#and not even being met with a FRACTION of that energy back. nor even any real appreciation | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

lavandermin · 3 years

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if all stars fell at once (1) | xiao

pairing | xiao/reader

word count | 3k

genre | fluff, light angst, developing relationship, overall domestic

warning | eventual smut

The memory comes clear as the crystalline waters at the harbor. That day when rain poured mercilessly upon the land— the boy in a mask whose body trembled under an invisible burden. You remember the dark splotches on his body being washed away by downpour.

Blood.

Polearm supporting his body as it heaved, his face slowly turned to face you as an ominous dark mist accumulated around him. And when you blinked, it was as if he was never there; replaced by rain.

Whether it was the haze of sleepless nights getting to you or reality, you still had yet to know. Curiosity was fresh in your mind. His presence… though brief, held immense power and a tainted aura; enough to instill fear in the hearts of any who witnessed them. But you stood there, unwavering and eyes alight with awe and curiosity despite the rain that hailed mercilessly around you.

Weeks continued, and the image of the boy remained somewhere in your subconscious. Days came and went as your mind remained hazed, clouded with the fleeting memory.

The dark clouds overhead brought in strong winds; a sign of a storm rolling in. The laundry hanging outside would surely be swept away at this rate. Quick on your feet, you hurriedly pulled them off the clotheslines. Yet despite your efforts, a couple handkerchiefs you had embroidered were blown away by a harsh gust of wind.

“Ah…!” Despite your attempt, the wind plucked them out of reach. All you could do was helplessly watch as they were carried by devious winds further down the mountain.

Those were for… Ah, I guess I’ll have to redo those, you pondered anxiously. If they were all to be delivered in 3 days, you would have to stay up fairly late just to finish replacing them.

The candle light cracked and flickered as night crept over Liyue. No use stalling. With a sullen crack of your neck, you shut the windows and got to work. The relentless rain was your sole company as you worked through embroidering the replacements well into the night. Despite the nimbleness of experienced hands, numbness settled in after hours of working tirelessly to replace the delicately embroidered handkerchiefs. And with patterns and threads so intricate, they weren’t something you could rush.

The moon came and went that night, having accompanied you behind the storming clouds as it rained and ceased. Yet, late the next day when you returned from running errands, there upon your open windowsill were two neatly folded handkerchiefs safely held in place by a beautiful stone. You examined them— with no doubt, the ones that were swept away.

And as a breeze picked up once more, you didn’t dare look back but hoped the wind would carry your words to the deserving.

“Thank you.”

That was the first time in over a millennia that Xiao was thanked by a mortal for one of his many silent deeds.

———

Soft colors of fading blue and powdery orange iced the sky with the setting sun. You reminisced past memories fondly as you picked a few herbs from your personal garden. The day was slowly dwindling to a lethargic end, but the land ceased to fall into rest to savor most of what the day had to offer.

“Do you remember that, Adeptus Xiao?” you asked with a fond smile. It was met with silence for a moment before a voice spoke up from the roof of your house.

“So, you knew I was here. Mortals truly are something I cannot understand,” he clicked his tongue, shifting to get comfortable where he rested comfortably on your roof. “Or perhaps, it’s that our ties are too strong. Curious…” He pondered to himself, brows slightly furrowed as he contemplated.

With a stretch of your back you stood up, basket in hand. “I know my grandmother’s home is rather quiet here in Qingce Village, so I’ve noticed the roof has become a favorite spot of yours,” you observed with a small shrug he couldn’t see. “Call it a hunch.”

Though he wouldn’t admit it, Xiao knew your guess was right. With your home tucked furthest away at the top of the village, there were seldom any onlookers in the tranquil area. A perfect, stress-free corner for him to visit.

With a huff and trained grace, he hopped off the roof on playful winds and followed you indoors. There was still a cautious air about him but never the same as when you first met him all those months ago.

It seemed like you understood him more than he understood you sometimes, and it puzzled him to no end. Mortals were usually more predictable; working in routine and habits as he had seen of the many centuries that passed. Or… at least he thought. It was no secret that he found mortals to be indecipherable.

In the small kitchen, he was presented with an enticing dish that you laid out; his favorite, no doubt. “Here. I’m heading out to the harbor to run some last minute errands, but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you’d like,” you reassured him with a smile. “Thank you for keeping me company today.”

At your genuine, radiant smile, Xiao couldn’t help but avert his gaze shyly. Truthfully, it always caught him off guard to be thanked for such trivial things that were somehow meaningful to you.

Before you reached the front door, Xiao called out after you. “If you are out late, summon me— call my name. I will guide you safely home.” With firm reassurance, he held your gaze under piercing amber. “Promise me this. Do not be reckless.”

There was no fighting the grin that lit up your face. “You worry for me, Adeptus?” you teasingly prodded, and placed a quick peck on his cheek. “How unexpectedly cute of you.”

At the gesture, his eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his composure returned. Pensively, he folded his arms across his chest, and you swore he could practically be pouting.

“The safety of Liyue is my duty as an adeptus. As a tool to be used, and nothing more.”

There was a brief sorrow reflected in your eyes, and before Xiao had a chance to address it, you were hurriedly giving your final goodbyes with your usual warm energy.

“I promise I’ll be safe.”

Left to himself, he accepted your gifted offering of almond tofu. I love the way your eyes practically sparkle when you take that first bite, you once teased.

The memory picked up the thrumming in his chest— uncertainty accompanied by rose-dusted cheeks.

With each delicate bite, his mind upheld more questions. The feelings that burst subtly in his chest— what were they? He searched his heart for answers to describe it. Peace of mind? Loneliness?

As many times as his mind decided to go through the same painful cycle of thoughts, ultimately he was left with more questions than when he started. There were no answers within him.

Such as the moon replaces the sun and the days dwindle into night, he too would let it be for now.

And as the sun slowly retreated more and more behind mountains and thin clouds, Xiao couldn’t help but wonder why he continued to keep near you. A tie foraged with a mortal that strangely did not instill the overwhelming need to leave.

Even the room he was in caused no discomfort or suffocation. The cycle started once again as he wondered, why? He often resided at Wangshu Inn, but never in a room. The rooftop high above any wandering souls was his claimed accommodation. The balcony just below that was seldom used by guests was the only other space he occupied there— eyes able to survey the land from a higher vantage point.

However, here in this small shelter you called home there was none of that, yet he stayed. Curiously, his eyes wandered the room to take in the oddities and trinkets that were used as decorum. The bookshelf across the room posed with great importance, and as he approached it he took in the vast collection of books and small items that decorated some empty sections.

Gloved fingers grazed over the elegant, gold-foil titles of some of the books. Some he has partially read before, or listened to you read aloud while he rested on your lap under the large tree outside.

He found himself plucking one out tentatively, flipping through some pages of a thick storybook with worn corners. Another book from the shelf— a thin book of floral poems and sonnets. His mind idly worked to put together what these books could possibly say about you.

After neatly putting another book away, a small glint caught his eyes. Toward the end of one of the shelf rows was a pile of three books with a precious stone sitting atop them.

Ah, the cor lapis stone he had used when he silently returned the two missing handkerchiefs to you many moons ago. An unknown feeling settled in his chest, warm & persistent. It flourished— euphoric, almost, and not too unpleasant. He wondered if it was somehow related to similar chest pains he’d dealt with. Could he really call it ‘pain’ if it wasn’t truly hurting him? The feeling was foreign and he was utterly clueless.

He moved the stone to check the book underneath, flipping through the pages curiously. Amber eyes indifferently skimmed through a page his finger landed on, curious to what contents the vague title held.

A romantic novel from the looks of it.

The words were needlessly descriptive, the dialogue a little confusing to understand. Such flowery language was a bit bold and the more he read, the more the imagery they tried to paint became vivid in his mind and—

Xiao quickly shut the book, his face warm as he neatly returned the book to its rightful place. Well, it was an interesting book to have in your possession, to say the least. He didn’t have much experience with what it described, but the erotic imagery the dialogue described still left his face a little flushed and brows furrowed as he huffed in indignance at his flustered state.

Mortals do such things? Well, he knew they did, but he was never one to look into it more since he had no reason to.

He had no experience in such intimate matters, nor did he pay much interest in them with his hands usually full on a daily basis. Yet, somehow the thought of you now caused a swirl of emotions inexperienced by him before. Or rather, if he did, he no longer remembered. New questions piled up in his mind.

He shook his head, practically wincing at the odd sensations that kicked him low in the gut as the heat rising high on his cheeks subsided.

“How bothersome,” Xiao muttered to himself with a sigh.

On that same train of thought, he glanced out the window. The sun was merely a whisper that remained as it tucked itself farther behind mountains and dipped below the horizon.

Gloved hands momentarily clenched by his sides, flexing to ease the small seed of doubt. Mortals were unpredictable and reckless, that much he was aware of. With a sigh he watched as the sky over Liyue settled into the tranquility of night.

Though night had fallen, there was still no sign of you returning.

And so, Xiao set off on his usual routine. Out he ventured to vanquish the scattered hotspots of evil activity that surfaced. Be it from subdued gods or his own karma, Xiao relentlessly made quick work of any and all evil.

It was his eternal duty, as bound by contract from the Geo Archon himself—this he knew. If anyone should have witnessed his swiftness as he worked solemnly, they would’ve noticed how he worked just a little harder to clear out any evil nearing your usual route home.

The moon rose high in the sky, a dusty blue as it cast soft light over Xiao’s masked form. His polearm jabbed into the ground and dissipated along with the yaksha mask he donned for battle. The roads that led back to Qingce Village were all cleared, yet still no sign of you.

Approaching the marsh under blue moonlight, his gloved hands created ripples in the calm surface. The reflection of his concerned eyes stared right back at him through the tumultuous ripples that distorted his reflection over playful waters.

Under the watchful eye of the moon, Xiao diligently washed away the impurities that remained on him from battle. Clear waters surrounding him became murky before clearing once again as the blood and grime was carried further down with the current. Xiao closed his eyes and allowed himself to bask under the moonlight, taking in the rare moment of tranquility.

And then it rang out, soft and clear like a wind chime dancing with the gentle breeze.

Adeptus Xiao.

Shrouded by darkness, he answered your summons. As the thin veil of dark entity surrounding him dispersed, he found himself next to a bridge. The waterfall behind him brought a refreshing breeze, and just beyond him he could see Bubu Pharmacy below as well as the harbor.

“You called,” Xiao inquired. “It’s fairly late.”

He wasn’t here to admonish you, though it sounded very much like it. With a playful grin, you smiled up at him from where you sat on the grass next to the bridge.

The way you carried yourself without a care in the world— it was almost endearing how you looked up at him with such fondness.

“Can I ask why you’re here of all places?”

Your nimble fingers continued their work on the flowers you had in your lap, and you almost looked away bashfully. “I wanted to gaze at the stars for a bit,” you admitted sheepishly. “I finished my errands earlier, but then I ran into Mister Zhongli from the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor and, well… The conversation went on for a while and we ended up here.”

Silently, Xiao took a seat next to you, eyeing the handful of glaze lilies that softly glowed on your lap.

“What did you talk about?” he inquired to fill the silence. He delicately twirled one of the glaze lilies between his gloved fingers.

“Oh… this and that,” you shrugged.

Xiao hummed in response, not wanting to pry into the conversation, until he felt the softness of petals brushing his forehead.

“Mister Zhongli… he showed me how to make this.” There was hesitation in your downcast eyes, and you peered up at him through your eyelashes. “Do you like it?”

“A crown of… glaze lilies,” Xiao noted slowly. Their soft fragrance was delicate and sweet, like the gentle presence of the moon. It reminded him of you. “I’m unfamiliar with mortal customs of exchanges. Is it an adeptal offering?”

You blinked, taken by surprise at the question before sputtering out in a fit of giggles.

“Oh– No, no! This is what we call a gift.”

Xiao furrowed his brows, taking in this vague description. “Hm… I see. What meaning does this gift have?”

You perched your chin on your finger, contemplating. The only ‘gifts’ adepti were familiar with were the offerings that few who went before them brought. Usually, an offering entailed the bargaining of a mortal’s wants and desires to come true. Selfish, wishes he was all too familiar with hearing often.

“Gifts are given to people you consider special,” you started. “To those people who are important to you, usually you put extra effort into the gift. Handmade gifts as well… embody special significance since they hold all the feelings poured into them to be given to your special person.”

The chirps of crickets and running water soothed over the momentary silence as he took in your explanation. Mortal customs were more emotionally driven than he once thought.

“I see. Then,” Xiao delicately tucked the glaze lily he held into your hair. “This is my small offering.”

The rose that dusted your cheeks as your grin lit up your features, it bloomed his chest with that foreign warmth. The weight of reciprocating the gesture without a second thought— he had just openly admitted to considering you a special person. It felt… right.

In the lateness of the cool night, you both sat side by side looking out at the display of glittering stars. He felt as your pulse would briefly quicken under his gloved hand whenever you stole a quick glance at him, and he would offer a gentle squeeze of reassurance in response. Curious, this human next to him— and yet he found himself enraptured by your simple presence.

Across the endless sky, you halted what you were idly chatting about as a speckle of light shot across the sky.

“A falling star… There’s rumors that making a wish on them will help it come true.” Xiao hummed in response, eyes closed in peaceful tranquility. “Hm…”

You pulled your knees closer to you as you contemplated your wish. Xiao watched you with one eye open, observing the way your features subtly scrunched up as you profoundly debated within you what your wish would be.

“So.”

“So?”

“What did you wish for?” Xiao asked quietly.

Mortal desires were usually the same. Wealth, power, lavish items— these wishes Xiao had heard of many times before. Yet—

“I wished…,” you scratched your cheek sheepishly. “I wished for a restful sleep.”

Your cheeks were quick to flush a deep crimson as you heard what sounded like a chuckle next to you. It dawned on you that you had never heard Xiao laugh until now. It was melodic, innocent.

“D-Don’t laugh!” you halfheartedly admonished with a playful huff. “Well, then— What’s your wish, Xiao?”

He pondered for a moment, closed his eyes and spoke soft as the flitting breeze.

“I wish to get to know you better.”

Perhaps he didn’t have all the right words at that moment, but he was bound to discover them sooner or later. Somehow, he was sure you would be the light that guided him the right way to go about these foreign feelings— feelings he was sure weren’t malignant, so he allowed them to persist.

These unsorted feelings for you... they weren’t getting in the way of anything. They were harmless, until proven otherwise.

#xiao #xiao x reader #xiao/reader #genshin xiao #genshin #fluff #developing relationship #pwp #eventual smut #mostly xiao not knowing what he’s doing #zhongli #genshin impact #fic: iasfao #mii writes #I forget how to tag sorry it’s been a while #adeptus xiao #I’ll edit format later

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i-am-bitterly-jittery · 3 years

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Simply Meant To Be (pt 2)

[Part 1]

You don’t need to read part 1 to read this one since that one is Roman backstory and this one is Janus backstory

Rating: teen

Word Count: 3456

Pairings: Remile, Moxiety kinda (they’re kids, but they’re soulmates so I guess it’s future moxiety), Roceit but only at the very end

Warnings: religion, religious cults, religious guilt, child abuse, internalized homophobia, childhood trauma, stalking, threats of kidnapping, throwing up, psychological warfare (?), paranoia, swearing

I think that’s everything

It’s worse than you’d expect after the first part, but not quite as bad as the warnings make it sound, but if any of the warnings make you uncomfortable then feel free to skip this part

I started with some religious stuff right off the bat, so I put the entire fic below the cut

~~~START~~~

When Janus was growing up, he was taught that the colorblindness that everyone was born with was a test from God. God created a beautiful world full of wonderful colors, then gave man the ability to view only a fraction of this beauty. The wicked ones searched selfishly for ways to see even more, but the humble ones were grateful for what little beauty they were given.

Soulmates were frowned upon in the Community. Janus was taught from a young age that soulmates were a trick, sent by Satan to lead people away from God. Even those who met their soulmates by accident were expelled from the Community.

As such, Janus never expected to see color — for a while he’d even dreaded the mere thought of it — so he taught himself to discern between shades of gray. He was very good at it, almost to the point that someone who could see color would be fooled into thinking Janus could too.

The Elders were not very pleased with this skill, and the Community as a whole was torn as to whether it was a sin or not. They said it was a reflection of his desire to see colors, of his desire to stray from God.

So Janus repented. He begged forgiveness and promised to abandon his skill. He was devoted to God and only God.

That was a lie of course, Janus prided himself on his ability to discern shades of gray, but he didn’t see why that had to be mutually exclusive to being devoted to God.

Pride was a sin, and so was lying, but they were lesser sins to the Community than soulmates and colors. God would forgive him.

He lived in the Community for twenty years, rarely leaving the town and when he did it was only for a few hours.

He carries a lot of baggage from those twenty years, but he’s doing his best to shoulder it, to not let it affect his relationships with those around him, to not let any of the Community’s teachings hurt his son.

Sometimes the little voice in the back of his head told him he was being selfish. Janus always silenced this voice with one thought: there’s nothing wrong with a little selfishness.

Janus started going to gay bars on Saturday nights to feed his selfishness. He was never looking for anything, he had a young son at home after all, but one time, he kissed a man — he threw up in the bathroom afterwards, but he still counted it as a victory.

There was a teenager that lived in the apartment next to Janus and Virgil’s first home outside the Community, and they were always willing to watch Virgil for a few hours, even if Janus couldn’t afford to pay them much. Elliot was Janus’ first friend outside of the Community, probably his first real friend ever.

Janus hit Virgil once. Virgil was about two and a half at the time, and he’d proudly told Janus that his favorite color was magenta — after the dog on Blue’s Clues — and Janus hadn’t even thought, he’d just slapped his own son across the face. In the Community, a slap on the face would be the least of a child’s concerns after saying such a thing, but this wasn’t the Community, and Janus was trying to be better than them. He’d been completely consumed by guilt before the tears even began forming in Virgil’s eyes.

“I’m so sorry baby!” Janus apologized, pulling Virgil in for a tight hug and rocking back and forth in a soothing motion. Virgil easily accepted the hug, and that only made Janus feel worse. Virgil trusted him completely, and he’d betrayed that trust. Janus was going to be better; he was going to do better. He was never going to hurt Virgil again. “I’m so sorry darling. You didn’t do anything wrong. It was all my fault; I shouldn’t have done that. I did a very bad thing, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay daddy. I forgive you.” Janus’ heart broke even more; he didn’t deserve forgiveness. He didn’t deserve this child.

After Virgil went to bed that night, Janus searched the internet for therapists. Doctor Emile Picani came highly recommended, and after a brief email exchange, they agreed to help Janus, even though he couldn’t afford their usual rate.

Picani was an… interesting character. They made several strange statements then told him that they were references to cartoons that Janus had never even heard of. TVs in the Community weren’t for children to use, and Virgil was only two, he mostly just watched Blue’s Clues, Dora the Explorer, and Sesame Street. After telling Picani that, they changed their references accordingly, telling Janus that they had their own two-year-old at home, and they were more than familiar with the kind of shows Virgil was watching.

Picani didn’t think Janus was a bad person, which was a foreign thought for Janus, who was certain that he was going straight to Hell. They were good at finding ways to make the little voice in Janus’ head shut up. It took Janus a while to believe him, but it got a little easier every week.

Over the years, Emile became his friend, and Janus was grateful to have them every day.

Emile was the one who insisted that Janus let them throw a birthday party for Virgil’s 5th birthday. Birthday parties hadn’t been a thing in the Community, and even after he left, Janus mostly just celebrated Virgil’s birthday by getting him new clothes, a whole party was a completely foreign idea.

But Janus had said yes and agreed to bring Virgil over to Emile’s place the following Saturday. The party, he’d been told, would just be Emile, Emile’s husband Remy, and their son Patton. That was good, neither Janus nor Virgil were very good in crowds.

Of course, whether there was a crowd or not hardly mattered when Virgil had met Patton and informed Janus that “everything is prettier now!”, Janus had a panic attack either way.

Virgil can see colors! That isn’t allowed, they’ll take him away! He’s only five he needs me! They won’t let me keep him! This is all wrong!

“-five, six, seven. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. In, two, three, four. Hold, two, three, four, five, six, seven. Out, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Good. Are you with me, Jan?”

“Yes,” Janus croaked. He was in a different room now, with only Emile. Virgil was nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Virgil!?”

“Breath, Janus. Virgil is in the living room with Remy and Patton. Remy is teaching them all the different colors.”

“They’re going to take him away!”

“No one’s going to take him away. There is absolutely nothing wrong with him meeting his soulmate. Everything is going to be okay.”

“I don’t want to lose him.”

“You’re not going to lose him. You’re not in the Community, there’s no reason anyone will take him away.”

“I’m sorry,” Janus apologized, wiping at his tears. “I probably scared the kids.”

“Would you like a hug?” Janus nodded. That was one of the nice things about being friends with Emile, they gave great hugs and gave them freely. “Virgil was a little concerned about you, but Patton didn’t notice. Remy’s with them now, they’re okay. Do you want to go join them?”

“Not yet.”

“Alright.” Emile allowed them to sit in silence for a while before speaking up again. “I’m proud of you.”

“Why?” Janus asked miserably.

“Your son met his soulmate and you didn’t respond with anger, you didn’t repeat any of the Community’s teachings, it’s a big step for you.”

“It doesn't feel like a big step.”

“Well it is.” And that was that.

Ten minutes later Janus was feeling up to joining the others. Virgil climbed into Janus’s lap as soon as he sat down, and having his son in his arms did wonders as far as calming himself down went.

“This is my source material!” Virgil informed Patton and Remy happily. Patton accepted that information easily, but Remy shot Janus a bemused look.

Janus shrugged in return. As soon as Virgil had started getting anywhere near being able to speak, Elliot started teaching him weird phrases in the hope that Virgil’s first word would be strange, some of them stuck.

Virgil started babbling after that, telling Janus about how ‘Mr. Remy’ was teaching him about colors and soulmates. Internally, Janus was grateful that someone else had given Virgil the soulmate talk, someone who hadn’t grown up with a cynical and toxic view of soulmates.

Other than the hiccup at the beginning, Virgil’s birthday party went pretty well. Patton was a very nice boy — though he’d have to be considering he was Emile’s kid — and Janus truly couldn’t have picked a better soulmate for Virgil if he tried. Patton seemed to have an absurd amount of emotional intelligence for a not-yet five-year-old, and when Virgil starts fatiguing towards the end of the night, Patton’s energy level changes appropriately.

Janus headed home that night with a sleeping child, two new stuffed animals — one of Blue and one of Magenta — a box of Playdough, a Sesame Street coloring book with crayons — a last minute addition thrown in because of Virgil’s newfound colors — and newfound sense of peace. His son met his soulmate and nothing bad had happened.

Play dates became a regular thing, and Janus was glad his son would already have one friend going into kindergarten in the fall. One of the kids’ favorite things to do during play dates was painting, and as a result, Janus found himself using his skill to baffle Remy with his ability to paint everything the correct color, even when Remy tried to trick him. Painting, however, was not particularly fun to Janus in and of itself, and wasn’t something he partook in when he and Virgil were at home.

Remy was actually the one to suggest a different medium for Janus: makeup. Remy even allowed Janus to use him as a canvas, and Janus’ skills on a living canvas soon flourished. Often he would sit down to practice on Remy, and Virgil and Patton would do the same with Emile. Janus’ work would of course look a lot better in the end, but Emile vehemently claimed to love both looks equally.

Eventually Janus started a YouTube channel dedicated to makeup tutorials. He always used Remy or Emile as models, appearing himself with contacts and half his face painted to look like a snake, hoping that was enough to obscure his identity in case anyone in the Community ever came across his channel.

His channel became fairly popular, not enough for Janus to make a living from that alone, but he did make enough from the channel for it to pay for itself. He could afford better makeup brands, which meant he could make cooler designs, which made his channel more popular. It was going well.

Until his mother showed up on his doorstep one day, nearly a decade since he’d last seen her.

“Janus.”

“Mother.” He didn’t have anything to say to her. Not a thing. Ten years and he hadn’t once felt the need to reach out to her.

“When are you going to stop this silly game and come home, Janus? We miss you, and this is no environment to raise Virgil in.” She gestured to Janus’ apartment, and Janus’ blood began to boil.

“Well excuse me for not meeting your standards, mother, but as I recall, it wasn’t my choice to leave in the first place!”

“If this is about Emmaline-”

“It’s not just about Emmaline! Virgil and I are perfectly happy where we are, and I’m not about to go exposing him to your toxic-”

“TOXIC!? Janus Lysander Hadley you take that back this instant! I will not have you speaking about our faith that way!”

“It’s not my faith, mother, it’s yours, and it has no place in my home!”

He should have been expecting the slap, it was a common way for his mother to respond to anyone disagreeing with her, but it had been so long, the sharp sting on his cheek came as a complete surprise.

“Step aside, Janus, I’m taking Virgil home whether you’re coming or not. You’re clearly not fit to raise a child.”

Her trying to push past Janus and into his apartment shook Janus out of his shocked stupor and he blocked her advance.

“You’ve never been fit to raise a child in your life!” He hissed, pushing her away from the door. “Now kindly fuck off, mother, you aren’t welcome here!”

He slammed the door on her shocked face, and quickly locked the door, locked the deadbolt, and slid the door chain in place. As soon as the door was thoroughly locked, his mother started pounding on the door, the gravity of the situation sunk in, and his panic started mounting.

His mother found him. She knew where he lived. She wanted to take Virgil from him. He yelled at his mother. She knew where he lived. He made her angry. She wanted to take Virgil from him. She knew where he lived!

“Sperm donor?”

His son’s voice snapped him out of his spiraling thoughts. Virgil was peeking out from behind the partition for the living room, where he wouldn’t have been visible from the door. He was clearly scared, because of course he was, his father had just had a screaming match with a woman he probably didn’t recognize outside their apartment, and said woman was proceeding to yelling abuse through the apartment door. It had to have more than a little unsettling for the ten-year-old.

“It’s okay, mini me, everything’s going to be fine.” Janus crossed the room to pull his son into a hug. Virgil latched on to him immediately, shaking from stress.

“I don’t want to go with her,” Virgil mumbled into Janus’s sweater. “She’s mean.”

“You don’t have to.” Janus tightened his arms around his son protectively. “You’re staying with me.”

Janus’ mother stopped pounding on the door eventually — presumably because one of the neighbors either threatened to call the police, or actually called the police — but Janus and Virgil’s nerves were both shot for the rest of the day, and they both ended up spending the night at the Picanis’.

Janus didn’t see hide nor hair of his mother for weeks after the incident, but his paranoia levels were through the roof. He wouldn’t let Virgil be home alone anymore, instead having him go home with Patton after school, staying at the Picanis’ until Janus could pick him up. Every day when he got home he would search their apartment for anything out of place that would suggest that someone broke in, he even went as far as constructing minor booby traps for anyone who tried to root around through their things.

“Janus — I’m saying this as your friend, and as a mental health professional — I’m concerned about you,” Emile told him one day when he came to pick up Virgil from their house. “You’ve been on edge for weeks, it’s not healthy, for you or for Virgil. He told me he’s been having nightmares, you know.”

“I know, I know! But I don’t know what to do!” Janus stressed, he was dangerously close to his breaking point, but he didn’t know how to stop it.

“Have you considered moving?” Emile asked gently. “It’s clear you don’t feel safe here, maybe putting some more distance between you and your parents will ease your distress.”

“I can’t move; you guys live here. I can’t just take Virgil away from Patton, he’d be devastated.”

“I’m not saying move to Antarctica and become a hermit, we can visit, and Patton and Virgil can Skype. Yeah, it’ll be hard and both of them, but this is hard on them too. Janus, I think it’s important for you to feel safe in your own home, and you obviously don’t.”

“I don’t know…”

But a week later, Janus would be pushed over the edge.

He came home from work — thankfully before picking Virgil up — to find his apartment door wide open. Cautiously, he searched the apartment for any intruders, but after twenty minutes he was confident that no one was around.

There were a few things missing, mostly all of Virgil’s crayons and colored pencils, as well as his coloring books and some of the drawings he’d made that Janus had put on the fridge. There were also a few photos of Janus and Virgil missing from their frames, and a tile with Virgil’s baby handprint missing from the kitchen. And three of Janus’ booby traps had been sprung telling him that whomever broke into his apartment — presumably his mother — had opened the hall closet, the cabinet next to the fridge, and the medicine cabinet in the bathroom.

As if that was bad enough, there, in plain sight on the dining room table was a copy of the Community’s version of the Bible.

“We have to move.” Janus wasn’t sure how he ended up at the Picanis’; everything after finding the bible had been a panicked blur. All he knew was that he couldn’t stay at that apartment anymore.

Moving was hard. Virgil didn’t like it, but he was afraid of their apartment too, and if Janus and Virgil just moved in with the Picanis — which Remy had suggested — then Janus’ parents would just start terrorizing them too, and Janus couldn’t have that. No, it was better that he and Virgil move away, not just to a new apartment, but to a new city, a new state even! Somewhere his parents wouldn’t find him or Virgil.

They ended up moving to Florida, halfway across the country. Remy had a cousin in Florida, one that he swore up and down that Janus would love, and moving somewhere where he sort of knew someone was better than starting over from scratch a second time.

Remy and Patton came with them to help them move and to allow Patton and Virgil to spend as much time together as they could. Emile stayed behind since they couldn’t reschedule all their appointments on such short notice. Emile did suggest a new therapist near Janus’ new home, and included a suggestion for Virgil too.

Having Remy around for the moving process was good because he was able to parcel things out in ways that didn’t make Janus feel overwhelmed with the amount of work that went into moving. Having Patton around for the moving process was good because when all Virgil could see were negatives, Patton pointed out the positives and had a way of making Virgil begrudgingly agree to them.

Part of the moving process was for Janus to change his and Virgil’s name in the hopes of throwing his parents off their scent. Since Virgil was taking the move so hard, Janus let him pick their new last name to make him feel better. Of course Virgil was beginning to enter his emo-pre-teen-angst phase, so he picked a name that was edgy and extra: Storm.

Janus Storm.

He sounded like a supervillain, but it made Virgil happy, and he could never resist anything that made Virgil happy.

Before Remy and Patton went home, Remy introduced Janus and Virgil to his cousin: Thomas Sanders. Thomas owned a theater in town, and offered to let Janus use him as a model for his YouTube videos. He was alright; Virgil seemed to like him well enough, and Janus trusted Virgil’s instincts on these kinds of things.

It was a teary goodbye when Remy and Patton went home, and Virgil refused to speak for the rest of the day, but once their plane touched down, Patton called on Remy’s phone, so maybe the distance wouldn’t be too bad.

The Picanis came to visit for Virgil’s eleventh birthday since it occurred during Patton’s winter break. They ended up staying for almost a week.

Almost a year after Janus and Virgil moved to Florida, Thomas called Janus to tell him that the makeup artist at his theater quit, and that the job was Janus’ if he wanted it.

Taking that job turned out to be the best decision of his life.

“I’m Roman.”

The moment Janus had been dreading since he was a child was finally happening. The moment Janus had learned to be cautiously optimistic about was finally happening.

Slowly, as though someone were carefully turning up the volume on a speaker, the monochrome world around Janus began to change, and he finally understood what Virgil meant by ‘everything is prettier’, because it was. It was wonderful and terrifying all at once.

“Janus.”

