her breath, she mutters, “What an asshole…” before taking a knee beside her companion and picking up his things just as he kneels to do the same.

They both pause, each with a few items in hand. While Ryū’s expression is clearly surprised, his own is heavy with suspicion, wariness, and a clear expectation of being treated poorly.

“...I’m sorry about that,” she then mumbles, handing over his things. “That was so rude…”

“You better get used to it.”

His blunt reply sees her stagger for a moment. “...y-yeah, I...guess so. I’m Ryū, by the way. Are you a senior, too…?”

For a moment he doesn’t reply, going back to gathering up his things. Seems he’s...maybe not so friendly…?

“...uh -?”

“Obito. Senior,” he then offers, and again she’s taken aback by his clipped response.

“Oh, well...nice to meet you…?”

He just scoffs, turning his back and leaving.

Ryū, left in the wake, just...blinks.

A domino falls.

...well that was odd. Mulling the interaction over for a moment, Ryū just sighs before fetching her things and heading to her first class.

Not a good first start, but...hopefully it’ll get better.

Class, however, isn’t exactly a great time to make friends. Teachers give their lessons, students either pay attention or slack off...and then they’re shuffled off to the next one.

Come lunch, she hasn’t had a chance to say a complete sentence to anyone else.

And now for the hardest part...finding a place to sit in the lunchroom.

Thankfully she’s early enough she finds a mostly-empty table, sitting and simply eating her food. And then -

“You’re in my spot.”

Almost choking on a bite of rice, Ryū stifles a cough as best she can looking up to see...the boy from earlier? “S-sorry. Was just, um -?”

Rather than complain further, he just...sits next to her.

She blinks.

With rather obvious gusto, he starts shoveling food into his mouth. Guy must have an appetite, though...with his size, she can understand why. Must take a lot of fuel to keep him going. Suddenly feeling rather small and a bit intrusive, she pokes nervously at her own tray. The nervous indigestion she felt when she woke up threatens to make a second appearance.

“Thanks for this morning.”

She flinches a bit at his words before the meaning registers. This morning…? Oh! When his stuff fell! “Y...yeah! Sure. Nothing got lost, did it…?”

He shakes his head, mouth full.

“...o-okay. Well that’s...that’s good.”

...she gets the feeling this guy doesn’t talk much. Or if he does, it’s not usually pleasant. So the thank-you brings a little hopeful flutter to her chest. Maybe she made a good impression…?

“You’re new, huh?”

...is it that obvious? “Yeah, I...just transferred. I moved three weeks ago.”

Obito gives her a glance, expression a bit calculating. “Senior year...that sucks.”

Her shoulders wilt. “...yeah. My mom had to move for work, so...the rest of us followed.”

“Have a lot of friends back where you came from.”

“Um...a few. I really miss them now, though…” She tucks a few stray locks behind her ear. “...not very fun being the new kid this late in the game. You’re...the first person I’ve really talked to yet.”

“Lucky you.”

Her brow gives a slight furrow of confusion.

In response, he nods his chin out from their table. Ryū follows the gesture and then balks.

While not everyone, a fair number of people are giving their table a glance, whispering and looking concerned.

“You might be able to guess, but...I’m not very popular. Sitting next to me might not be the best decision if you want anyone else to talk to you.”

“...but…?” She looks back to him, now far more confused. “Why would anyone dislike you?”

“I’m not a very nice guy.”

Ryū studies his face for a moment. “...you’ve been pleasant to me.” Blunt, sure...but not rude, or mean.

“You helped me this morning.”

“Well of course! Why wouldn’t I? I don’t know anything about you. I’m not going to make any assumptions. You needed help. I gave it. It’s really not very complicated.”

It’s Obito’s turn to look her over, chewing one of his last bites. “...you’re pretty naive, aren’t you?”

She sniffs. “I know there’s bad people. I’m not denying that. But more often than not, bad people are just someone mistreated who need the kindness the world has yet to show them. Being bitter and throwing that bitterness back at what made you that way doesn’t make you bad. It makes you unfortunate. And that can always change. Very few people are stuck being as bad as others make them out to be.”

He blinks.

Another domino falls.

Lunch ends without much further surprise, Ryū making her typical pitstop at her locker as Obito does the same. Neither of them speak to each other, but the tense, awkward air of this morning seems to have lifted. Between each of their last few classes, the same silent camaraderie falls over them.

And then the day ends.

Shoving things into her bag (by some grace, she’s avoided any major homework on her first day: just some reading to do before Wednesday), Ryū shuts her locker door with a small sigh.

“So...how would you rate your day?”

Ryū hums in thought at Obito’s question. “I’d say...a seven…?”

“That high?”

“Well...nothing bad particularly happened. So I can’t count that against the score. But not much good really happened either, so it’s mostly neutral. Except one thing.”

“And that is?”

“I think I might have made a friend.”

Obito blinks, eyes widening just a few degrees in surprise. “...you sure that’s one of the good things?”

“A friend is always a good thing, right?”

“...depends on the friend.”

Another hum. “...well, I guess we’ll have to see. But they’ve made a pretty okay impression so far.”

“You might not want to hold your breath on that.”

A smile threatens to lift her lips. “Guess that’s up to them then, isn’t it?”

He just scoffs, turning and heading down the hallway.

Ryū, however, gives a little laugh to herself before taking another exit closer to the parking lot.

“Sooo...how’d it go?”

Barely in the door, Ryū blinks as her father questions her. “Uh...okay, I guess.”

“Not catastrophes?”

She snorts as she shuts the door behind her. “Not really, no. I might’ve made a friend.”

“Oh really! Is she nice?”

“He is...um…” A pause, nibbling her lip. “...I’m not sure yet. But his locker is next to mine, and we ate lunch together.”

Jiraiya perks a brow at he. “...I see. And by ‘not sure’ you mean…?”

“I mean I’m not sure. He’s a bit...strange. Kinda closed off. I think he doesn’t really have any friends, so maybe he’s kinda new to it.”

A wariness colors her father’s face, but he doesn’t voice any concern...yet. “...huh. Well, could be worse, I suppose. Get your homework done if you’ve got any and we’ll start dinner before your mom gets home.”

“Okay!”

A few days later, Ryū arrives at the lockers first. Admittedly she’s a little early, so...she not-very-subtly lingers, deciding she’ll wait to see if she can say good morning to Obito before they have to get to class.

But something else happens first, instead.

With a loud bang, a body is flung against the lockers just to her left, and Ryū feels her heart leap to her throat, entire form tensing in fight or flight. Stumbling back, she spots Obito, teeth gritted as he’s pinned against the metal doors. Across from him is another student she doesn’t recognize.

Clearly, they’re having a...disagreement.

“Fuck you, man! Keep your creepy comments to yourself, no one gives a shit!”

Gripping his agitator’s wrists, Obito spits back, “I dunno, seems you give enough of a shit to do this…!”

“You think you’re a tough son of a bitch cuz you can rile people up? Guess what, asshole? All that’s gonna do is make sure you end up sad and alone. Maybe if you stopped being such a prick, you’d actually -!”

“Hey!”

Both of them turn to Ryū. Her face is hardened into a glower, grey eyes steely. “The hell you want?”

“For you to let go of him and go cool off. Keep this up and you’re both going to end up in detention or suspended. If you want to fight, save it for after classes.”

“This has nothing to do with you, so fuck off y’dumb b-”

With a grunt, Obito launches forward and slams his brow into his opponent’s, forcing him to reel back with a pained cry. Straightening and fixing his rumpled shirt, he offers, “Watch your mouth when you’re talking about my friend.”

The word earns a jolt, Ryū losing her edge with a sound of surprise. He...he said -?

“If she’s really gonna sink to your level, that’s her decision. Anyone dumb enough to put up with you deserves what’s coming to them.” Steadying himself, the other teen staggers off, the gathered crowd starting to disperse.

“...do I want to know what that was about?” Ryū decides to ask, giving Obito a glance.

“Misunderstanding,” is his only explanation, turning to his locker.

“...are you hurt?”

“No. And next time, you might want to keep your mouth shut. He was right, that was none of your -”

Ignoring his rebuke, Ryū pushes a shoulder to get him to face her.

“What are you -?”

“You’ve got a split in your brow,” she cuts in, reaching into her backpack for a small first aid kit her mother insists she take with her. “It’s going to drip on your clothes, so hold still.”

“I don’t have time for -!”

“It’ll only take me a minute. My mom’s a doctor, I know what I’m doing.” Taking out a sanitizing wipe, she cleans off his brow, ignoring his flinch as it stings along the split. Gauze then presses to the wound, a few checks given to ensure it’s stopped bleeding. Then out comes a butterfly bandage to pinch it shut. “...there. See? Quick and painless.”

He tries to reach to touch it, but she bats his hand, making him balk at the rather forward action.

“Don’t touch it, your hands probably aren’t clean. Leave it alone.”

“Bossy, aren’t you?”

“I told you, my mom’s a doctor. I got my bedside manner from her,” she replies, giving him a cheeky glance. “...besides, I’m not about to let my friend walk around with a split forehead. Try not to headbutt anyone else today, okay? I’d rather not have to do that again.”

Rubbing a spot away from where it split, Obito watches her quietly as she replaces her kit.

“What was that really about?”

“Nothing. I said something stupid, and he got mad.”

“What did you say?”

“You’re really nosy, aren’t you?”

Her arms cross. “I’m trying to figure out why someone would want to beat the tar out of you. And what possessed you to do whatever it is you did. You realize there’s better ways to get attention, right?”

Something in her words makes him scowl. “Technically I didn’t start it. He did.”

“And…?”

He seems to weigh his options. “...I was supposed to graduate last year. I’m a year behind. People give me crap about it, it pisses me off, so I mouth off back.”

Ryū blinks, not...expecting that. “...you were held back?”

“Kinda hard to keep up when you spend six months of a year in a hospital, and another two in physical therapy. Not everyone cares about that particular detail, though. They just assume I’m stupid.”

Understanding slackens her face. Hospital…? Is that where the scars…? “...he was mocking you about your repeating a year?”

“...yeah. So I jabbed back. Surprise, he didn’t like it. Go figure.”

“...well I can’t really condone fighting fire with fire, but...it does sound like he started things.”

“I don’t like just sitting and taking anyone’s shit.”

“And what did mouthing off get you? Besides a mild beating? Was that really satisfying enough to make you feel better?”

He doesn’t have a retort, so...Obito reverts back to scowling.

Ryū heaves a sigh. “...there will always be jerks. But picking a fight with every single one is only going to get you into deeper trouble, Obito. You know the truth about your grade, Don’t pay anyone else any mind about it. Just finish up your last year, and then you can put it behind you. No one will care once you’ve graduated, okay?”

“Tch…”

She softens, laying a hand on his arm. “...I don’t want to see you get hurt again. Next time someone gives you crap, then...tell me.”

His eyes drop to her hand, and then lift to her face. “...what -?”

“And then I’ll give them what for myself.”

“...you? Really?”

“Yes, really. What?”

He studies her for a moment, and then snorts. “...yeah, okay.”

The third domino falls.

“Hey...can you give me a ride?”

Turning from her locker a few weeks later, Ryū gives Obito a glance. “Sure. Where do you need to go?”

“...I’ll give you directions.”

Brow furrowing slightly in concern, Ryū nonetheless leads the way to her car, Obito in the front seat and directing her where to go.

...they end up at one of the city’s cemeteries.

For a moment, Ryū sits in her seat, uncertain. But Obito gets out without a word, and she has little choice but to either sit and wait...or follow.

She tries the latter.

They trek a ways inward before he stops at a small plot. Four graves bear the Uchiha name. And judging by the dates...they would be Obito’s parents and paternal grandparents.

As Ryū looks closer, she stiffens. The matching death dates for his mother and father...are eighteen years ago today.

It’s the anniversary of their passing.

Obito doesn’t say anything. He just clears away some old dead flowers, replacing them with new ones from his backpack. Then he just...stands there, seemingly lost in thought.

Ryū can’t help but feel a bit...intrusive. But he doesn’t tell her to leave, and as she quietly steps up beside him, he doesn’t flinch as she gently leans against him. She doesn’t speak, knowing there’s not really anything to say.

A domino tilts dangerously far.

Trying to think of a kind sentiment, Ryū hesitates for a long moment. As one comes to mind, she tilts her head up and over to look at him.

Just as he tilts down and over to look at her.

Suddenly their faces are only a breath apart.

Both of them freeze, eyes wide and expressions slack in surprise. Ryū finds a heat building in her cheeks, suddenly flustered.

It’s Obito who moves first, reverting his posture with a clearing of his throat.

Ryū in turn tucks back down, trying to calm the tapdancing of her heart.

“...thanks for...taking me. It’s way too far to walk.”

“Of course...I’m glad I could help.”

A silence blooms and grows, neither sure what to do next.

“...well, I...should take you home. I’ve got chemistry I need to get done…”

“Yeah…” Obito turns, heading back toward the car with Ryū right on his tail.

...and after a moment, she gently takes his hand without a word.

Silently, he squeezes it.

The domino topples with a clatter.

I....really struggled with this so idk if it really worked, but...I tried? Meg wanted bully!Obito so...this is my attempt xD Little interactions building up to something bigger. idk my brain is dying ahaha It’s late and I’ve got a busy day tomorrow, so...I’ll stop there =w= Thanks for reading~

#obiryū october #abyssaldespair #uchiha obito #suigin ryū #jiraiya #best years of your life [ au ]#vulgarity //#blood //

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theateared · 4 years

Text

Just a small drabble that features a kinda-date-but-not-really-because-they’re-both-dating-other-people sort of deal. Very fluffy with some mild angst. All dialogue’s in Hural.

_____ . ( 🞮 ) . _____

When Murr had first mentioned the dragon migration, Kuro had thought it was a joke. A joke that he wasn’t getting, apparently, for he didn’t find it very amusing - but when Murr kept asking him to attend it with him, he got the sinking feeling that he was being serious.

“And this ‘dragon migration’,” he’d started, voice full of sarcasm as he stared at the other through half-lidded eyes, wholly expecting him to crack: “Where can we see it?”

But then Murr had given him a clear-cut destination. Overwhelmed by his confidence, Kuro had felt inclined to say yes, if only for the payout later when it was inevitably revealed to be a fabrication. They’d have to stop circling random places at some point. I can afford to kill some time, he’d thought, almost snickering as he agreed. Murr had lit up like a Christmas tree. He supposed, in some way, that made the wild goose chase he was bound to be taken on somewhat worth it.

“How much further?” he asked, bag slung over his shoulder. They’d had to travel for a couple of days using his squad car, passing through district after district until he lost count of how many borders they’d crossed. When he’d finally been able to leave the vehicle behind he hadn’t done anything to stop the audible sigh of relief. Even Murr had been growing irritable, - and he had his excitement over dragons to keep him sane.