~~~END~~~

Janus’ backstory wasn’t supposed to be quite this angsty but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ here we are. It’s probably never going to get this heavy again

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renzu-valra · 3 years

Text

Prompt #26: Intrusion

Character: René Badeaux ♦ Region: Ishgard ♦ Time: Present Hosted by: @sea-wolf-coast-to-coast Warnings: blood, corpse, injury

In the dead of night, death lurked these halls. Souls which should have been taken by the lifestream instead lingered here and roamed in transient freedom. It was not often his responsibility to tend to their needs, as they merely wished for frivolous things that needn’t his attention. Yet on certain nights, much like this one…he forfeited sleep so that he might secure the perimeter. To ensure that the most dangerous of these waking spirits were sufficiently sealed and could not escape.

And once he was finished checking each room, he made his way back upstairs and into the darkness of the manor with only a held candlewick to light his way. Yet even despite knowing these walls well, he had to keep his wits about him at all times. To listen carefully with all his senses for any trace of movement. Ever since that night…these corridors became even more lethal to traverse after sunset. His lord’s most precious pet was oft found wandering these parts of the estate. A slithering serpent of tremendous size…now uninhibited through death, its hunger could no longer be tempered through monthly feedings. She was always ready to feast.

René had no intention to remain out and about longer than need be. He would retire to his room until morning.

However, it would seem the fates had another plan in store for tonight. As he walked through the long halls, he came across an open window. He had first noticed something was amiss when he felt the temperature drop suddenly. Then he saw one of the dark hanging curtains billowing inwards—letting inside the quiet snowstorm…and an unkindly fellow as well, by the looks of it. There were wet stains on the carpet unlike the melting’s of the occasional trickle of snowy debris. They were more like the size of thick footprints.

Intruders were less common since the ongoing construction of the Firmament, yet…he had to question the stranger’s purpose for being here. Was it simply to find shelter for the night, or had they come in hopes of leaving with treasure? Or…

The direction the trail of footprints seemed to be heading led him to believe otherwise.

Kneeling down to get a better look at the wet stains, he noticed something else off. There was a faint stumble to them as well. Not unlike someone who was riddled with booze or other inebriating drugs. Yet…if that was truly the case, then he likely would’ve found their body out in the yard come morning as they like would’ve slipped on ice the way up. This wasn’t mere intoxication. Or rather, it was…but of an uncommon sort.

Deciding to continue down the path which led to the guest rooms, he kept a hand on the wall as he slowly followed the now drying trail. He was listening for any sign of vibration or loud stumble—aught at all that would give him indication of how close he was to finding this wayward intruder. And yet he heard nothing. Not the smallest of sounds save for his own footsteps.

That was, until he stood near the door of the only inhabited guest room. However, the sounds were far too obscure to make out simply from listening. It sounded almost as if…someone was mixing around a pot of liquid gelatin.

It would…be unbecoming of him to simply turn around and leave. Not when he knew someone had stolen about the property and was now inside the bedchambers of one of his lord’s guests. Even…if it caused his heart to quake in raw trepidation. He had never been able to forget that night. Not truly. No matter how desperately he wished it sealed within the deepest confines of his breast, he could never forget what he had done.

Knocking the wood frame next to the slightly ajar door, he voiced in a quiet tone: “Forgive my intrusion…” Then, he pushed the door open enough for him to step through. The room was pitch black save for the immediate area he encompassed as it was brightened by candlelight. It was hardly enough to see too deeply into the room, yet he sensed a presence nearby. Laying on the floor…where the strange sound he heard was coming from.

With each step, he felt his chest blacken with grime. This was wrong—the energy of this room felt grave and it weighed down on him with each passing breath. With each step forward, he felt as if he was lowering himself into a dark pit…and at the bottom would lay a coffin intended for him. He could still turn back, before he reached the end. Yet instead of pulling away, he continued onwards. Extending out his arm which held the candlewick. Wanting to feel the wood enclosure of his would be tomb.

And what he saw lying in wait for him at the bottom of the hole was a man. The faint light which but barely revealed his face told René only a fraction of the story which had just taken place here. From Nobushige’s lips and down his throat…staining his pure white night robes…was a thick mess of blood. That sight alone should’ve had him questioning the reason as to why—yet his mind remained blank. He…instead, made to kneel down before him. His eyes calmly watching the dull, emptied eyes of the Raen. Blue, lusterless eyes which stared down into nothingness.

Nothingness that was in fact a fresh corpse of a man. His chest torn apart and bleeding out onto the floor. Their would-be intruder, as it seemed…

Nobushige knew that he was here, and yet…made no effort to respond. Which was…perhaps polite, given the circumstances. It allowed René a moment to process what he was to do next.

The man laying beneath them was well-built. They certainly weren’t disadvantaged—his musculature appeared at a glance well-built and trained. His clothing besides were richly tailored and unlike the tattered attire of those inhabiting the Brume. For what reason would he trespass another’s home? What reason indeed…

Bringing his eyes over to meet with Nobushige’s hand which laid on the man’s chest, he noticed an unusual abundance of red running down his arm. Setting down his held candlewick on the ground, he languorously reached out for the Raen’s hand. Caressing it tenderly in his gloved palms and lifting it slightly so that he might check for any injuries. “…Are you hurt?”

He felt as if his mind was lost in a false stupor he had yet to recover from. In his right mind, he would seek to rationalize the scene before him in quick pace. Yet at this point in time, he could not process the best course of action. He was unable to judge the man sitting before him in any capacity. Then he felt his heart soften. Nobushige’s eyes met with his and he smiled kindly…in a way that was neither twisted nor assuming. It told René all that he needed to know. That he was safe. Unharmed…and most of all, untarnished by this sinful act. That his soul was yet clean and not even a minuscule touch of dirt had sullied it.

That alone gladdened him. As for why, he could not say.

On his lips, that selfsame smile given to him by the Raen was mirrored. Death sat amongst them in this room, however he had never felt calmer than in this very moment. “Can you stand?” Nobushige responded with a simple shake of his head, no. “Very well…”

Taking the candlewick back in his hand, he made his way over to the nightstand next to the bed. Using the small flame alight atop the wax, he lit a triple set of candles to illuminate the room once darkened by heavy sludge. Setting his own light down on the table as well, he then returned to Nobushige’s side so he might help him off the ground. “With me, now.” Placing his arms underneath the Raen’s shoulders, he began to lift the slender man up onto his feet. Then, moving his hands over to his side, René helped walk Nobushige over to the bed before sitting him down on the plush blanket. During that brief moment of closeness, he came to understand that the blood on the Raen’s clothes had not come solely from the invasive pest laying dead on the floor. Which was perhaps why he could not stand on his own.

Now in the light, he could see it more clearly. The hole which had ripped through the Raen’s silks and drove deep into the space under his left shoulder. If not for the knife he now noticed resting on the bed behind the Raen’s back, he would’ve doubted the plausibility of such a wound. It was far too wide to have been made by such a meager tool, and yet…if Nobushige hadn’t considered the injury—or assault itself—painful…what would’ve stopped his assailant from abusing the cut further?

In any case, it needed immediate treatment. Calling for the chirurgeon would take too long, and he already knew this room had been supplied with a medical kit. He would have to handle it himself.

And in a matter of seconds, René would have the kit placed on the bed by his side as he rolled up his sleeves and made to sanitize his hands. Peeling away the thin layer of clothes which concealed the Raen’s shoulder, he then started prepping his tools. Blood loss had kept the man from standing up on his own earlier, not the agony of such a wound. He realized that as he cleaned the gash and sub-sequentially made to stitch the hole closed. Nobushige did not flinch, nor make the smallest sound of discomfort. No, they remained in silence for the entire procedure. It was only after he had finished and closed the kit back up did he think to speak. Even then…he couldn’t quite will himself to break this quiet scene.

Instead, he wished to confirm something. A vague theory which came to him as he patched up the unwavering Raen and fought against the dim light to keep his focus. Before proving it though, he first made to wipe away the blood from the other man’s face. With a clean handkerchief he kept in his pocket, he gently rubbed the grime gone until all that was left was the delicate expression of someone who stared at him in gratuity.

He should be scared. This was entirely out of line for someone of his rank. The anxiety that should’ve swelled in his heart somehow never came to be—his heart instead turned soft when he understood from the start that the reason he did not question the grotesque scene he interrupted with upset was because he knew he was at peace. In the passionless eyes of the serene Raen, he felt his doubts quelled and resolve mended from the very second he walked into the room and saw him there on the ground.

It wasn’t the familiarity of violence which tamed him—rather…the unusual thinking that it was somehow beautiful and not a vile display of cruelty. That divine grace possessed this man and refined elegance alike. This wasn’t a room contaminated by rot and filth, but instead one rich with decency. Thus the hesitance which should have gripped him did not come.

Bringing his hand to the Raen’s scaled cheek, he leaned into the man and quietly kissed him once before pulling away and letting his hand sink. He was right. He had already been forgiven. Or perhaps…he had done nothing to which the Raen would think to give blame. Nobushige’s heart was unlike his—unlike any he had ever met. It could take on any measure of sin and yet still resonate pure white light. As if it hadn’t been touched at all…

The lack of response from him proved it. Nobushige’s desires were not of this plane. He stood above all the pitiful souls which flooded this world with their dirt. And yet, like a god…he would accept their impurities even so and forgive them their baseness.

Comforted by this ideal…René set about to clean up his mess. With the medical supplies now stored away again, the butler refastened his gloves onto his hands and dropped to his knees before the corpse which now began to stink. “I will dispose of the body and return to clean the blood promptly.” He said, making to lift the putrid thing into his arms and carry it off.

Half expecting to leave in silence, René paused when he heard the harmonious whisper of the Raen call out to him. “No…I am expecting another shortly. Someone…important to me. I would bid a moment of privacy.” Another…at this hour? He didn’t know what to expect, but it would be impolite of him to inquire further.

“It shall be as you request. By your leave…”

Making away with the body, he pondered his options of disposal. Only one would be appropriate…however…he questioned another possibility out of selfish want. To feed the abhorrent remains of the man to the creature which lurked through these halls and be rid of him entirely…in foolish desire he might once again chance upon such a precious scene.

The moment such a thought crossed his mind however, he wavered. What was becoming of him? Such ways of thinking were untoward of him, and standing alone in the darkness of the manor’s halls made him want to brush off this doubt quickly and leave it for another day.

#ffxivwrite2021 #FFXIV #ffxiv rp #nobushige #the serpent's manor

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mosshead-lover · 3 years

Text

The Act of LordE: Part-6

Fate’s Appetite

~ Izuku & Bakugou x Reader

Summary: [y/n] moves to her dream city having abundant hopes. Her encounter with Katsuki Bakugou, sends unsettling ripples through her life. Determined to earn an apology for her boyfriend, Izuku Midoriya, she gets into a game with Katsuki. Will the game remain a simple game even at the stake of her love life?

<<Previous

A/n: You will enjoy this better if you have read the previous parts before! ^^

Part-1 | Part-2 | Part-3 | Part-4 | Part-5

--Start--

Weeks elapsed, and neither [y/n] nor Katsuki spoke about the bet. Heck, they barely conversed. Even when they had to work together, the conversations were bare minimum. No meeting eyes, no taunting comments, nothing. Katsuki hardly lifted a finger while with her, yet his body experienced fatigue like he had been fighting off a villain for days. [y/n] rarely spoke, yet her mouth went dry like she had been talking nonstop for hours. The tension between them had an immense toll on their bodies and minds.

Until one day . . .

Kirishima and Aya finally were having a housewarming party after taking weeks together to settle down. It was on a Saturday night. The mall was overflowing with people. Izuku and [y/n] eventually picked a housewarming present after running all over the place. Since they were at the mall already, they decided to visit the mart on the ground floor. After picking enough groceries for a week and other essentials, Izuku and [y/n] joined the shortest billing queue, which had at least four customers with carts full of items. [y/n] sighed and started questioning her decision to grocery shopping. She tapped her foot restlessly, looking at her watch. Izuku tried to calm her down.

"We will be there on time, [y/n]-chan. Besides, Kirishima is going to pull an all-nighter, you will see. We have plenty of time."

[y/n] reluctantly nodded and continued to fret over.

"Izu, we need more tissue. Can you quickly go grab some?"

[y/n] got him to go, for a few moments at least. She knew he would try to calm her down again. She knew his efforts would go in vain. She only stopped the restless feet-tapping when she heard the shutters of the mart closing down. There were multiple gasps and squeaks. Everyone looked around anxiously, anticipating the worst, except a few who took out guns and grabbed the nearest person to hold at gunpoint.

The blinding light from the barcode made a line on the floor as the cashier at gunpoint rose his hands, obeying the captor. As did the rest as another captor yelled,

“Hands where we can see em!”

[y/n]’s handbag that hung on her elbow slid down to her shoulder, resting against the side of her back, as she lifted her hands. Izuku stood a few steps away from her. He was returning to the line after grabbing extra rolls of tissues as [y/n] asked. Izuku’s absence terrified her further. [y/n] tried to calm herself. Had she been in such a situation before, she might know how to behave. She was too astounded to think straight. She wished she hadn’t sent Izuku away. [y/n] had been making nothing but poor decisions the whole day. Set on breaking the chain, she casually slid her hand into the bag that hung within her reach.

‘If I can somehow activate the SOS on my phone,’

She thought,

‘someone will arrive.’

To her bad luck, she caught one of the captor’s eyes.

“That bitch is up to something!”

He yelled as he used his free hand to grab the bottle on the billing counter. He launched it at [y/n] with all the energy he had while still holding the cashier at the gunpoint. [y/n] ducked down, shutting her eyes close, hands around her head in reflex. She thought she was too late, but the bottle never reached her. She heard it hit the ground and break into pieces. When she opened her eyes, she saw oddly familiar figure mid-air. With one hand faced away from his body, keeping the body balanced with the quirk and the other, still down in the direction he sent the bottle crashing.

“TEME!! (bastard)” his growl resonated.

With Kirishima gone, it bore Bakugou to cook for himself. He had to admit, at least to himself, that he missed his friend. He thought he would end up feeling worse if he went to the house warming.

“I am busy, shitty hair. I will visit some other time.” He snapped at Kiri like he normally did.

“Okay, man. I will swing by later to drop some food.” Kiri replied in his usual joyous tone. Bakugou’s tone never bothered him. They were best friends for a reason.

“Aya made the chicken dumplings extra spicy, just for you.”

“You don’t have to bring your ass here. Save some. I will come by tomorrow.”

Katsuki’s voice was much lower now. He hated how the Kiri-Aya couple always got him. He was subconsciously used to the affection he received, presumably why he was being such a baby about it. But the silver lining to this was that he also wanted to avoid [y/n] and Izuku. [y/n] mostly.

He slid the cell phone into his baggy pants and went into the mart to buy some instant noodles for the night.

The captor panicked at the unexpected resistance. He let go of the cashier and took a shot in the direction of Katsuki and [y/n]. Bakugou burst some more of his sweat and moved a few inches forward, completely shadowing [y/n]. The bullet hit his shoulder. His eyes widened at the sight of the feather-light bullet whose needle pierced through his skin. He tried to take it out but, the quirk eraser had already done its work. His body hit the ground with a loud thud, some of the glass pieces from earlier piercing through his thick skin. He quickly got on his feet. Katsuki Bakugou was more than his quirk. He still had the fight in him. He saw Izuku run towards the counter. He had to hold them, destroy their weapons so Deku can take care of the rest. Izuku knew in an instant what Kachan planned to do further. Only a foolish hero would fight a gang with quirk eraser guns in the open. It was unsettling that the fact that the enemy had those guns came to light at the cost of his dear friend’s quirk. Bakugou took them on and fought exceptionally for someone who was just hit by a quirk eraser. Fatigue was one of the proven side effects of the quirk erasing chemical, but the adrenaline rush did not make his body show any sign of fatigue. Few of the enemies shot him blindly, out of spite, although they were well aware it was useless. [y/n] and many others used the chaos to reach out for help. Pro heroes arrived in no time. All prepared to defeat what probably was the worst enemy of the hero community, the quirk erasing guns. Deku mopped up the rest of the gang as Katsuki collapsed on his knees. He heard the police interrogating the puny villains at a distance. He saw [y/n] being escorted along with other citizens to safety. Her eyes met his for a fraction of a second before his vision become blurry and, he blacked out.

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tk-writer · 4 years

Text

Team Building. [Haikyuu!! - Sugatsuki]

Sugawara notices Tsukishima acting strangely during a team building exercise and does some... “investigating”.

Word count: 2353

~~~~~~~

Suga stared down at the blank piece of paper in his hand and contemplated what he was going to write next.

Most of his other team members had already given their folded notes to Daichi in preparation for the second round, but there were still two or three lagging behind. It looked like it was him, Yamaguchi, Kageyama, and Tsukishima. He couldn't really blame them for being hesitant; when their captain suggested playing this game as a “team building exercise” during their second night of training camp, there were more than a few protests from both under- and upperclassmen. Writing down your deepest secrets only to have your fellow athletes try and guess who they belong to? It was nerve wracking for Sugawara, who prided himself on his openness, so he couldn't imagine how hard it was for people like Yamaguchi, Tsukishima, and Kageyama.

Speaking of which, it seemed like they were still having trouble coming up with something. Suga scribbled something stupid down and tossed his folded paper into the upturned cap on the floor, waiting for the others to follow suit. He began observing the others, who were all sitting around the cap in a circle formation as if conducting some type of magical ritual.

“Hurry up!!” Nishinoya urged, growing restless as the minutes dragged on. “We’re not getting any younger here!”

“Hold on! I’m thinking!” Kageyama barked back, his brows furrowed in deep thought. Hinata sat next to him, attempting to peek over his shoulder as he started writing, which earned him a sharp elbow to the gut. He doubled over as Tanaka snickered beside him.

Suga watched Tsukishima and Yamaguchi from the corner of his eye, who were both sitting to his left. The latter seemed to have an “aha!” moment and finally wrote something while the former still had not picked up his pencil. He donned the same unreadable expression as always: blank, bored eyes, thin lips pressed together, no hint of excitement or nervousness or anything, really. He wondered what was going on in that pretty little blonde head of his.

Then, suddenly, he saw something.

It was only for a split second; Suga was certain he was the only one who noticed it. Tsukishima’s eyes widened, his lips parted slightly, and his breath stilled, as if he had just thought of something that flustered him. Then he grabbed the nearest pencil and scrawled something furiously before folding it once, twice, then a third time. He tossed it into the cap, and that was that. The flash of emotion disappeared, and his usual blank face returned.

Suga’s curiosity was piqued, but he said not a word, silently planning to investigate later.

Now that everyone had written their next secrets, it was time to play. Daichi shuffled the folded papers in the cap for a few seconds and started pulling them out at random. Suga wanted to laugh when he saw his teammates tense with anticipation, worrying about when theirs would get drawn, thereby exposing themselves. Didn't they realize they were all in the same boat…?

The first pick of the round was drawn. The paper read “I still sleep with a stuffed animal.” A few minutes of guessing went on until Tanaka guessed Nishinoya, whose face turned redder than a tomato once he’d been discovered. The team had their laughs, then moved onto the next.

“I’m a huge fan of Hatsune Miku.” It turned out to be Tanaka’s, and Suga actually did laugh out loud that time. Still, somehow it made sense. That type of music fit Tanaka’s over the top personality.

“I cried myself to sleep for days after the Aoba Johsai game.” Kageyama. That earned him a giant group hug from all who surrounded him, which nearly crushed him in the process. Suga caught him wiping his eyes after everyone pulled away.

“I still have nightmares about the Iron Wall.” Asahi. Suga saw Nishinoya worm his fingers into his hand and squeeze it. Karasuno’s ace grinned at the gesture, although he still appeared a bit self conscious.

“I have a crush on someone sitting here.” Hinata, who refused to say who and hid his rapidly reddening face from everyone. Kageyama watched him intently, and that made Hinata even more agitated. Really, he couldn’t be more obvious.

The game went on and on until everyone had confessed at least one secret they'd written down. Finally, one last paper remained. Daichi pulled it out, unfolding it three times, and cleared his throat before reading it aloud.

“I’m super, super ticklish.”

That earned a few “ooooohs” and accusatory glances. Everyone looked around at their comrades, trying to deduce which of their teammates could have written this while simultaneously acting like they weren't the one. Again, Suga’s attention fell on Tsukishima, who sat there with the best poker face he’d ever seen on a first year. If Tsuki ever retired from volleyball, Suga thought, he should pursue acting.

“That has to be Hinata!!” Nishinoya exclaimed. Hinata shook his head rapidly, sputtering out a flurry of denials that failed to convince anyone.

“I think it's Daichi,” Tanaka said, poking his friend in the ribs. Unfortunately his point was disproved when he didn't laugh. The captain gave him a light smack on the back of the head in return for the unwelcome touch.

“What about Asahi?” Yamaguchi piped up, causing Asahi to fumble out his next words.

“W, wait!! I didn't write it!!” the ace babbled, failing to hold back his booming laughter as Nishinoya started poking his sides.

“I think it was Tsukishima,” Suga teased, nodding towards the blonde who showed little to no reaction at the accusation. The rest of the squad laughed out loud.

“No way. Tsuki’s too serious for fun stuff like that,” Nishinoya taunted, earning him a glare from the blonde.

“Well, why don’t we ask him ourselves?” Suga addressed him as innocently as possible, making sure not to sound too interested. “Was it yours, Tsukishima?”

“No,” said the spiker.

“Alright, then who wrote this?” Daichi asked. The room fell silent as the players waited for someone to speak up, but none confessed.

“Oh come on! Don’t get all shy now! Everyone else had to fess up!!” yelled Tanaka.

Still, no one admitted. Suga kept his eye on Tsukishima, who seemed to be pressing his lips together even harder. He was definitely more tense than usual.

“Booooo… the whole point of this game was to build trust. We can't do that if people aren't honest!!” Tanaka complained loudly.

“Maybe it's time we call it a night, Daichi,” Suga suggested. “It’s getting late anyway, and we figured out who most of the secrets belonged to, anyway.”

“Fine,” the captain grumbled, still displeased but lacking the energy to keep fighting. And that was the end of it.

While the rest of the squad stood up and slowly started getting ready for bed, most heading to the showers to brush their teeth and rinse off one last time, Suga noticed a faint blush on Tsukishima’s face as he exited the room. Suga waited a few seconds before making his own leave, following the blonde at a safe distance to avoid detection.

He noticed that instead of going to the bathroom down the hall like everyone else, he took a turn and headed towards the empty showers on the west side of the building. It was strange; he knew Tsukishima liked his privacy, but why would he go so far out of his way to avoid everyone now?

Unless something was up.

When Suga entered the changing room, he waited until Tsukishima had his back turned before sneaking up behind him.

“It’s a little strange that you went all the way over here to get ready for bed, hmm?”

Tsukishima nearly jumped when he heard his senpai speak up, but the momentary surprise only lasted a fraction of a second. His eyes narrowed in suspicion as Suga shot him a friendly, unassuming smile.

“Why did you follow me?”

“I wanted to make sure my kouhai was alright. You got really quiet at the end of the game.”

Tsukishima grabbed a few towels from a nearby rack, not bothering to return Suga’s gaze.

“I hate childish things like that. It’s pointless.”

Suga moved in closer, still smiling despite Tsuki’s callousness towards him. The spiker just about flinched when he brushed his shoulder.

There was definitely something going on with him.

“Come to think of it, you only confessed to one secret. Didn't you write two?”

Again, Tsukishima tensed up, refusing to look at Suga.

“It doesn't matter. Game’s over.”

“Were you too embarrassed to admit the last one?”

“Why do you care? And why are you so fixated on this?”

“Oh, no reason really. Except for the fact that your cheeks turned red when Daichi read the last secret out loud.”

“I… they did not! Hngh...”

Suga moved in closer, his smile becoming less amicable and more menacing. He could sense Tsukishima getting nervous. He still refused to look him in the eye and was clutching the towels against his chest as if for protection. And… was there even a hint of blush on those pale cheeks of his?

“Is it true, then? Are you super, super ticklish?”

Suga didn't give him the chance to deny it. His hands met Tsukishima’s waist and wiggled gently, barely wisping his fingertips against his sides. Immediately, the blonde broke out into soft giggles. His laughter was reserved and controlled, much like his personality, but his smile made his face look like it was beaming with joy. An unfamiliar, yet welcome sight for the third year setter.

“The funny thing about this game is, you don't have to share something you don't want everyone to know,” Suga sang happily as his fingers danced up and down, drawing out more muted snickers and involuntary flinching from his kouhai. “Sure, it's a game of secrets, but you still have somewhat of a choice.”

Tsukishima didn’t say anything, nor did he really attempt to fight off Suga at all. Sure, he was clutching his own sides for protection and at one point even curled forward, trying to shake off the tickly hands, but he could’ve easily stopped him by grabbing his wrists or pushing him off. Instead, he stood there with his back against the lockers and just took it. It wasn’t what he had unexpected, but Suga wasn’t about to complain. Seeing him try to fight back a smile, which translated into a twisted grimace, was enough to keep him entertained all night.

The third year paused for a moment to continue his interrogation.

“Did you share it because you wanted us to know?”

“...No…”

“Hmm? You didn't want us to know?”

“...No… I mean, I don't know…”

“Tsk, tsk. Make up your mind, Tsuki.”

The tickles began once more, but this time Suga was much more cunning. He snuck his way into Tsuki’s underarms, digging in until the spiker’s shy giggles became more panicked and frenzied. He even let out a squeal or too, and afterwards blushed so hard his face resembled a brick wall.

“Wahahait! Sugahahaha!!”

“You like this, don't you? And you wanted someone to do this to you?”

“Naha, nnnngh, noooo!”

“Don’t lie.”

Suga got creative, keeping one hand under his arms while the other scurried down his side again and began circling his stomach. Tsukishima seemed weak to it; his struggles got more purposeful, although he was still only using a small portion of his strength. He gripped one of Suga’s wrists, but simply held on, neither pushing him away nor pulling him in. Suga poked one of his hips, and after he let out a high pitched shriek the begging finally emerged.

“S… stop… it's… embarrassing…”

Suga’s hands went still, but didn’t move from Tsuki’s body. He tilted his head to one side in confusion.

“Hmm? What's embarrassing?”

“I… I don't like others seeing me like this…”

“Why not?”

“Cause… they'll think I’m weak…”

Suga finally pulled away, his parental instincts taking over. He put his hands on his hips, ready to give Tsuki the pep talk he needed.

“Tsukishima, nobody thinks you’re weak. So what if you're a little ticklish?” He reached out and pinched his waistline again, spurring more quiet giggles from the spiker. “...Okay, maybe you're super ticklish. But that doesn't mean you're weak! It’s a natural human reaction.”

“Not that… I mean…” Tsuki crossed his arms, his gaze falling towards the floor. “They’ll think I’ve gone soft. If I ever…”

Although he said little, Suga could gather his meaning.

“Ohhh… I see. Well, who says being soft is a bad thing?”

Tsukishima finally looked at him, eyes wide, cheeks dusted pink.

“Besides, it makes you happy when this happens, right? There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Suga cupped his cheek in one hand and gave him a little pat before sneaking in a few fluttery tickles around his neck, which made the blonde scrunch his shoulders and grin at the touch.

“Have a little more faith in your team. We all like to joke and tease, but in the end everyone cares for each other. I guarantee that none of your teammates will look down on you for something so innocent.”

Suga gave him a few more tickles on his neck, cherishing the last moments he got to see his junior laugh and squirm around, then he pulled away and started walking towards the door.

“Now let's get to bed. We need as much rest as we can get before our practice game tomorrow!”

He was about to make his leave when he heard Tsukishima call out to him one more.

“Um, Suga?”

“Hmm?”

He turned around and saw a very, very flustered Tsukishima staring back at him.

“Can you… uh…”

“Yeeees?” Suga smirked as if he already knew.

“Can you. Do that again. What you were just doing.”

“Are you asking me to tickle you again, Tsukishima?” He taunted with extra emphasis on that word.

The blonde nodded his head with a shy smile, the corners of his mouth barely turning upwards, which soon erupted into more laughs as Suga put his hands on his sides again, tickling and tickling until he was a giggling mess.

#tickling #tickle fic #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #sugawara koushi #lee!tsukishima #ler!suga #sugatsuki #tsukisuga #adkjhfs i'm so sorry im trash #tsundere boi needed to get wreckedt #less of a shippy thing and more of a platonic older bro vibe but do with it what you will!!#cant stop wont stop writing cutesy haikyuu thingys kjzsfh

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remsmoonlight · 3 years

Text

— title : broken facade ( part one ? )

— word count : 2.6 k words

— pairing : john wick x reader

— summary : john thought he could keep his old world dead and buried, he was wrong

— warnings : mentions of death, blood, extremely minor swearing, kidnapping, mentions of drugging.. idk maybe a bit of hurt and angst? idk where i was going with this i spent so long on it lmao im very sorry

Nothing can be heard over the continuous shattering of the fractured pieces of a silent promise he repeated to himself every morning he woke and the last thing that ran through his mind before he would cease to resist the urge to sleep. It’s the only promise kept hidden from you and there was no going back from its state of shards, what kind of man is he if the one thing he kept close to his heart is no more.

Never let that life lay a finger on them.

Now, here he is. Knowing that the life he had previously led has wormed itself back to him, it has sullied your spirit and for that, he can find no forgiveness in his soul for himself. It’s him that is why you have been torn away from him so mercilessly, why you are in the situation you are in. He would give his life a thousand times and a thousand times over if it means you are safe, away from the harsh and cold blooded world he knows so well.

Although, the remnants of his old life is not a friend greeting him after an age has passed, but rather.. a foe that wishes to lead him down the trail to its murky depths.

He assumes that the steering wheel that is gripped so stiffly by his hands only wish to buckle and crumble under the weight he is setting down upon it, though there is no other way to channel the highly agitated energy that swirls within him. Until you are back in his arms can he find the strength to completely calm the brutal waters that wish to overwhelm him, the only thing saving him is the objective that is removing you from the grasps of the Tarasovs’.

The same is unable to be said for you, the fear that you feel coursing throughout your entire being is the only thing that you can concentrate on. This is the clearest you have been for days, since you had been taken from your refuge from the world. You are sure that you’ve been drugged, though you can’t decide truly if that fact is a blessing or a curse. Being an unwilling participant in whatever you had found yourself in would prove difficult for those who held your life in their hands, and as much as you want to put up a fight, it’s impossible. You can see just how tense everyone in this cold, desolate room is. It’s not ideal to prod and provoke the Devil, especially as it has the power to rip you from the reality you know.

Your heart swells from the haunting image that plays continuously like an olden film, with the grit and burns. It’s a desire that you yearn so intensely for to rid your brain of the bloodied and battered John, you had never seen him so defenseless. You wonder if he is still breathing, if he is suffering from being so broken.

“ hey! why don’t you just let me go? “ you call out to anyone in the room, your fingers fidgeting anxiously with the threads of the scarf wrapped protectively around your neck.

“ shut the fuck up! “

You switch your gaze from the man who yelled, knowing that there is no point in arguing, to the one playing on the game console. Fear and self preservation that rules your body into silence battling with the confusion you find yourself experiencing at how one of the other men could feel so relaxed to the point he can play games.

Though he’s not the one who’s been kidnapped you think with a stern frown deeply painting your features, you simply wished you could be wrapped up in your duvet with a straight to dvd cheap movie playing.

The next moment a colossal bang erupted, spilling through the entirety of the room -- you have no idea where to look, your entire feeling as if it had been frozen in a moment of time. It’s not until a thud pulls you out of your cloud, and it’s one of the men who have fallen to the ground. Your eyes widen at the sight, you’ve seen such brutality in movies and television shows but never could they capture the true horror that lays in front of you.

The crimson liquid is never ending as it exits from the wound, you want to rip your eyes away from the repulsive scene yet you find yourself in a trance, with a magnetic pull that refuses to bend its will to yours. Only when your skin feels fingers digging deep into clothed flesh is your head able to turn, your feet already on the move. Your eyes refuse to acknowledge the further death that lay motionlessly on the floor, the bodies as cold as the temperature.

Rumbles fill your hearing, it’s hardly a chore to know that they’re under attack, by who you have little idea. Though a tiny spark of hope, so small it’s hardly noticeable, hums in your core. Perhaps it may be the authorities, here to put a permanent end to your newfound nightmare. Whatever it is, it has these men scared -- though, when you think back.. they have been on edge since you have had the unfortunate experience of knowing them. No matter how hard you previously tried to decipher some sort of idea, even a faded picture of what you have been caught up in, they were quick to respond with venom and hostility.

“ let go of me! “ words tumble from your lips as you try to dig your feet in further to the metal steps, hands clawing at the railings as if they could protect you.

Nothing is said to you, had it not been for the male’s grip on your arm, you could assume that they have no idea of your presence. Countless nights you had found yourself wishing for such, that they would forget your existence and you would be then able to escape. Never has that wish been granted.

Burns from the metal grasped so firmly scorch your palms, you can feel the need to survive driving yourself to fight and struggle.. opportunities to escape had been bare, the one presented now is one that you refuse to elude you so swiftly. Again, a body drops from a gunshot -- your shock proving more of a force than anything, because the hold that had been so secure on your arm severs without you comprehending it for a passing moment in time.

The leap your heart completes knows no bounds, the disturbance at seeing the violence occur at the man you have only known to be gentle and warm overwhelmed by your exhilaration that he is there and safe. John hardly acknowledges you as he passes your trembling form, his mind focused on one thing and one thing only. It’s no surprise when you decide to turn away, not wishing to have your image of him shattered any more than it has already. Though, you wonder how detrimental protecting your dream like depiction of him is.

A faze, it’s all your mind can think of describing the journey from the harsh confines of the barren property to where you reside currently. The journey from one place to the other mesh together, your memories betraying you in your inability to process everything that happened.

A hand grazes your skin comfortingly, though the suddenness pulls you out from beneath your thoughts.

“ i’m sorry. “ John speaks, keeping his eyes straight ahead on the road.

A frown sketches itself onto your brows as you turn to face him, you are unable to understand what he means by his words. The scenery passes by in a blur, stuck in a timeless state of thinking, you realise that you’ve not responded to him. How do you respond to something like? You wonder to yourself, loathing the fact that you cannot reply, a misunderstanding of rejection isn’t something needed for the moment. Against your better judgement, you need the opposite.

“ John - I - what? “

The feather like weight on your hand is still there, though now there is a contrast of tenderness and peace that had only known violence and blood exploring the expanse of his fingertips, only now a ghostly image not yet faded.

“ it got worse for you, because of me. “ he replies with a pitch as solid as stone, still refusing to make eye contact.

Though it’s not known to you that the reason he refuses to look at you is because he cannot yet come to terms with the fact that the two significant fractions of his life, the past and the present, have collided so effortlessly. He doesn’t yet want to acknowledge his part to play in the scars of his old word being the reason your surface now bears the brunt of being blemished by its cold, callous hands. He doesn’t want to have to bear witness to the tears that have stained your usually bright features, knowing the darkness that had once consumed his life wished to stretch its skeletal grip to you, threatening to eclipse the light of hope you unknowingly provide every chance he gets to set his sights on your form.

“ you’re not making any sense. “ you turn to face him now, trying to read his expression. Though, it’s at a loss. When he needs to be, he can be extremely hard to read.

“ that guy? the one I shot.. I used to work for his father. “

You blink, still failing to see the picture. You’re able to make a mental sketch, but you still need final pieces. Yes, he was connected.. but how is he at fault? Was it some sort of vengeance? Blackmail? The list is an endless trail your mind explores at the new piece of information, however it’s only John who can provide the key.

“ what does that have to do with everything that happened? “

“ there’s a reason why I’ve never told you much about my past. “ he replies softly, his mind wandering to find the most rational way to word the difficult tale, whose twists and turns trailed over it as if they were no more than a line of vines full of poison.

Though, the inner voice belonging to him knows there is no outcome that bodes well for him, the inevitable can’t be written off nor can it be denied.

“ so tell me, please? “ you plead with him, your nervous energy building and building in the tips of your fingers. They tap on the end of the car seat as you wait for his response.

“ before we met, I did things. I killed. “

It has to be quick John thinks to himself. There’s not a way that what he has to say, his past can be primped and perfumed into a pretty little picture, not when that picture is haunted by all the life that had been ripped from the world by his hand.

“ this is a joke, right? “ you laugh, incredulously. Gazing at his form it was as if the energy around him had inverted, there is no way that John, your John could do such things. The gentle smile of his, the thoughtfulness he demonstrates each day would battle his words, but the solidity and lack of humour being shown from him..? You’re tempted to believe.

“ I wish it was. “

“ there’s.. I don’t even know what to say. “ your brows furrow low, a bleakness setting itself into your expression as you try to come to terms with his answer.

“ you don’t have to. “ he speaks with difficulty, while he had expected more hatred from your eyes, he dares not to hope you will stay. Not after everything he has brought down upon you.

Fresh tears build up, until they are no more than a glassy barrier preventing clear vision. You will them to recede, to fade away until they’re nothing more than shadows. You have seen many horrors, more in the past week than your whole life and the man you love has had a direct part in that? You can’t erase the images of him gunning your captor, but you can’t erase all the sweet whispers after nights of lust and love, all the hours spent talking about life and what you would do. A stark contrast to the man you first got to know.

“ this isn’t something I can pretend to understand, but why hold something like this from me? Why wouldn’t you tell me eventually? “ you question, many emotions are clawing over each other to rise to your surface, preventing you from thinking straight.. yet it’s frustration that is victorious.

“ I never thought I'd be back. “

“ you need to understand, things like that? They don’t go away, they have a way of coming back and biting you in the ass. “

“ yeah, I see that now. “

A groan erupts from your parted lips, dropping your head in your hands. Your fingers drag their way across your scalp, this is something you argue would be seen in a movie.. not your life. The feelings you have are conflicted and inconsistent, any normal person would jump out of the moving care.. but a part of you can’t cast him aside so easily. What you have, that’s what you know is real.

“ John, I - I need time. At the minute.. I just don’t know what to think. With everything that’s happened. “

“ I get that. You’ll be seen to, for your injuries. “

A smile, small in size lifts the darkness from your eyes ever so slightly. Your injuries are bare, save for a few scrapes on your face. It’s the mental ones that begin to frighten you. They’re not so easily treatable. A smile that wishes with all its might that it is so easy.

“ to be honest.. I just want to go home. “ you lift your head up from its concealment as you share to him your one simple desire, your eyes imploring him to follow through with your request.

“ soon. “ he finally turns his head to look at you, to finally see you properly. All he wants is for you to be safely protected in his arms, as he mutters countless apologies that he longs you forgive him for. By no means is he a perfect man, but he can strive for such for you.

“ John, I’m not dead. I’m just tired. “

“ please, don’t. “

It’s curious, the tone in his voice as he replies to you. You can’t place it, though it’s very unlike him. Your left hand removes itself from the warmth of his palm to place yours atop of his, lending your warmth and comfort to him. The fact that both of you have fresh mental scars from the ordeal is becoming promptly evident.

“ I just want to make sure you’re okay. “

“ John, I don’t know what to think, what to feel. This is just.. the craziest thing. “

“ yeah, and it’s my fault. “ he exclaims lowly, as if he’s speaking more to himself than you. Berating himself for something that was never in his control.

You shake your head, hating the way he’s talking of himself. It’s enough to rouse some anger within you, though you know better than to make the situation between the two of you worse.

“ look, I know I can’t make you think otherwise.. but you never took me away. You never hid me from building to building, you were the one who saved me. “ you argue, ferocity cautiously coating your words. Your grip settled on top of his hand growing. “ I can’t stop seeing what you did, but you were the one who got me out. I need some quiet from it all. “

Your words, you hope, are strong. Trying to separate what you have seen that day is not something that will come as light as the clouds above your head do when they shower upon you, the thought that you fear you may never do is something you keep close to your chest for now.

To protect the both of you.

#john wick imagine #john wick x reader #john wick fanfic #john wick fanfiction

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razorblade180 · 3 years

Text

Twin Snowflakes 26: Preparation

[part 2 of 2]

Another day, another classroom bell. As far as Monday’s go, today was pretty harmless for Summer. Classes went by fast, Veronica only nagged her about what to eat for lunch, and P.E. was used for tournament announcements so she didn’t have to change. In a few minutes she’ll be able to walk out of the student council meeting and go home to escape-

“We’re all staying after school today, all of us.” Eliza said, filing papers.

Summer planted her head on the table. “Why do you hate me!? I’m nothing but kind to you.” She whined.

“Stop crying! Did you expect to go into the tournament performance cold turkey? This isn’t one of your concerts. Multiple things need to work at once. Which is why Harriet was kind enough to keep a platform up to act as a stage in the gym. You and your brother will have the band’s support.

Nick’s face turned to terror. He could see Summer’s face begin to get excited. “Summer, I know that look. Please remember that neither the band nor I are as skilled as you. Don’t go full dictator on us.”

She could only laugh and smile energetically. “That won’t be a problem if you hit the notes.”

“Not what I wanted to hear, Summer!”

Veronica got up from the table and packed her things. “You all have fun. I’m gonna get started on that outfit. The materials should be at your house by now.”

“Not so fast.” Eliza interjected, “Did you forget that you’re filling in on the cheer team? Their practice starts in fifteen minutes.”

“B-But my fabrics!” She gasped.

Eliza folded her arms confidently. “Sorry, tough luck. Harriet saw your moves and she gets what she wants. If only Amber didn’t twist her leg.”

Nick let out a snicker before hiding his smile from Veronica. Karma is a cruel mistress.

“I myself will oversee everything as best as I can while leading my own rehearsal. Don’t think twice to come find me, or the President, who should really be the one leading this meeting.”

“Nah you’re on a roll.”He smiled.

She gave him a glare before continuing. “Anyways, I also need somebody to let Valerie know the water heater is screwed up again and also that she should at least help with hauling supplies to Amity Arena; since she so rudely skipped this meeting.”

All of the council and other student body members turned to Nick instinctively. It was warranted but man did it blow. Summer glady stood up to take the bullet.

“I will tell her everything she needs to know, after rehearsals.”

“Works for me. Let’s move people! Time is ticking.” Eliza gathered her belongings and went out the door with the rest of the staff. Summer and Veronica gave him a nudge as they walked by. “You two still have enough time to do the outfit?”

“I fixed your sister’s uniforms in no time at all. I already have all her measurements I need so the annoying part is over.”

“What she said.” Summer added. “At this point I guess I’m being moved to wherever I’m supposed to be. Eugh, after school, even the name hurts my throat.”

“Think of it like this. We get to spend all day with Eliza!” Nick yelled out the door cheekily.

“I will answer none of your questions!” She yelled back, knowing she basically has to spend the entire day around Nick. She hadn’t told him yet but she was going to accept his offer. Her curiosity about his plan was too strong. The tournament was quickly approaching. Every step forward counts. Time to kick things into high gear.

Nick found the strength to leave the table and face judgment. “Alright, let’s get this pain over with.”

“Quit exaggerating! I will be a humble singing instructor.”

xxxxx

“COME ON NICK! YOU CALLED THAT A HARMONY!?” Summer was not humble, or quiet for that matter. “I know you can do better!”

Nick endured the criticism as he sipped his water. He was prepared for this but obviously the band wasn’t. Summer had everyone in their group scared stiff and onlookers watching in awe. This might be the first time they’ve heard her speak in school, let alone emote.

Her fiery nature was on full display and it’s intensity was higher than her ponytail. Free from uniform constraints, she wore compression tights and a thin long sleeved shirt that hugged her frame. Summer looked more sporty right now than she has in her entire school life.

The many eyes on the twins' practice didn’t seem to bother her. “Let’s take it from the top.” She grabbed her guitar and began to play immediately. A quick glare to the drummer snapped him out of his trance and got him to play, making the rest fall in line. Live practice was never a thing she did often. People ceased the opportunity all around the gym to watch magic be created before their ears.

Some legends are told, some turn to dust or to gold.

But you will remember me~

Remember me for centuries~

She nodded to Nick and he gripped his mic.

And just one mistake... is all it will take.

We’ll go down in history~

Their breathing synced up.

REMEMBER ME FOR CENTURIES~

Summer raised her fist, silencing the band. The performer turned towards her brother and band. A fraction of a smile crept onto her face. “Better. Not perfect, but much better.” She took a sip of water. “Not to be tyrant-”