“Gettin’ there,” Murr promised, continuing the short hike up the rocky cliff. He supposed he had Killian to thank for this amazing idea, and he would’ve done so had he not revealed himself to be a total nutcase. This was the only good idea he’d ever presented Murr with since they’d met. He felt that that in itself took away Ryder’s right to credit.

They ascended the cliff together in relative quiet. Both were tired and worn, and without Murr’s steadfast determination to see dragons in real life, they may have stopped by now. The further they went, the more curious Kuro became. It woke him up enough to look around, taking in the dull fog.

“If that stays we won’t be able t’see shit,” he remarked snidely.

Murr glanced over, then snickered. “Shut the hell up, man.”

At some point, the mist faded. It was as if they’d risen above a treeline, clear surroundings totally different to the shrouded scenery below. The rock beneath their feet became smooth, as if sanded down for walking on, and the night sky was a deep shade of indigo, stars routinely twinkling as if on a timer set by God. The moon hung low, round and full, appearing much closer to them than it was. As they came to a stop near the edge of the cliff, rock jutting out like the head of a shark, Murr wandered alarmingly close to the brink and peered over it. Kuro immediately lurched forward, securing his arm in a vice-like grip.

“What’re you, fuckin’ stupid? Get back befer y’hurt yerself.”

He wasn’t surprised when Murr wrenched his arm free, continuing to do as he pleased. The Sheriff watched with his heart in his throat as his friend swung his legs over the lip of the cliff, feet dangling, tempting the abyss forth with every candid swing of his feet. He could see it now: fate reaching up like a hand beneath the bed, talons wrapping tight around the man’s ankles and dragging him into the dark below.

He went and sat beside him. If the talons came, they’d be claiming them both.

“So, I ended up researchin’ this myself since the source is less than reliable,” Murr started, dipping into his jacket pocket and retrieving his notepad. It was flipped open, relevant page marked with a thin threaded bookmark. His neat cursive scrawl was illuminated only by the moon. Part of Kuro felt that was right; Murr’s ramblings were meant to be consumed by low-light. “They’ll come soon. Apparently they pass here headin’ west. Nobody knows where they’re goin’, just that they won’t be back for at least a millenium.” He looked at him then, crimson gaze full of wonder. The light pooling there was more than just the moon. “I’m so excited that I can barely stand it. T’think I’m gonna see dragons in real life…!”

“Did y’have doubts that they existed?”

“Well OBVIOUSLY! I mean, you know how majestic ‘n’ perfect they are! I thought they were just works of fiction. Cool mythical beasts. Kinda ironic now that I think about it, though-- for me, they were trapped in stories the same way that princesses were trapped in towers.”

Kuro thought briefly about the statement, then decided it was endearing. Murr’s mind had always fascinated him. When they were children, his friend’s imagination had seemed endless. He’d been too young to understand the extent of their childish games. Aléjandro Murphy had never played pretend ‘normally’; he’d dragged Kuro through cyberspace; made them live as fugitives in treehouses; had them both fighting monsters and evading curious ‘men in black’ while carrying the secrets of the universe in their socks as they charged through thick woods and streets tinged by the coming of sunset… they’d been to the end of the world together, even if only in their minds. Now that he was there, tempting fate by sitting so precariously, only their silhouettes visible from a distance, courtesy of the moon’s pallid glow, it truly felt as if they were the only ones in the universe.

Do you feel that too? That undeniable comfort? I think you only feel that kind of comfort if you know you’re with a person that makes death seem small.

“Oh, look!” Murr cried softly, arm sweeping wide as he gestured towards a curious glow in the distance. This is the most alive you’ve looked in decades. “They’re comin’!”

Kuro would be the first to admit that he felt slightly mystified when the dragons finally showed up. They were little more than tiny blots against the night sky at first, seeming to move slowly, though when they got closer, Kuro realised how wrong he was. They were flying in a coordinated cluster, scales giving off the illusion that they were glowing as they passed the full moon. Murr had gone rigid, holding his breath, eyes glued to the beautiful spectacle as the dragons darted past. Kuro’s breath was stolen as one curved particularly close, blast of air billowing past them both like a gale as the creature disappeared into the night. Despite its quick departure, they’d both gotten a good look at it It was a lot like a plane in that they underestimated just how big it was when it was far away. Its true size, though hulking over them incredibly briefly, had been staggering.

They came in droves, appearing suddenly and vanishing just as quickly, like comets, like shooting stars, large wings blocking the light, long tails serving as their cosmic trails. Though he wasn’t able, all Murr wanted to do was get up and follow one. Maybe if he wished hard enough, he’d take flight and follow the beasts into a new age.

Speaking of wishes…

When Kuro finally turned his head, prepared to tell his friend just how stunning that display was, he saw Murr clasping his hands tightly together, eyes screwed shut. He thought he could see the slightest hint of a tremble, as if his body was clenching in pain.

“What’re you… doin’?”

“Shh. I’m makin’ a wish. My notes said it was a good idea.” When he heard Kuro snort, he tacked on a defensive: “Don’t laugh, this is serious business.”

“How old are you again?”

“Old enough t’feel like I need a good wish or two.”

As per his request, Kuro fell quiet, though not without a derisive huff. The silence somehow felt alive with a power that he could not place-- as if he’d stepped into a slice of time that was far bigger than he was. Eventually, Murr relaxed in place once more, eyes opening and regarding the moon with an almost crestfallen glint.

“So?”

Murr turned his head slowly, one eyebrow arching. “‘So’ what?”

“Wha’d y’wish fer?”

Murr’s mouth fell open, eyebrows knitting together before he reached out and swatted at Kuro’s leg. Somehow, the Sheriff had offended him. “C’mon! Don’t y’want my wish t’actually come true? Don’t try t’sabotage me like that!”

“Wishes don’t come true, Murr.”

“Not with that attitude. No wonder the stars have never aligned for you, y’fuckin’ grump.”

That was part of the reason he was so reluctant to confess the truth. Though he echoed Kuro’s sentiment deep down-- beneath all that childish wonder was an adult pain, something so tumultuous and raw that it dispelled mystique by force-- some desperate part of him wanted to believe that making a wish would do something; that just this once, the universe would hear him, heed him. The second reason that he didn’t want to say something was because it was cruel.

I wished for you. I wished for us. Even though I know it can’t happen. Even though we have lives completely separate of one another now, I wished that we could return to the way we were. I wished that you would open your eyes and see me, see how much I’m hurting and take me in, take me in even in spite of your marriage. And that’s why I’m even more sure that you’re right: this wish won’t come true not only because they don’t, but because even if they did, divine intervention would turn a blind eye to such selfishness.

“C’mon,” Kuro prodded, legs stretching before he relaxed once more, head resting on a shoulder as he gazed imploringly at him. “Tell me. Quit actin’ like a child.”

The eye contact sent a jolt of electricity through him. Though he knew that Kuro had trouble with face blindness, it really felt like he was seeing him, that he was able to see through his eyes and to the truth without him needing to say a word. His mouth suddenly felt incredibly dry, a familiar heat crawling up the back of his neck.

Have I already exposed myself? Does he know? Think of something. Say something.

“Hah…” He forced a smile, glad he was sitting down for his knees suddenly felt weak. “... I wished for a new season’a Passcode.”

The silence stretched between them, eyes locked on one another’s before Kuro tore his gaze away with a harsh laugh. Though it stung slightly to have such disapproval aimed at him, Murr couldn’t help but feel relieved to receive his scorn. It was much better than receiving his hatred. Had he kept pushing, he might have ended up saying something that he’d regret.

“Are you fuckin’ serious? That shit makes me sad.” “Big words for a guy who had--” “Shut the fuck up.”

He did. While Kuro spent his time snickering to himself, Murr tried to recuperate, tried to duct tape his feelings back together. He was glad that he had ‘embarrassment’ to blame for the slight hint of colour on his cheeks.

“This was nice though… it was everythin’ I hoped it’d be. Thank you for comin’ with me, Kuro. I know this… wasn’t exactly your idea of a weekend but this was important t’me. I really appreciate it.” He fumbled almost nervously with his hands, unable to keep looking in his direction. As soon as he was facing away from him, he felt slightly better. Regardless of the wish, he knew that this was a memory he wouldn’t soon forget.

“You kiddin’? I originally came because I thought y’were jokin’ ‘n’ I wanted t’be there fer the fallout. But this night has actually been one of the best I’ve had in a long time.”

Murr tried to keep himself from lighting up too much too quickly. Knowing that Kuro had had a good time made him feel so happy that he couldn’t put it into words. He suddenly felt shy, like a school boy that had been confessed to. If only that was so. He knew it was pointless to hang on like he was-- hell, he knew he should let go for his own sake, nevermind Kuro’s-- but every time he felt close to unearthing the cumbersome feelings that had rooted themselves deeply into his heart, he felt Kuro replant them. It was in that quiet intellect, that reliable resolve, that rare smile… no matter how hard he tried to let go, he couldn’t do it.

You were almost mine. That idea haunts my dreams.

“I’m glad…” he admitted, staring out into the dark night sky, feeling pleasantly lost. “You don’t know how glad I am t’hear that.”

#☆ — i never promised you your dream boy. ❜ ( main. )#☆ — i'm just here to destroy. ❜ ( ic. )#drabble *#/ murr's gay and sad what else is new

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keeroo92 · 5 years

Text

Savior, Bloodstain, Hellfire, Shadow Ch30 (V x Reader)

Chapter 30 Family Ties

______________________________________________________________

“Nero is your son, dipshit!” Dante stares at him, grinning happily as he delivers the metaphysical sucker punch excitedly.

The world grinds to a halt and for a solid thirty seconds, V’s mind is completely blank. He is numb, his body rigid and mouth agape as static fills his short-circuited brain. Even Griffon is rendered speechless from the sheer shock of Dante’s words. He can’t think, can’t breathe as he feverishly gathers his wits at long last. Emotion returns simultaneously with conscious thought, a tsunami of feeling he was not at all prepared to endure.

Disbelief.

Dante’s lying, that’s impossible. I would’ve known somehow, would have felt it in some way. I’ve spent so much time around Nero, I would have seen some likeness or similarity but there’s nothing!

Denial.

I could never, not even Vergil could have done such a thing, to leave a woman behind to raise his child alone. Even he wasn’t that monstrous… right?

Fury.

How dare Dante even say such madness! He has no right! Nero’s more likely his son than mine, with his tendencies! Yet again, I take the blame for his misconduct! Some things never change.

Confusion.

What is he hoping to gain from this absurdity? He can’t possibly believe Nero’s my… son. I don’t understand his motives; this makes no sense!

Doubt.

Unless it’s true; then it makes perfect sense. What if he’s right, what if I am… what if Vergil was… what if it’s true?

He mentally compares Nero’s face with his own, his original face. There are definite similarities, but he adamantly refuses to acknowledge the truth to himself even as his heart proclaims it’s agreement with Dante in a powerful surge of familial recognition.

I’ve already failed in so many ways, so many times. Fatherhood is not one of them.

You sure about that, Shakespeare?

Absolutely.

Would it be so terrible if it were true?

Most definitely.

Why?

Because… I wasn’t there. Nero grew up without parents, just as Dante and I did after the attack. He’s endured so much pain and suffering, to know that I was partially to blame for it…

You mean Vergil was to blame.

I… don’t know. It’s complicated, you know that.

Griffon sends him the equivalent of an eye roll, a short purr following soon after as Shadow voices her agreement with the sentiment. The enigmatic golem stays silent, but he can sense its amusement. Or was that anger?

It’s pretty simple, actually. You’re only half of Vergil, so you can only really be responsible for half the shitty things that dick did.

Griffon mentally preens, pleased with his assessment and giving off an aura of “so there” in V’s conflicted mind.

“Hey, buddy! You there? Hello?” Dante’s insistent voice juts in suddenly, his hands waving before V’s unfocused eyes in an attempt to bring him back from his hiding place in his mind. His emerald eyes meet his brother’s pale gaze and he forces himself to remain expressionless.

“You’re wrong. Nero is not my son,” his flat voice responds finally. Dante rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

“Yes, he is, and you know it,” the younger Sparda twin insists. V harshly subdues his urge to childishly respond with a no, the familiar structure of their spats already taking shape as Dante lets his emotions rule him and V refuses to rise to the bait. Dante huffs in frustration as he doesn’t respond, his calm façade ironclad.

I think he’s right.

Another purr sounds Shadow’s agreement, and this time Nightmare deigns to respond with a long rumble of assent.

Then you’re all as foolish as he is.

“It is impossible,” V tells his brother quietly.

“It is NOT impossible, you idiot! Just LOOK at him and you can see it!” Dante shouts, his arms waving in a gesture of emphasis as he loses his patience at last with a snarl of irritation.

______________________________________________________________

As V and Dante distance themselves from you and Nero, the young man chuckles again and shakes his head.

“I can’t believe you actually punched him, that was amazing,” he comments dryly. You smirk and try to ignore the painful throbbing in your knuckles where they struck the man in red, the area already red and irritated. It had been necessary; calling you cute was crossing the line. And then he’d had the nerve to compare you to a puppy!

How dare he.

“How’s V holding up? He doesn’t look too good,” Nero interjects, your thoughts shattering like glass under gunfire. You can’t help but sigh before answering, trying to find the right words to describe the poet’s decline. You look at the floor, vision sweeping across the strange texture as you speak.

“He’s hanging on, but I can’t tell if what we’re doing is going to help in the end. It’s honestly a crapshoot, but it’s all we’ve got, so…” you shrug, melancholy acceptance settling over your eyes as Nero scratches the back of his neck thoughtfully. He grimaces, obviously troubled.

“I can’t imagine… if it was Kyrie, I… I don’t know how you keep going sometimes, Y/N,” he murmurs with a sympathetic smile. You nod, grateful for his friendship as always.

“It is NOT impossible, you idiot! Just LOOK at him and you can see it!” Dante suddenly shouts across the area, his arms gesticulating wildly as he argues with V. The poet is rigid, unmoving and silently facing away from you and Nero. Dante’s features are twisted with his frustration and a tinge of anger and you instantly start running over to the two men in alarm.

You can hear V’s soft mumble as you skid to a stop a few feet away.

“It cannot be… more likely he’s yours,” he utters robotically. When his face finally comes into view, his expression is flat, whatever he’s feeling hidden so deeply within that even you can’t discern it. His emerald eyes are locked on something directly ahead of him, his fingers grasping his cane tightly as he resolutely conceals his feelings. You shift your gaze to Dante, your confusion and worry blatantly obvious in your pleading eyes. The gruff man looks completely at the end of his rope, his brows drawn together and lips a firm line of annoyance.