“Yet here we are.” Nick said, earning a few laughs from the band and a glare from his sis. “What!? I’m boosting morale!”

“I know. It’s the only reason I’m not chewing your head off. Here I was about to compliment you too.”

“The biggest compliment you can give me is letting us finish the song completely. We’ve only gone about a fourth through it. Everyone knows this song.”

“Anybody can know a song but few feel it. I know you know this. The crowd at the tournament is gonna want hype and they’ll most likely sing along. Our job is to cultivate it to its peak. We are the opening of the event. I picked this song for a reason. If we come out firing on all cylinders then I know we can ride the wave through the whole song! Let me feel your hype, your energy!”

Nick pursed his lips. “If you want energy, then you let these guys have fun! Ice breaker time!” Nick spun around and pointed to the band. “Give me a funky beat!”

The members looked at one another, shrugging before kicking in a fun, funky classic; Billie Jean!

Nick let out the biggest “Yeah~” then started moonwalking around Summer. “Come on Summer, you can’t resist the beat!”

“Really? Of all the songs you think I’m just gonna-” She kicked her leg out and then twirled to the microphone.

She was more like a beauty queen from a movie scene…!

Nick hopped with joy before chiming in as the band jammed out. Eliza watched the two from off stage with her color guard troop in disbelief, joined by Veronica seconds later in her cheerleader uniform. Eliza waved her hand to her group. “Guys, take ten. I guess it’s break time.”

“Those two seem to be having a ball. They always like this with council stuff?”

“Hardly. It’s the only reason why I’m not yelling at them right now. Can’t remember the last time they looked happy to participate. They can laugh their lungs out as long as the work gets done. Might motivate the others. Anyways, how are you holding up?”

“Oh you know, as much as a newbie could be in this situation.” Veronica shook her pom-poms for dramatic effect. “Feels nice to do something like this again though. It’s like wearing an old glove.”

“History with cheerleading?”

“Gymnastics, my ribbon work doesn’t stop with a needle. That was some time ago but I digress.”

“I see. Well...you move like a pro.” Eliza said, a little stuttery. She played with her hands a bit while focusing on the twins.

Her elevated heart rate rang like a bell while her movements reminded Veronica of herself whenever she first met Coco Axel. “So...a little birdy told me I got a fan of my work here? Got any clue who?” She teased, enjoying Eliza's jump a little. Poor girl's cheeks went red.

Eliza felt a crushing betrayal. “Which twin opened their big mouth?”

“Is the ‘who’ that important?”

“Ah so it’s both?”

Veronica tucked her lips in. “Uhhh I won’t confirm or deny that. To think I’d have a fan all the way up in Atlas?”

“Please, we don’t have to discuss .”

“Why not? No reason to hide it. I’m honestly flattered by it. Civil rights movements don’t attract the right kind of like-minded individuals typically. Then there’s the obvious regional differences.”

“Huh? Regional differences?” Eliza tilted her head. “Have faunus here been giving you a hard time?”

“No, but that’s because I’m making zero effort to approach them. Faunus here as a whole are treated crueler than other places. An outsider like me coming in and trying to ‘relate’ never goes over smoothly.”

Eliza was surprised. She had never heard of that before. “Oh, I guess I was being a bit presumptuous. Apologies.”

“No it’s fine. It’s just one of those annoying little things. A lot of the preach about wanting a voice and equality but sing a different tune when those voices start speaking because they aren’t the ones those people had in their heads. Sigh, we faunus are fickle creatures.”

“Boy, sounds like you hate your job?”

Veronica laughed, “Haha! I wouldn’t go that far. Maybe it’s my unique circumstance but as far as my personal beliefs go, Faunus and Humans are basically the same. They both hate and judge others far too viciously due to bias. I may advocate for our rights, but I’m not above calling ourselves out. It’s probably why the elders especially don’t care for my efforts.”

Veronica turned to Eliza and smiled. “Sorry, rambled for a bit there. Hope I’m ruining your hero perception of me. That is if I am a hero to you?”

“No. Wait! I mean it’s not ruined! You’re definitely inspiring to me. So much in fact that I got a cool magazine cover of you!” It took a minute, but Eliza’s brain registered what she had just said. “I…why did I tell you that?” Eliza facepalmed.

Vee was in shock. Her jaw slowly fell open. “Wow, you are a total fangirl right now. I didn’t think you could look embarrassed. Ha, you’re adorable blushing!”

“Please don’t talk about it…”

“Can I see the magazine cover? I’ll be honest. I rarely pay attention to those puff pieces. My mom handles all that.”

“Really?” Eliza patted her pockets before pulling out her scroll. “It’s from your rally in Vale.”

Veronica had a peek. “Oh I remember this!” The picture was from a year ago. Vale’s rally was pretty huge and loud. The photo was taken right when she had stood proudly on top of a car with a megaphone, protesters following her to city hall. “Not to toot my own horn but look so cool in this.”

“It’s surprising you’ve never seen it.”

“My eyes are usually glued to my sketchbook or a threaded needle. If I’m looking at myself then it’s in the mirror to see how fabric falls onto me or someone else. Speaking of clothes, maybe I can make you an outfit? First one is free. Just wear it to an event; tell your friends about it.”

Eliza lit up, but then immediately started to cringe. “An event is no problem. However...uhhh, yeah, rain check in the whole friend part. A social butterfly, I am not. Don’t have friends.”

“Uh Nick and Summer?”

“Gross.”

Veronica could barely stop herself from laughing out loud. The speed in which Eliza answered was swift to say the least. “Wow, and I thought the twin’s aunt was blunt? Are you sure that message is clear to them, because I’m positive they think you’re a friend.”

“I’m friendly, but not a friend.”

“Do you have their number?”

“Yes.”

“Sad to say you’re their friend. Don’t fight it.”

“What!? That’s not how- what!? From what I understand you and Summer aren’t friends, but I’m positive you have her number.”

Veronica nodded. “Yeah, but that’s necessary for multiple reasons. Besides, we actively shit talk one another. I reckon you don’t. I’m not saying you three are tightly knit. Just that you’re close enough.”

Eliza folded her arms and huffed. “I suppose so. That’s...annoying.”

“Look on the bright side.” Veronica grabbed Eliza’s scroll to put her number in. “Now you aren’t alone. We can complain about their antics together.”

The grin Veronica gave Eliza made her Eliza sheepish. The abrasive girl took her scroll back. “That...sounds nice.” She laughed under her breath.

Veronica couldn’t stop examining Eliza. This girl was all over the place! It was a little funny, awkward, and yet flattering. “Is this how the twins feel meeting fans?” The young lady could get used to this.

“Your last name is Marigold right? I’m so used to such a fierce expression that seeing you like this feels a bit unusual.”

“Used to? I take it you’ve spoken to my aunt then?” Eliza lit up.

“Not really. She’s been at events my mom dragged me to before. Didn’t speak with her directly but she looked pretty interesting. Her and my mom worked together before. You both and your father have some strong genes. I bet the mom must be jealous.”

“I...doubt it.” Eliza said, her tone drifting. The smile on her face faded back to neutrality. A silent breath escaped her lips while her eyes gazed into distance. Her change in attitude didn’t go unnoticed. Veronica’s ears fell watching her.

“Shit, did I...bring up something touchy?”

“It’s okay, honestly. I just wouldn’t know how my mom feels since...I’ve never had one.”

“Oh. I had no idea. Do you wanna talk about it or…?”

“Not really. It’s really not that big of a deal. You just caught me off guard since I’m used to people knowing that part of my life.” Eliza raised both her hands and gave her face a light slap to get out of her funk. Moping about nothing is pointless. Right now she was talking to Veronica, a person she admires! This was supposed to be exciting! “Phew! That’s better. Let’s change the subject. I don’t know much when it comes to fashion, but I have read about some of your involvement in contests.”

For a moment it felt like Veronica’s body had been hit by a truck. The muscles in her body constricted at once and her stomach felt queasy. “Have you now?”

“Just a little bit. It came up from time to time when I learned about your work with your mother. I gotta say your outfits definitely have your personality. More so than some of your contestants.”

“Heh, that’s not what judges think.” Vee uttered. “Not a first place prize to my name.”

“That may be true but that doesn’t make your designs less interesting in my opinion, but I know how you feel. It stings entering contests and sometimes not even making it to the end. Still, I really thought one dress in particular had it in the bag but…” Eliza silenced herself suddenly. She had forgotten the topic of this particular contest may not be light at all. “You...got disqualified?” She finished, cringing at her own stupidity.

“Yep. I got disqualified. No medal at all for that one.”

The air felt dead. Eliza clicked her tongue. “I had forgotten that part. The article never said why though, so it stuck out to me. If..if you don’t mind-”

“I actually do, a lot.” Veronica’s sharp response made Eliza jump a little. A few people passing by took notice of the aggressive tone, making Veronica mentally kick herself. “Shit, that wasn’t supposed to be so...I’m touchy about that day.”

Eliza waved off the comment like she was the one in the wrong. “It’s fine! I should’ve known better.”

“I guess we’re both even now huh?”

“Even!? I wasn’t trying to get back at-”

“Haha, relax before your heart explodes. It was just a tease.”

Eliza’s for got red. “Oh...of course.”

“You weren’t kidding about not having friends. I thought I was bad at small talk.”

Eliza held her head down. “I’m like a dumpster fire…”

“Ha, I can see that. I guess I’m fortunate to do speeches often. Easily the savior of my social skills. My parents are great but I wouldn’t say they aren’t the most elegant people in conversations. At least not ones that aren’t in front of a camera where they have to be. In a regular conversation they are as uncoordinated as they come.”

“I can see that. Yang’s sister does live here after all. She definitely has her own way of holding a conversation.”

“Pfft, that’s one way to put it. Just shake it off. We’re all kinda tone dead I guess.” Veronica laughed. This was fun. This was actually fun. Talking casually, who would’ve thought? She grabbed her water bottle to drink.

Eliza was also having a pleasant time. She was running low on conversation starters though. There had to be something that shouldn’t go horribly wrong. That’s when it came to her…

“So your head over heels for Nick right?”

Water sprayed out of Veronica’s mouth. How did each question keep getting her!? It shouldn’t even have been that bad yet here she was, choking over the most basic thing that everyone knew! Normally she hated being touched but feeling Eliza pat her back was gladly welcomed.

If Eliza didn’t feel bad before, then she definitely did now. “I am so sorry!” her voice was so spastic it would make Summer look calm. “I told you I’m terrible at this!”

“No, agh, no… this one is me!” Veronica coughed. “Damn, that really hurt my chest. It’s like the entire gulp went down the wrong pipe!” A few more coughs and another sip of water cured the promise. Veronica rubbed her chest and tearfully looked at Eliza. “Yeah I’m into him. Why do you ask?” Her desire to act like she didn’t nearly die was strong. “Wait, don’t tell me you like him too!?��

Water wasn't the only thing that was gonna be on the floor with questions like that. Eliza made a face that looked like she may have gagged out of spite. “Ugh, not a chance.” She folded both her arms aggressively.

“Cool, that would’ve been weird.” Veronica thought. Then Eliza began rubbing her chin. That was never a good sign.

“Weeeeeell…” Eliza said.

Veronica deflated like a balloon. “Here we go…”

“Huh? No! It’s not what you think. I don’t like him like that, or much at all really. However, I can’t deny he is...charming to put mildly. I can recognize that. As a whole, I don’t like Nick that much. There’s too much that grinds my gears. That said, there is a side to him I deeply appreciate. Don’t tell him that or I’ll deny it.”

Her tidbit made Vee’s cat ears wiggle. “You gonna leave me hanging like that? Elaborate a little.”

“Really? I didn’t want to diss him in front of you or anything.”

“Tah! Nick doesn’t need anyone coming to his defense and I’m not gonna bite your head off over an opinion, most likely.” She had to add that last part. Veronica doubted Eliza was going to say something that would be unapologetically mean but you can never know what a person could say. “Speak your mind.”

Eliza looked towards the stage to watch the council president in question adjust some light equipment to put on his sister. “That boy is...selfish in the wrong way.”

That sure was an answer. Veronica tilted her head. “I...don’t follow.”

“Nicholas Schnee is a people pleaser, yet he goes out of his way to do things on his own and inefficiently. He has the qualities of a great leader but doesn’t truly lead anyone. Instead he bends over backwards. This entire concert was his idea yet he chose not to fill anybody in on this for weeks; leaving us in the dark when we could’ve been further along. All that money, trust, and influence, yet I fail to see him use it with the care I know he knows how to do. It’s so annoying! Agh, I wish I had a fraction of what his name has.”

“Sounds like to me you’re a little envious?”

“A bit, but that doesn’t change my view of him. You know him. Am I wrong?”

“I’m the last person to judge right or wrong here, but I see what you mean. Nick definitely has his faults, no argument there. I told him the other day he was a bit pushy at times and overbearing. Still, I wouldn’t say those qualities are bad. Nick is… a man on a mission.”

The administration in Veronica’s eyes was clearer than air to Eliza. “Opinions aside, his heart is good. The love he has for family and friends is undeniably. I respect that.”

“Is that the part you deeply appreciate?”

Eliza shook her head. “No, that quality is a given. The side I like is one few people see. I witnessed it for the first time at a red carpet event several years ago. It was our first time actually speaking. I stubbornly declared I’d beat him in a tournament and show everyone how beneath me he was.”

“Wow, your social skills really are rough.”

“Cut me some slack. I was fourteen and cocky. Anyways, I expected him to laugh it off and give that fake smile he gives to the public. Instead, he gave this smug smirk at me and said ‘I can’t wait.’ It was actually chilling. I could tell from his eyes that he was threatening, no, intimidating me. He had no problem letting me know he wanted to take me down, and that’s exactly what he did on tournament day. However, right before our match, Nick took me to the side to chat. It was my first tournament. The anxiety I had was a plan on my face. Instead of using that weakness, he gave me tips to calm down. Having him focus solely on me in that ring was thrilling, different from his usual self. There’s an honesty about it I like. No way somebody can be nice all the time.”

It was for that very reason Eliza knew she had to hear Nick’s offer out. Whenever that look comes out, it spells trouble for who caused it. To think the plan involved beating Valerie? What could he possibly be up to?

Veronica rubbed her chin, intrigued. “So that’s your reasoning. Hmm.” She snapped her fingers and smirked. “Masochistic.”

Eliza bugged out. Her jaw dropped and she was seconds away from protest, until the snickering from Veronica let her know she was teasing again. A smile slowly formed and Eliza playfully elbowed Vee. “Shut up.” She laughed. “Talk about a mood killer.”

Veronica stuck her tongue out before breaking out into laughter when Eliza. Hard to believe the key to being social was being kinda bad at it? It was nice making a friend. Veronica didn’t say it but they were glad to be here.

Across the room, the gym door opened. “Well look who’s having fun!?” A voice bellowe, the condescending echo gaining everyone’s attention. To many’s displeasure, it was Darren sauntering in with his silent partner Max behind him. “Sounds like a real party here. Care if I join? Maybe shake things up a little?”

The upperclassman paced like he owned the place, watching. “Hard at work for my big day?” His eyes go to the stage. “Well if it isn’t the Jester of the School!”

Nick rolled his eyes. “Very original. I’d love to hear more of this comedy act but unfortunately the gym is closed for regular students. Please take your friend and your clown makeup somewhere else.”

“Pfft, you diss like a child.”

“Said the man who called me a jester.” Be it a deity or the universe itself, people should count themselves lucky Nick had high tolerance for stupidity. Darren’s presence was grinding it down however. Punches and nearly getting a friend hit by an asshole’s car did that to an individual.

Summer could see the sparks fly between the two. Grabbing the microphone from Nick with no hesitation, Summer took the lead. Unfortunately for Darren she didn’t have her brother’s tolerance, and she was on her favorite spot in the whole world. “You’re interrupting our practice and wasting my time. Beat it.”

The gym went silent. Did everyone hear that right? Summer Schnee...was rude!? Darren blinked twice, stunned. “Excuse me but, nobody was talking to you.”

“And nobody invited you. Scram.” She shooed him away as if he was a bug.

“Now is that anyone to talk to a superior? I don’t care how famous you are or what your last name is, you little princess. You just keep singing like a little songbird; it’ll be the only good press you get that day before losing to yours truly!”

Summer out of this expression of confusion. “And your name is…? Sorry, I just have a really hard time with faces when they don’t even rank in the top five.” Multiple ‘oooos’ and chatter started going. “Is Dean? Dunce? …..Dumb and Dumber?”

Max let out a simple “Hmph” while Darren got pissed. “So you got jokes huh?” He said through his teeth. It only took one step closer before Nick immediately stepped in front of his sister. Before either could give the audience a glimpse of tournament match l, Eliza flicked the lights off and on to gain everyone’s attention.

“HEY! Knock it off, all of you.” She demanded. Darren’s gaze came her way and towards Veronica by extension. Eliza took a step between the two, stopping a problem before it could start. “Na uh, eyes on me. One word to her and I might let Principal Coal know. May I remind you that after recent behavior it would behoove you to act like a respectable upperclassman, or else-”

“Hey hey hey there, little one, I just came in here to mingle a little; shoot the breeze and all. I’m not the one who got all bent out of shape and started insulting people. Ain’t that right Max?”

Unbothered, Max put his hands behind his head. “That is what happened; dumb jokes or not.”

“Yeah that’s- hey! You aren’t talking about my jokes are you!?”

Eliza took a deep breath. “Consider the breeze shot to hell. Now if you would kindly be on your way so-”

“Uuuugh, you’re so boring, acting like a lifeless doll and shit. Even her frail and tone deaf highness behind me showed some backbone for once.”

“Tone deaf!?” Summer yelled. She would’ve thrown her microphone if Nick didn’t take it from her. “Oh I really hope your bite is at least half as good as your bite. This ‘Princess’ thinks you deserve a public beat down for the world to see, personally delivered!”

“See you at the tournament!” Nick added.

Darren pointed behind himself. “See? At least they’re interesting.”

“If getting egged on by your limp insults is what you want then why should I even bother?” Eliza stepped to the side. “Best be on your way. You can earn my wrath whenever you feel man enough to enter a solo tournament instead of hiding behind your partner.”

“Oh yeah?” Darren glared. “Tough talk from a-” The back of his shirt was pulled by Max.

“Time to go. You’ve had your fun, and I’m getting a headache. No use talking. Let the tournament do all the bragging.” Max began dragging Darren to the exit until Darren brushed him off to walk himself. He gave Eliza one last pissed off look before giving a smug face as he walked away. “Tsk, drug baby.” He mumbles.

Loud footsteps and the sound of metal clanged behind him. Darren quickly turned around, ready for a fight. “Well I guess you can get ma-”He didn’t move. What he thought was Eliza losing her cool was actually her defending him with her baton from a very pissed heir with an Arma Gigas.

“He’s quicker than he looks.” Max grabbed Darren again and all but tossed him out the gym before any actions became an incident.

“Care to tell me why you wanna fight my battles?” Eliza complained.

“I’m not fighting your battles. My patience just got a little restless.” Nick unsummoned his blade and walked away. Thoughts of last night suddenly came to mind, making him sigh. “Sorry. Overstepped a bit. I’m gonna cool off.” He groaned.

Eliza rubbed the back of her head. That was...off. Nick must’ve been more ticked off by Darren than she was aware of. “Just don’t get so jumpy. The last thing I need is you not being able to kick his ass because you got suspended.”

“Haha yes ma’am.”

Eliza clapped her hands loudly. “Okay everyone! Get back to business!” She shouted, returning everything to normal. Thank the gods for at least giving Eliza cooperative staff members. Her body slumped over. Why can’t any event be peaceful! Damn that Darren! Now she wished he was in the solo bracket. Her head lifted to look at Veronica. “I take it if Nick heard that then so did you?”

“Little bit. I can pretend I didn’t. Makes no difference to me.”

“Don’t sweat it. Who likes beading around the bush anyways? You asked about my mom earlier. Now you basically know. To make a long story short, my dad in his younger years spent his money in...less than responsible ways. Who needs love when there’s plenty of clubs and corners with people looking to make a quick buck? My mother just so happened to get a little more than just lien.”

Veronica’s face scrunched up. “Yikes. That’s a lot to unpack.”

“Not really. Never had a mom so it’s not like I’m yearning for a connection when there never was one to start with. One day my dad noticed her pregnant and like you said before, I have strong features. A woman parading around with no home, every drug under the sun, and a potential baby that looked like the CEO of a company one kingdom above is a recipe for ruin. Many board members thought it best for my father to deny anything and everything. Apparently a few of them along with some kind individuals thought it best to move my mother in with him. This way the baby, me, would at the very least be healthy.”

“What about your mother?”

“Ultimatum. Fall in line with this new society and learn to act like a high class citizen, or take a generous amount of money to keep quiet. I don’t look like her so spinning a story wouldn’t do her well, and high class society didn’t mean she could get high any hour of the day. Took the money and never looked back. Tabs were kept on her for a while but she eventually became white noise among the gutter trash of Mantle. A druggie with tons of cash is never good. Most likely ended up in a gutter from overdose or somebody who caught wind of her spending habits.”

“Eliza that’s...I’m sorry that happened.”

“Eh, I’m not losing sleep over it. Not like I got a bad deal either. Contrary to what people might say about my name, my father is a decent man and cares for me as well. He’s by no means perfect but who is? Aunt May told me once that if nothing else, my dad doesn’t make problems bigger than what they have to be. I didn’t ask to be born, so resenting me would be shallow. We get along and that’s all that matters family wise. Though...it’s not like he got a raw deal out of it.” Eliza conjured a small flame in her hand. “He took the high road and learned he got Remnant’s first magical daughter in ages. Talk about good karma.”

“Way to look at the positives.” Veronica said.

Eliza put out the flame. “It’s just the facts. Unfortunately rumors floated and not all people were happy with the decision, so little tidbits here and there got learned. As you can see with Darren’s mouth almost getting him into trouble. The only thing bigger than his mouth is his ego.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with his type.” Veronica said with annoyance. She was too familiar with it.

“Anywho, I should get back to practice. Thanks for chit chatting. And people say it’s bad to meet your heroes and stuff. I guess they’re meeting the wrong ones.”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I mean I’m pretty rad but you know...modesty and all that. I’m no Blake Belladonna or Yang Xiao Long. Just little ol’ me.” Veronica chuckled. “See ya around?”

“Sooner than you might think.” Eliza twirled her baton and went on her way.

Veronica watched the girl leave. No wonder Nick chose Eliza to be the one to keep an eye on her. She was tough as nails; with or without the uniform! A shame Darren outed her like that. Veronica felt a little dirty learning something Eliza didn’t want to tell her. Veronica was surprised that Eliza didn’t ask for her to return the favor. Then again, it would’ve been pointless. Veronica knew herself. She wouldn’t say a word regardless of fairness. She might have even lied. The girl let out a sigh, taking a moment to look down at herself before heading back to practice. Some things are just better left unsaid.

#rwby #rwby twin snowflakes #nicholas schnee #summer schnee #eliza marigold #veronica belladonna #darren diabhalta #max winchester

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geeks-universe · 3 years

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Veritas Vos Liberabit IV

The truth will set you free.

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Tag List: @the-british-koala @ilearnedthatfromethepizzaman @shadowalley @ao-spadez

A/N: Hehe, there’s gonna be a super awesome character arc just you wait

“You still haven’t explained,” John reminded you, pulling you from the staring match you were having with your phone.

You flicked your gaze towards him, stopping yourself from reading anymore texts. Lucifer was relentless, jumping from asking you to come home, to threatening sending Amenadiel after you.

“Hmm?” You hummed gracelessly, before realizing he was most definitely referring to your mojo. “Oh, just a little trick I learned from my dad.”

He didn’t really look like he was buying it, so you sent him an amused smirk. Deciding that presentation was better than explanation, you slowed him to a stop. Ever curious, Sherlock watched tentatively as you made eye contact with John.

“What is it you truly desire?” You inquired, that brief flicker of connection to your divinity sparking something inside. Your fingers tingled, air alight with a power you’d never had the opportunity to tap into.

“Uh,” John blinked a couple of times, “I…”

Sherlock was staring at his friend, brows furrowed as he saw the man at war within his own mind.

“I want to feel happy again.”

The smirk on your lips faded to a thoughtful smile. Humans were interesting creatures to you, but not in the same way they were to your father. He reveled in their sins, and believed in their corruption. You, however, were inspired by their flaws. Emotions were at the very core of their being, and it was a beautiful melody you would never tire of.

Sherlock looked to be torn between wonder and annoyance. John, however, shook his head, furrowing his brows in your direction.

“I couldn’t stop myself,” he explained slowly, trying to piece together exactly why that was in his mind. “No matter how hard I tried.”

You tilted your head to the side, just observing him. Confusion was evident, though he didn’t look upset by what he’d said, or embarrassed.

“Some sort of psychological trick,” Sherlock muttered to himself, pulling your attention to him.

John seemed ready to chalk it up to magic, while Sherlock was skeptical at best.

“Enough of that,” you exclaimed, “I was promised a tour! It’s already so different from Los Angeles.”

And just like that, John was back to the charming, kind host. Sherlock was inquisitive, but quiet. He kept a close watch on you, and offered brief explanations to some of your questions, but otherwise remained vigilant.

Every step you took was cataloged, along with each expression that crossed your face. Despite it, you didn’t let his quirky nature detract from the time you were having.

“Is it your dad,” John finally asked after one too many alerts from your phone. (Seriously, did Lucifer really not have anything better to do?) “That you’re ignoring, I mean.”

“Of course it is,” Sherlock interjected, looking for all the world like it was the most obvious assumption.

Instead of getting upset at his interruption, you found your lips turning up in a smile. He was rather fascinating, if not a little intrusive.

“I left without saying goodbye,” you admitted a little forlornly, nervously fiddling with your phone. There were moments when you felt that you absolutely made the best decision, but doubt wouldn’t leave you alone.

“Why?”

John didn’t sound judgemental, nor did he sound pushy. To you, he just sounded worried almost, like someone who knew the importance of close bonds and didn’t want you severing one without good purpose.

“I love him,” you were quick to defend your own actions. Of the two, John was the only one who seemed comforting. “But I need to be away from him. He was so worried about keeping me safe that he’d suffocated me.”

There was a hint of sympathy on John’s features. Even if he didn’t understand the full extent of your story, he did know a thing or two about family troubles. Perhaps having a confidant in him would help to soothe the growing loneliness in your family’s absence.

Silence reigned supreme over the three of you as you continued your walk. John was casting an occasional concerned glance to you. You were lost in the buildings and architecture that spread from the ground to the sky. And Sherlock, well, he was too busy connecting dots you’d thrown around with each word. Still, he couldn’t quite picture it all. There was something more to you than what he was able to uncover, though what it was he couldn’t be sure.

It wasn’t until a few minutes more that your feet stopped on their own accord. Your eyes, wide and full of sadness, scaled the stone steeple that stood proudly at a height far above the other buildings. There wasn’t much foot traffic moving in and out of the building, but a soft ringing called to you nonetheless.

You cleared your throat, dragging your teary gaze from the stained glass to your walking partners.

“I need a couple of minutes, do you mind if…”

John caught on immediately, quick to pull his friend out of the line of questioning he looked about ready to go into.

“I’ll grab us a bite to eat,” he assured you, practically dragging Sherlock away as you ascended the stairs into the church.

The air was buzzing with an energy you couldn’t recognize. The room was dark, and nearly empty. Something propelled you forward, bringing you to a stop at one of the pews in the back. You’d only ever been to a church once before. For obvious reasons, your father wasn’t the biggest fan.

Lucifer wasn’t the biggest fan.

But, then again, he wasn’t your real father.

You sucked a breath in, staring forward at the cross that stood proudly at the very center of the stage. Unlike the rest of your siblings, you had never actually met your father. As much as you tried to act like it didn’t bother you, deep down it did. Why had he handed you off to Lucifer? Why were you forced to spend your days in Hell when the rest of your family was acquainted with the Silver City.

You dropped your head into your hands, breaking your wandering gaze.

“Dad,” you breathed, your voice shaky.

“Why did you do this?” You asked into the silence, your voice nearly imperceptible to the people around you. “Why am I here? Why did you send me to Hell?”

There was no answer.

Not that you expected one.

Lucifer didn’t have any faith left in your father. He talked about abandonment, about the atrocities your father let happen. He spoke of an unfathomable cruelty and undeniable destiny.

You didn’t believe that.

No matter how bad things got, you couldn’t believe it.

There had to be some explanation, some rationalization of it all.

Whatever it was though, you would be the last to know. If your father didn’t even want you, he wouldn’t want to give you an explanation that he hadn’t even given his other children.

Tears were beginning to blur your vision, your phone burning in your back pocket. You should answer Lucifer. Your actual father may not be around, but you did have a dad, and at the very least he deserved an explanation.

“I just want to know who I am,” you quietly confessed to the empty room.

You took a moment to wipe away your tears and calm your breathing. Just as you moved to stand up, a person beside you cleared their throat politely.

He looked vaguely familiar, with his auburn hair and pressed suit. It wasn’t until you spotted the umbrella he twirled in his hand habitually that you realized who it was. John had told you all about Mycroft Holmes, and how you should expect him to pay you a visit just for breathing the same air as his younger brother.

“Oh, hello, didn’t see you there,” you admitted, smiling warmly at him.