“Dante… what the hell?” you manage to ask him. He puts his hands on his hips and stares upward with a heavy sigh, closing his eyes to think before he speaks.

That alone sets off alarm bells in your mind. You barely know Dante, but he doesn’t use caution or forethought often.

This must be serious.

Dante’s eyes meet yours briefly; a glance of apology before he addresses the lean poet. You follow his gaze, watching V’s face carefully for any flicker of emotion.

“Either you tell them, or I will, but this is too important to hold back,” he informs the obsidian haired wall of motionless restraint. His emerald eyes blink once, twice before he focuses on his brother’s irritated face with a look of dawning apprehension. He licks his lips, opening his mouth to speak but no words come out. His knuckles are white in his death grip on his cane, his jaw clenching as he forces a single syllable out.

“Don’t,” he gasps desperately. You wrap your hands over his on his cane, trying to reach him underneath the ocean of new knowledge as Nero trots up to join the strange conversation.

“You guys okay?” Nero asks with a scratch at the back of his neck. His eyes can’t seem to decide who he should be looking at, shifting between each of his three friends in concern as he takes in the strained expressions. Dante crosses his arms, his signature Sparda stubbornness coloring his tone with resolve.

“You have five seconds, brother,” he growls, tapping his foot to keep count.

One.

V’s eyes widen in panic, his eyes darting around seeking an escape route. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows nervously, sweat breaking out on his face.

Two.

You rub the poet’s back soothingly, offering him your support as best you can. He flinches at your first touch defensively, the circumstances overwhelming his senses.

Three.

His eyes are dilated so widely you can’t see the green ring around his pupils. He’s shaking slightly as his eyes settle on Nero.

Four.

Nero meets his eyes unflinchingly, his uneasy worry prevalent in his expressive features. The poet’s eyes light up as if he’s seeing Nero for the first time and some facet of the young man seems to hit him with the same force as one of Griffon’s lightning strikes.

Five.

“So, what’s it gonna be?” Dante demands. V closes his eyes and grits his teeth before turning to face his brother, steely-eyed.

“Abundance of stupidity,” he recites, turning back to face Nero before he continues with all the caution you’d expect from someone diffusing a bomb.

“Dante believes that Vergil fathered you, Nero,” he announces hesitantly, reluctance dripping from every word. Nero’s lips pop open, eyes shifting to match the circular shape his mouth makes. He staggers as the words sink in and he turns to Dante.

“What the hell? Where do you get off, making jokes like that?” the young warrior chokes out.

Your own confusion rolls through you as you struggle to figure out whether there is truth in Dante’s assessment. From what little you know of Vergil, it’s possible but extremely unlikely. Plus, Nero has so much in common with Dante it’s almost like he’s the older man’s twin.

So it’s not true, right?

Right?

“Let me explain,” Dante pipes up, and all three of you turn to glare at him. He raises his hands in a gesture of submission, guarding his face from any possible attacks.

“Please do,” Nero growls, his hands balled up at his sides but remaining low.

The red leather of Dante’s coat ripples as he lowers his hands with a sheepish grin, realizing that no one is planning on throwing any punches.

Yet.

“I knew you were a Sparda the first time we met, Nero. The hair is a dead giveaway. Wasn’t sure how we were related, but the Yamato bonding with you like it did convinced me you were family. Now, as much as I mess around, I don’t actually sleep around. The few people I do sleep with are still friends, I know for a fact I have no children. Plus, the timeline didn’t fit at all; I wasn’t seeing anyone around the time you were born,” Dante begins carefully, mainly addressing Nero as his voice grows steadier with each word.

You glance at V to see him glaring at the floor behind his hair, stubbornly refusing to listen to Dante’s rationale. You stroke his back again even as you listen and wrestle with your own feelings on the subject, shoving them away until there’s a calm moment to face them.

I can deal with my own issues later.

“So, you were either a long lost brother or a cousin or something, or Vergil… you know. I don’t know of any aunts or uncles in the family, and dear old dad died when we were just kids. And, according to V, there was a lady in Vergil’s life around that time. So, uh, welcome to the family?” Dante concludes lamely with an apologetic grin.

Holy shit.

Dante’s right.

Holy shit.

Nero’s face shifts rapidly, cycling through several possible reactions before settling on bewildered acceptance. A weight lifts from your shoulders as your friend smiles lightly at the man you love, his hand scratching his neck again in his signature move of discomfort. Dante relaxes slightly too as Nero lets out a long breath and chuckles.

“Well, damn… that’s uh… wow,” he begins, his shock stealing his words. A look of realization crosses his face suddenly and he looks back at Dante. “That makes you my uncle, huh?”

Dante barks out a laugh and jokingly reaches out to shake his nephew’s hand. “Good to meet ya, kid,” he glibly states. Nero cracks a smirk of his own as he takes his uncle’s hand; they look so alike that it becomes glaringly obvious to you that they’re related.

How could none of us have known? How could V have not figured it out?

“Kyrie’s going to flip,” Nero adds, and V’s shoulders shake under your hand. For a heartbeat you think he’s laughing, but then he turns away and lets out a shaky breath, a single silent tear rolling down his cheek as he tries to hide it. You shoot a glance at the two other men and they take the hint easily, walking away and leaving you alone with V.

______________________________________________________________

No, no, no… it can’t be true.

Can it?

A single tear falls from his eye as he distantly watches Nero and Dante shake hands, their faces arranged into the same smirk of amusement he recognizes from when it would all too rarely cross Vergil’s face.

There’s no point denying it anymore. Nero’s your son. Which also means Y/N is banging the father of one of her best friends!

V sends Griffon an image of himself plucking every last feather from his body, using them to make a new pillow, and the blue bird instantly fades away as their connection weakens. He hears Dante’s banter with Nero echoing somewhere nearby, the use of familial nicknames driving home their newly redefined relationship. A surge of envy pulses through him at the ease with which they connect as they walk away, still chatting amiably.

“V… are you alright?” your soft voice asks.

He takes a deep breath, grappling his jealousy into submission and burying it.

What does she think of all this? I have a son. Nero is my son…

Even to think the words sends a frenetic shiver up his limbs, like insects crawling on his skin. He resists the urge to brush at his flesh, meeting your eyes to answer you instead.

“I… I am coming to terms. Are you alright?” he probes you. You look away and anxiety tugs at him harshly, imagining all the ways his previous self’s action may have disturbed you. All the reasons you have to walk away and never look back. Sorrow hitches his breath in his throat as his heart reminds him what it feels like to be alone.

“I’m not sure. It’s definitely weird, and it makes me sick to imagine you with someone else. But it wasn’t you, was it? It was Vergil. Whoever he was, you aren’t that person anymore,” you thoughtfully reply, continuing after a pause. “Do you remember his mother well? Nero might like to hear about her, he doesn’t remember anything.”

Unbidden and half-forgotten images rise to taunt him with his foolishness. A flash of red fabric, a half-hidden smile. The brevity of his time with her.

V forces his memory elsewhere as he remembers the sounds she had made, the feeling of it. Vergil’s thrilled fascination as he experienced what so many people were motivated by throughout their lives.

“I remember enough to be ashamed,” V faintly comments. You nod and take his hand, pulling it from his cane where it had been clenched for far too long. You massage his palm gently and bring his knuckles to your lips for a kiss and your tenderness makes him ache with appreciation. He smiles lovingly down at you and you wrap your arms around him in a comforting hug. With your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and his nose in your hair to enjoy the scent he so adores… all his worries dissipate like fog in sunlight.

“I’ll tell him what is appropriate,” he murmurs, and he can feel you giggle in his arms.

“How very fatherly of you,” you tease him with a sly smirk, turning your face to meet his in a soft kiss.

______________________________________________________________

June 15th, 1:13 pm

The group finally sets off again, progressing through a series of massive caverns downward to face Urizen at last. Going together had been wise – each area holds an enormous number of demons, swarms that V isn’t sure he would have been able to clear alone. He can feel himself growing weaker by the minute and his irritation mounts every time he is forced to let his brother and his son do most of the work. It becomes a vicious cycle; he notices his weakness, can’t help but focus on it for a moment, and ends up repressing his self-loathing in order to move forward. In turn, this makes him weaker still, assuming your theory is correct. Coming to that realization makes him feel guilty, and then he represses his guilt, once again making himself weaker as a consequence of his own idiocy.

After yet another fight during which he felt close to useless, the group leaps down yet another hole and lands to see the path forward illuminated with a faint orange glow, throwing the brutally huge spikes curving overheard into stark relief.

“Looks like we’ve still got a long way to go,” Dante remarks ruefully. All four of you step forward together just as the surface underfoot disintegrates.

V reacts instantly, his arm twitching as Griffon materializes in a tornado of black shards. Luckily, he already had your hand in his when the area collapsed, and he easily grips you tighter as Griffon wraps his talons over his still-extended arm overhead.

His wings heave powerfully, keeping the two of you from being impaled on the sharp rocks below, yet despite his best efforts Griffon tires quickly.

“I can't carry you anymore! I gotta put you down! I gotta put you down...” the demonic bird gasps out, panting as he does his best to lessen the fall before he drops you and V the last dozen feet to land unglamorously. Griffon himself collapses on the rocky floor, his chest moving rapidly as V pulls him back within his body to rest.

“Damn, just a little longer. Come on... we must... go...” V pants as he pulls himself to his feet once again. You rise beside him, dusting off your clothes halfheartedly and helping V do the same. Taking his hand in yours, you set out slowly, making sure he can keep up.

He once again dwells on his own weakness, restarting the cycle of torment with a vengeance as he scolds himself for not preventing the fall entirely. Griffon’s exhausted caw pipes up within him, even his thoughts echoing his weariness.

You really aren’t doing yourself any favors, Shakespeare.

I’m aware.

He grits his teeth as his feathery friend points out his stupidity. It’s hard enough trying to break the cycle without his “help”. Not to mention pushing through the slight twinges of pain every time he tries to stifle his emotions…

Here, maybe this’ll help?

Griffon sends him a series of images; the look of frenzied victory on your face after you killed your first Empusa with a frying pan, the feel of your fingers stroking his hair as he leaned over to allow your touch, the warmth and friendship within the first hug he had ever received.

The weakness fades slightly, allowing him a brief respite from his hunched over posture. He pauses to stretch, his lower back complaining at the mistreatment.

“V? Are you alright?” your worried voice inquires as he halts suddenly.

I can’t let her see my weakness.

Are you seriously that dumb? You aren’t weak; you’re dying. And if you don’t let yourself feel this shit, we’re all gonna die too! You don’t wanna murder us, do ya pal?

Not yet…

Griffon quiets, but V can still sense his concern and his frustration in the back of his mind through their bond. Echoes of the sentiment filter through from Shadow and Nightmare too, and he lets out a small sigh of surrender.

…fine.

“I’m weakening quickly now, Y/N. I’m… scared.” V tells you slowly, the last word almost a whisper as he forces it through his reluctant lips with a grimace.

You frown tightly at his words, gently tugging him to sit on a nearby ledge. It takes him longer than he likes to limp his way over, but once he’s seated, you take his hand and study it thoroughly. He follows your troubled gaze to see his skin, once perfectly smooth under his dark tattoos, now wrinkled and cracked like the floor of a desert. He frowns deeply, not having noticed the progression of his… condition.

His heart aches painfully as your fingers caress the damaged flesh and you let out a deep sigh.

“I’m scared too, my poet. In fact, I’m terrified,” you begin, looking deep into his eyes. “I’m terrified that I’m going to lose you, that I’ll lose… this.”

You hold up your joined hands and he nods his understanding. He pulls your hand to his lips, planting a light kiss on your palm. A pit forms in his stomach with your words, a weight descending upon his shoulders to join so many others.

He can see now that he has an unhealthy tendency to take on responsibility when he shouldn’t. His mother’s death, his father’s disappearance, all manner of unspeakable things he did during his time as Nelo Angelo. Nero and his mother. And of course, the release of Urizen and formation of the Qlipoth. His list of misdeeds is long and growing, the weight on his shoulders steadily increasing until he’s crushed by it. Even as he objectively recognizes the flaw, he struggles to overcome it.

I doubt I’d even be able to identify the habit if not for Y/N.

Your words echo in his mind. “You are not Vergil. You are V. Just because you came from him doesn’t mean you have to share his fate.”

“Is there anything that helps? Any patterns you’ve noticed?” you probe him quietly, almost desperately. His lips twist upwards as Griffon sends him an image of your smile.

“Griffon has been sending me memories occasionally. Images of my better moments,” he responds thoughtfully, “They seem to help, at least a little. It’s… far too easy to slip back into despair.”

Your eyebrows furrow as you respond, “Tell Griffon he needs to send you more good stuff anytime you start getting mopey.”

Aye aye, Captain Nurse! I don’t want to die either.

“He agrees. None of them want to die either,” V answers back for the blue demon with a smirk. He’d have to keep that nickname in mind; it had potential.

Your hand clenches around his at his words; perhaps you hadn’t realized that the three demonic creatures would die with him?

An image of your hair sparkling in sunlight.

Thank you, Griffon.

The feeling of snide dismissal; a rude salute. He coughs out a laugh.

“V… when I face… when I face Urizen. You need to have Griffon send you everything he’s got. Any memory, no matter how small. Have him start cataloguing them, testing them to see what gets the best response. You need to maximize everything as much as possible at that moment,” you instruct him hesitantly.

He mentally cringes as Griffon whoops with laughter, his excitement to browse V’s most innermost feelings clear within his mind. Shadow growls at the obnoxious bird and he settles somewhat, but his glee still seeps through.

“He’s… excited to begin,” V translates. You beam with approval and stand, holding a hand out to help him rise alongside you. He doesn’t drop it as you trek onward into the darkened passage ahead.

#dmc5 v #dmc5 #dmcv #dmc #fanfic #my writing #v x reader #v x you #reader insert #SBHS #vitale #devil may cry

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succubused · 5 years

Note

24. axel/saïx? MAKE ME CRY PLEASE

(this got a little longer than i intended originally but it now has a happy second part in addition to the distressing first part)

24. “You need to leave.”

Saïx hated the color green.

He wasn’t upset by grass, fortunately. It would have made things inconvenient were he given to being precious about such details. He could make his way through dark pines or stare into open ocean water and it never bothered him. But he stayed away from the shallows. It was aquamarine that made him nauseous.

It was really just unlucky, that his and Lea’s eyes had been so similar.

Isa used to like it, for reasons that he had never said out loud when they applied and certainly never would now, seeing it as another truth that kept them connected beyond all doubt. Even when they were apart, they looked in the mirror and saw one another. It had been romantic in its way.