The little you knew about the man in front of you caused a soft affection to bubble inside. You loved your family, and you could understand that desire to protect them. Even if he went about it in an odd way, you couldn’t blame the man for his vigilant nature.

“Miss Morningstar,” he greeted, the thin curve of his lips little more than an intimidation tactic, though he looked considerably charmed by your behavior, as did practically all humans. “I have a proposition for you, though I do apologize for disturbing you at a place of worship.”

You swallowed, briefly flicking your gaze to the cross.

“I’d say it hardly deserves worship,” you replied, inclining your head towards him. “Are you a man of faith?”

He raised a brow at your apparent disinterest in religion, despite your choice to retreat inside an old church. There was a certain amount of amusement in his brow, likely due to the question.

“Not particularly, no,” he answered cordially, but without much interest. “I consider myself a man of science.”

“Science,” you echoed, a fragment of a smile. “You believe science and faith can’t coexist?”

For one reason or another, he actually considered your argument. You knew it was likely a ploy to further his own business, but you found yourself innately curious about the man beside you. Most of what you knew of Sherlock came from John, and if there was a reason why he seemed to be immune to the divinity you exuded, you’d like to learn a little more.

“Faith is an explanation for what science can’t yet determine.”

His words were precise, and sure, as if there was nothing you could do to shake that determination. You paused thoughtfully, turning so that you might fully face him now. There was a glisten of veneration in his eyes, an unconscious acknowledgment to the river of divinity that flowed through your veins.

“Your proposition?”

You interruption was met with a continued cessation, followed by a diverted gaze.

“Information,” he claimed, leaning back to create an air of detachment. “Your recent neighbor, Sherlock.”

You waved off the rest of his proposal, not bothering to listen.

“No.”

His eyes narrowed a fraction, dangerous calculations swirling inside his mind as he scoured every detail on your person.

“So quick to align yourself without hearing how much I’ll offer you.”

You stood up, tilting your head curiously.

“If you want information on your brother, you could always just ask him, Mycroft.”

There was a momentary spark of confusion, or perhaps annoyance, in his stare, but you paid it no mind as you left without a further goodbye.

The sun was a blinding contrast to the dark building you were in before, but you found yourself comforted by its overwhelming presence. Your eyes shut on their own accord as you felt the heat seep into your soul. Before Lucifer returned to Earth, you had been in Hell with him. You hated it there. A part of you had always longed for the sun and the warmth it rained down upon mankind. In your youth, Lucifer took to calling you ‘sunshine’ and it had stuck with you through the years.

You knew, standing under the bright rays of the star, that you could never return to Hell again. Something in your veins longed for the sun, and the divine power that coursed through your system seemed to swell with its embrace.

Your thoughts were shattered as a body collided with yours, sending you stumbling a couple of steps by the sudden, unexpected intrusion. There was a moment, less than a fraction of a second, where your connection to the supernatural world was shifted.

“I am so sorry, I-”

Surprise stopped your words as you met the eyes of the man who ran into you. His gaze was unnatural, a color darker than night. They looked like the depths of Hell frozen over. A smile painted his face, one of cruelty and unspoken horror. His hands were icy where they held you in place, one on your shoulder and the other on your arm. You stood frozen to the spot, whispered tendrils beckoning you to the precipice of madness.

You nearly followed, to a destiny unknown and a journey fraught with danger. The presence was familiar, and much too comfortable. An evil lurked beneath his cool exterior, chilling the very air you breathed.

Still, you were entranced by the muted lunacy.

As you began to take the first step towards instability, you paused, a heat flaring up along your spine, to the base of where your wings stayed hidden. A claw gripped your throat, forcing fire down into your chest to wash away the sins of your thoughts.

As quick as the encounter began, it ended. You gasped for air, finding relief against John a minute later when he worriedly took a hold of your arm.

“Are you okay?” John asked, concern tinting his voice as he rubbed your back in the event you might have trouble catching your breath once more.

Sherlock was quick to look you up and down, tracing any details he might need.

“What happened?”

The black eyes flashed in your mind. This wasn’t an issue you could take to the two of them. Whatever happened was something more in your realm than theirs.

“Nothing,” you assured them, “Someone in a rush.”

Your smile was every bit as convincing as you could make it, hiding the image of blackened eyes and a searing pain along your collar.

Sherlock wished he could believe the lie you tried to sell, but curiosity got the best of him, and he would discover the truth without your help, as it seems.

#Sherlock Holmes x Reader #sherlock x reader #sherlock imagine #sherlock holmes imagine #vvl #the plot thiccensssss #also yes #the reader and mycroft are gonna be best bros #whether he wants it or not #because that man just needs a hug honestly

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xxlittle0birdxx · 3 years

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Every Story Has a Beginning

Read on AO3

'Erp!' The training droid's lightsaber slipped past Obi-wan's defenses and tapped the back of his calf. The jolt of energy temporarily seized his muscles in the grip of a painful cramp, and he fell to his knees. He waved a hand at the droid, shutting it down, then collapsed onto his back, panting for air, and lay gazing up at the dojo’s high ceiling, criss-crossed with several rafters. Karking stupid mistake, he moaned to himself. It was the sort of error a youngling would make. He’d allowed his concentration to slip for a tiny fraction of a second. He swiped his face with an already-sodden sleeve and sighed, acknowledging the source of his lapse of concentration.

Anakin.

Obi-wan sat up and rested his forearms on his bent knees, letting his hands dangle between them. What had the Council been thinking to let him take Anakin as an apprentice? True, he’d done his share of baby-tending in the crèche, but infants weren’t nine year old Padawans. And Obi-wan had little experience with being solely responsible for the well-being of a child.

And Anakin wasn't a mere child.

It had nothing to do with any of the Chosen One prophecies. Anakin's life experience made him far more jaded than his age would suggest. He was, what Rael would call, street-smart. The years of toiling for that Toydarian on Tatooine made him more proficient that most adult Jedi with machinery, and he was forever neglecting his studies to tinker with something. The few times he’d casually offered his perspective as a child slave in one of his classes resulted in shocked, horrified silence, so heavy with disapproval, that it took Obi-wan days to reassure Anakin that no, he had done nothing wrong, and the disapproval wasn’t aimed at him. The concept of play was an alien concept to Anakin. For all their supposed solemnity, Padawans played hard in their leisure time, with their chosen pursuits ranging from dejarik to the rather odd game from Chandrila that involved a stick and a ball, with a great deal of running, throwing, and catching. For a child who'd spent most of his days working, idleness of any sort was anathema. He struggled to find the stillness within him to meditate. He struggled in his classes. Not with the material. He soaked up everything like a sponge, analyzed it, and applied it to the next lesson before it even started. He chafed against the expected behavior of the more typical Padawans. 'He's fidgety!' one of the instructors had sniffed to Obi-wan, like it was a disease. His flight instructors, though… One of them had already quietly informed Obi-wan — with no small sense of awe — that Anakin had already passed the qualifications to fly starfighters and small shuttles, and was well on his way to the larger vessels. The flight simulators were one of the few places where Anakin felt truly comfortable. That, and the dojo.

Obi-wan shivered as the sweat on his body evaporated, but he didn't move.

He felt he was always chastising the boy. Eat your vegetables. Fold your tunics, don't just wad them up in the drawer. Have you finished your homework? You must calm your thoughts. For Ashla's sake, Anakin, where the hell are your socks? Slow down; no one's going to take your food away. Anakin, you must go back to your classroom.

Obi-wan was completely over his head, and he didn't dare ask for help. It would have just reinforced Yoda's doubts about Anakin’s suitability as a Padawan and Obi-wan’s as a master. Obi-wan had initially thought the Council would let Anakin ease into the Order with the rest of the younglings, but they’d plopped Anakin the Apprentice into his unprepared and gobsmacked lap. He heaved a pitiful sigh. 'Be mindful of the past and future, Obi-wan, but not at the expense of the present,' he reminded himself, imitating Qui-gon's burr.

'That wasn't half-bad.' Obi-wan's head swung up. Rael Averross leaned against the doorframe. He still looked as scruffy and rumpled as he did when Obi-wan first met him on Pijal nearly seven years ago. Perhaps his robes were slightly less shabby. 'Time honored tradition to mock your master's voice,' Rael laughed. He took in the glowing holocron, the training droid, and Obi-wan's disheveled form, then pointed to the holocron. 'Form III?'

'I… Yes.'

‘Suits you.’

‘I suppose.’ He picked up his fallen lightsaber. Three months ago, he would have argued that he could master Ataru. Even two months ago, he would have still said as much, and used its aggressive style to defeat the Sith on Naboo. And then he started replaying the final moments of the duel at odd moments, thinking of all the ways it could have gone so horribly wrong, had the Sith used a good defense. But now… He'd started to wonder if the best offense was indeed a tightly-woven defense.

Real merely grunted and walked into the dojo. ‘You know what time it is?’

Obi-wan waved a hand at the holocron to close it, then sent the droid back to its charging dock. 'I honestly don't know.'

‘After twenty-three hundred.’

Obi-wan’s stomach chose that moment to rumble loudly in the otherwise quiet room.

‘Sounds like you missed dinner, too,’ Rael observed.

‘I’ve got some ration bars stashed somewhere.’ Obi-wan pushed himself to his feet and ran his hand through his shaggy, sweat-soaked hair with a grimace. 'After I've had a shower.' Preferably a long one with water as scalding as he could stand it.

‘Might want to find your Padawan first. It's why I came looking for you.’

Obi-wan’s shoulders slumped. Not again...

‘He wasn’t at dinner with the rest of the Padawans,’ Rael continued. ‘Thought he might be eatin’ with you, but he never made it back before curfew.’

Obi-wan bit back a curse. It wasn't the first time Anakin had disappeared between his last class of the day and the Padawans' dinner. The first few times, Obi-wan had found him in one of the rooftop gardens or in a hidden corner of the Temple, his round cheeks wet with tears, feeling the press of resentment and antipathy from the other Padawans, their disdain for his lack of knowledge about the finer points of the Jedi or the Force. Or he'd crossed paths with Mace Windu, who seemed to have a special glower reserved just for Anakin. There were thousands of nooks and crannies where he could hide. And Anakin was very good at making himself small when he didn’t want to be found. He hooked his lightsaber to his belt and glanced at Rael. 'Does it get easier?'

'What? Havin' an apprentice?'

'Taking care of a child,' Obi-wan retorted, letting the weariness creep into his voice.

'Honestly?' Rael scratched his scraggly beard with both hands. 'No.' He sighed. 'Be a damn sight easier if they came with instruction manuals.' He squinted at Obi-wan. 'The Code doesn't help, either. No attachments, it says, like we don't get attached to them or them to us.'

Obi-wan closed his eyes, and massaged his temples. 'Brilliant,' he muttered. He let his hands fall to his sides, and breathed deeply, letting his consciousness fly through the Temple on the swift wings of the Force. Anakin wasn't in the gardens, or in one of the pools. He was endlessly fascinated by so much green, even limited as it was to the gardens, and with the sight of all that water contained in one place, just so the Jedi could swim. He wasn't in the kitchens sneaking food, nor was he in the flight simulators or the Padawans' dojo. Obi-wan didn't bother with the archive. Anakin disliked Jocasta Nu on sight. Where are you, Anakin? He despaired that the boy had left the Temple and was somewhere in Coruscant, boasting about his podracing or piloting skills in some flea-bitten hive of scum and villainy that didn't care that a nine year old boy's life was in danger. Something flickered in the corner of Obi-wan's mind, and he took a sharp turn toward it.

There.

Anakin was in his quarters. Just as Rael had suspected.

Obi-wan blinked. Then broke into a dead run. Something was terribly wrong.

The thick carpeting that lined the corridors muffled his footfalls as he pelted through them, panic making his heart pound in his chest. Why were his quarters so far from the dojo? He smacked the control panel of the door to his quarters with the Force and skidded to a stop just inside.

Anakin lay on one of the meditation platforms, bundled into the duvet that he'd apparently dragged from Obi-wan's bed. Despite the warmth of the duvet, and Anakin's tinkering with the climate controls to make the room as warm as possible, the boy shivered. Obi-wan laid a hand over Anakin's forehead. Kriff me… Anakin burned with fever. He scooped the sleeping child into his arms. Anakin mewled a weak protest, but wrapped his arms around Obi-wan's neck. Obi-wan balanced Anakin’s bottom on his crossed forearms. 'I'm going to take you to the infirmary,' he murmured. 'You'll feel better soon.'

Anakin's head lolled on his shoulder. 'You stink,' he rasped.

'My apologies.' Obi-wan rolled his eyes. If Anakin could comment on his current lack of personal hygiene, he must not be terribly ill. Then Anakin spoke again.

'Hurts,' Anakin complained.

Obi-wan peered at him. One thing Anakin never complained about so far was physical discomfort. 'What does?'

'Head. Throat. And I'm cold…' He burrowed into Obi-wan's chest, who grew more alarmed. He was most definitely not cold to the touch. Obi-wan could feel the heat radiating from him and walked faster.

The infirmary was just ahead. Obi-wan's strides lengthened, and he burst into the dimly lit space. The medical droid rolled up to them, and scanned Anakin before Obi-wan could so much as speak. The droid returned to a workstation, and retrieved a small bottle that it shoved into one of Obi-wan's hands. 'Give him these. Two pills every six hours until the fever breaks.'

'When will that be?'

The droid didn't shrug, but the pattern of blinking lights suggested one. 'As long as it takes. Could be as few as two or three days. Could be six.'

'What's the matter with him?'

'Nerf-pox.' The droid turned away. 'Nothing to do but ride it out.'

Obi-wan felt outraged on behalf of his apprentice. Surely there was more to be done then ride it out. 'Are you joking?'

'It's not in my programming to make japes about illnesses,' the droid retorted sharply. 'Pills every six hours to help with the fever. Put him to bed, and let him rest. Keep him hydrated.'

Obi-wan refrained from sticking his tongue out at the droid, even though he dearly wanted to, then left the infirmary. He stopped and let the relief course through him. Nerf-pox was a common childhood illness. He took a few steps toward the Padawans' dormitories, but stopped and pivoted toward the Knights' barracks, returning to his quarters at a much slower pace than he'd left them. The Padawans' sleeping cells were barely large enough for one person. He couldn't imagine trying to care for a sick child in one. His own quarters were quite modest, but he did have his own 'fresher and a minuscule kitchen area.

Rael waited on one of the meditation platforms. He stood when Obi-wan entered, and lifted a bundle of clothing. 'Nerf-pox?' At Obi-wan's nod, he sighed. 'Figures. Most of 'em have it when they're in the crèche, where he should be.' He motioned to Obi-wan to follow him, and went into the small bedroom and laid out a set of small pajamas. 'Musta had chores in the crèche this week. It's runnin' through the three year olds…'

Obi-wan set Anakin on the edge of the bed and began to peel off the layers of his clothing. The boy was barely conscious, limbs heavy and limp. 'How did you of all people end up in the crèche?'

Rael sighed and handed him the pajama top. 'Fanry. To make up for what I didn't do with her.' Obi-wan glanced up at him with an upraised eyebrow. 'See her as a person. I only ever saw what I wanted to see. I kriffed it up on Pijal.' He shrugged and passed the pajama bottoms to Obi-wan. 'So when I came back… I asked the Council if I could work with the crèche masters.'

Obi-wan tucked Anakin into the bed and stood. 'And now you're one of the resident advisors for the Padawans.'

Rael snorted, gathering Anakin's clothing and folding it. 'Not sure how well I advise, but I do look out for the Padawans whose masters have to leave 'em behind.' He cuffed Obi-wan on the back of the head with a muttered, 'See ya 'round.'

'Rael?' Obi-wan's head ducked. 'Thank you.'

''M not the best one to ask, but if ya need help with your Padawan… Y'know where to find me.' He left with a wave.

Obi-wan found the small bottle of pills and scanned the label. 'May be administered sublingually,' he read aloud. He glanced at Anakin, sprawled on his back. 'There's a relief. I won't have to try and wake you.' He shook two tiny pills into his palm, then poked them into Anakin's mouth, belatedly thinking he should have washed his hands first. Too late to bother now. He grabbed a clean set of clothes and headed for the 'fresher, trading his much-desired hot water shower for a sonic one. He intended to spend the night in the single armchair in the other room, but a scratchy whisper halted his steps.

'Don't go.'

He turned. Anakin was awake, his blue eyes glassy and bloodshot with fever, silently pleading for Obi-wan to stay. Obi-wan hesitated. The others would insist he must be firm with Anakin, teach him true Jedi detachment. But he couldn't say no. Just as he couldn't say no when he woke up in the middle of the night, and nearly tripped over Anakin, sleeping on the floor next to his bed. 'All right.' Obi-wan slid onto the bed, bracing his back against the wall. He lifted Anakin's head and pillowed it on his thigh, just above his knees. He wasn't going to sleep anyway. He could meditate in here just as well as the other room.

Anakin sighed and coughed, his breath rattling in his lungs. 'I miss my mom,' he murmured.

'I know.'

Anakin turned on his side and curled into a ball. 'Why is it bad to miss my mom?'

Obi-wan felt this was a serious philosophical question from Anakin, and not a querulous complaint. He was silent for several minutes, trying to think of an answer, and not just quote dogma at him. 'I'm not certain I'm the best person to ask,' he finally said. Anakin's only reply was a soft snore, for which Obi-wan was grateful. He was still grieving Qui-gon's death. It had left a gaping hole in Obi-wan's life. Rael was right. For all the Code's admonishments against attachments, masters and apprentices did form emotional attachments to one another. How could he not, when he'd spent the past twelve years following in the formidable footsteps of Qui-gon Jinn? Two months on, and the memory of Force leaving Qui-gon's body still made his hands twitch. He leaned his head against the wall and slowly exhaled. Satine Kryze likewise occupied a corner of his heart and soul, even more than seven years after he'd left her on Mandalore. Leaving had been the correct decision — and a mutual one — but he often wondered if they'd been in the right to close the door their friendship as well. He could do with her counsel right now. He called his datapad to his hand and entered the codes for his personal data archive, then pressed his thumb to the indicted location to read his thumbprint. Then an iris scan. One can never be too careful, he mused, tapping on the message from Satine for what was probably the hundredth time. She hadn't sent it directly to him, but to the Council. Master Plo Koon then passed it along to him.

Please offer my deepest condolences to Obi-wan. Nu kyr'adyc, shin taab'echaaj'la.

'Not gone, merely marching far away,' Obi-wan muttered. For a Mandalorian saying, it hewed rather close to the Jedi way of viewing death. He glanced down at Anakin to assure himself he was still asleep, then switched to the HoloNet, and searched for a tidbit about Satine. It was never a regular habit of his. Just when he needed to feel good about something he'd done. Truth be told, he seemed to look her up nearly every night lately. He felt like he was failing Anakin, and by extension, Qui-gon. Seeing Satine flourish made him feel as though he had done one thing right with his life so far. A holovid appeared of her touring a new hospital on Kalevala. Mandalore seemed to be thriving under her leadership.

Time unspooled around him, while the miniature image of Satine moved through the sun-drenched room, over and over.

Anakin stirred and squinted at the blue-tinged hologram over his head. 'Who's that?' His breath whistled through his clogged sinuses.

'Duchess Satine Kryze of Mandalore,' Obi-wan told him. 'An old friend.'

Anakin watched her for a few moments, the blue light from the holo making his pale face even more pallid. 'She's pretty.'

‘She is,’ Obi-wan agreed, although he felt he was terribly biased. He switched off the datapad.

Anakin yawned and blinked a few times, eyelids growing heavy. 'Not as pretty as Padmé,' he sighed before falling asleep once more.

The corner of Obi-wan's mouth tipped up with a rueful grin. Anakin was rather taken with the young queen of Naboo. The Naboo penchant for pomp, and the queen's correspondingly elaborate wardrobe did little to dispel the notion that they were in some sort of fairy tale. Obi-wan had little doubt that Anakin dreamed of defending Padmé Amidala against Star Dragons, the bold and fearless Jedi Knight wielding his trusty lightsaber.

Hours passed before Anakin stirred again in the peculiar light before dawn that leeched the color from the room. 'They think we're gonna fail,' Anakin remarked, pushing the duvet away. 'Hot,' he mumbled.

With a few gestures, Obi-wan brought a cool, damp cloth to his waiting hand, and draped it over Anakin's forehead. 'Oh?'

'Mmm-hmmmm.' Anakin gazed up at him. ''M too old to be a youngling an' too young to be a Padawan. An' you're too young an'…' His brows drew together as he groped for the word. 'Inexperienced.'

Obi-wan wiped Anakin's cheeks with the cloth. 'Who told you that?'

'No one. But they all think it. All the other Padawans… Master Windu…'

Obi-wan smiled grimly. Why am I not surprised? He ran his hand over Anakin's hair. 'Well, I suppose we'll have to succeed beyond everyone's wildest dreams.' Anakin started to shiver again, and Obi-wan tucked the duvet around his skinny shoulders, struck anew by how small and frail he felt. You will be a Jedi, even if it kills me, he thought.

#obi-wan kenobi #anakin skywalker #obi-wan & anakin #padawan anakin #master obi-wan #post-star wars: the phantom menace #a few months after phantom menace #early padawan anakin #obi-wan trying to parent anakin #mentioned qui-gon jinn #mentioned satine kryze #implied obi-wan/satine kryze #rael averross #trying not to fail #obi-wan doesn't feel ready to be a master

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purplezebraproductions · 3 years

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The Alters: Chapter 2

The Alters is an original romance story I’ve been writing for the past few months. Please enjoy Chapter 2!

Sparks Fly

CW: Lots of swearing, and discussions of war.

It had been a few days since Dinn and Creed resolved to spend their time in this small part of the Infinity. As desperate as The Being had been for their work to be done quickly, it seemed it was taking much longer than they’d hoped. They’d spent most of the first day just waiting by the portal to see if anyone would show up. It was as if they couldn’t move, or breathe, and barely think. They were just anchored to their spots. And yet, nothing happened. The two ended up crashing on the couch for the first night, but after waking up with stiff necks and sore muscles, it was obvious they needed to start creating a home for themselves.

The Infinity was akin to being trapped in a windowless doorless room. Despite its size the place was barren of any life. No sounds emanated from the void. Creed, having become accustomed to the sound of the birds waking him up in the morning, and Dinn, already used to the constant sirens that plagued the city streets at all times of the day, were deeply unsettled by this discovery. Walking through the white nothingness was almost mesmerizing. They’d become so entranced with the way in front of them that when they’d catch a glimpse of the other in their peripheral vision it would only make them jump.

Dinn had decided to start setting up structures he knew they needed all at once. Not only beds, or toilets, or fridges, but creating bedrooms, restrooms, and a kitchen. Creed worked a bit more slowly. He created singular objects as they came to him. Being guided by Dinn’s walls and partitions that separated the rooms he would tuck in objects wherever there was space. From important objects such as stoves, and showers, to small amenities like potted plants, and books.

Creed seemed insistent on getting rid of the complete lack of smell that surrounded them. Yet, the plants, the candles, even the trash they would accrue would never have an odor. Dinn couldn’t understand where this obsession came from, but Creed seemed adamant in adding what seemed almost impossible.

Despite this, after a few days the two men found themselves occupying a somewhat livable though barren space. They had both important furniture that allowed them to feel somewhat normal, as well as some decorations that gave them comfort. And though they felt anything but normal, they were content to know they could just relax for a while until someone else showed up.

However, in spite of all of their progress Dinn was becoming rather irritated with Creed. Creed had not spoken a single word to him since that first day, and he would barely look at him. Dinn knew that his presence wasn’t something Creed was expecting, nor was it something he expected Creed to immediately enjoy; but now that they’re stuck in a world with no life and no sound, the silence from the only other living creature was not only deafening, it was maddening. How could Dinn possibly make up for past grievances if Creed wasn’t even willing to talk to him? Was he just supposed to talk to a wall and expect it to understand?

This wasn’t how he expected his time in the Infinity to start, and it was exceedingly frustrating.

Dinn caught sight of Creed once again heading out into the exposed area of the Infinity. The area they had claimed as their temporary home was only a fraction of what this piece of the Infinity had to offer. Just outside one of the back doors laid the huge expanse of white that enveloped the area. Creed was currently standing just outside their home, seemingly enjoying the view of the few blank trees that he’d set up there. He’d really rather look at bland white forms of trees than Dinn? He’d rather spend time with barren objects than Dinn?

Dinn’s frustration was slowly becoming anger, and without a steadying thought, he too stepped out into the expanse and walked right up behind Creed.

“Enjoying the view?”

Creed jumped in his spot turning around quickly to meet Dinn’s gaze. He clearly wasn’t expecting Dinn to leave the makeshift home, let alone break the tense silence that enveloped the Infinity. With a steadying breath Creed’s look of shock settled back to a neutral look and he turned back away to his beloved trees.

“Really?”

Dinn gaped, taking a few large steps around Creed to stand in front of him. Did he really just turn his back on him without uttering a single word?

“That’s all you’ve got to say? Nothing?”

Dinn challenged. Creed’s face was a mix of shock and confusion, as if it wasn’t obvious that he’d been avoiding Dinn for the past few days despite everything that happened. Or rather, had he not expected him to say anything about it? Dinn had been quiet and reserved when he was in Creed’s home because the place was unfamiliar to him, but this wasn’t Creed or Dinn’s home. This was a place neither of them knew and so they were once again on the same playing field.

Creed gaped for a moment, but once again shut his mouth and retained his neutral look. This only angered Dinn further.

“Are we going to talk or not?!”

He shouted, his voice echoing in the barren wasteland.

“Oh, so now you want to talk?”

It had been the first words Creed had spoken in a while, and they were laced with venom beyond his years.

“What changed?”

Despite his chiding remarks Creed’s face still held the same neutral look. Dinn didn’t like this. He didn’t like how Creed was able to remain so calm, it made him feel like the crazy one. The ex who couldn’t handle the thought of the other moving on. But that wasn’t him, that wasn’t them.

“Quit acting like a child Creed! If we ever wanted to fix anything we have to talk to each other! Both of us, not just one!”

Dinn spat back. Creed chuckled, his face utterly bemused.

“Excuse me? I’m a child? And what exactly do you mean by we?”

Dinn couldn’t stand the laughing. What was so funny about their situation?

“How is the silent treatment not childish?!”

He shouted.

“And yes WE! I don’t see anyone else trying to fix a relationship in this Hell hole!”

At that remark Creed’s chuckles became full on laughter. He was now almost doubled over holding his sides as he roared with laughter.

“Who said I wanted to fix this relationship?”

This made Dinn pause.

“What are you saying?”

“Dinn, you’re the one who showed up at my doorstep. You’re the one who came back into my life asking to talk, and ever since then you’re the one who’s said nothing. I was content living my life alone for the longest time. I didn’t go searching for you. I didn’t ask about you. I didn’t even want to know about you. What makes you think me allowing you into my home to explain yourself was me wanting to fix a relationship that ended five years ago?! If anything, Dinn, you’re the one giving me the silent treatment.”

Creed said all this while still lightly chuckling to himself.

Dinn will admit, he had taken Creed letting him into his home as a sign that he too wanted to repair their damaged relationship. That maybe he too had been feeling that old familiar pull towards each other, but just didn’t have the courage to seek Dinn out. He’d assumed that Creed was just as willing to talk things out and let bygones be bygones.

And yet, here he stood, laughing at Dinn, mocking him with the idea that reconciliation was on the table for both of them. Was Creed expecting Dinn to grovel and beg for forgiveness? For what? Being a human that makes mistakes? He couldn’t possibly understand what Dinn’s life had been for the past five years! How dare he assume otherwise!

Dinn could feel a sudden buzzing in his ears, rising to his scalp.

“So what, letting me into your home was all in an effort to placate me?!”

Creed straightened a bit, his laughter falling away, and his tone becoming a bit more serious. He was careful to notice the way Dinn bristled with his words.

“No Dinn, I have no reason to placate you. I have no reason to string you along. You came to me, telling me that you wanted to talk about what happened all those years ago, and yet I’ve been met with nothing but silence. In a way, it almost feels like you’re the one keeping me around.”

Now it was Dinn’s turn to laugh. With a loud chuckle he threw his hands into the air completely frustrated at what he’s hearing. That odd feeling now growing.

“So, what you’re saying is, you felt like you had no part in what happened all those years ago?”

Creed’s serious look morphed from shock to an irritated confusion.

“Excuse me?”

“You only expected me to talk? So what, you consider yourself some innocent victim who played no part in the destruction of our relationship?”

Dinn was getting heated. He could feel his body slowly pulsing with energy.

“Well, for a lack of a better word, fuck yes! I’m sorry, but I’m not the one who walked out on the other for no fucking reason!”

Creed spat, now he was angry too, just as Dinn wanted. Two fools fighting in a world where no one could see or hear them. And arguing is where Dinn’s anger thrived.

“Oh, so now you’re going to use the abandonment excuse again?!”

Creed looked utterly bewildered at Dinn’s words.

“Excuse?! It’s what you did! You abandoned me! You did so several times, and for some fucking reason I was always dumb enough to let you back in!”

“I can’t believe this.”

Dinn said suddenly exasperated, the beginnings of small sparks forming on his fingertips.

“Did you think I was talking about you when I mentioned those ‘innocent lives’ we would be protecting by staying in this shithole?”