He shuddered even as the thought crossed his mind. Revulsion was all he could expect from himself when it came to memories of such softness.

It would have been easier if it had all happened at once. Some days he was smothered by the ache of knowing what was missing; others, it was an indifferent, cavernous emptiness within him, a welcome silence. It hurt him, somewhere outside of himself, to realize that he was impatient. He had raged for so long that he had run out of thunder, and a quiet storm was not the tempest he would have needed had he intended to fight. Had he wanted to.

Sometimes, in his dreams, once Lea had faded as he always did, he would find himself staring into bright, cool eyes that belonged to a less feverish soul. The boy looked up at him, and the betrayal written across his face said I expected more from you. It said I know you are better than this.

No. You were.

Half-formed memories of emotions were worse than none at all. If they were to leave, he wanted them gone. He didn’t want to miss them. He didn’t want to miss any of it.

Did he even want to usurp Xemnas anymore? He didn’t know. He did know that he often found himself staring at the man’s throat when he spoke, wondering how it would feel to rip it open. These thoughts, too, would have horrified him were he capable of feeling such things. Constantly submitting to someone he wanted nothing more than to tear apart. It made him sick.

It all made him sick.

“You were given orders,” he said out loud, aware of Axel in the doorway even before he had spoken.

“You’d let him do it, wouldn’t you?”

“I have no idea what you—”

“You—you know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Axel’s voice shook, something that would once have made even Saïx want to clasp him in his arms to steady it. To tell him he was safe, he would be safe, no matter the cost.

That was all he had wanted to do.

He kept his arms crossed against his chest. He did not turn away from the window, watching the reflection of Axel’s face instead. He felt a little ill, but he always felt that way around Axel these days.

Revulsion. Every time he looked and saw the disappointment in those eyes, remembered what Lea had expected from him. How much he had trusted him.

You were a fool. You were a sentimental fool.

“Look at me. No, look at me.”

Saïx spun on his heel to find that Axel was much closer than he had appeared to be in the window. He had intended to continue avoiding his eyes, but that was no longer an option. The problem he had now was that once he met them, he couldn’t look away.

“You would have let Xemnas turn me into a Dusk,” Axel said hoarsely, and the shock in his tone made Saïx want to vomit. It told him that Axel had expected something different. He had expected more.

I know you are better than this.

He stared up into the blazing eyes that burned a hole through his hollow chest and he was, for a moment, at a loss. For a single, sickening instant he listened to the voice in the back of his head that screamed no no no but the truth was he didn’t know. He had no idea whether or not he would have had it in him to intervene.

He didn’t need to imagine what it would look like, Lea’s death. He saw it every night when he closed his eyes. He had stopped caring in his dreams a long time ago. Who was to say it would have been any different?

I wouldn’t let him do that to you, Isa’s voice cried. I wouldn’t let them take you away.

“I knew there was no danger of him carrying out the threat,” Saïx said evenly.

Axel slammed his hand on the desk. “That isn’t an answer.”

It was for you.

“No. It isn’t.”

It was all for you.

It was Axel who looked down and away, releasing a whuff of air with a look on his face that was more grief than betrayal.

“What,” he hissed through gritted teeth, “am I supposed to do?”

“You have your orders. I trust you have committed them to memory?”

He opened his mouth and closed it, unsure if Saïx was aware of what he had said. For a moment their eyes met once again. They almost saw each other.

Saïx turned away and closed his eyes. “Just do your job, Axel.”

“And you?”

He meant Xemnas. He meant the yellow eyes. He meant the locked doors and hushed voices and the increasingly deep gashes in the floor that appeared after Saïx had been “letting off steam”.

“Stay out of it,” Saïx murmured.

“Listen.” Axel took a deep breath, clearly bracing himself. “Listen, I know we don’t trust each other, I know that, but Saïx—I really, if there’s something I—”

“Get out.”

It hadn’t escaped him, Isa thought, as he sank into oblivion in the back of Saïx’s mind for the last time, that the closer you were to Xemnas, the more of Xemnas that leached into you like a toxin. Filling the space the heart left behind.

I won’t let him take you away.

“Isa,” Axel said, his voice broken in a million places.

“You need,” Saïx snarled, “to leave.”

I wouldn’t

let him

do that

to you

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

The sight of them, the insectlike helmets and robes all the more unnerving for their color where there had before been only darkness, and worse, the uniformity of it all, the implication that it had all been successful at last, that they had all finally become him and there was no them left. That Lea, no matter how strong he told himself he had to be, was too late to save Isa as Isa had saved him.

I’m sorry, he had mumbled into Lea’s chest. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

Promises to…

“No,” he muttered out loud, eyes darting between combatants. Watching for it.

…break?

His heart slammed against ribs that were certainly bruised, and it was not lost on him that he was terrified, and that he was in an extraordinary amount of pain.

Kairi realized what he was looking for before the others even noticed he was there. He half expected her to try and stop him, but she only glanced from his face, to the whirling figures before them, and back. Already Riku and Sora tore into them, but Kairi saw Lea, and she hesitated. She stood with her back to him, weapon low, and he understood with a pang that she was once again protecting him.

“How will you know it’s him?” she said.

They didn’t seem to be given very much to weapons, but Lea had a way around that. He considered throwing it but it seemed unlikely that he’d be able to get a decent swing in, let alone gather the necessary momentum.

“Listen, princess.” Lea swallowed. “Can you do something for me?”

“Yeah.”

“Throw your keyblade at him.”

“At—who? That one?”

She pointed at the figure Lea gestured to, standing very still near the edge of the fray, having just been pushed back, and she thought she saw the pale blue glow that would have given him away, but it wasn’t clear enough to be sure.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. No. I—I know his—he put his arm up like he—we used to train together a lot. Kairi. Please.”

Kairi considered him and nodded.

“Wait. Throw mine. Use mine.”

Lea’s weapon was heavier than what she was used to wielding, but Kairi was strong. As strong as she looked. Their opponents may not have been given to weapons, but reflexes died harder, and a split second after he saw the flames headed for his head the clang of claymore on keyblade rang out across the courtyard. It was back in Lea’s hand before it hit the ground.

“It’s him,” Lea breathed.

“That’s—” Riku spun on his heel, fending off dark projectiles that bore a suspicious resemblance to sniper shots. “Lea—no. He’ll kill you—Kairi—”

But Kairi only watched as Lea made his way towards the figure with a speed and determination that shouldn’t have been possible given his injuries, watched him push Riku away when he tried to stop him in his tracks, and she prayed to every shred of light her heart knew that she was right.

I’ll be here. I’ll always be here.

He didn’t hesitate because there was no time to hesitate, because hesitating meant they were both dead, it would mean he could be wrong, and being wrong wasn’t an option, and Lea had wrenched the horrible mask from his face before the other could react to the fact that he was approaching in the first place.

Waves of disheveled blue hair fell to his shoulders and Saïx staggered back, huffing in surprise when Lea closed the distance again and caught his face in both hands.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Bringing you back,” Lea said, and kissed him.

Familiar explosions of light behind your eyes, you want to laugh the first time it happens because it feels so cliché to see stars, and you’ve spent your whole life trying to avoid clichés. Clichés like the moon falling in love with the sun, but you can’t hide forever, you can’t hide from yourself forever, and when it happens, it happens firmly and without question, because he knows you’ll work around it if he gives you the option, so he doesn’t give you the option. He says

I love you, I love you

and you damn near lose your mind, because you think if you lose that first and lose him second then it won’t hurt as much, but he’s not going anywhere, he’s not leaving, and you don’t understand.

You are sixteen years old and the moonlight kisses a lit match he holds between his teeth. He smiles around it, and you pluck it from his lips with your own, and you are trying not to laugh, but you’re failing, and you hope it doesn’t mean anything. You don’t know what you will do if it does.

You are nineteen years old and you are bleeding from the face and you are kissing a heat wave and you are willing it to mean something. You don’t know what you will do if it doesn’t.

You are twenty-five years old and you are kissing a wildfire the man you used to be learned to love too late for it to make a difference. You want to ask him what does this mean but you look into his eyes and you can already tell he doesn’t have the answers.

You carry what you did to him in your chest like a bomb, like a grenade with the pin pulled that hasn’t quite decided when it will explode. Somewhere in the soul you used to have you hear a voice repeating ten words over and over again and you could snuff it out, but you don’t. It is the last thing you have refused to let them take away.

Lea’s lips burned it all back into him, just as they always had. Every memory, everything he had crushed to the bottom of his heart where it couldn’t do any more damage, a scatter shot point-blank to the chest. Such things can’t help but be fatal, at least in passing.

Saïx gasped, a death rattle, and Isa opened his eyes.

As long as you love him, you cannot be erased.

“Lea,” he croaked. “Lea.”

Lea smiled at him, trying to look certain, but the immense relief in his eyes said that he hadn’t been certain at all.

“That was idiotic, that was so—reckless, you’re not—oh—!”

He staggered back once more, this time due to Lea’s legs having given out momentarily, but Isa had always been stronger, and he steadied him easily. Lea slumped forward and grimaced into Isa’s shoulder. It took him a moment to process that they were holding one another.

“You’re hurt,” Isa said. “I can’t—we have to—”

“Isa,” Lea mumbled. “It’s you, right?”

He paused. “Tell me what color my eyes are.”

Without raising his head, Lea chuckled. “Green.”

“We can assume we are safe for—I feel fine. You clearly do not.”

“I thought I was the one saving your ass.”

“Seems as though it was a mutual operation.”

He groaned and tried to push himself away from Isa. Looking over his shoulder, he met Kairi’s eyes as she charged one of the masked figures of whom Isa now was not, and she smiled at him with something like pride, or maybe it was just bloodlust the princess had earned the right to.

A crash through the sky startled both men, and Lea winced. Isa glared up at the swirling darkness above them, his skin already beginning to give off a pale blue glow, but this time the light that shone from behind his eyes was his own.

“We need to get you out of here.” he told Lea. “You need to leave.”

“No.”

Lea looked him dead in the eyes, and for the first time in years, Isa did not feel compelled to look away. He pushed Isa away gently, and though he was clearly in pain, the flames that snaked up his arms burned as brightly as they knew how.

“We go together,” Lea said, “or not at all.”

#kingdom hearts #akusai #lea #saix #axel #isa #posts #you wouldnt think id be the kind of person to buy so heavy into true loves kiss saving the day and yet here we are #saixualhealing

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dearophelia · 5 years

Text

gonna set your flag on fire - chapter 05

Thirty years after the war, things are as close to normal as they’ll get. Garrus is the turian councilor and Olivia runs Galactic Affairs, helping the galaxy rebuild. They’ve happily settled into the life they’ve built. Their kids are grown, and out living their own lives.But something goes wrong on Nora’s latest mission. Very wrong.

chapter 05: are we the hunters, or are we the prey?

In which the team lands on Zorya and, you know, everything goes exactly according to plan. (read on AO3)

continued thanks to @nightingaleseeking and @tarysande for all their wonderful help and cheerleading of this project!

(hi folks, we’re back! sorry for the delay; a lot of nonsense happened, but it’s over now and all is well)

The Oralla wasn’t designed as a transport ship, and its guest quarters are nonexistent – the turians shoved three sets of human bunkbeds into what could charitably be called a closet. They’re all long accustomed to making do with whatever’s available and, though Nora has to climb in and out of her bed very carefully so as to not knock her head on the metal legs of the other two sets, it’s far from the worst place she’s had to sleep since joining the Alliance.

They’re due to depart in their shuttle for Zorya in eight hours, and they’re meant to be getting some sleep. But she’s too wired – always is the night before a mission, Cerberus or no – so she rolls onto her stomach, turns her omnitool’s light almost all the way down, and pulls up the Cerberus databurst Jonah intercepted this morning. The message glows bright in the dark room, but her teammates are long asleep. She could probably host a concert in the middle of the room and none of them would wake up.

Jonah passed the burst on to Alliance Intelligence, but they won’t get it for a couple of days and won’t be able to completely break it for probably a month. A very-illegal program of Alle’s managed to break through the first layer of encryption, at least giving them access to a weather report and some low-security emails.

The meteor shower started two days ago, and they’ll land in the height of it, just as they planned. And if it isn’t raining, it’ll be so humid it might as well be, just as they thought.

The six of them scoured the emails over dinner and didn’t find anything particularly interesting. Nora scrolls past the weather report, figuring a second look at even low-security correspondence can’t hurt.

She makes it through all of them in half an hour, and finally starts to feel sleep tugging her away. She closes her omnitool without learning anything new, but she wishes they’d been able to break through even another level. Maybe then they’d have an actual project name.

***

Quentus pulls her into a tight hug while the rest of her squad runs final equipment checks. “I still think you’re an idiot,” he murmurs quietly.

Nodding, Nora returns the hug. “Yeah, me too.”

“Last chance to bail,” he says.

She knows he means it as a joke, but Nora also knows him well enough to hear the truth in his subharmonics: if he had any authority to do so, he’d order her off the mission. She appreciates the sentiment. “No such luck,” she says, bumping her forehead against his.

“Not to interrupt the sibling moment,” Jonah says, “but we need to get going.”

Nora nods and steps away from her brother. “Rendezvous point, seven days,” she confirms. It’ll be a boring few days waiting for pickup, but the shuttle’s FTL drive isn’t strong enough to get them back to the Aquila system and the relay in anything less than two years.

“See you then. Good hunting,” Quentus claps her on the shoulder.

Smiling, Nora returns the gesture. “Good hunting.”

***

Olivia stops on her way to bed, seeing her daughter’s light still on. She knocks lightly and, upon hearing a quiet “yeah,” pokes her head in. “Everything okay?”

Nora looks up from her tablet and blinks. She’s three weeks into her new school, has made a few friends, and seems to be settling in well. But Olivia knows what she’s looking for now, and Nora’s hesitation at the door every morning – the pause, deep breath, and squared shoulders – is like a flashing neon sign.

“In the war,” Nora starts quietly, “how did you do it?”

Olivia raises an eyebrow and steps inside, letting the door close behind her. “What do you mean?”

She shrugs and tosses her tablet beside her on the bed. “You fought banshees and brutes and everything. How’d you not freak out every time you saw one?”

Pursing her lips, Olivia takes a moment to pull her answer together. Her mother asked the same question during the war, and her answer was an unsatisfactory “panic for five seconds while running very fast for cover, then get your ass in gear.” She has a suspicion that, as unhelpful as that was for her mother, it’s even less helpful for her daughter. She moves Nora’s backpack off her desk chair and sits down, tucking her feet up underneath her. “It helped a lot that I’d probably get myself and my squad killed if I let myself freak out,” she says honestly. She’s always been grateful for the quality of her fight-or-flight response.