Dinn was almost chuckling to himself now. The thought that someone who participated in a war to end all wars was somehow just another innocent was laughable to him. The sheer audacity! If Creed believed this, he certainly must be delusional. Creed shook his head.

“Of course I don’t, but we’re not talking about the war or this place. We’re talking about the bullshit that went down between us.”

Creed said reverting back to a frustrated calm. The way he could turn off his anger so easily irritated Dinn to no end. How could he have such a command over his emotions at a time like this?

“Well then, if we’re going to talk about abandonment then maybe we can talk about how you abandoned the other surviving soldiers! How come they haven’t heard from you in years!”

Dinn shot back. Truthfully, he hadn’t talked to the other survivors very much in the past few years, but he somehow had a small inkling that neither had Creed. Creed stiffened.

“I did as much as I could for my fellow soldiers. During and after the war! I’m sorry that I couldn’t be like the others! That I couldn’t be some morale booster during the tough times or some excitable child during the good times!”

And there was the anger bubbling up again. At the mention of the other survivors Creed’s attitude became dark. There was something else behind that angry shaking voice, but Dinn couldn’t pinpoint it, and at the moment he didn’t care. As the sparks danced upon his skin, Dinn responded.

“Oh, so you were just another piece of furniture who couldn’t get your head out of your own bullshit to corral other survivors?! Well then, maybe you were the one who deserved to die!”

The silence that fell was a weight almost too heavy to handle. It was almost like Dinn’s words were still echoing into the void, repeating again and again infinitely. Creed’s face had broke, but Dinn couldn’t tell his expression. His mouth gaped like a fish and his eyes darted back and forth, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, after a while he turned deftly on his heel and walked back into their makeshift home.

Dinn was left standing in the open, still on the brink of letting the force of his magic crumble the world around him. He swung his arms back and forth as if he was trying to hit something. The sparks that danced upon his skin ignited, sending small shockwaves out into the ether.

He was lost, could only see what was just in front of him. Because of that he didn’t see where they had gone wrong, where Dinn’s many failures created this hatred, this dismissal of him from Creed’s life. Likewise, he didn’t understand what was going through Creed’s mind. They’d been apart for a lot longer than he originally thought, and he couldn’t fathom why he was here now.

But as Dinn sat down to ponder his life choices, he began to hear his words echoed back to him. Words that he realized were said from malice and shame. Words that were directly targeted to break an individual, not to hash out any issues. And as he sat there, his internal temperature cooling and allowing him to realize the severity of his actions, he began to panic.

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His heels echoed through the quiet halls of white. Cautiously he made his way through the winding tunnels, not sure where he’d end up. Every wall was the same, every step sounded just like the last. He’d never seen a place so barren of personality or love. How could this possibly be the place he was directed to by some higher power? He couldn’t believe it.

Just as he was about to turn back, he heard it. A faint whimpering somewhere in the distance. Somewhere through these white walls there was someone else and they sounded distressed. Gradually he picked up the pace, listening closely to the soft cries he heard and creeping around each corner. He swore he was getting closer as the cries grew steadily. At one point he felt like he was walking in circles. The cries neither faded nor intensified despite his constant movement.

He started to realize that he was indeed circling a room, he just didn’t know where the door was. Gingerly he ran his hands over the plain white walls all around him. It felt like an eternity before he felt a wall give to his gentle prodding.

Easing the wall open he found a small room, just as plain as the last dozen, but not exactly empty. The walls were decorated with picture frames with no pictures and lined with blank plants that grew tall. Small tables were scattered carelessly about with candles, vases, lamps, and plants placed carefully on each one. And in the center of the room was a couch where the crying individual currently sat. Holding his pale hands over his red face and still crying softly into his palms. He was turned away from the door and his long multicolored hair covered him up like a curtain of shame.

He stepped into the room cautiously, eyeing this poor pitiful figure.

“I don’t understand.”

He paused at the voice that came from the figure. It was so quiet, lost in its own sorrow.

“Why did you come back? Why didn’t you just stay the fuck away from me like you always did?”

He could tell the figure was angry, but it was a deep wet anger that was overshadowed by an unrelenting sadness. A sorrow that must’ve come from years of neglect that he was never able to face. Surely.

He stepped a bit closer and that’s when he finally noticed.

The man sitting before him sobbing quietly into his hands, all but losing control of his emotions, was Creed. Those small antlers, or horns, he never was really sure, were indistinguishable from the ones he once knew. Those markings etched across his face. There was no doubt that this was Creed, but what made it so off-putting was that he reminded him so much of his Creed. His Creed who he spent so long next to, devoted to. The person he loved to no end. Was he really sitting in front of him right now? How could it be?

“Did you comeback to redirect your anger at me? Do I deserve that?! Am I just a being for your vitriol?!”

Those words, the way he just spat them out with such anger. Who had hurt him to the point of such an unyielding misery? Who dared hurt his Creed?!

“Answer me dammit--!”

Creed’s head finally whipped around with such a force that swung most of his hair to his far shoulder. His face was stained with tears, his eye puffy and red, but his look was angry. But at finally turning to the person who stood before him, his look morphed to a sudden shock that racked his whole body. The candles that adorned them all sprung to life with purple flame. Creed stumbled to his feet backing away from the tall figure, knocking over one of the lamps on the side table just to his right. It crashed to the floor with such a loud sound, but it succeeded in holding no one’s attention. Instead, the two men stared back at each other.

“Who are you?”

Creed said, his gaze a mixture of fear and surprise. The other man could only stare back with a somber expression. All he saw was a man who had spent the last few moments crying over some bastard who sought to hurt him. He couldn’t stand to see his Creed unhappy, and this was almost too much for his heart to handle.

He resolved that he would be the one to make Creed happy again.

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Dinn still sat in the open expanse of the Infinity, steadily picking at blank white blades of grass as they grew to his will. It hadn’t sunk in what had just happened, what he’d just done. Probably because when his anger takes over, it’s almost like he blacks out. He struggles to remember what he said let alone that he ever said anything at all. This was a huge problem for him back when he was a soldier. He’d only been a somewhat higher rank than some of the other soldiers, so he always had to be careful about how angry he got around his superiors. Let alone his underlings that weren’t willing to put up with his bullshit on a personal level.

Perhaps now it would be just a tad bit easier to remember what he’d said, considering the only other person in this dimension at the moment was Creed. He knew the grievances he had with his ex, so he could hazard a guess what the conversation was about. That awful silent treatment.

However, now that he sat there, alone with his thoughts, he started to realize something. Creed hadn’t been speaking to him at all for the past few days, but Dinn hadn’t been talking to him either. When faced with what he believed was a complete dismissal he chose to fester in his anger for days. The moment he finally chose to break that silence, he came in like a raging storm. His words had to be harsh. He could hear himself yelling, screaming even, but he just couldn’t make out the words.

He needed to remember those words. Or at least a few.

There was something that he said that set Creed off. Something he said that was the final straw that made Creed turn away from him in that last moment. But what was it?

Creed wasn’t one to let his emotions control him, he was a calm individual.

Level-headed as far as he could remember. So, what had he done that broke that barrier?

Straining himself to remember even a modicum of the conversation, he recalled a few small snippets.

You’re a child!

Or something along those lines. How ironic, considering Dinn was the one who sulked around his ex’s house trying to gain his pity. Is that really how low he’d sunk? It had taken him so long to conclude that he wanted to see Creed again; that he wanted to know Creed again. And yet, the moment he got there he just froze up. Didn’t Creed deserve something, at the very least?

You’re not innocent!

What the fuck was this about? Innocent? Which soldier on either side could honestly say they are innocent and not immediately be struck down by some holy judgement for lying straight through their teeth? Innocent of what exactly? Dinn wasn’t an innocent man, and neither was Creed! At least, when it came to the war.

What else is there? What else could he possibly be innocent of? Dinn couldn’t conjure any answers for that argument. As far as he was aware that part of the conversation was unimportant.

You deserve to die!

Well, yes that is an awful thing to say, but it wasn’t something that would break Creed. Creed had asked the question himself, what if they do deserve to die? Not just him and Dinn, but everyone in the broken altered worlds. Why lose sleep over things that were not meant to exist?

But, as much as Dinn racked his brain, he couldn’t recall any other words he said. So those must’ve been the last words he said to Creed before he turned away once again. Before he left Dinn to his own devices in the open expanse of the Infinity. That wasn’t nearly enough of a blow, and Creed certainly wasn’t that sensitive! Was he?

No, he must be remembering wrong.

You deserve to die!

What was that he said? How badly did he hurt Creed?

You deserve to die!

The listless Creed who had honestly considered death the moment he was told to save the world would not hate Dinn for suggesting the same. He was sure of it!

You were the one who deserved to die!

Dinn nearly doubled over, his mouth filling with bile as he finally recognized the words he said as they rushed back to him. A sudden storm cloud forming all around him had shocked his senses back to life. He couldn’t, he couldn’t possibly have said that to Creed. His Creed! How dare he use that memory!

The memory of Donyun.

#The Alters: Original story #original story #writing #writer #writers on tumblr #writblr #original characters #chapter 2

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dvrthncx · 3 years

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Facing the Past

(**spoilers** for end of Jedi Knight storyline)

The air in the Emperor’s throne room felt thick--heavier than foggy mornings on Dromund Kaas, and stickier. It seemed to Nevar’ija that she was breathing in the Dark Side, inhaling its poisons into her lungs and unwillingly fuelling herself with those sickly sweet odours given off by the blue-flamed pyres. It smelled like her youth: achingly familiar and ruinously hateful.

“The circle closes. The end beings,” the Emperor said when the Jedi reached the bottom of the stairs leading up to his throne, his voice echoing sinisterly across the expansive chamber. It gave the impression that he was omnipresent, that he might even reside within Nevar’ija’s very soul. She pushed back against that disturbing thought vehemently. The Emperor did not--would not--possess her. Not again.

He stood up; his body was slight, thin--would have looked frail if he were anyone else, but the sheer power and greedy hatred emanating from that thin frame dissipated any sense of weakness; one could simply not be such a force of power and be considered frail. He slowly stalked to the edge of the dias, as though he were time itself and knew he could use as much of it as he wanted. Looking down at Nevar’ija he said, “You dissipated your energy saving the weak. There are consequences.” Nevar’ija drew her lightsaber out in an instant, ready to fend off an attack, her eyes never leaving the Emperor’s glowing red body--it seemed almost ghost-like, evanescant as a result of the black smoke twining itself almost lovingly around that small figure; but she knew better. She knew that was neither death nor temporality, but the proof of the Emperor’s eternity, his constancy.

The Emperor reached out with his greedy fingers and Nevar’ija angled her lightsaber towards him, but rather than shooting lightnight at her, he raised spikes of purple lightning from the stone floor in a semi-circle around Nevar’ija and T7.

Out of the dark purple smoke and crackling lightning many Emperors glowing red and encased in tendrils of black smoke emerged. Nevar’ija felt them through the Force before she saw them--better than she saw them. They were more substantial in the Force, more real than what her eyes saw. They were the Force. But she was also sure thay they could hurt her. She spun on her heel and brought her lightsaber down on the closest Force-entity. It vanished with a burst of bright purple smoke upon contact. The others had moved in to surround her, blinding her with flashes of purple light and filling the air with silky, serpentine tendrils of dark Force energy. She couldn’t see. She struck out with her saber, feeling her way through the writhing, swaying Force as though wading through deep, murky water--lost, afraid, desperate.

Less through skill than through sheer panic, Nevar’ija managed to eliminate all five of the Force-entities. They and their black and purple fog disappeared and revealed the Emperor, who had descended the steps and stoped in front of Nevar’ija. She turned on him, lightsaber out, a furious growl in her throat. She could not forget that the last time she had been subjected to this concentration of Dark Side energy, her mind had been taken from her and she forced to commit terrible acts--acts from which she had fled when she left the Empire and sought out the mercy of the Jedi. It would not happen again--she could not allow it.

Perhaps she was imagining things, but she thought she almost saw the Emperor smirk in that instant--just for the briefest of moments. Burning rage and shame pooled in her heart, boiling, uncontrollable.

The Emperor, still standing weaponless and staring down Nevar’ija’s lightsaber at her scowl, merely said, “My life spans millenia. Legions have risen to test me.” For a being of pure hatred, the calm and collected confidence he maintainted was unsettling, aggrivating to Nevar’ija--all the moreso as she struggled to contain her own rage.

He was goading Nevar’ija, and she knew it. But the hatred she felt within her for the Emperor, for his Empire, for everything they stood for in the galaxy and to her personally steadily gained control of her. She wanted him dead. She needed him dead. “You’re a threat to every living being in the galaxy. If you won’t surrender, I will destroy you,” she all but growled, pushing her lightsaber closer to his face.

“You discern a fraction of reality,” said the Emperor condescendingly. “Beyond these stars exist other galaxies, other worlds, other beings. I will experience or ignore them as I wish. I will spend eternity becoming everything: a farmer, an artist, a simple man. When the last thing in the universe finally dies, I will enjoy peace and wait for the cycle to begin again.”

“You will never possess that kind of power.” Nevar’ija could hear the shaking desperation in her own voice, how violently it clashed with the self assured, blasé tone of the Emperor’s assertions. Her every emotion swelled with each moment she faced the Emperor, inhaling his poisonous black soul. She could feel them starting to spiral out of control. Oh, but she hated him. And all she could think was that if she could just kill him, her negative emotions--her hatred, her pain, her sorrow, her self-doubt, her confusion, the sense that she was lost--would all die too. In saving the galaxy she would save herself and vice versa. All she had to do was squeeze the life out of the Emperor with her bare hands.

Her legs trembled beneath her. Fear.

But who was she afraid of? The Emperor? Myself?

She wasn’t so sure that the two were very different in that moment.

As if the Emperor could hear her thoughts, he said: “There is no death, there is only the Force and I am its master. My ascendence is inevitable. A day, a year, a millenium--it matters not. I hold the patience of stone and the will of stars. Your striving is insignificant. Let your death be the same.”

He suddenly drew his lightsaber and lunged at Nevar’ija. She blocked his attack and threw herself into action with a fierce and explosive energy the likes of which she had never experienced before. All the emotions, the tension, the fear which had been building up from the moment she stepped foot in the throne room released suddenly and from them sprung a savage sort of force that took control of the jedi and seemed to move for her rather than with her. She could feel that she was not in control, but she felt liberated, relieved, powerful.

The Emperor chuckled when she landed her first blow on his arm after a relentless offensive. “You’ve grown reckless since we last met,” he drawled antagonistically.

Nevar’ija snarled like a wild beast and lunged again. “I’ve only grown stronger!”

“No... but your emotions have,” the Emperor said, almost pensively, as he dodged Nevar’ija’s attack and Force-pushed her back across the room. “You must use your fear and your anger to your advantage. Release them!”

His insinuation infuriated Nevar’ija. With a burst like a hot flame she launched herself at him, almost blinded by red tears of rage. She felt certain her blow would land, that she would have the satisfying sensation of impact: lightsaber cutting through skin, sawing the hateful creature in half. With a violent, shattering crash her lightsaber clashed with the emperor’s. The impact was so hard that Nevar’ija’s arms went numb. Shouting in frustration, Nevar’ija withdrew her lightsaber and let loose another flurry of attacks, propelled by dark Force energy that pounded through her blood with every beat of her adrenaline-soaked heart. It was intoxicating, the power that pure hatred had ignited within her. Far from trying to gain control, she drank it willingly and abundantly, let it drive her to savage and aggressive attacks in her desperate campaign to pierce the emperor’s flesh with her blade, to feel muscle tissue and bone yield to her thrust. Almost screaming in rage, Nevar’ija Force-jumped, shooting downward with her saber out to strike to killing blow--

It was as though she landed on a stone wall. A burst of the Force stopped her mid-leap and threw her back across the room. Nevar’ija slammed into the far wall and landed with a painful thud. Her entire left side would be bruised for weeks. For just a few seconds she lay there, stunned, overwhelmed by shock and stinging pain. The fall had jarred her, snuffed out the flame of writhing, bestial power that had burned in her chest. She opened her eyes slowly and her gaze fell on T7 who had rolled up to her and beeped worriedly. The Jedi was suddenly reminded of the quiet mountain forests of Tython, the place where she had first met T7, with its tumbling waterfalls and bubbling creeks. She remembered the sound of Master Orgus’ voice, and the fresh sense of peace and safety that had come with the perfume of the whispering pines on the breeze. There is no emotion, there is peace. She shivered slightly as a calm, cool energy caressed her aching body and soothed her weeping heart.

“You can do better than that,” the Emperor’s voice wormed its way into Nevar’ija’s hazy recollections, drawing her back into the dark and foreboding chamber of reality on Dromund Kaas. “You Sith purebloods have a natural propensity for dark passion; don’t try so hard, just let nature do it’s work.”

Nevar’ija pushed herself up slowly, resting a reassuring hand on T7′s head. “There is no passion,” she said, drawing her fallen lightsaber to her with the Force and reigniting it. “There is serenity.”

The emperor scowled. “Foolish child! You think you can deny your nature forever and hide behind your precious Jedi teachings? I will show you the true meaning of power,” he spat. In a burst of purple lightning and smoke, he appeared to multiply. At least ten emperors, all glowing red and crackling with purple sparks, leered at Nevar’ija through the haze. Taking a deep, steadying breath the jedi raised her lightsaber. “There is not emotion, there is peace,” she chanted, as though reminding herself one final time, and in the split second before the force-entities lunged at her she thought she could feel Master Orgus’ approval radiating through the Force. Nevar’ija clung to that sensation as though to a life-line, and this time when she entered the boggy swamp of Dark Side energy she did not panic; did not lose her way; did not relinquish control. She fought with the Force, not through it: methodic, controlled, infallible. Until all the force-entities had disappeared, and her saber struck flesh and bone, sliced through the emperor’s lower abdomen, brought him to his knees.

The jedi stood over the emperor, silent, weapon drawn. The end was near, at long last.

The emperor, clutching his side, looked up at Nevar’ija with a frown. He no longer glowed red, swathed in the twisting cape of Dark energy; instead he wore his corruption naked upon his body: skin so pale it was almost purple, wrinkled and loose from an eternity of life-devouring evil, and eyes sunk deep in their sockets, glowing blood-orange out of the obscurity. “You harness immense power--but you lack the purity of will to direct it,” he wheezed in a voice that, though it did not carry into the depths of Nevar’ija’s soul, remained saturated with power nonetheless.

Nevar’ija said nothing. She felt a ripple in the force just seconds before the emperor raised his hands and she lifted her lightsaber to block the stream of white-hot Force lightning that the emperor shot at her.

Even as the emperor rallied himself through the Force and stood up, the jedi firmly held her ground, lightsaber absorbing the devastating energy.

The emperor pushed forward, and Nevar’ija pushed back until they were running at one another, drawing on the Force. The clash was inevitable, and only one would rise from its devastating blow this time. Nevar’ija could feel her saber vibrating from the lightning’s energy, could feel the tension in the chamber as the Dark and the Light pushed on each other from opposing sides, meeting in the middle in a violently bright explosion. She could feel the raw power of the Dark Side, of the emperor: it was indescribably strong, but it was wild, uncontrollable. Even the emperor could lose his grip--was losing his grip. With a shock, Nevar’ija realised that her control and trust in the Light was a threatening match for the emperor’s dark power--and he knew it too. It was beginning to destabilize him, making him desperate.

They were close now, just seconds apart. The emperor was going to kill her; she knew it. She could feel his intentions. She would only have the slightest of opportunities to stop him, the briefest moment to break the connection and his path of destruction. Rallying her strength in the Force, the jedi breathed deeply until the Force flowed within her, became One with her. Time seemed to slow down. When the emperor was mere centimeters away from the blade of her lightsaber Nevar’ija knew instinctually that the moment had come. Guided by the gentle, sure hand of the Force she broke her defensive position and with it the stream of lightning connecting herself to the emperor. In one smooth movement, she swung her saber over her head and, with a controlled twist, landed a carefully planned blow and cut clean through the emperor’s thighs.

He fell with a moan, landing face-down on the cold stone floor of his throne room. Assured that the mutilated creature on the floor was no longer a threat, Nevar’ija lowered her lightsaber and slowly approached, standing over the living corpse with a scowl of disgust.

The emperor struggled to raise his head and her chest with weakened arms. “I will not be contained, I cannot be redeemed,” he said, his voice low, threatening, even in his obviously pitiful state. “Death is all that remains, and you will not kill me.”

A thrill of defiance shot through Nevar’ija at the words: the emperor thought he knew her so well, thought he could read her soul and intentions so easily? She would prove him wrong, just as she always had. She stalked forward, towering over the meager, pathetic creature on the ground. You think I won’t kill you? Just watch me, she thought. He was the spitting image of everything that she hated--the perfect representation of a time, a life, she had come to look upon with the severest resentment. Gazing down at him, hate rose in her once more, smouldering in the pit of her stomach. In him she saw her childhood, the world she had come from, the culture that had made her. She saw the death, the rage, the mistrust; she felt the blood, the betrayal, the fear. Her bitter hatred urged her, begged her to end him, to slaughter the creator of everything she resented so ardently--and in so doing, to slaughter also that part of her she hated: the part of her that belonged to and was born of that hateful world. She could eliminate her shame, and oh! how she wanted to.

In that moment, the emperor turned his face up and his gaze caught Nevar’ija’s as she imagined striking the death blow--imagined the vengeful satisfaction of the act. He smiled. It was a smug, triumphant, ugly smile. Nevar’ija faltered, struck suddenly by the futility of revenge, the emptiness of the act, of which the emperor’s triumphant grin suddenly made her aware. She felt as though someone had knocked the breath out of her with that realisatio; the realisation that if she took revenge, if in the thrawls of her hatred she struck down the very personification of that hatred, she would have nullified everything she had worked so hard for since the moment she’d fled Korriban with Rijalu and escaped to Tython. Everything: worthless. Her life: wasted. It would be a betrayal of the person she had sought so desperately to become and the very values she had spent years championing throughout the galaxy. She would, in essence, become the very thing she hated most in striking a vengeful blow against that which she hated most.

Master Orgus’ voice came to her, then: a memory, though vivid through the Force. “You must let go of hate, my young padawan. You cannot hope to become the person you want to be, if you insist on clinging to the pain of you used to be,” he had told her once--was telling her again.

Closing her eyes, Nevar’ija inhaled, long, heavy, until she could not inhale anymore and her lungs burned. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. This is it, she thought. I will let go of my hatred and I will finally be free. No more sorrow; no more hate; no more fear; no more shame. Exhaling slowly, intentionally, she released her hatred and resentment, her rage and vengeance on her breath.

Opening her eyes, she felt light, felt truly secure in herself for the first time. She knew who she was, and where she belonged. I am a Jedi, she thought.

And outloud to the emperor she said: “You’re right. I don’t want to kill you--but you will face justice for your crimes. That is the Jedi way.” In so saying, she turned her lightsaber off and sheathed it.

The emperor’s triumphant grin melted into a disgusted frown. “There is no justice. There is only revenge. I will not be your trophy. If I must die, I choose how--and everything dies with me.” In a flash of purple, his body dissappeared. Nevar’ija could no longer feel his presence in the Force, but neither did she feel a significant enough shift in the Force to mean that he was really dead. Whatever had happened, she did not think he had let himself die, but he was unquestionably gone.

T7 whistled and beeped enthusiastically.

“Yep, it’s finally over...” Nevar’ija replied pensively, her brain still trying to process what she had just done. Shaking herself to try and get a grip on reality, she said, “Let’s get us all back to Republic space, T7.”

#nev #swtor #swtor oc #my oc #sw oc #sw #jedi knight #t7 #WHELP #does that count as space therapy?#cause nev obvs needed some of that #that was an emotional rollercoaster to write.#sith pureblood #emperor #jk spoilers #swtor spoilers

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thetimelesscycle · 3 years

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Tales of Arcadia Wizards Fanfiction: Hope Dies Last - Chapter 9

The Guardians of Arcadia grapple with the loss of yet another Master Wizard.

Zoe and Claire hatch a new plan.

A/N: I return!

A week later than I had planned, but I digress.

Turns out I spent my holiday actually working on some of my original pieces, which means this little project got set aside in favour of works that have been neglected for far longer. I intend to try and keep working on those stories going forward, so updates for this fic may not be quite as regular.

We'll still get there in the end, though. ;-)

Enjoy, TTC

Chapter 9

For Want of a Wizard

Like all wizards, Claire had been born with her abilities. They had always been a part of her; A silent power thrumming beneath the surface without her ever having been aware of it. It was strange to think that, were it not for Jim becoming the Trollhunter and pulling her into the wonderful world of trolls and magic, she might never have realised what she was capable of. She had pulled off her fair share of miracles since then, and it hadn’t even been a full year since the first time she’d used the Shadow Staff. Part of that was definitely luck — she’d been given a headstart thanks to Morgana’s attempt to steal her body, and the Shadow Staff itself had seemed to guide her in its own way long before that — but the rest had all been instinctual. Magic just felt right in the same way that being on stage had always come naturally to her, though it wasn’t until she met Douxie and the hedge wizards of HexTech that she realised how rare that kind of intuitive casting was.

All of them were her seniors in age and experience to varying degrees, though Zoe and Douxie easily outstripped their peers on both counts. She’d been given the impression when she asked that there was an unhappy reason so few wizards of their generation were still wandering the world today. She hadn’t asked again, more than capable of filling in the blanks even without a front row seat to history, and not wanting to waste what precious little of Douxie’s time she was able to claim for herself.

It was a calculated risk, making the trip between Arcadia and the Master Wizard’s new hideout, even infrequently and via the Shadow Realm. Unfortunately, they hadn’t been given much of a choice. The Arcane Order was still at large and Claire needed training beyond that which a hedge wizard could provide; Even a centuries old, very skilled hedge wizard. Douxie might not have been able to use Shadow Magic himself, but he’d learned the majority of his own skill the same way she had — through a sometimes painful process of trial and error — and was more than capable of steering her away from what might cause trouble. He was also an adept translator of the book she had taken from Morgana’s rooms, and she went to him for explanations even after he and Zoe had each set time aside to help her learn to read the tome’s contents herself. She found it easier to follow his directions than try and comprehend the words on the page, and with time set firmly against them the sooner she could learn to do more than open portals and create illusions the better.

Technically speaking, she had done more than that when she had fought to save Jim, but it had all been wild, desperate, and exhausting. She needed to learn how to do those things deliberately, and without pouring more of her energy into each spell than she could safely get away with. It was frustratingly difficult sometimes, even with Douxie’s relentless encouragement and stout belief that she was capable of anything she put her mind to. He’d laughed when she’d admitted as much, freely pointing out she’d picked up a whole lot considering she hadn’t yet had her magic for a fraction of the time Morgana had. She’d wanted to argue, not because she didn’t think he was being honest, but because for a moment her mind had completely tripped over the short passage of time that had passed since this whole adventure started.

They had accomplished so much in such a short amount of time. The Eternal Night. Gunmar. Morgana. The search for the new Heartstone. The return of the Arcane Order. Jim and Toby had been at it only a few months longer than she had, yet, somehow, between them they had been involved in saving the world no less than three times. Surely, surely those adventures could not have taken place over a single year. But they had, and Douxie’s gentle amusement at her impatience had reminded her that her chosen teacher had spent nine centuries learning his craft and had still only just earned his staff.

That had put things into perspective.