Nora huffs. “That’s not going to work for school.”

“I certainly hope not,” Olivia smiles, then goes serious again. “You still having trouble?” she asks, though she knows the answer.

“A little,” Nora admits. “I’m usually okay once I’m there, but sometimes I still get a little…panicky. It’s so dumb,” she sighs, “there’s no reason for it, and I just. I’m annoyed,” she concludes.

Nodding, Olivia understands completely. Years passed before she didn’t find herself tensing up whenever she heard an electronic scream, or saw a red laser beam, or looked out a viewport the wrong way. She spent most of those years annoyed at her reaction and was never sure whether she was more upset at the reaction itself, or that she was still reacting at all. “It takes time,” she says.

Nora frowns at that. “Got any tips for making it through in the meantime? That don’t involve imminent bodily harm?”

“One thing at a time,” Olivia says gently; her father’s advice from forty years ago is just as sound now as it was then. “Focus on one thing, and one thing only. And when that’s done, move on to the next.”

“That seems too simple.”

She shrugs. “It works. And,” she smiles softly, “when all else fails, breathe. Good air in, bad air out.”

***

Nora wrinkles up her nose as soon as they step off the shuttle. Zorya is not only hot and humid and in the middle of its rainy season, it’s not only in the middle of nowhere, and not only does it have several kinds of venomous snakes and poisonous plant life – it also smells like the tropical bird exhibit at the Citadel Zoo. Her boots squelch in the mud.

“Lovely,” Carlos says, his voice tinny over comms.

Rachel’s omnitool casts an eerie glow around them. “I’m not seeing anything on their comms,” she says. “Looks like the meteor plan worked.” She closes her tool, leaving them in the silvery starlit darkness.

“Good,” Jonah says. “Move out.”

Silently, they settle their weapons in their grip and fall into formation: Alle taking point, Carlos and Rachel spread out behind her, Jonah and Micah staggered behind them, and Nora bringing up the rear.

The base is three miles away through dense jungle, and though they’re all in full helmets and on comms, they make the hike in silence except to point out hazards. Exposed roots threaten to trip them, branches catch at their arms and chests, and more than once they barely skirt the edge of a mud pit or sinkhole.

Nora brings up her combat playlist – a combination of bass-driven club tracks and fight music from various video games – and sets it to play quietly in her private channel. If she has to listen to just the silence of the jungle, which isn’t that silent at all, she’s going to go crazy before they even get to the perimeter.

One step at a time, she focuses on moving forward – left, right, left, right, step over the root, avoid the rock, left, right – and keeping her eyes on the jungle around her. Though they landed in a small clearing, the rest of the jungle isn’t so forgiving. Trees and plants are so thick even the moonlight has trouble breaking through. Flashlights are too risky in the dark, so they’re relying on nightvision.

Her eyes flick from one movement to the next, hypervigilant. A pyjak, fearlessly hopping from one branch to the next. A snake, slithering on its branch, poised to attack the pyjak. Three birds, circling through the maze of branches above the snake. A wolf-like creature, standing perfectly still behind a bush, looking up at the birds, its eyes glowing green and eerie in the nightvision camera. The wolf looks away from the birds and levels its calm, fierce stare directly at Nora. She shivers.

Abruptly, Alle holds up a fist. Nora’s HUD, designed to recognize hand signals from teammate gloves, flashes a red light in the lower left corner. She stops moving and takes cover behind a thick tree.

“Two o’clock,” Alle says. “Vakarian, check it out.”

She scopes in where Alle indicated. Nothing but trees. “I don’t see anything,” she says. But then movement catches her eye. “Wait,” she flips on her scope’s infrared sensors. “That’s…large,” she says, flatly. “It looks kind of like a bear.”

“Grizzly bear or black bear?” Carlos asks.

“It’s a bear,” Micah says, “what does it…?”

“They act differently,” Carlos says. “A grizzly would –”

“Neither,” Nora says, cutting off the incoming discussion on Earth-based bear behavior. “It’s got a long tail, for one thing.”

“Then it’s not a bear,” Carlos says.

“You have binoculars, you look at it.”

There’s a quiet shuffle as Carlos pulls out his binoculars. “That’s…Nora, what the hell, that doesn’t even look remotely like a bear.”

She glares in Carlos’ general direction. “Oh, you know what.”

Jonah coughs pointedly. “Let’s table the classification discussion and focus on whether it’s going to eat us.”

A few moments pass in silence, and then the shuffling noise repeats as Carlos puts his binoculars back. “There wasn’t anything about this in the planetary file, so it’s probably not an issue.”

“Because that’s not logic that hasn’t bitten us in the ass before,” Alle scoffs.

“I’m just saying, if the vorcha knew about the mutated pyjaks, the venomous snakes, and the extremophile bacteria that causes both, they would probably know if an eight-foot-tall predator was making its home in the jungle. They’re dumb, but they’re not that dumb.”

Nora practically hears Jonah rolling his eyes.

“Well, let’s hope that they’re dumb, but they’re not that dumb is an accurate analysis, but let’s go a little out of our way to avoid the bear anyway,” Jonah says. “Move out.”

“It’s not a bear,” Carlos starts. “Ow!” he says.

Nora flicks her safety on and zooms in on Carlos. Her grin widens. He’s rubbing the back of his head, while Rachel stands with her arms crossed, staring at him.

“I will turn this mission around,” Jonah grumbles, and Nora turns her comms off with barely enough time before she starts laughing.

“Move out,” Jonah repeats. “And radio silence until we get to Checkpoint One.”

They all fall into formation again, following Alle’s circuitous lead to give the not-bear a wide berth.

The rest of the hike is uneventful, but without the banter of her squad to distract her, Nora finds panic tugging at her edges. Up until now, even when they were on Haliat-Gemini, even when they were traveling on the Oralla, even when she said goodbye to her brother a few hours ago, even when they were landing the shuttle, this mission was just a concept, something vague and intangible. She could approach it academically, outside of herself, and not have to actually acknowledge the very real fact that she’s walking into a Cerberus base. A Cerberus base with Cerberus security, Cerberus technology, Cerberus forces, Cerberus everything.

She thought she was worried before. She had no idea.

Good air in, bad air out, Nora repeats to herself. Good air in, bad air out. She switches her music to a soothing instrumental playlist, one she’s used since high school to center herself and calm down. Good air in, bad air out, she repeats, concentrating only on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping watch on her team’s six. Slowly, the panic retreats, and the emptiness it leaves in its wake fills with clear, laser-sharp focus.

By the time they reach the edge of the forest, her shoulders are square and loose, and the steady battlefield calm she’s trained herself to find and love has settled in.

***

“How do you do that?” Quentus asks, dusting himself off as he stands up at the end of the wave.

Nora shrugs, and grabs a new set of grenades out of the ammo box. She’d taken down the two possessed praetorians in the end, but Armax’s new AIs need a lot of work before they’re ready for public use. At least they’re getting paid for spending their leave still geared up and fighting. “It’s fake,” she reminds him.

Even though he’s in a full helmet and his visor’s dark, she can tell he’s giving her a Look. An annoyed look, a brotherly look, a yes-thank-you-I-knew-that look. “You didn’t even flinch.”

Again she shrugs, and ducks into cover beside him as the drone announces the next wave. He was taken out by a scion sync kill and he’s holding himself stiffly – he must’ve hit the arena floor at just the wrong angle. She bets he’ll be playing it safe for the rest of the match, maybe try to stay out of the middle of chaos this time. “I don’t know,” she says, lobbing a series of arc grenades into the spawn point.

Quentus pops out of cover and follows her grenades with a clip full of inferno ammo. “That’s not helpful.”

“You’re seven years older than me,” she says, triggering the auto-destruct on her supply pylon on the other side of the base. It explodes, and a notification pops up in the kill feed: Nora Vakarian – Collector Captain [Supply Pylon]. She fishes out another pylon token and activates it beside them. It immediately refills their shields and spits out two grenade tokens. She offers one to her brother to replenish his stim packs and programs the other for an inferno grenade before clicking it onto her belt. “And have ten years more combat experience. You’re telling me you need your kid sister to tell you how not to freak out in a fight?”

Another Look, this one – she’s sure – with an accompanying eyeroll. She smirks at him, then scopes in and nails a captain dead in the eye. Collectors are easy for headshots, and she has a bet going with Micah.

“I’m just curious,” he says, cloaking before he starts shooting this time. “You looked pretty calm for being the only one standing in front of two fully-loaded possessed praetorians, even if they were fake.”

“My fight-or-flight response is heavily weighted toward fight,” she says, reloading.

Quentus is about 50/50, and Nico tends to go for a third option – freeze. It’s part of why he left service as soon as he was able. “Uhm,” she says, catching sight of what’s spawning behind them, “yeah, we should move.”

Quentus looks over his shoulder. “Yep.” While they’re running down the ramp, putting a decent distance between them and the possessed abomination, he pushes the matter. “That wasn’t an answer.”

“It’s as good as I’ve got,” Nora says. She abruptly stops at the end of the ramp, turns while scoping in with her Valiant, and unloads a three-shot clip into the abomination. The nuclear explosion takes out a handful of troopers and captains, and triggers a chain reaction with two other abominations, but she and her brother are safe and out of range. “It just kind of happens, couldn’t tell you how.”

***

They hang back a hundred feet in the trees so to not draw the attention of the guards. At least their intel is correct: three troopers guarding the shield access point, a single spotlight pointed toward the forest, the base glowing faintly in the distance beyond the shield. The shield shimmers a dim orange.

Jonah nods at her, and she holsters her Valiant before starting to climb a tree close to the edge. She needs to clear the treeline before she’ll have a decent shot at all three troopers, but she’s likely to draw their attention if she climbs one at the edge. The rough bark makes for easy traction, and the branches are solid, steady in her grip and underneath her feet. She easily makes it halfway up the tree, where she pauses to survey the branches in front of her. Confirming her path twice, she starts to move out along a branch, carefully traversing two trees until she has her back pressed against the trunk of one at the very edge. She expands her gun again and checks the security of its silencer.

Carefully, she lowers herself to lie on her stomach on the thickest branch and then slowly inches herself out. She isn’t quite hanging directly over the guards – far back enough that she’s covered in shadow, she’s far enough out that her shot isn’t obstructed. She looks through her scope and gets a solid bead on all three; she cycles through her shots, making sure she knows exactly how much to move her gun for each shot.

“Ready,” she whispers in her comms, her crosshairs hovering over the head of the first guard.

“Go,” Jonah confirms.

Nora takes a slow breath in and holds it for a moment. Halfway through her exhale, she fires. The guard’s head explodes, but she doesn’t see it – she’s already onto the second, and then the third. A quick reload, and she scopes back in, confirming all three kills. “Done,” she whispers, collapsing her gun and reconnecting it with her armor seals. Without quite as much care to mask her movements this time, she scoots backward toward the tree trunk.

“Roger,” Jonah says. “Carter, you’re up. Vakarian, get down here.”

Nora grips the branch with both hands and carefully slides off it, dangling down. She finds purchase with her boots on a branch below and releases the top one, reversing her way down the tree. At the final branch, she bends over, grasps the branch between her feet and lets herself fall to the ground. She swings a little bit from the branch and then lets go, smiling when her feet hit solid ground again.

Alle runs back into the trees, stolen access cards in hand. “Fire in the hole!”

The drill grenade explodes quietly but impressively, sending dirt, body parts, and electronics flying everywhere. The floodlight blows out, and a small wedge of the shield sparks and flickers. Then everything goes dark.

Alle grins at her teammates.

Jonah gestures for her to take point again. “Let’s go.”

***

“Radio silence,” Jonah orders as Alle swipes the security card at the access panel.

The little light turns from red to green, and the door slides open with a hiss. Cool, dry, climate-controlled air rolls out, a welcome relief from the hot, muggy jungle.

“Good hunting, Hydra,” Nora says to Jonah, Carlos, and Rachel as the three group up. It’s strange not to refer to Jonah’s team as Manticore, but this isn’t his regular team.

“Good hunting, Eidolon,” Jonah returns, and then leads Carlos and Rachel down the hall and around the corner.

It’s even stranger not to hear her own team called Chimera, and perhaps strangest of all not to have Carlos with her. When the other three are out of sight, Nora takes a deep breath, systematically shutting out everything that isn’t the mission. No control chip, no anxiety, no team name, nothing. Just the mission.

One thing at a time. Good air in, bad air out.

Nora turns to Alle and Micah. If all goes well, they’ll meet up with Hydra on the opposite side of the base in a couple of hours, intel and maybe a few Cerberus people in hand, set explosive charges, and then hike back to their shuttle and fly back to the edge of the system and play cards for three days while they wait for extraction. “Carter, you’re on point,” she orders, settling her gun in her hands.

Alle nods, turns off her armor’s lights, and activates her annihilation field with a wave of her right hand. The low growl sounds almost deafening in the silent hallway, but it soon blends into the base’s background – the electrical hum, a subtle rumble of machinery, and the erratic thud as meteorites hit the shield outside. Without her lights on, Alle almost blends into the shadows, and she slinks around the first corner.

Micah follows, assault rifle primed and ready, visor glowing red with his hardsuit’s devastator mode. Nora brings up the rear, triggering her own visor to keep a reverse camera image in the bottom corner so she can see behind them.

The first fifteen minutes are silent. They didn’t expect to run into anyone this far at the edge of the base, but it makes all of them a little jumpy. The schematics Liara sent are nearly accurate – there’s a hallway where there was meant to be a wall, and a door they needed was fifty feet farther down than expected – and they easily make their way into the heart of the base.

Alle holds up a fist, deactivates her annihilation field, and gestures for them to gather up. They all duck into a nook, mindful of the equipment stacked up beside them.

“Anyone else got a weird feeling about this?” she whispers.

Nora looks hard at her. “What do you mean?” She’s long learned to trust Alle’s instincts.

“I don’t know,�� she says, “something just feels off.”

Micah taps the temple of his helmet, and his visor fades to clear. He squints around the corner, down the darkened hall. “She’s right. We’re about halfway in – we should’ve run into someone by now.”

Nora frowns. Now that her teammates have mentioned it, she notices the unsettled knot in the base of her spine. She’d been so focused on forcing herself to think that nothing was wrong that she hadn’t picked up on her actual unease creeping steadily forward. She thinks for a moment, and then clicks their group comm channel in a pattern: short short long, their signal for I know we said radio silence, but I need to know if you’re still conscious.

The response comes back almost immediately. One click: potential shit ahead, hold for confirmation.

All three of them hold their breath.

Two clicks.

FUBAR, please assist.

“Well,” Nora says flatly. “We’re in it now.”