So had watching Arcadia burn.

She was not a stranger to battle anymore. Even if she didn’t count the various, small skirmishes she’d taken part in there had been the Eternal Night and the Battle of Killahead Bridge to introduce her to the horrors of this millennia long war. Young though she might be, she knew what it was to stare death in the face. To stand on a pitched battlefield knowing you were outnumbered and outmatched and choosing to fight anyway. But even Gunmar had only wanted to conquer the human world — the Arcane Order wanted to burn it all to the ground — and it was there, standing in the midst of the calamity they had caused, that she most keenly felt her lack of experience.

Even without the soulless husk of Arthur to support them, the Arcane Order had them outmatched. They weren’t invincible — Deya had landed a hit on Bellroc at Killahead, and apparently caused some serious damage — but they had replaced their lost pawns with an army formed of what seemed to be every magical creature they could hold beneath their sway. She didn’t even recognise all of those swarming the streets, despite the hours she had spent pouring over Blinky’s bestiaries. There were shadow mephets, nyarlagroths, goblins, and hellheetis alongside countless others. She thought she saw a gruesome briefly out of the corner of her eye, and the stars above were blotted out by the winged outline of at least three stalklings.

It was madness, utter and complete, made all the worse by the innocent bystanders caught in the midst of it all. The three of them had been given the unenviable task of rescuing as many people from the heart of the battlefield as they could. Claire’s shadow portals were the only reliable way to transport people safely in and out, with neither the airship nor the Hextech wizards able to risk getting close to the Arcane Order themselves. That was Douxie’s role, and Claire hadn’t been able to argue when he declined her offer for assistance. Her skills were needed elsewhere, and she’d already tested her strength against the Orders and been found wanting. Douxie had promised he would manage. He’d smiled and gripped her shoulder and she’d let him walk away like a fool.

“Claire?”

The sky was spinning above her, half obscured by smoke as her mind wandered in aimless recollections, dredging up recriminations for a mistake she did not yet realise she had made.

“Claire! Wake up!”

The smoke burned the back of her throat as she unwittingly inhaled it. There was a ringing in her ears, loud and distracting and muffling Jim’s voice as he shook her urgently.

“Are you alright? Claire?”

“I’m fine,” she said, or thought she said. Her own voice sounded like a whisper, her hearing still as distorted as her vision. She coughed, her bruised sides protesting the motion, her lungs screaming for fresh air. “I’m fine. What—”

If Jim answered her she didn’t catch his reply, but he did help her off her back into a sitting position. His face was blackened with soot and streaked with blood from a dozen small cuts. No doubt she looked just as battered. Judging by the rubble surrounding them, half a building had come down with Bellroc’s last fireball. Still dizzy, she leaned against Jim a moment, trying to get her bearings, trying to gather her wits because now was not the time to lose focus.

The ringing in her ears was fading, replaced by what sounded like screams. Not sounded like, she realised, was. The smoke had parted behind them, so that when she and Jim whirled to face the source of that dreadful sound they were both given a clear view of the battlefield once more. Of her teacher — her friend —on his knees at the Arcane Order’s mercy.

“No!”

‘Magic is emotion’, Douxie had told her, something she had always known but never fully understood. Not until she was forced to embrace her fear or be rendered helpless once again. It wasn’t fear she was feeling when she staggered upright, bleeding and still choking on smoke; It was absolute, white-hot fury, and her magic reacted accordingly. The shadows took on a will of their own as soon as they left her hand, the energy torn from her fingers to join the violent maelstrom their battle had created. What she had meant to be an escape route turned instead into a whirlpool of darkness that dragged anyone and anything in the vicinity into its heart.

It should have calmed once they reached the other side, like diving beneath the surface of a pool in the middle of a storm. Unfortunately, she had unwittingly brought the Arcane Order along for the ride, and found herself emerging into chaos. Magic roared around her; Raw, unbridled, and dangerous. She couldn’t see anything, the clashing forces spinning her in circles and blinding her to both friend and foe. She could hear screams, voices she recognised, and a slow, swelling chant that settled sinisterly at the back of her mind, reeking of ill intent.

It was terrifying, but so was everything else they had faced today, and she wasn’t about to be the reason they didn’t make it out of this alive.

Giving up on righting herself, ignoring the chips of ice slicing through bare skin and the flames nipping at the edges of her hair, she let the whirlwind carry her where it would, pouring all of her focus, all of her energy, into locating her friends. She wasn’t Nari, she couldn’t simply sense the soul of any living thing, but she could picture the one’s she cared about clearly in her mind, imagine the shadows wrapping about them all in a protective blanket, and yank them to safety.

The landing was rough. They emerged from too high and crashed against the floor in a tangle of limbs and weapons. Claire had the breath knocked out of her when Krel landed on her back, a stream of what she was fairly certain were Akaridion curse words falling from his lips as they disentangled. She paid no attention, crawling on hands and knees towards the two among them who weren’t moving. Archie was closer, and she paused beside the small dragon, fingers seeking and finding the shard of ice that had felled him. She could feel the dark magic that infused it, an enchantment too complex for her to try and dispel on her own. She tugged the shard free instead, her fear easing a little when it did not resist, and watched with bated breath as the frost that had spread from its impact slowly began to melt. Archie’s wing twitched as the invisible layer crumbled away, and she nearly choked on her relief, hastily shoving the familiar into Jim’s arms as she turned to Douxie.

“Teach?”

He’d fallen face down without making any attempt to catch himself. She could still hear the screams Bellroc had been ringing out of him when they’d done... whatever it was they’d done. With a shaking hand, she reached to turn him over. There was no resistance; He rolled limply onto his back, skin pallid and face still, blood streaking the side of his face from a nasty gash on his temple. His chest had been branded with a strange rune that looked like it had been burnt directly into his skin, still bright in places, like hot embers in a dying fire.

She placed her fingers at his throat, searching for some sign of life as she pleaded under her breath, “Come on, Doux. Don’t do this again.”

There was no pulse that she could find. She tried to convince herself not to panic. This had happened before and he’d been fine, despite the fact the fall alone should have killed him. She just had to trust he could do it again. A minute ticked by, and then another, agonisingly slow and all too fast at the same time.

“He’s breathing, right?” Toby was behind her, Jim on her other side, still carefully cradling Archie. “Tell me he’s breathing.”

“I don’t…” she moved her hand to his chest, careful of the brand as she felt for the rise and fall that would indicate life. “I don’t think he is.”

“I could not hold him.” It was a fragile whisper, and Claire looked up to find Nari crouched on Douxie’s other side, staring at her own hands as if they had betrayed her. “I could not... I was not strong enough.”

“What did they do?”

Nari startled, lowering her hands as she lifted her eyes to meet Claire’s frantic gaze. “They have destroyed his soul. I tried to stop the spell, to hold him together, but I could not... I could not...”

“No.” She shook her head, denial rising. “No. There has to be a way to fix this. I can—”

“Guys!” The exasperated shout came from the other end of the dark cavern. Claire looked up to see Steve running towards them, Blinky a stride behind. “What is taking so long? We gotta move!”

The gyres. Of course. Their escape route. Their means of ferrying an entire town of people out of danger as quickly as possible. It had been her job to get everyone here safely, and she had failed.

“Great Gronka Morka!” Blinky had reached them, shoving his way through the circle they had unwittingly formed. “What happened?”

“No time for that,” Jim interrupted, moving Archie’s weight to one arm so he could reach down and pull Claire to her feet. “Steve’s right. We’ve got to move before the Order realises where we’ve gone.”

“But—!”

“We’ll figure something out,” he promised, stepping aside to let AAARRRGGHH!!! collect their fallen friend. “Just not here. Come on.”

Stumbling, she let herself be pulled along. The battle had exhausted them all, she could see it in the faces of those running alongside her, but they couldn’t stop yet. Douxie had been clear on that. They needed to get out and away, or the Order would just keep on coming. If they could. She didn’t know if Skrael or Bellroc could control the Shadow Realm now that Morgana was gone. No doubt they were powerful enough to find a way even if the magic was not in their repertoire, but leaving them trapped within its boundaries might buy a little more time.

Jim was leaning on her almost as much as she was leaning on him when they reached the gyre, his stamina not what it had once been as a half troll. Their sorry group piled on one after the other as Blinky wrestled with the controls. AAARRRGGHH!!! braced himself in the corner as they took off, cradling Douxie’s limp form gently to his chest. Claire found herself watching him as she swayed back and forth with the gyre’s sharp turns, still waiting on a miracle that wasn’t coming. Nari huddled at the large troll’s feet, her arms wrapped around herself as silent tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked devastated; Claire hadn’t yet moved past numb.

The station was crowded when they arrived, filled to overflowing with frightened Arcadians and equally unsettled trolls. These people had faced the Eternal Night and Alien invasion, only to be left shell shocked by an ancient order of wizards marching in without warning to burn their town to the ground. She could hear Dictatious shouting somewhere amidst the crowd, trying to ferry people to where they were meant to be as if he could actually see what was going on. Her parents were somewhere in that mess, as was her brother. Douxie had been adamant they get their families to safety before joining the fight. He’d sworn he could handle the Order for as long as they needed.

He’d lied.

The guilt was an old companion, a heavy weight bearing down on her shoulders as she disembarked. They drew attention. Human or troll, people knew Jim, and AAARRRGGHH!!! was much too large to pass unnoticed. Even if very few of those present knew who Douxie really was, they seemed to recognise that something terrible had happened. The crowd parted without prompting to let them pass, battered bodies shuffling out of the way and then watching them hasten by with curious eyes.

All except one.

“Zoe...”

Claire trailed off before she had even begun, the words dying on her tongue. The hedge wizard had clearly raced to reach them, her chest still heaving from the dead sprint she had just stumbled out of, dust in her hair and rips in her shirt that had not been there the last time they had spoken. There was a wild look in her eyes that had nothing to do with her battle-worn state, and Claire stepped aside, tugging Jim with her, as Zoe staggered forward. Static energy crackled behind her as she walked right up to AAARRRGGHH!!! and his precious burden, the large troll crouching lower to allow her near.

Without missing a beat, she leant across Douxie’s prone form to grab a hold of his singed shirt. “Hisirdoux Casperan, you are not going to pull this nonsense on me again!”

The answer was, predictably, silence. Zoe waited a beat longer, then her eyes flashed down to the burning rune. “What is this?”

“The Arcane Order…” Nari answered meekly. “Bellroc turned his soul to ashes.”

Zoe went a shade paler, her voice sharpening to a verbal razor. “His soul?”

“I tried to stop them.” There was an apology and regret both in those words. “I failed. I am sorry.”

“No.” Zoe’s hand turned into a fist, Douxie shirt still clutched within her fingers. “No, that’s not good enough. I haven’t spent centuries helping Archie keep this idiot alive for it to end like this. You were a part of the Order, you must know a way to fix this. They brought Morgana back. Twice.”

“Morgana’s soul was still intact,” Nari explained, shrinking a little more with each word. “Even if I could still sense his spirit on this plane, I cannot complete the ritual alone.”

“You’re not alone,” Claire interrupted, earning the attention of both her fellow spellcasters. “You have us, Nari, there must be something we can do.” The tiny sorceress looked up at her helplessly, her lips parted without words, and Claire felt her own determination wavering. “Please.”

“Come.” Laying a supportive hand on hers and Jim’s shoulders, Blinky started them moving again. “We should find somewhere quieter to discuss this.”

Suddenly hyper aware of all the eyes on them, Claire let herself be led, finding and grasping Jim’s hand tightly in her own. They left the crowded chamber, passing by the glowing doorway where the new Heartstone rested; A triumph she had all but forgotten in the wake of all that had followed. Holding aside a thick curtain of fabric, Blinky ushered them all within the comparative privacy of his new library, then hastened to clear room on the table for AAARRRGGHH!!! to set their fallen comrade down.

The large troll did so with care, folding Douxie’s hands across his stomach. It reminded Claire entirely too much of Merlin’s tomb, and she tore her gaze away to watch Jim settle Archie into place beside his wizard. The familiar was still under the influence of whatever dark magic had been locked within that icy shard, though the paralysis seemed to have eased somewhat, his eyes no longer staring blankly into the distance. He still wasn’t conscious, and Claire thought that was probably a mercy right now.

“What the hell happened out there?” Zoe was still choosing anger over any of the other emotions she might be feeling, standing rigid with her arms folded as she searched the faces of those gathered in the room.

“We were too slow.” Jim spoke, and Claire tried not to flinch. She had been too slow. If she had been able to evacuate the town faster, Douxie wouldn’t have been trapped facing the Order alone. They’d been overrun, yes, by mephits and stalklings and all manner of dark creatures, but that was no excuse. She should have found a way. “Skrael hit Archie, and then...”

He trailed off. Scowling, Zoe moved to check the familiar herself, Nari clambering up to perch atop the table beside Douxie’s head as she did so. The small sorceress reached out as though intending to touch him, only to snatch her hand back at the last second with a guilty flinch. “This is my fault.”

“It’s nobody’s fault.” There were tears pricking at the corner of her eyes; She refused to let them fall. “The Arcane Order did this, and we are going to make sure they don’t get away with it.”

She didn’t care how. Enough was enough. She wasn’t going to lose anyone else to these monsters. Never, ever again.

“He can’t be dead.” She hadn’t realised Steve had followed them until he started speaking. “Don’t wizards like, turn to ash or something when they die?”

“That would require his soul departing to the next realm.” Blinky, one of only three in the room with the authority to comment, offered his knowledge. “Without that, I fear our wizard friend may remain like this forever.”

“What? Really?” Steve blinked, giving their fallen friend a sidelong look. “That’s… that’s just creepy.”

“One of the many mysteries of magic,” Blinky shrugged, turning to Jim. “I must go and make sure everyone is getting settled in alright. You’ll call, if you need anything?”

“Of course.” Jim nodded. “Can you let mom know we’re here?”

“Right away, Master Jim.” Blinky bustled out, AAARRRGGHH!!! shuffling behind him, and the room was plunged back into a heavy silence.

“What about Archie?” Claire couldn’t stand it, and spoke in spite of her shaking voice, “Is he going to be okay?”

“I don’t know what this enchantment is,” Zoe admitted, running her hands over the familiar with a gentle care that was at odds with the fury still radiating off her. “Curses aren’t exactly my specialty, but one of the others might be able to help.”

“I will go ask.” As eager as any of them to have something to do, Krel bolted from the room.

“And Douxie?” Toby pressed. “Is there some sort of wizard guidebook on soul reconstruction too? Some sort of relic we need to find? Some spooky, dark lair we’ve gotta sneak inside? Oh, oh! Maybe Gatto has something that would help?”

“Nari?” Claire kept her eyes on the forest guardian, the only one among them who had any true understanding of the magic that had been used here. “How do we fix this?”

“I know of no magic capable of restoring a soul once it has been destroyed.” Nari shook her head, her own gaze fixated on the unmoving wizard in their midst. “There are spells, rituals that might help if a fragment had survived, but I cannot sense any part of Douxie still with us.”

“You couldn’t sense Jim either,” Claire reminded her. “But he was still there, in the Shadow Realm.”

“Then that’s where we’ll start.” Zoe made a decision, stepping away from the table to stand closer to Claire. “We are not letting it end like this.”

“You can’t go alone.” Not about to be left out, Jim added, “The Order might still be there.”

“You stuck the Arcane Order in the Shadow Realm?” Zoe gave her a look that was equal parts bemused and impressed. “Douxie really has been training you, hasn’t he? You’ll have to ask him about that nyarlagroth he stuck in Limbo one day.”

“I will,” she promised, holding that fragile thread of hope for all it was worth. “As soon as we get him back.”

#Tales of Arcadia Fanfiction #TOA Wizards #TOA Zoe #Claire Nunez #Jim Lake Jr #Toby Domzalski #TOA Archie #Hisirdoux Casperan #blinkous galadrigal #Hurt/Comfort #Angst #We fudge the scenes I don't want to write because why not #Nobody is here for the actual plot anyway.

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mwolf0epsilon · 4 years

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Do you have any bendy and the ink machine headcanons?

Boy Anon, do I ever! A lot of them are still under the works, so I'll focus on the characters that I've thought most about.

Joey, Henry, Sammy and Norman.

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[[MORE]]

--Joey Drew--

Came from a heavily Catholic and strict family that wanted him to either pursue a career in medicine or law. He had a rough time getting along with his family since they didn't encourage his creativity, and the religious beliefs they force-fed him from an early age had a bit of an impact on the themes he had an interest in.

Due to his background and bizarre interests Joey was a bit of a loner and misfit as a kid. Henry Stein was his only true friend since childhood, so Joey was a little protective of him. This protectiveness became an unhealthy possessiveness as they grew up.

He and Henry actually started the studios in their early thirties. Both were job hoppers for a while, adrift and unfulfilled. Once Joey figured out how to use their combined skills and creativity to make a profit, the nightmare that was Joey Drew Studios came into being.

Joey rejected Bendy's original design because he saw demons as entities of mischief and misfortune. The more cutesy kind smile simply didn't convey the chaotic energy Joey associated with such beings. Boris was also reworked to go from a naked intelligent wolf to a goofier/dumber one wearing overalls. Henry wasn't particularly happy with either change but went with it to please his friend.

Alice Angel and the Butcher Gang were also designed by Henry, but Joey disliked the idea of adding a female counterpart to the show, and wasn't particularly fond of the much nicer original concepts of Charley, Barley and Edgar. He would alter the concepts later on to better fit the themes he employed in the show.

Initially they worked alone but, when they began working on Boris' debut episode, Joey realized they needed something to add a certain flair to their work: Music and better filmwork. In a matter of weeks a team of two became a team of four with the hiring of Samuel Lawrence and Norman Polk.

Ever since Linda started dating Henry, Joey began feeling like his best pal wasn't giving 100% to the studio (and to Joey himself). As such he began to give Henry more and more work to ensure he devoted his attention to the cartoons. This ultimately lead to Henry quitting.

Joey was angry when Henry married Linda, thinking his friend had chosen "some girl" over their bond. He refused to go to their wedding due to this "betrayal" and has held a grudge since.

During the rise and decline of the studio, Joey went from charming his way out of trouble and into people's hearts, to downright criminally manipulative. The employees that managed to quit, often found themselves blacklisted from the work market, and those who stayed knew Joey could destroy them with the right words. It's why so many stayed in the end...

When the Ink Machine didn't work the way he wanted and he found himself stuck with the responsibility of fixing what he'd done, there had been a fraction of a chance for redemption on Joey's part. Joey considered giving his soul to the Ink Demon so it'd end the nightmare for good. However upon finding the wedding invitation Henry had sent him all those years ago, Joey had a change of heart for the worst. After all what soul could be better to fix the demon, than that of its original creator?

--Henry Stein--

Henry Stein didn't know what he was getting himself into when he met and befriended Joey Drew. He'd always been the soft-spoken friendlier of the two, so their dynamic as friends was pretty well rounded up, until Joey became obcessed with becoming successful, as well as his overprotective nature slowly evolving into a controlling possessiveness.

Henry came from a pretty average family. They weren't exactly well-off but there was never a day or night without food on the table. He grew up aware of the value of money and how to spend it wisely, a skill he never got to employ at the studio because Joey had full control of finances. He had a feeling the studio was doomed to flop and was actually quite surprised to hear it chugging along "just fine" after he'd left. The various scandals didn't surprise him.

Henry was a little hurt when Joey declined his invitation to his and Linda's wedding, but he assumed his childhood friend would get over it. He was terribly wrong.

His original concepts for Bendy and Co. were of a cute little devil trying to do good to ascend to heaven, a fatherly wolf that would help the little devil darling, an angel sent to test the devil's intentions as a moral compass, and a trio of friends that would often be a part of Bendy's various trials. Joey's redesigns and reworks of their roles never really agreed with him, especially when he made the kind Charley, amicable Barley, and playful Edgar into villains.

He was drafted to fight in the war and came back with a slightly paralyzed face. He's ashamed of the slightly permanent lopsided smile on his face, as he always thought of it as an ugly smirk and a reminder of things he'd much rather like to forget. His vision was also slightly damaged so he wears very thick glasses, and he has a slight limp.

Joey's letter gave him hope for rekindling their broken friendship. He really thought Joey had finally come around and given up on his childish grudge. He was horrifically mistaken.

Henry is 67 in-game. Coupled with his injuries from the war and you get an old tired man that can neither run fast or see too well. His stubbornness is the only thing keeping him alive and going, that and his desire to return to his wife and kids.

--Samuel Lawrence--

He was raised in the South by his very strict Catholic father, and his kindly mother. He ended up moving to the big city with his father at age 11, after his mother died of tuberculosis. His mother having been the kinder and more patient parent meant that Sammy didn't have much of a good influence growing up, as his father wasn't particularly abusive but had strongly bigoted views that rubbed off on him. His father remarried when Sammy was 24 and, although he had a strong dislike for his step-mother, he tried to be patient with her as per his father's wishes. This dislike grew into animosity when she'd berate him for the smallest things, like calling him a sissy for pursuing a musical career, or even the way he kept his hair. He was upset when she became pregnant with his younger step-sister, feeling like he'd be dragged into providing for his aging father, witch of a step-mother and a kid he might not even get along with.

Sammy was genuinely upset when his father passed away, as it meant he'd lost who he considered to be his true family. He was forced to spend more time with his step-mother, and often cared for his little sister as a result (growing very fond of her in the end). When his step-mother died in a freak accident, Sammy became his sister's official caregiver. A chore he felt had been forced upon him, but that he took on nontheless because he didn't feel right just dumping a two year old into an orphanage. It was the need to provide for himself and a baby that ultimately lead to him falling into Joey Drew's clutches.

Originally there were three other candidates for his position at the studio. Sammy was picked due to being younger and easier to manipulate.

Although not the easiest person to get along with, Sammy could be respectful when he tried. His upbringing made it very difficult to look past race and sexuality, but later on as his sister grew up she urged him to try being nicer to other people. This ultimately began to fail when the studio began to descend into madness, especially around the time Buddy was hired.

For his sister's seventh birthday Sammy made an odd request to one Shawn Flynn. He wanted to gift her a Bendy doll that didn't have the unnerving grin painted on. Shawn provided him with a doll that was a blend of Bendy and Boris, which Sammy's sister named Seamus the Singing Demon. That little doll's odd composition stuck with him, even if he can no longer remember it...

He had a very strange relationship with Norman Polk as a result of working closely with him. They weren't exactly friends, but one couldn't exactly call them enemies either. Sammy's upbringing made him unjustly ruder towards the older man, and Norman's own odd behaviour made him hard to trust. At the end of the day they had a sort of fragile respect for one another's work. This respect couldn't save Norman from his terrible fate however...

He knew Henry for less than a year but he respected his fellow content creator. Later on Sammy often wondered if the co-founder wouldn't have been the one more worthy of keeping the studio afloat.

His romance with Susie Campbell was genuinely beautiful. At first he found her cheery disposition to be annoying, but her respect and kindness towards him eventually grew on him. His affection towards her was noticeable in comparison to how he treated others, and Joey knew to exploit it later on. When Susie left, the already stressed and overworked Sammy was left further distraught and vulnerable due to his personal life slowly getting messed up as well.

Sammy's transformation can be considered an outlier within the twisted studio. He wasn't put through the Ink Machine like the others, having instead ingested the corrupted ink in a freak accident. The amount he swallowed wasn't enough to transform him, but it was just enough to alter his mindset like a parasite. At the urging on the ink he took to consuming more and more of it, until he transformed into an abomination that was neither man nor toon. If any of the studio's workers could have their changes reversed, Sammy is a good candidate as, perhaps, one could purge the tainted ink from his system.

Sammy has very rare moments of lucidity which he spends trying to recall his fading memories. This often leads to him reverting back more quickly because his inability to focus on them distressed him enough that he falls back into the ink's grasp.

Sammy doesn't eat the soup he stockpiles, even if he craves it. He can't stomach regular food anymore, as it upsets his inky stomach. If he were to try he'd end up getting violently sick. The contrary can be said for ink however, and he sustains himself on the stuff. His memory issues and loss of identity are likely linked the the copious amounts of ink he's still consuming on a daily basis. He's the easiest person for the ink to control.

--Norman Polk--

Norman liked to consider himself a lucky guy. He grew up in a pretty poor neighbourhood and had to scrape by to get his education. He was a clever individual and often considered a bright man. With enough hard work he felt like he made his relatives in Louisiana proud. Turns out Joey Drew didn't like bright individuals...

As one the oldest member of staff (he was 46 when he started working at the studio) he was often the voice of reason in the earlier days, alongside Henry. Most of the newer staff didn't mind him at first, but when Norman's odder behaviours became more noticeable people started finding him either creepy or hard to trust.

He butted heads with Sammy several times, disliking the younger man's racist comments towards him. Being forced to work together so closely and a little outside urging helped them kinda resolve that tension. But their truce was a fragile one that amounted to nothing when Sammy was driven insane by the ink.

He was married and had a daughter. In the current game timeline he has several grandkids. He also has several nieces and nephews, one of which is friends with Sammy's sister (much to the latter's initial dislike).

Out of the first core team, Norman considered Henry a friend, had a weird feeling about Joey, and bickered heavily with Sammy. Later on he grew to enjoy Wally's mischievous personality, Shawn's rambunctious self, Susie's sweet disposition, Jack's skittishness and Buddy's friendliness. He felt like he failed them when the studio went to hell.

As the Projectionist Norman is deaf and visually impaired, needing his light to see movement. He used to be able to talk with the speaker on his chest, but his screams for help eventually short-circuited it. Early on he wasn't aggressive towards other creatures, which proved to be an exploitable weakness. He became uncontrollably aggressive out of fear and being a constant target of other monsters.

Before the Ink Demon kills him in every cycle, Norman recognizes Henry inside the Little Miracle station.

#Bendy and the Ink Machine #Batim #Joey Drew #Henry Stein #Sammy Lawrence #Norman Polk #The Projectionist #Headcanons #Friend Anon

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lalainajanes · 4 years

Text

I teased this one ages ago! Sorry, rl got in the way! Do me a favor and cross your fingers that my bosses agree to start letting ups work from home a couple days a week next year bc that will make my life waaaayyy easier.

You’re Better Than Normal (Part Two)

Part One

Caroline shifts from sleep to wakefulness violently, with a jerk and a gasp. She can’t trust the fuzzy place between the two.

She’s yet to manage a decent stretch of rest. She dreams of walls that shift closer and closer no matter how hard she tries to force them back. Of Bonnie fading and weakening when no rescue comes. Of Bonnie hanging in there until Caroline gets so thirsty.

Those are the worst.

She fights her way out of the nightmares and her body reacts accordingly. Each time she wakes she’s rigid, ready to use every ounce of her strength to get free.

Klaus is always there to remind her that she is.

This time her palms slam into his chest when she tries to spring to her feet. She snaps into lucidity when his body gives in a way the ground wouldn’t. He inhales sharply but makes no other noise of shock or pain, just grabs her wrists firmly. “Caroline, wake up.”

Caroline’s eyes pop open, only to close quickly when the light stings. She relaxes as the memories – of the last few hours, of yesterday - flood her. She inhales deeply in relief before she slumps back down. There’s a lamp on the bedside table, the shade off so it’s as bright as possible. “Ouch,” she grumbles, tucking her forehead against Klaus’ chest.

He laughs and his hands glide up her arms, his thumbs rubbing circles against her stiff shoulders. “You seemed not to appreciate the lack of light the last, oh, half-dozen times you woke.”

She’d been so sure she was back in the cave when she’d found herself in an unfamiliar place, surrounded by unbroken darkness. Her throat had tightened, her breathing growing ragged and painful. Klaus had asked what was wrong and parsed the issue from her frantic gestures and garbled words.

He’d left the bed long enough to solve the problem, had brushed off her weak protests that he wouldn’t be able to sleep. He’d said he’s gone weeks without sleeping while on the run, without slowing or resting, so he wouldn’t even notice a few nights spent awake in the comfort of a bed.

When it had been silence that made her uneasy, he’d talked. About what Caroline’s not quite sure because the words had mattered less than his voice.