Nora has five seconds to mentally plot Hydra’s position on the other side of the base before she hears the high-pitched electronic whine of an illegal shock stick.

And then there’s a sharp pain in the base of her skull, and everything goes black.

#oh god i got a new computer between now and when i last updated this and i have to unfuck spellcheck all over again SOBS LOUDLY #s:words #s:set your flag #for crying out loud tumblr let me mention my friends without incident just once please i'm begging you

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askflourishandpassing · 6 years

Text

Reprieve

He hadn't taking notice to her lagging behind, see the clear distress in her features, blinded by the sense of his goal, of them encroaching on the area sooner than he had expected.

But now she was fatigued, even staggered, tripping over her legs before quickly regaining her footing.

She hesitated to ask, her legs wobbling, her paws aching for relief. Mustering the courage, she reached forth-

Taking notice of his subtle grunt, her paw retreated to her side. She choked for a second, doubting whether or not it was wise to disturb him before finally pushing her demands forward. "We have been walking for a very long time now. Could we not get some rest?"

He gave pause. His unnerving stare took in the toll the journey took on her body. Once, if not twice, he observed her hobbling when the trek proved to be much on her feet. In hindsight, he should have expected this but consumed by his goal he neglected her well-being. “We can rest for the time being,” he replied briskly before turning his back to her. He was simply taking in account of all factors. To appear vulnerable was not affordable.

A small breath left the Lopunny’s maw, relief immediately soothing down her tired expression.

“I take it you see the life flowing around you, correct? Find a suitable location to rest while I locate berries,” he continued in this manner, extending his palm forth, the tip of his claws enveloped by Psychic energy. He hadn’t missed the sight of succulent Oran and Bluk dangling from a tree. With relative ease, he guided them to make a makeshift pile at the side of his feet with the use of his Psychic. “Thread carefully,” he added with a chuff. A small act of kindness as he performed this miniscule task.

His warning was met with a little defiance however. She slightly huffed back at him, hurrying her pace to find a proper spot. Of all the times to worry about her well being, and in the last way she needed it. She had paced blindly her entire life that the warning felt like a nuisance.

“Oh!” She squeaked, her balance nearly thrown off as she allowed herself to be lost in that flurry of thoughts. She could feel a bit of unevenness to the ground as she regained her posture, sharp rocky protrusions sticking out of the dirt. In a fluster she clasped her hands together and sat down, scooting over to a more comfortable spot before she could make any more of a mockery of herself.

Having finished the small task, levitating a small pile of berries for her to rest at her feet, he turned, having heard her small sound of distress, saw her stumble and quickly regain her composure. To add an insult to injury was an act he was above doing but a mere rise of the brow was the only shift in his impassive features.

He decided to settle on the ground, careful of stray branches or sharp protrusions that would prod him as he partook in a small berry as he waited for her to recuperate.

She opted to shut her maw, hoping to recover from the fall on her own yet the silence that began to reign over them worsened her fluster. It was about time she had a proper conversation with her “captor” anyways but her immediate thoughts were surely to be rejected by the cold pokemon that accompanied her. She allowed her curiosity to flow a little more, another question taking shape in her lips. One he would hopefully allow to break the silence.

“What is it like?” She uttered. “Being an incarnation of death, I mean.”

A common question he was accustomed to hearing. A silence stretched between them as he began to ponder, darkness amassing in his expression. “It is not an ideal occupation.” His voice contained a wealth of bitterness, his tone rather curt. “I am sure you understand what my duty entitles.”

He demonstrated such with a sigh. His hand began to glow, the berry in his palm started to wither, shrivel into small prunes as its life ebbed away. “I can assure you I take no pleasure in doing this. Alas it is how balance is maintained. You have the easier duty of us, rest assured.” A tinge of envy colored his tone but he elaborated no further. She had took this opportunity to break the uncomfortable silence between them, an act he appreciated.

Discarding the lifeless berry, he rested his chin on his hand, a small frown stretching on his lips. “I do hope you have not been acting out of selfishness with your abilities. I do not take kindly to this,” he said with censor. His eyes narrowed with suspicion. He grew watchful of signs that would give her away.

Her brows were furrowed, snout pointed towards the ground as she witnessed what little life was left in the withered berry dissipate. An unnecessary waste of life just to prove a point but whatever chidding she had in mind was eradicated as he spoke. Suddenly her posture weakened and her ears twisted to her back. “That... would not be possible.” She muttered, meekly nibbling on a berry she had reached out for.

He raised a brow, questioning her sudden rigid posture. A sensitive topic? Before he could inquire further, she seized an opportunity to ask another, his lips thinning.

“But, Life and Death.” She said, her voice quiet. “Why do they have to name us in such a way? I would much rather hear my own name.”

“To them, our names do not exist.” Legends never bespoke of their true names. There were titles: Life, Death, The Giver, The Destroyer and that was only but a few he had heard over his lifespan. “I would rather not be known on an intimate level to others. My name remains privy to myself. I have no intention of becoming… friendly unless matters force my hand,” he explained with a hint of disgust. The likes of mortals held no momentary interest to him. “Nonetheless, you may call me whatever you are comfortable with since I am saddled with your company.”

“But I understand your sentiment,” he was complied to add. There was a time, centuries, millennia ago, where once he shared her view. But that had long since passed.

Something felt pleasant about that. That small bit of empathy. Maybe it was her naivety painting in the wrong emotions to comfort her, or maybe she really was not as alone in that feeling as she had imagined. Whatever it was, she let the feeling sink in.

“I just believe one should be addressed by their given names. They are there for a reason. I mean, you were given a nice name. Why not use it?” She stated. Despite the ever present softness in her tone she carried out her thoughts firmly, her confidence seemingly growing the more she found herself engaging in the conversation.

A slow blink was the only sign of his surprise. My name? Nice? “I do not recall my name as being described as a pleasant one. However the compliment is... appreciative.” He spoke in a brisk manner now, caught off-guard by what seemed to be an offhand gesture of kindness. Her perspective; he understood her entirely, resting his chin upon his hand as he listened attentively.

“I will admit, getting used to being called “Life” has been a tad difficult.” She muttered out, fiddling with a half-eaten berry in her paws.

“Let it be known then. You have a sound voice.” Behind the earlier meekness, he discovered she was quite resolute as she spoke with him now. Perhaps gathering on a well of confidence that had sprung up inside of her. “Demand that they call you by your birth name and not by a title. Repeat it until it pierces through their dense skulls if you must. You have a status now you must uphold. You cannot appear to be weak among the masses,” he said firmly, leaving no room for her protests.

She drooped slightly in a sheepish manner, an almost inaudible mutter escaping through her pout. Do I really seem that frail...? She would not allow the thought to linger however as she held on to a more pressing question in her mind.

No more waiting. The suspense was welling in her the longer that thought was left unanswered. “May I ask...” She begun, pausing as she sought the right sentence to prod him with that he may put an end to her worries with a simple answer. One he seemed all too hesitant to let go of before. “What is this place you wish to take me to?”

“It is somewhere but it is also nowhere,” he described in a vague manner. There was a hint of amusement coloring the mysterious tone his voice had taken on before it vanished. “You believed I was going to make this simple on you with an explanation.” His frame shook. He was chuckling under his breath, his gaze filled with amusement.

“However I can give you…” He inclined his head, thoughtful, “some sort inkling as to the location, I suppose. Your life-bearing gift will alert you to my intentions when we arrive closer in due time. That is the only indication I will give you that should satisfy your curiosity.”

“If not, I do not care,” he added flatly, “I believe we have wasted the time I will allot you for now. I cannot remain idle for too long.”

It was not enough. Her paws balled into fists, pressing against her thighs as she held back the need to retort. His answer only planted more questions in her head, too much to word in a manner that would not irritate him. She knew she had already used up whatever patience he held for her questioning. However, one thing was for sure. If he expected anything out of her “gift”...

She murmured through a sigh, wrapping her arms tightly against her own body. “Why me…?”

#Plot #ZaneGardevoir #NeviahLopunny #gotta read this

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doctorsloth33-blog · 6 years

Text

“Doc” Destan Loche, Autbio Part III

We were given two days notice before the Dominion attacked Hegathe. A “merchant” vessel (whose captain was a well-known smuggler) spotted the black sails on the horizon and used his small, swift craft to gain the day on them and raise the alarm. One day for them to reach the shore, and one day to land and organize. That was all the time we had to face a foe that, by the Captains account, was at least ten times superior to ours.

The first sentiment that swirled through the camp was to flee. Damn the Crowns and damn the Forebears, let them defend the homes they fight so bitterly over. But Hammerfell remained in the Empire, and these notions were squashed with prejudice. There was no feasible way for our divided Legion to fend off such a large force, and becoming trapped behind city walls would merely prolong our deaths and strain the patience of Hegathe. The orders came down that we were to engage the enemy army at the gates, then break out and lead them on a chase, giving the Redguards time to secure and fortify their city. Decius would not be trapped behind stone walls with no hope of reinforcement or resupply. It was a dangerous gamble, but one he firmly believed was necessary. Lead the Thalmor away, then break off and make for the High Rock border.

Preparations were feverish. Master Lorrick and I spent the bulk of our time securing every ingredient, potion, medicine, instrument and reference book we could lay hands on. Of our fifty Healers, only twenty-five were within the city and we turned them out to retrieve anything that could be made into a bandage. Sheets, head wraps, robes, cloaks, any piece of cloth that could be cut into strips was borrowed, begged for or outright stolen. I donned the robe given to me on graduation and tested the enchantment. The magic flowed through me as easily as breath and taxed me very little. I tied on my belt, secured my mace and slung my pack which was full of poultices, potions, and bandages already prepared for the coming battle.

The worst part of violence is the waiting. Once battle commences, there are a thousand tasks at hand to keep your mind and body occupied. You can set aside your fear and focus simply on doing one thing after another. But the waiting, the threat of impending carnage, is maddening. I didn't sleep a wink the night before the battle, imaging that every noise was the sound of a trumpet call, or a spell smashing into the city's walls. It seems foolish to me now, how hard I listened for the slightest noise. War is a cacophony, and there's no mistaking it for a bump in the night.

Master Lorrick, five Healers, and fifteen spearmen loaded up the medical cart and waited for the caravan to begin moving. Lorrick cursed his old age and frail bones and cursed the Thalmor for not coming twenty years before. “What will I tell my ancestors in Sovengarde? Will I stand beyond the gates and cry, ‘But I was too old Grandfather! Ysgramor, have pity! I would have stood as mighty as your Companions had battle found me in my youth!’” He spat in disgust, “Piss on them, damned elves. If I cannot enter Sovengarde for bravery then I will enter with cleverness. Go now, Destan, go and bloody your mace.” I gave the old master the first salute I'd ever given him. He returned a less polite gesture. I headed for the main gate.

I have trouble remembering the overall flow of the battle, but I remember vividly certain moments. I do know that the Legionaries bottled the Thalmor up just inside the main gate in an attempt to negate their superior numerical advantage, and I recall it working for a time. My friend Lucius was there, waving the standard and shouting encouragement, singing at the top of his lungs as well. The men answered him and above the din of the fighting one could hear old Legion war songs erupting from hundreds of strong bellies. I was treating a soldier who'd taken an arrow to his gut when a blast of hot air, as if from a huge blacksmith's bellows, smashed into us and the world went insane.

A massive fireball, likely the collaborative effort of several Thalmor magi, had smashed completely through the line at the gate and the tall golden elves poured in like dancing gods of death. I struggled to lift the man I'd been treating, unable to tear my eyes away from the carnage of the blast. He was completely limp and when I finally looked at him I saw a massive piece of metal had split his head in half. I let him drop to the ground and drew my mace, conjuring a spark in my offhand. I looked around, desperate to find something to do. Should I run for the caravan? Should I try to find wounded and help them? Should I turn and fight? A tall figure robed in black trotted directly in front of me and without thinking I swung my mace. The Altmer had begun to look in my direction and the big, ugly iron head caught him full in the face. He crumpled silently and his leg twisted unnaturally beneath him. His head was an unrecognizable lump of mashed flesh, blood, bone and several teeth that had cut their way through his lips. I stared for a moment, thinking how easy it had been to kill him when his body twitched. The mace came down, again and again, a blind rage and desperate terror fueling my blows. I ceased when the iron skipped off the hard stone of the road and I realized there was no head left to strike. I blinked and ran a hand over my face. I felt something gritty and wet and held my hand before my eyes. Bits of gore and bone covered my glove. I retched for a few moments.

There was a flurry of activity all at once. So much happened so swiftly that I was unable to process it, I simply reacted. I simply survived. I became aware that we were in danger of letting the Thalmor break into the city and that nothing short of a miracle will save us. I hurl fire and lightning at the black shapes of the Dominion locked in mortal struggle with the red shapes of Legionnaires. A big brute of an Orc off to my left, having lost his weapon somehow, ripped off the helmet of an Altmer and used it to smash the elf’s head in. An Imperial staggered past me, his pace unhurried and his path meandering. His face was pale, and a bit confused, but otherwise he seemed unperturbed by the fact that his arm ended in a stump at the elbow. I gently led him to a quiet corner and sat him down. He made small talk as if my frantic and blood-slick work was a simple routine check-up. I gave him a distilled potion to dull the pain and revitalize his spirit and then summoned a slow flame to sear the stump shut. I had neither the time nor the energy to close the flesh with healing magic, and I’m sure that I caused him great pain and discomfort soon after. But he was alive and ambulatory, so I sent the shocked soldier on a mission to find Master Lorrick and return with some bandages, knowing full well that Lorrick would put the man out as soon as he saw him. He was happy to help and set off with a purpose, no longer stumbling or confused.

The battle began to reach a fever-pitch when I returned, and I soon found myself engulfed by the melee. This is another part that is unclear in my memory. Blood and steel, bones crushed and flesh opened, terror and outrage poured from my entire being. I remember feeling as though my arm would fall off from fatigue but still somehow gathering the strength to strike again. I found myself in a sudden lull when a hand grasped me desperately by the elbow. I spun with weapon raised and met the gaze of a Redguard in local attire. The man began pleading with me and pulling me away from the fighting, apparently recognizing that my robes marked me as a healer.

“My brother, Master, come quickly. He's dying, his fear was palpable. I followed him around a corner and into an alleyway where he had dragged his wounded brother. Much to my surprise, the bloody form lying on the cobblestones was wearing the heavy steel armor of the Legion. On his chest was a bloody, smoking hole that looked as though it went all the way through. “Help him, please. Please don't let him die, please Master Healer. Please,” the local man was near hysterical with terror and grief, eyes welling up with water. I drew my knife and offered it to him, handle first. “Cut that armor off, quickly.” His eyes dried and he leapt into action, slicing at straps with swift, deft motions. I rolled up my sleeves and cleaned my arms off as best I could. A dozen knicks and cuts leaked fresh blood but I managed to get most of the grime and gore off. The brother yanked hard on the cuirass and tossed it to the side. I knelt down and began working.

The man’s chest rose weakly and I could see bright red blood oozing from his wound at irregular intervals. I checked his wrist and found his pulse. Weak, erratic, just as I had feared.

“You'll want to look away friend,” I said softly to the brother without turning. He hesitated, then threw his hands over his head and walked to the end of the alley. I closed my eyes, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. When I opened my eyes, I pushed my hand into the dying man's chest through his open wound. His ribs, broken and jagged, gouged my wrist. I wiggled my hand deeper and deeper until I was nearly to my elbow before my hand clasped around his heart. I felt it pump, but there was no rhythm. The pattern was wild and erratic as if something it couldn't understand was happening and it was in a panic. I searched the outside of the pulsing mass with my fingers until I finally found it. A hole, no bigger than my thumb torn in the side of his heart, blood gushing from it. I plugged it and began to concentrate intensely. Sweat beaded on my brow and my free hand began to shake with the effort. I put every ounce of will and power into my hand, into the thumb plugging the hole, into the heart trying to pump itself to destruction. Slowly at first, and then all at once the hole sealed. Without pause I grasped the entire heart in my palm and began massaging it, trying to match it’s beating with my own. I could hear mine pounding clearly in my head and felt near to exhaustion. After a few moments, I stopped and held it in my palm, feeling for the pulse. I let out a sigh of relief that it held and collapsed.

After coming to a few moments later I, with the help of the brother who was weeping and alternating between thanking me and all of the Divines, cleaned and bandaged the man's wounds. Together we made a makeshift stretcher out of a few broken spears and my own cloak, and I decided to help carry the wounded man to the rear. I was nearing total exhaustion and planned on gathering a few restorative concoctions from Master Lorrick. We hoisted him as gently as possible onto the stretcher, lifted him and cautiously made our way to the mouth of the alleyway. I peered out towards the gate and, much to my dismay saw that a swarm of black armored forms poured in. The remaining Legionaries had formed a half circle to block the entrance but were being pressed hard. It would not be long before the Thalmor broke through and entered the city. So distracted was I that I only barely noticed the sudden rumbling beneath my feet. I looked the other way after finally taking notice, and my heart leapt up into my chest. Pounding down the main thoroughfare, I witnessed the General leading the entire cavalry detachment in tight formation. He stood in the saddle and called out to the others, half turning to look at them. Then with a flourish, he drew his sword and signaled the charge. Cries arose from two hundred throats as they thundered forward to aid the beleaguered troops. I heard the terrible sound as thousands of pounds of angry flesh and steel crashed, the screams of the wounded and the shocked, the triumphant yells of the desperate Legionaries. I saw an Altmer sail above the heads of his comrades and watched as he landed in a sickening heap. I looked to the brother, whose face was a mirror of my own awe at such a terrific sight, and without speaking we both agreed to make our escape immediately.

My heart pumped poison that burned my limbs. My legs had become solid lead, and I could taste copper in my mouth. Something was doing its best to drive my shoulder blades apart and the only way I knew I hadn't dropped the stretcher was the insufferable weight tugging at my numb arms. We ran through abandoned streets, doors barred shut and windows locked tight. I could feel eyes that peered out through cracked shades on my back. The city was quiet as a grave save for the dull noises of battle behind us. The silence was oppressive, and my ears rang so loudly I feared I was going deaf. Occasionally a soldier would sprint past us, carrying some urgent communique to the waiting caravan, or a horseman would blaze towards the fighting. We trudged on, our gait made awkward by our cargo. A creeping terror spread across my chest that I would collapse, but the thought of failing the man I'd saved so close to the end galvanized my spirit. I gritted my teeth and trudged on.

When we arrived at the rear, an apprentice I didn't recognize ran over and called to some nearby soldiers for aid. I eased the wounded man down, gave his brother a nod and then turned to walk towards our wagon when everything went dark and the ground swelled up beneath me. I awoke briefly several times. Once Master Lorrick held a foul tasting potion to my lips and bade me drink, before waving his hand over my head and muttering an incantation. Again, much later, the cart was moving and I stared up at the night sky. Too exhausted to question it, and feeling pleasantly warm and floaty from whatever Lorrick gave me, I allowed myself to slip back into sleep.

I awoke on the first full day of the terrible event now known as the March of Thirst. It was one of the most trying times of my life.

End Part III

#TES V SKYRIM #TESV #Skyrim #TES Skyrim #The Elder Scrolls

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kimistorm · 3 years

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It’s All a Little Strange || Chapter 6 (Dr. Strange x Reader)

This is chapter 6 of my series, if this is your first time, please check out my masterlist to get caught up!

“Stop!” Mordo yelled as well and Stephen snapped out of his stupor a moment before you crashed into him.

“What were you thinking!” you demanded and got back onto your feet without helping Stephen to his feet.

“Tampering with the continuum of probability is forbidden!” Mordo shouted as he ran up to Stephen.

“I told you that!” you shouted in frustration, “I told you that warnings go after the spell!”

“Either way, they really should-”

“Don’t do that.” You stated stubbornly and refused to look Stephen in the eye, “don’t...mess with stuff you don’t understand.” You finished quietly and wiped a tear that had fallen.

“I clearly understood it if I could do it, and I read through the book.” Stephen protested.

“Wha? (f/n), is this sentiment coming through?” he asked in amusement.

“If you’re done having your domestic-” Mordo started.

“Oh my gosh Mordo!” you shouted, “this was not a domestic!” you pointed rapidly between the two of you.

“I’ve got a photographic memory,” Stephen explained, “it’s how I got my M.D. and Ph.D at the same time.”

“What you just did,” Mordo once again gestured to the Eye of Agamotto, “takes more than a good memory. You were born for the mystic arts.”

“Hold up,” you stepped into the conversation, “how can you conclude that?”

“What about you,” you continued to sulk and crossed your arms, “can you utilize the Eye?”

“I’ve never tried.” Mordo answered simply.

Stephen shook his head, “I side with (f/n), my hands still shake.” He lifted his hands up to show that they were indeed trembling.

“For now, yes.” Mordo agreed.

“Not forever?” Stephen asked excitedly.

“(f/n)?” Mordo and Stephen turned to look at you as you looked down at the pager.

“You guys go on ahead. Looks like I’m needed at the hospital.” You opened a portal into your room to change, “and it was my off day too.”

You hurriedly changed and portaled a block away from the hospital. You were still straightening your clothes when you burst into the hospital.

“Oh (f/n)! I’m so glad you could make it!” Christine gestured for you to follow her.

“What’s the emergency?” you asked and pulled your hair into a ponytail.

“Our other cardiovascular surgeon is in the middle of a surgery right now, but this guy needs immediate attention.” She explained and led you to a surgery room, “it’ll be quick.”

“Yeah?” she asked and looked at you.

“Listen, I’ve got to go. It’s an emergency.” You hurriedly told her.

“Go ahead. Thanks for coming on such short notice.”

“Thanks Christine!” you called over your shoulder and ran out of the hospital. You found an alleyway and portaled straight to the front of the New York sanctum and burst through the doors.

“I’ve got to hand it to you Kaecilius.” You called out and he spun around to face you, “you didn’t pick an awful time.”

“Who is this chick in scrubs?” you heard one of the zealots mutter.

“Yep!” he shouted.

“Give me a break Daniel! I’m trying to be cool here!” you protested and noticed Stephen standing on the balcony above, “I need to be a cool mentor!”

“Quit while you’re ahead (f/n)!” Daniel laughed.

“Nope!” you heard Daniel yell and a whip shot out and pulled the zealot away from you.

“Oh, so now I can fight?” Stephen asked in annoyance.

“Are you still good at that one spell?” Daniel questioned and grunted as he ducked an attack, “because now would be a good time!”

“On it!” you responded and your chakrams dissolved as you summoned a fiery whip and hooked it onto the balcony above the lobby and swung yourself up.

“What are you doing?” Stephen asked as you stood next to him and held your hands together in a symbol.

“She’s too much trouble,” you heard Kaecilius call out followed by a grunt as he dodged a punch from Daniel, “kill her.”

“No!” you heard two voices yell out and the zealot formed a space shard poised for your heart.

“(f/n)!” you heard Stephen scream and the weapon rushed down at your chest.

“(f/n)! (f/n)!” Stephen rushed to your side.

That shook him out of his reverie and he scrambled up to his feet to go and help Daniel, “stop!” he cried out and leapt over the railing of the balcony to deal with what had happened.

“I don’t want to kill you.” You told the zealot.

“(f/n)!” Stephen gasped as he saw how bloodied your clothes were and how pale you were.

You shook your head (which you regretted since you were taken over by a wave of nausea), “Kaecilius. Where’s Daniel?”

You turned a corner and nearly ran into Stephen who was pulling down a wardrobe, “it won’t do anything, leave it!” you commanded and continued to run.

The two of you made it into the room full of relics, “(f/n), hide. You can’t fight like this.” Stephen ordered.

“I won’t just leave you.” You argued.

masterlist

taglist: @panhoeofmanyfandoms @daydreamer-in-training (message me if you'd like to be added!)

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herbalisia · 6 years

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The Fidelity of Flowers, pt. 2 - Julian/Fem!Apprentice

Admin Quill with an update! Here’s part 2 of my Floriography fic with Julian. Enjoy!

Themes: Fluff, mild spice on that

Rating: Teen, for our little masochist showing his colors

Words: 4,347

Chatter from the morning crowd rattled around him. This is where he felt safe, blending into a crowd, his senses filled by the bitter, smoky aroma of the coffee in his hand. He wished he could see it how he had seen it a couple days ago. With her on his arm, the streets seemed warmer, more inviting, and the colors drifting about from the street vendors’ wares—from fruit to textiles—seemed brighter. It was like she pulled an aura of life around with her, and he would do anything to stake his claim in that aura forever. But he didn’t deserve luxuries like that. He didn’t deserve to live in the light when he was nothing but dark.

The familiar pit in his stomach formed again, and he took a distracted sip of the pitch-dark liquid in his cup to soothe it. He could see her sleeping face again, her eyes still puffy from the tears that she had wasted on him. Everything in his being wanted to wake her and apologize that night. He wanted to tell her that he took it back. He wanted to hold her again, bathe in her soothing scent and run his fingers through her hair. He wanted just one more taste of her sweet lips, one more high from the sounds she breathed into his mouth. He wanted so much. But nothing good ever came from fickleness, even though he had practically perfected it into an art. He’d settled on brushing her flushed cheek with a gloved finger, unable to fully resist his desire to touch her, but he’d quickly escaped out the window when she made a deep sound in her throat at his touch. He didn’t want to wake her, or else he would surely injure her further. Instead, he settled for his original plan, the plan he had devised before he had been distracted with his concerns for her. Before he had used the key—against his word—to break in one last time to steal up the stairs and see her again. He placed the bouquet gently on the doorstep, concealed in the darkness of the night. He looked through them again, assuring that he had said all that he wanted with them. Was she even familiar with floriography? What if she didn’t know he’d left them? What if she didn’t understand his message? Surely Asra would recognize it, but would he be willing to help her decipher it, after what he’d done? He clawed at his chest, fist balling in the supple leather of his coat. If she didn’t understand his intentions with the flowers, it shouldn’t matter to him. If he did everything right, she wouldn’t see him again anyway. So why was he lingering in Vesuvia anyway?

He looked down into his mug, his rippling reflection frowning back at him. He knew why. He didn’t want to leave. He didn’t care about the risks he faced by staying, for he was too caught up in his own heartbreak to truly plan travel to any other destination anyway. But he didn’t deserve to wallow, either. He’d done this to himself. She didn’t want to leave him. She didn’t fear the danger in a future with him. Even so, he left. He had no right to be upset.

With a heavy sigh, he downed the rest of the coffee and placed two coins on the counter as payment, shuffling back into the street. He had no destination in mind. He just knew that he couldn’t go anywhere near the side of town that held the little magic shop. So absorbed in his own depression, he didn’t hear the desperate rattles of the raven overhead. It took the bird swooping down and pulling on his auburn tresses in passing to feel the prickle of danger on his skin and hear the protests of the guards trying to push through the crowd. His mind went blank as his legs carried him swiftly down a back alley.

You damned fool. Walking down a busy street in broad daylight. What were you thinking? He mentally scolded himself as he ran, his heart hammering in his ears as he wound down the back streets. Shouts of the guards bounced off the narrow walls, tailing him despite being out of sight. He couldn’t stop now, but he had no idea where he was going. He looked around the walls of the alley, spotting nothing that would help him decipher his location. As long as he continued in the opposite direction of the guards, he should be fine. But he couldn’t run forever.

Poking his head out into the sunlit street for just a moment, he assessed his location. His legs operated on instinct when he got his bearings, carrying him to his only reliable hideaway. Launching himself through the open window, he hissed as he knocked a yellow bloom from the stalk of one of the plants there. Mazelinka could chide him later. He pressed himself under the windowsill, the cool earth of the wall seeping into his back as he panted for breath. He thought he didn’t care about risking himself. He thought he had just told himself that at the shop. Yet here he was, gasping desperately for air after running for his life. He couldn’t make up his mind. Fickleness was certainly his talent.

Once he’d caught his breath and was certain that the guards had lost track of him, he stood up and staggered into the room partitioned off by the curtain. He stripped off his coat, gloves, and boots, flopping onto the bed unceremoniously, only to reel and sit up when his face met with a cold, velvety bundle on the pillow of the bed, spluttering when he noticed a fallen petal on his tongue.

“What?” he grumbled, holding up the tiny excuse of a bouquet. Four stems were bound at the bottom with twine, with a gentle vine of blossoms coiled around them. Did Mazelinka get these?

Leaning against the wall, he rubbed the petals of the white rose in the center between his bare fingers. “I am worthy of you,” he mumbled under his breath, a spiteful laugh escaping him. He could’ve never included this one in his bouquet to the apprentice that had captured his heart. He wasn’t worthy of her. Not in the slightest. She deserved better. Eyebrows furrowed in curiosity, he hummed when he saw the pink tulip, paired nicely against the remaining pink blooms in the arrangement. “A declaration of love. Such a romantic gesture for someone courting a woman of Mazelinka’s age. Young at heart, perhaps?” he chortled, smelling the bouquet. He put his head down on the pillow and identified the other flowers absentmindedly. The vine around the four stems was pink convolvulus, symbolizing worth sustained by judicious and tender affection, one that he easily remembered. One of the stems separated into two heads exploding into what seemed like hundreds of petals, one tinted a darker pink than the other. A double aster. Whoever sent this shared the sentiments of whoever it was replying to. Did Mazelinka send flowers to an admirer? What a giddy little girly thing to do, he thought to himself with a snicker. He pulled his fingertip down the peachy-pink bundle of petals on the last stem, savoring the velvet feeling with a mock-incredulous gasp. “A buttercup! Is this person calling Mazelinka childish or themselves?” He smirked down at the bouquet, toying with the petals as he laughed.

“What!?”

A muffled voice came from the sleeping hole, silenced by the shut door. The bouquet tumbled from Julian’s hand as he sprang up from the bed, every muscle coiled tight like a cat ready to pounce.

“Mazelinka?” he asked after the voice, though he already knew the voice didn’t belong to the house owner. Picking up the knife that was usually concealed in his boot, he inched closer to the door. He held his position a safe distance from the door and froze, knife poised at the ready. “Huh, I must’ve been hearing things,” he grumbled at a deliberately louder volume than necessary to talk to himself. After a moment, he heard a sigh, like a held breath finally being released. Eyebrows furrowed, he closed the distance to the door in half a stride and yanked the door open, knife readied in his other hand and steely eye glinting with danger. Who he saw in the hole, however, made the knife fall with a clatter as he staggered backwards a step.

“Ranunculus. It was supposed to be a ranunculus. The book said it meant ‘I am dazzled by your charms,’” the apprentice deadpanned, sounding deflated. “It wasn’t a buttercup.”

“It is a buttercup. But buttercups are a kind of ranunculus flower,” Julian corrected, his face drained of all color. “Why…what…why are you here?” His voice sounded hurt. Scared. The apprentice opened her mouth, then closed it again, looking sheepish.

“I was looking for you. I knew if you were still in town, you would probably come to Mazelinka’s house to hide again, so I--”

“You broke in,” he filled in for her. She smirked, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth before her smile pulled it free.

“I learned from the best,” she hummed, glancing up at him and twirling a loose lock of hair around her finger. He swallowed hard past a lump that quickly formed in his throat. Gods, why did she have to look at him like that? Those eyes burned into him, setting fire to any resolve he might’ve possessed. He laughed and offered her a hand to get out of the hole. She took it, her grip strong, holding him like a lifeline. Like she was prepared for him to bolt at any time.

“But why are you here? As in, right now? You could’ve easily left the flowers behind. How long were you going to sit in the hole and wait for me? What if I never came?” he scolded her, gripping her shoulders. A flush of embarrassment rose to her face as she looked away, a small pout forming on her mouth. He looked down at it, tongue prodding the inside of his lips, threatening to escape and wet his own at the sight.

“Well, I just…I just got here. It took me longer than—Look, the book is short enough, but I need more than a couple of hours to memorize them. I needed to find what I wanted to say to you, but I didn’t have the time or the patience. Then I had to find the flowers. Plus, I didn’t want to try to find anything that I didn’t recognize. I’m sure the florists would know what I wanted when I asked, but some of them were so specific, and I didn’t want to say anything wrong—well, look how that turned out, ugh. I just wanted--” Julian’s lips crushed hers, a satisfied sigh escaping him. As she had been speaking, he had slowly moved his hands up her shoulders, her throat, and eventually rested on her cheeks. She let out a soft moan as he parted her lips with his tongue, her hands finding his shoulders for support. His name tumbled from her lips, tearing a groan from his mouth as he responded with hers. Her tongue stroked his as she sighed, making his skin hum with excited energy. He kissed back with as much ferocity as she offered, stabilizing her by her waist as her knees started to buckle. His lungs burned, but he didn't care. He had been dying to taste her sweetness again ever since the last kiss he had left on them at the docks. She wove her fingers into the short hairs at the back of his neck, tugging slightly to pull him away. He purred, leaning in with a peck and gentle tug at her bottom lip before he looked down at her with a smile. Once she caught her breath, she looked up to him, her eyes a swirl of frustration and desire. He wondered which one she would chase. He knew which one he hoped she’d chase.

The hand on his chest grew more insistent as it forced him backward, farther and farther until the backs of his knees hit the bed, buckling and planting him on the worn mattress.

“Those flowers were from you, then,” he muttered, arching a brow to tease her. He knew. He knew as soon as he’d found her. Of course her payback would be a favor of the same kind. She was resourceful and clever, after all, and he loved that.

“Yes,” she breathed, straddling his lap and weaving her fingers into his hair again. The intensity of her gaze made his ears burn. “I meant all of it, and more. For one thing, there wasn’t a flower that meant ‘I am very mad at you,’ or one that meant ‘how could you do this to me, you were everything I wanted.’”

There was the frustration, he noted. His pulse jumped at the ferocity with which she stared him down. “Well, you could’ve given me basil to tell me that you hate me. After all, it’s what I deserve,” he quipped with a self-deprecating laugh, but the laughter was cut short when she tugged his hair sharply, angling his head up towards the ceiling. The action made his breath hitch in his throat, but it quickly melted out of him in a small moan as she nibbled on the juncture of his neck and shoulder, biting and tugging. “I don’t hate you, and you certainly don’t deserve it. Weren’t you paying attention? I am worthy of you, and moreover, you are worthy of me,” she mumbled against his neck, reciting one of her flowers' meanings as she scraped her incisor down the spot she had already turned a purple-red, making him shiver beneath her. “I share all of the sentiments you had for me in your bouquet,” a sucking and biting kiss higher up, on the strap of muscle that connected to his collarbone, making him squirm and clench a fist in the sheets below him. “I am dazzled by your charms, and everything else that comes with it,” she pulled the tortured love bite until the skin broke, prodding the wound with the tip of her tongue. He whimpered, his back arching, pressing his body against hers before he could stop himself. He felt his blush spread from his ears, down his face and neck, settling at his chest. Everything felt hot. A soft kiss fell against his jawline, accenting the tenderness behind her next explanation. “I am willing to take all the time in the world to show you what you are worth, with all the affection I can offer.” He hummed in approval of both her words and ministrations, moving his head just enough to plant a kiss between her eyes. She snorted out a laugh, nails raking down his chest while she affectionately kissed the hollow at the curve of his lower jaw, beneath his ear. “And I love you. I do. I couldn’t hardly breathe or get out of bed when you left me. I was so scared that something would happen to you,” she admitted, allowing her position to hide her blushing face.

“I know what you mean, dear, but how can you say you love me? You—ah!—you don’t hardly…k-know me,” he defended feebly, faltering only for a moment when her tender kiss turned into another bite beneath his jaw. The answer did not satisfy her, he assumed. She insistently dug her nails into his chest again, latching onto the side of his neck with a full-on bite. He gasped and stuttered out a strangled groan, all of the stimulation becoming too much very quickly. He was now leaning fully on his elbows, the apprentice looming over him predatorily.

“Wasn’t it you that said you loved me first? The…althea frutex, was it?” Her voice was a growl against his skin. He anchored his hand in her hair.

“Mm, well, how can’t I be? You’re a bit of a whirlwind. I can’t help being swept away,” he hummed, eyes closed in pleasure. She separated herself from his throat, looking down at him. There was sadness in her eyes, he noted as he opened his own again. “…What is it?”

She smoothed his hair out of his face, searching for something in his gaze. “Why are you allowed to love me, but it’s out of the question for me to love you, Julian?” She settled her body on top of his, brows angled down in what looked like something between a pout and confusion. He exhaled slowly, angling his eye away from her scrutinizing gaze. Her warmth and her smell were intoxicating, and he didn’t realize that being apart for only a day would put him in such strong withdrawals. He tried his best to focus his thoughts, focus past her allure to give her an answer of some sort.

“W-well, that’s…it’s because—you see, I…” he stumbled and stammered, unable to think of a proper answer with the overload in his senses, his eyes watching the angry quirk of her lips. Her expression shifted to frustration, and she opened her mouth to speak, but he quickly caught her words with a finger. “You don’t have a criminal record, my dear. Surely you’re a better person than me, even if I can’t remember committing my crime. I’m not all light and life and smiles like you. I’m not good.”

“I don’t care what you think you are. I can see what you are, and it doesn’t scare me away,” she mumbled. He laughed breathily, his arm resting around her shoulders to pull her closer.

“Frankly, that’s the most terrifying part in all of this.” His lips caught hers again, but this time she had anticipated him. Her hands pushed at the cloth on his shoulders, moving it down far enough for her to run her nails down his arms, making him shudder again and crush her against him. His hands gripped her hips, rubbing circles in the sharp bones as he met her desperate kisses with his own. He was absolutely addicted. How did she capture him so quickly? He couldn’t help the sound of satisfaction that escaped into her mouth with the thought, mixing with her own sighs and moans. He parted for just a moment to breathe, meeting her smoldering eyes again.

“I really tried, you know. I tried to protect you. You wandered into the lion’s den. Did you expect to leave in one piece?” he whispered against her lips. She smirked, kissing the end of his nose, trailing kisses over his cheek and onto his eyepatch. He held his breath as she moved across the protective scrap of leather. No one had ever done something so intimate with his injury. He was jarred from the spell she had placed on him when she leaned into the crook of his neck to purr in his ear.

“Maybe. Who knows? Perhaps the lion wishes to be tamed. Perhaps I wish to be the tamer,” she hummed, biting the top of his ear and prodding it with the tip of her tongue. A strangled sound he could hardly suppress rumbled from his chest.

“Oh gods, yes. The lion would thoroughly enjoy anything his lady tamer wished to attempt in that respect,” he pleaded. Her forehead pressed to his as she chuckled softly at his response. His slate grey eye searched hers for a reason why she pulled away.

“I’m glad I found you again,” she admitted, looking at him through her lashes, embarrassment flushing her features. Did she surprise herself with what she offered him? Was she surprised with his answer? He wished she would act on it, but it seemed like a promise to him. Or perhaps a threat. If he wanted her to make good on the offer, he’d have to stick around a little longer. He smiled and embraced her strongly around the shoulders, face nuzzling into her throat.

“I just hope you won’t regret it later, darling,” he sighed, “No matter how much I find your stubbornness endearing, I worry that this won’t end well.” He breathed her in, his arms crushing her even closer to his body. He wanted to savor this moment of peace. She reciprocated the embrace, her arms coiling around his neck.

Please, he thought to himself, please let us have more time for these moments.

They repositioned themselves so that Julian’s full body could fit on the bed. Still, the apprentice practically lay on top of him. She felt so small against his large, lanky body, and it only made his protective instincts flare brighter. He would be ruined if anything happened to her because of him. It was a cruel damned-if-he-did scenario. He wanted to be here, with her, basking in her light. But he also wanted her happiness and safety. Damn his selfishness. He looked at the ceiling, absentmindedly combing his fingers through her long locks as he thought. He deduced that he could lay there for days and have almost no regrets.

“Why are you so obsessed with flowers?” she eventually asked, her voice groggy. He breathed out a laugh and grinned.

“Well, doctors do a lot of reading, you know. A lot of plants have medicinal properties, so they’re a common topic of study. But one day, I stumbled across a book on floriography, and the concept of them taking on meaning, like a secret language, was intriguing to me.”

“Ah, so you’re a hopeless romantic somewhere in there,” she teased. He felt heat rise to his face in embarrassment.

“No, it was specifically research. Intrigue. Nothing I studied at length.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she chirped as she drew circles on his mostly exposed chest with her fingertip. “You didn’t have the book on you at the time of crafting my bouquet, yet everything seemed to match something you’d say. I assumed you were correct with it. Also, you knew what my flowers meant without any reference…and you knew about buttercups.”

He snorted, twirling a lock of her hair between his fingers. “I hardly see how knowing about buttercups makes me a floriography expert.” She shot him an unamused look, to which he shrugged, the smile never falling from his face. “I memorize things easily. It comes with the territory of being a doctor. Makes the job a lot simpler.” That answer seemed like enough, as the apprentice hummed out a clipped sound in reply.

“That’s a rather convincing story. You’ve got a pretty silver tongue, Doctor,” she mumbled, sounding more and more distant with every response. “Still think you’re a bit of a romantic at heart, though.”

He clenched his jaw, the embarrassed flush not fading.

“Pursuit of bodily pleasures is hardly romantic,” he defended dubiously. She turned her face to look at him, her eyes showing that she wasn’t taking the bait at all. He looked away, curling into himself a bit in mortification, which only made him squeeze her tighter. He nuzzled his nose into her hair, breathing his response as a whisper into her ear.

“Only for you, my dear, do I have a soft, romantic side.” He kissed her temple, a small grumbled “happy?” following after. She blushed, a smile creeping onto her lips as she nodded, nothing but pure love and adoration reflected in those eyes. He sucked in a breath sharply, sure that his entire face was pink by now. Her giggle only confirmed that hunch. He stole a quick kiss, unable to fight her irresistible pull on him. It wasn’t his fault she never played fair.

Soon, her breathing became deep and even, and he stole a glance down at her to confirm his suspicions. She had fallen asleep on his chest, the constant motion of his hand through her hair lulling her. He frowned at himself, unable to enjoy the sentiment through the crushing weight of guilt on his heart. Of course she would be tired. She’d wasted so much time in the past two days concocting a plan that wasn’t even guaranteed to work, fighting past her very palpable anxiety and concern for him. He didn’t deserve this happiness. She was so good, and he didn’t know why she had been drawn to him.

A creak of the door made Julian’s pulse race, a protective arm snaking around the sleeping apprentice’s waist while he watched the curtain carefully.

“Ilya, I know you’re in there. My flowers are a mess again,” Mazelinka’s voice came from the hearth. He opened his mouth to reply, but then looked down at the sleeping beauty on top of him, and closed his mouth again, clenching his jaw. “Ilya! Are you finally sleeping?” she grouched, pulling the curtain back and shooting a glare into the room. Julian gave her a sheepish look as she took in their somewhat compromising position. She then looked to the floor, where the bouquet had fallen. A knowing smile crept onto her lips.

“Clever girl,” she noted, to which Julian smiled, pulling his fingers gently through her hair. “Told you that you wouldn’t survive that long without her,” she teased as she let the curtain fall back into place. Julian once again opened his mouth to protest, a small blush painting his cheekbones, but once again he closed his mouth without a word.

“Believe in her, Ilya. She wouldn’t have sought you out if you meant nothing to her,” Mazelinka spoke like a softly scolding mother, the tap of a wooden spoon against an iron cauldron punctuating her statement.

“I know,” he whispered with a smile, letting his head fall back as his arms coiled loosely around her. Her warmth was a welcome sedative, and he couldn't help but fall into sleep as well. Just like their previous evening together, everything that she was would ward off the nightmares that plagued him, which was more than welcome.

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