She’d grown used to noise while she slept in various hostels and hotels in Europe. People shifting across the room or through too thin walls, city noise streaming in through open windows. Birds chirping and trees rustling the few times they’d ventured somewhere more rustic.

The cave had been quiet.

“Sorry,” Caroline says, not for the first time. “For, well, you know.”

Keeping him up, invading his bed, being so freaking needy. It’s an ever-lengthening list.

She bites back a moan when he digs into a particularly tight knot near her spine. “Stop apologizing,” Klaus chides.

Again.

The first ‘I’m sorry’ she’d muttered had been mortified. They’d moved to a bed but she hadn’t allowed Klaus even a fraction of an inch of personal space. Each time she barrels into alertness she’s half on top of him. Her hands are always on his skin, gripping too tightly.

He’s yet to complain.

She sighs, turns her head to rest her ear against his heart. “It must be almost morning.”

“Nearly.” He doesn’t seem particularly eager to start his day.

“Bonnie’s still asleep?”

“Yes. We’ll know when she stirs,” Klaus promises. Elijah’s with her, he’d explained. That there were plenty of other vampires he could have posted but Elijah had offered, reasoning it was best that someone familiar attend to Bon.

“How long has it been now?”

“About fourteen hours.”

So an hour longer than when she’d last asked. She’s kind of impressed that Klaus doesn’t sound more annoyed. “I’m…”

This time Klaus doesn’t allow the apology. “Worried about your oldest friend, I know. If she’s not up in another few hours I’ll send someone to fetch a doctor.”

“Have house calls made a comeback in the twenty…” Caroline pauses abruptly, lets the joke die. She doesn’t even know what century it is.

“Second,” Klaus tells her softly, his palm flattening on her back like he’s braced for her to rear away.

Caroline doesn’t move much, lets the news sink in. Honestly, she’s kind of relieved. She’s had no real way to guess – Klaus and his siblings will look the same if a hundred or a thousand years had passed. “Are we talking early twenty-second century?”

Hey, she’s always been an optimist.

“Mid,” Klaus says, a touch regretfully. “Just on the cusp of late, mathematically speaking.”

That startles a choked noise of amusement from Caroline. She taps his chest lightly, “Nerd.”

Klaus doesn’t react much to the teasing but then he’s definitely been called worse. “Do you want a specific date? Or would you prefer to ease into it a bit?”

Caroline takes a deep breath, then another. She’d told herself she’d face her problems head on in the morning. It’s time to stop procrastinating. “No, let’s get it over with. How long did I spend molding in a cave, Klaus?”

She shivers involuntarily, remembering just how long it had taken for the water in the shower to run clean.

His hand starts to move, gliding up and down the length of her back. It’s an attempt at comfort that she wouldn’t have thought Klaus capable of, once upon a time. “One hundred and forty-seven years.”

She’s always been a fan of numbers. In goals that could be measured. Timelines. When Klaus gives her the number – the length of time she’s been gone – her brain whirls, trying to quantify it.

One hundred and forty-seven years equals two human lifetimes, almost. It’s roughly ten percent of Klaus’ very long life. Almost eight times as many years as she’d lived. Caroline can’t decide whether she should laugh or cry or scream.

“And a few months, I believe,” Klaus adds softly.

A few months doesn’t really matter in the grand scheme of things but Caroline does appreciate precision. It had been the very beginning of spring when they’d returned to Mystic Falls. After a winter in Greece neither she nor Bonnie had been happy to find their hometown chilly and damp. “What’s the date?”

“September 30th. Twenty-one-sixty-four.”

“Huh. Just in time for my…” Caroline thinks for a minute, “…172nd birthday.” She’s technically older than Stefan had been when they’d met. Damon too, she’s pretty sure.

“I know,” Klaus murmurs. “I’ll have to scrounge you up a gift.”

Caroline lifts her head, glad he’s given her an opening to quit obsessing over a length of time she truly can’t even fathom. She glares at him playfully, “You’ll scrounge? You, a birthday enthusiast, will scrounge for a gift for the first birthday I’ve been aware of in a century and a half?”

He smiles at her and shifts so he’s propped against the bed’s padded headboard, easily moving Caroline with him. She stretches out her legs, wonders if she should move. Discards the idea when Klaus’ fingers sink into her hair. He matches her feigned outrage with a taunt, “I know you love surprises so I wouldn’t want to spoil anything. I may have a suitable item or two laying around.”

Hmm. Would it be rude to snoop? Probably. Is she going to do it anyway? Of course. Hopefully cake is still a thing in the twenty-second century.

“I hate surprises.”

She feels his amusement this time, rumbling through his chest under her head. “I’m well aware, love.” Klaus rubs at the base of her skull and Caroline finds her eyes drooping, unable to form a clever comeback. She knows she won’t sleep properly but a few more minutes of rest might be a good idea.

She wants to be sharp when Klaus’ guests arrive.

* * * * *

Caroline paces, waiting for Bonnie to wake. It's been at nearly eighteen hours and Caroline’s worry is mounting. Bonnie seems okay – she’s not too hot or too cold, doesn’t look like she’s in any pain or distress. She looks like she’s just sleeping well.

Kol’s insisting that’s exactly what’s happening, that it’s normal for witches to need to rest after big spells to recharge. He’s made the proclamation at breakfast, while double fisting blood and bourbon, in the most man-splain-y way possible, and Caroline’s temper had flared.

"Bonnie is not a freaking battery!" She’d snapped, her hands hitting the table hard enough to send cutlery rattling. Kol had leaned forward, his lips twisted condescendingly. Whatever he’d been about to say had been cut off by the warning look Klaus had leveled his way. It had promised retribution and so Kol had refrained from snapping back.

Or snapping Caroline’s neck.

She'd left the breakfast table (and it's weird, unidentifiable, array of food-like things) in a huff. After a few wrong turns she’d found her way to the room they'd deposited Bonnie in last night. She'd been soothed by Bonnie's strong heartbeat, by the steady rhythm of her breaths. She'd relaxed enough to accept the glass of blood Rebekah had dropped off, had even remembered her manners and muttered a thanks.

Rebekah had left quickly, telling Caroline to yell if she was too dim to remember how to work the shower, leaving the door ajar.

She'd downed the blood quickly and rinsed the glass (managing just fine, Rebekah). Bonnie’s a little uneasy about the whole blood drinking vampire thing. Better than she had been but, when they’d been travelling together, Caroline had gotten into the habit of hiding her meals as much as possible.

Unable to sit still any longer, nervous energy thrumming through her body, she'd started to move.

It takes fourteen strides, from wall to wall, and she's never been more grateful for Klaus' penchant for opulence. She's making lists in her head. There’s so much she’ll need to know, a million things she'll have to do. Like, how's she going to go about getting a driver's license? Do people still have those? Or is there a retinal scan, or some creepy microchip implanted in your body? Caroline had never been much for sci fi movies, something she deeply regrets now that her life has become one.

She's got her ears focused on Bonnie, however, recognizes the little annoyed noise Bonnie always makes when she's about to wake up. Caroline's in the chair beside the bed in under a second, legs pulled up under her, trying to look casual and like she's not freaking out.

The attempt is pointless, Bonnie's known her forever, and it only takes a second before her green eyes sharpen and focus on Caroline. "How bad is it?" Bonnie asks, resigned because she’s way too accustomed to doom and gloom.

They’d been doing so well on their own. They’d been away for months without even the tiniest threat of danger.

Caroline chews on the inside of her lip for a second, considering how to answer. She can't lie, won't lie, but a little stalling might be a kindness. Just until Bonnie has a chance to shower and eat. "Honestly? It's not great, Bon. But we're alive. We’ve got… help.” She’d almost said friends but that would have been pushing it.

Bonnie closes her eyes again, “This bed is an improvement over the cave.”

“That’s the spirit. I felt a bajillion times better after a shower.”

When Bonnie sits up and kicks the blankets aside, the sheets are no longer white. She makes a disgusted face at the grit and grime covering her body, "Gross. I can't believe I fell asleep like this."

"You were right out," Caroline tells her. "Rebekah tucked you in and you didn't even notice."

"Weird. I wish you hadn't told me that."

Caroline cracks a smile at the mildly disgusted look Bonnie wears, "Don't worry. I have it on good authority that Nice Rebekah will be a fleeting presence. We'll probably miss her once Bitch Rebekah rears her ugly head."

"I heard that!" Rebekah bellows from several rooms away.

Caroline looks away, from Bonnie. She'll start giggling if she doesn't and that will likely not endear either of them to Rebekah.

Caroline’s stronger than she had been but Damon will be too. If things get violent, well, she wants all The Originals on her side.

Once she's swallowed down her laughter she stands, brushing her hands together, "You'll have to bear with me. Everything in the bathroom is crazy fancy and I've only been in it once. I'm pretty sure there's no boil humans alive setting though."

"Are you sure?" Bonnie asks dryly. "You're aware of just who lives here? Might be something they do for fun."

Klaus, with his impeccable timing, chooses that moment to poke his head in the door, "Now why would we overcook a perfectly good meal?"

Bonnie glares, dark and deadly, and Caroline hastily steps into her line of sight, in case she starts throwing magic around. "He's joking, Bon. Klaus just doesn't realize that he's not actually funny."

She shoots him her own quelling look, more exasperated than upset, and he merely smirks back, leaning against the open doorway. "Nonsense, my sense of humor is delightful, everyone says so."

"People you're attempting to kill, I'm guessing? I think that counts as duress and you should assume they're lying."

Klaus places a hand over his heart, his face dropping into an exaggeratedly wounded expression. Caroline rolls her eyes, "Did you need something?"

He turns serious in an instant, "Yes, actually. Our guests will be arriving within the hour." Klaus' eyes flit over to Bonnie, and Caroline glances over to find her friend looking puzzled at Klaus' words. She’s not going to start explaining with Klaus in the room. There are things Bonnie needs to hear from Caroline. Privately. "I'll let you know when I'm ready to see them," she says.

He nods in acceptance, rocks back a step, before turning to leave. A thought occurs to Caroline, one she's kind of ashamed is just now popping up. "One sec, Bon," she says, before darting out the room after Klaus. He turns, a brow raised, and she invades his personal space to speak quietly.

It’s weird she even notices considering how she’d spent last night draped all over him.

"Bonnie's mom was a vampire. Can you find out what happened to her? If she's still around?"

"I can," Klaus says. "I even have a reasonably good idea of where to start looking."

"Good. Thank you. Can you let Enzo know what I'm doing? I'll find him as soon as I can."

"And our other guests?" Klaus asks mildly. "Any specifications for how I treat them?"

She knows what he's asking, wonders what it says about her that her first instinct is to ask for a little bloodshed, Damon's in particular. "Are their memories still gone?"

"Yes. It was a clever spell. Your little witch friend is the only person who can break it."

Caroline's not surprised. Of course Damon would craft the tiniest loophole possible. "Then I think they should be comfortable."

“Such generosity.”

“Comfortable for now.” Until their memories have returned, and they’ve confessed to the exact series of events that had led to Caroline and Bonnie losing so many years.

Klaus' eyes gleam, a slow, pleased smile tugging at his lips, "I’ve always enjoyed the way your mind works."

She remembers, had always found it flattering, his intrigue with her brain when so many had only seen a pretty face or attractive body. What does it mean that it's endured?

Klaus tips his head, gestures to the room behind her, "You'd best return, it sounds like someone's getting impatient."

She can hear Bonnie moving around, now that he mentions it, "Right. I should," Still Caroline hesitates. She wants to say thank you, again, but she feels like she's already said it so many times. Knows she'll probably need to say it more, over the coming days and weeks.

"I'll send someone with a tray of food, in a bit. And you may find me, if you need anything."

"Klaus…" Caroline murmurs, trailing off helplessly. She can't find the words but she's always been good at actions. Before she can second guess herself, she puts her hand on his shoulder, rises and brushes her lips over his cheek. He stiffens, and his eyes are slightly wider when she pulls back, trained on her face. She feels a momentary surge of satisfaction at having caught him off guard.

Surely not many can claim the same.

Caroline lets her hand slide down his arm, before she steps back. Throws him on last smile, before she turns on her heel.

Klaus, and all the things between them, will keep. He's proven that. Right now, Bonnie needs her more.

* * * * *

“What? That’s insane. Impossible. She can’t be a vampire. She took the cure. Katherine tried to turn back, remember?”

Bonnie’s restless, crackling with energy. She’s pacing the room, just as Caroline had earlier. They’ve thrown all the curtains in but there’s not a whole lot of natural light to be found. Clouds pack the sky, sitting low and heavy, like a storm threatens. They hadn’t been able to figure out how to open the windows but at least the room is big and well lit.

They’re avoiding the view. Caroline vaguely recognizes the back grounds of Klaus’ Mystic Falls home but it looks way different. Once carefully manicured it’s now little more than a few scraggly patches of brown-yellow grass dotted over rocks and cracked soil. The outbuildings are crumbling and weather beaten and the stone paths that had once wound around the house no longer visible.

Caroline’s doing her best to project calm. So not her forte but she’s had a good chunk of time to process. Someone to lean on (in the most literal sense of the word) and answer her questions. “Bon, you’re a witch. Once upon a time we thought that was impossible.”

Bonnie’s head swivels to shoot Caroline an annoyed look. Caroline’s sitting cross legged at the end of the bed and she tips her head to the side and maintains eye contact until Bonnie huffs out an irritated sigh and resumes walking. “Fine, I will give you that one.”

“Why thank you.”

“She wouldn’t though. Elena never wanted to be a vampire.”

That’s kind of a sticking point for Caroline too. Klaus hadn’t known how or why Elena had turned but he’d had theories. Caroline goes with the most generous, “Maybe it was life or death again. She chose to be a vampire rather than die the first time. If she had to choose again...”

“She wouldn’t sacrifice us though. That’s not Elena.”

Caroline’s not so sure.

Elena had chosen sleep knowing that the future she wanted was on pause. That Damon would be waiting for her, and Stefan would remain unchanged. That she could have everything her little heart desired when she woke up and that she wouldn’t even suffer the agony of waiting. If something threatened that future? Caroline doesn’t trust that Elena’s selflessness would have held.

She’d let go of the things Elena had said and done with her humanity off, had known that holding on to her anger was pointless when Elena hadn’t even been willing to entertain the idea of an apology. She’d rationalized that it wasn’t really Elena. Then she’d flipped her own switch and she’d been entirely herself. The worst parts of herself that she’d tried to temper, yes, but she’s not going to deny they exist. She’s ruthless and blunt, and capable of terrible things in pursuit of her goals.

Some might label those traits as flaws but privately Caroline thinks they can be strengths too.

Elena had always been selective about the flaws she was willing to overlook, a teeny bit in denial about the ones she possessed.

Damon and Stefan were gifted limitless chances. Other people not so much.

Sometime after Damon and Stefan had shown up Elena’s universe had narrowed. Caroline had been aware of just who existed at the center of it. If Damon was the sun and Stefan the moon, destined to be stuck to Elena’s side, Caroline had figured she and Bonnie were planets. Their orbits would grow bigger, away from Mystic Falls, but that they’d still be important. They’d keep track of each other, share milestones, celebrate success and band together in tragedy.

That may have been too rosy a view. Maybe, to Elena, she’s Pluto. Easily demoted.

“She’s here, according to Klaus. Damon and Stefan too. That wouldn’t be possible if she hadn’t turned.”

Bonnie pauses, her head snapping up and her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Are they the guests Klaus was talking about? He sounded extra smarmy.”

“Yup. Their memories are all messed up. Klaus thinks you’re the only witch on the planet with a fix.”

“Klaus thinks,” Bonnie repeats and there’s a whole heap of distaste in those two little words.

Oh boy.

“I know you don’t like him,” Caroline begins.

“That’s understating it a bit.”

Caroline decides it’s prudent to ignore the interruption. “Or trust him. And you don’t have to. But maybe give him some credit for springing us yesterday.” Caroline’s not sure she would have been able to do it on her own. She’s definitely sure that she wouldn’t have been fast enough for Bonnie to make it out with no ill effects.

“Yeah, about that. He says it’s been a hundred and forty seven years, how did he happen to show up in the exact right place at the exact right time?”

Caroline had really been hoping to avoid that question.

But she’s not going to lie. Or even sugar coat. She and Bonnie need to be a united front.

“Klaus has been… searching for descendants of the witch who sealed us in.”

“And?” Bonnie prompts because she really knows Caroline too well.

“And killing them. If they proved unable to help.” She’s not well versed in the intricacies of magic. Only knows that there’s usually a whole heap of terms and conditions. Klaus had explained, sometime last night, when Caroline had been failing at sleep, that the original witch had anchored the spell to her line. That Damon had compelled her very human husband as a means of making her cooperate. She’d refused to lift it no matter what Klaus had offered or threatened.

Damon had, apparently, used every ounce of self-serving cunning and self-preserving intelligence he’d possessed. Without any memory of the undoubtedly heinous orders he’d given the witch’s husband, Damon couldn’t be forced to undo his compulsion. The spell to seal his memories away had involved Bonnie’s blood and the spell to return them required the same ingredients.

And Bonnie was trapped, her blood well out of reach.

Klaus had seethed with frustration as he’d explained, his body a solid mass of tension where they’d been pressed together. His hands had remained gentle, however, his fingers in her hair soothing.

Caroline still wears his scent on her skin and she’s glad Bonnie’s human senses can’t detect it.

“How many?” Bonnie demands.

“You know, I didn’t ask,” Caroline replies, and that’s not a lie. She hadn’t wanted a count for this very reason.

Bonnie rolls her shoulders, a hand coming up to rub at the back of her neck. “I think I need a couple minutes. To make this all make sense. Is that okay?”

Caroline’s already rising and she scoffs, “Of course it’s okay. We’ve dealt with a whole lot of crazy but this is a brand-new level of nuts. You can have all the time you need to process.”

Bonnie smiles. Just a tiny wan quirk of her lips but Caroline will take it. “Thanks, Care.”

“Come downstairs whenever you’re ready. Klaus has been hoarding spell books that might help with the memory thing but honestly, there’s no rush.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Caroline Forbes?”

It’s a terrible joke but Caroline lets that slide. She shrugs, turning when she reaches the door. “It’s not life or death. I’m alive, you’re alive. Everything else we can figure out, right?”

Bon blinks a little, her eyes shining, and Caroline swallows passed a lump in her throat, rushing forward and throwing her arms around Bonnie. She watches her strength, mindful of how much it’s grown, how weak Bonnie had been just yesterday. Bonnie returns the pressure, her breathing shaky, “We’ll figure it out,” Caroline repeats.

This time it’s a promise, one she intends to keep.

* * * * *

Caroline had been on her way back to her room to wash her face and fix her hair. When she’d gotten closer to the staircase she’d heard the voices. They’re too quiet for her to make out the words but one voice is new, just slightly familiar. Her feet take her down the steps quickly, towards an open door.

There’s no real point in cleaning away the evidence of tears. Enzo had always been annoyingly perceptive about her emotional state and, with the events of the last 24 hours, Caroline’s in no position to attempt to act like she’s okay.

Besides, he’s seen her look far worse.

Caroline deeply regrets the hair and leather pants related mistakes she’d made with her humanity off.

She’s not trying to be stealthy and the conversation pauses, a glass hits a table with a clink.

Her hand touches the door and then everything gets blurry. There’s a crash, she feels a whoosh of air, hears a groan and a tear. Caroline shakes her head, blinks, finds herself staring at the back of Klaus’ neck. Enzo’s there too, right in front of Klaus, wide-eyed and unconcerned about the death grip Klaus has on the collar of his jacket.

She’ll chalk that up to his total lack of a survival instinct.

“Manners, Lorenzo,” Klaus warns, mostly friendly but with the tiniest edge of a threat.

Caroline brushes passed Klaus, a laugh bubbling out of her. She plows into Enzo and he grunts but lifts her off her feet in a bone crushing hug. “It has been far too long,” he mutters into her hair.

She returns the embrace just as fiercely, “Doesn’t feel that long for me but I have missed you.” Enzo sets her down and Caroline notes the room’s other occupant. Kol’s here, slouched on a leather sofa. He lifts his glass in her direction in welcome, Caroline supposes he’s over their breakfast table spat.

“Aren’t you two adorable?” Kol drawls.

Enzo shoots him a casual rude gesture and Klaus laughs softly behind her. His hand presses into her hip briefly, drawing Caroline’s attention. “Drink, love?” he murmurs.

She’s hopeful the booze is less terrible than the food. “Yes, please.”

He makes his way to a cart across the room. It holds glasses, several crystal decanters, Klaus pops the top on one and pours a more than healthy portion. Caroline drops down into an armchair, curls her legs under her. Enzo pats her head and she swats at him but he’s still much faster than her, dodging easily as he throws himself down next to Kol.

And props his feet on the coffee table. Caroline glares a little but he grins at her, unrepentant. Caroline half expects Klaus to comment but he doesn’t seem bothered, leans against the arm of her chair after handing her a glass.

“How’s the little witch?” Kol asks, as if he’s genuinely interested.

“Fully recharged,” Caroline tells him. “She wanted a little time alone to process but she’ll be down later.”

“Have you told her…” Klaus lets the sentence hang.

“Everything I know, she knows.” Caroline twists her head to study Klaus’ reaction, searching for a hint of displeasure of disapproval.

Klaus only nods, “Did you discuss what we’d like done with our other guests?”

“Not really.” She and Bonnie had only decided that the first order of business would be to figure out how to restore the memories that Elena and the Salvatores apparently lacked. “I’d like for them to be kept comfortable. Until we can make them remember.”

AKA warm and fed with all their organs and extremities intact.

She watches Kol as she says it. Klaus had already agreed but she remembers Kol being volatile, fond of bats and not a big fan of Damon.

He moans in exaggerated disappointment, his head rolling back against the couch, his expression growing petulant. “You, darling, are a bit of a fun killer, aren’t you?”

“Elijah’s settling them,” Klaus tells her, ignoring his brother’s complaint. “In separate, well stocked rooms.”

“Cells, technically,” Enzo pipes up.

Kol cheers up a bit, “Well, at least that’s a little bit of torture. As clingy and nauseating at their little triangle is.”

“Did Elena go back to Stefan?”

“Back and forth. Back and forth,” Enzo drawls. “For ages.”

“Took her far too long to work out that she didn’t have to,” Kol adds. “Imagine, being a hundred years old and only just realizing you’ve options other than monogamy?”

Unfortunately, Caroline had just taken a sip of her drink. She chokes on it and her throat burns. Her eyes water and she coughs while Klaus pats her on the back. He sounds distinctly amused when he speaks, “She insisted on living with humans. Got a little caught up in the norms.”

“This is really too much information,” Caroline manages, her voice weak. She’s also seriously regretting her honesty is the best policy vow. This is not gossip she wants to have to relay to Bonnie.

“Jealous? You’d developed a bit of a thing for Stefan, hadn’t you?”

Ugh. Had it just been a few minutes ago that she’d been elated to see Enzo?

Klaus straightens next to her, putting more distance between their bodies and lifting his hand away. This time, Caroline does not check his reaction. “I got over that pretty quickly, thank you very much.”

“Oh?” Enzo asks, like he doesn’t believe her.

Caroline takes another sip of her drink, this time welcoming the fire when she swallows. “I wasn’t good with change. With everything that happened with my mom…” Caroline hadn’t been ready to lose her mother. She’d had plans – she’d wanted to graduate college and get a job, to make her mom proud while she could, knowing that by the time she hit thirty-five or so she wouldn’t be able to show her face in Mystic Falls without whispers starting.

With her mother’s death Caroline’s reasons for playing at being human evaporated. She’d taken a leap, dropped out of college, and bought a plane ticket. Had quickly realized that there were plenty of new experiences worth having.

“Stefan was familiar,” Caroline says, keeping it simple because Kol really doesn’t need to know her personal business, outdated though it is. “After I left I found I didn’t actually need familiar.”

“I could have told you that.”

She makes a face, barely resists the urge to stick out her tongue. Enzo’s not the least bit chastised. His boots squeak against the polished coffee table as he gets comfortable. “Tell me, Gorgeous, what’s the plan then? We just wait?”

She’s about to snap an apology for inconveniencing him but Klaus speaks first, “It shouldn’t be too long. I believe we have the spell, the wi…” Caroline sees him glance at her when he pauses. He smiles at her, all warmth and dimples, and corrects himself. “Bonnie just has to look it over. It’ll take a few days to track down the necessary ingredients but she likely shouldn’t be spilling blood immediately, given her condition.”

“Is my usual room ready?” Enzo asks.

It’s so weird that he has a usual freaking room.

“Of course,” Klaus answers, the tiniest hint of offense making the words come out clipped.

Caroline takes another drink. A bigger one. “I’m going to need the full story of how you two became bffs. Like, right now.”

Enzo smirks, his eyes growing gleeful, “It was a rocky road, Gorgeous. There was bloodshed, severed limbs.”

“His,” Klaus mutters darkly.

He doesn’t try to stop the story, however. Only interjects when Enzo begins to embellish and occasionally to supply extra details.

It’s not long until Caroline’s sides hurt from laughing.

For the first time she feels like maybe, somehow, she really will be okay.

* * * * *

It takes a minute for Elena to realize she’s no longer alone. Caroline hadn’t announced herself but she’s kind of surprised Elena’s not more alert. She looks miserable, wrapped in a blanket on the mattress in the corner of the cell. It’s not her only blanket, she’s got a whole pile. Pillows too. It’s only the locked door that makes the room a cell because it’s clean and dry and well lit.

Far nicer than a cave.

The door’s feature small barred cut-outs, high enough that Caroline doesn’t have to duck to look through them.

There are guards behind her, at the bottom of the staircase, but they hadn’t tried to stop or discourage her. Caroline thinks they’re hybrids but she’s not sure how that’s possible. It’s another question to add to her endless list. It’s mental list for now. Klaus had informed her that paper and pens were no longer commonly used. She’d been horrified and he’d smiled, had told he’d sacrifice one of his sketchbooks and some pencils for her until he could track down something suitable.

He’d offered a tablet too but nothing is as satisfying as striking off a task on paper.

Stefan had glanced up as she’d passed his cell. They’d eyed each other for a moment before he’d bowed his head once more.

It had felt like a dismissal and she’d be lying if she claimed it hadn’t annoyed her.

She can hear Damon moving, breathing harshly. Dull thuds that must be him slamming into the walls. Idly, she wonders if putting Elena in the center cell had been purposeful or coincidence. She doesn’t travel beyond Elena’s cell, has no pressing need to check on Damon.

Elena’s still a pretty crier, no snot or splotchy skin, just big fat tears and attractively clumped lashes. Her hair is shorter than Caroline’s ever seen it, resting just at her collarbones but that’s it. Physically, the Elena before her is identical to the Elena she’d always known.

Caroline taps at the door and Elena startles, springing from the bed and pressing her back to the wall. Her face is twisted in anger but confusion takes over when she spots Caroline. “Who are you?” she asks warily.

Well. That’s weird. She’d shared dolls with Elena, games of Candyland. Giggled about crushes and complained about pop quizzes. There’s no hint recognition in Elena’s red-rimmed eyes.

She takes another step closer, “My name’s Caroline.”

Damon’s stilled and Stefan’s risen. A glance to her left and right shows the they’re peering out at her. Elena can’t see them and she’s waiting, like she expects a longer explanation. “Where’s your boss?” she spits, when Caroline remains quiet.

“I don’t have one of those.” Technically, she’s never had one of those. She’d had ideas about trying her hand at a career or two, hadn’t gotten the chance.

“Klaus,” Stefan cuts in. “Where is Klaus?”

Caroline shrugs, points upwards. He’s somewhere upstairs. Bonnie had emerged from her room, had begun to go through the research Klaus has compiled over the years. He’d excused himself to make a call, had said something about arranging for reinforcements. “I’m not a hybrid. Just a regular ol’ vampire. About the same age as you, actually. And I don’t work for Klaus.”

The noise Elena makes is disbelieving. “Sure you don’t. Why else would you be here? Unless you’re…” she trails off, her eyes flitting over Caroline in a way that’s familiar in it’s silent judgement. Caroline’s sure she’s trying to find a safe euphemism but she apparently fails. “…with him,” Elena finishes.

Caroline keeps her reply simple. She doesn’t owe anyone in this basement an explanation. “He’s helping me with something.”

“Klaus doesn’t help people.”

Technically false. “Really? I thought it was pretty helpful when he offered up a hybrid for you to kill so you didn’t spend a few decades going insane.”

Elena shrinks back, growing fearful once more. “How do you know about that?”

“We used to know each other.” Kind of an understatement but Elena’s not going to believe her anyway.

“We’ve never met.”

“We have,” Caroline counters. “I don’t actually remember when.”

Mystic Falls had been small, and big on community celebrations. She assumes she’d met Elena and Bonnie at one of them, had been plopped in a group with kids her age under the semi-attentive eye of whatever grown up was the most likely to go easy on the spiked punch.

Elena’s watching her with some measure of concern. Caroline can’t blame her. A stranger, talking nonsense, while you’re trapped in a cell is bound to be alarming.

She should probably apologize for the kidnapping thing but she’s not sure if Elena deserves it.

Elena moves forward again, her big brown eyes once again pleading, and her voice turns soft. “Listen, Caroline. If you need help, I’ll help you. We’ll help you if you get us out. But Klaus is… Klaus is bad news, okay? You need to get me out of here. Damon and Stefan too. He’s going to kill us. Torture us.”

A demand, one that’s annoyingly condescending. Not even a request.

“He’s not going to torture you.”

Caroline’s hoping that, whatever went down, Elena had been kept in the dark. Damon and Stefan had tended to get high handed and she thinks it’s plausible that they’d decided on a course of action for Elena, had decided what her best interest was and hadn’t cared about collateral damage.

The door to the next cell rattles and she hears a strangled grunt. Glancing over Caroline sees Damon, his pale blue eyes just as startling as she remembers. He’s livid, his color high and his mouth is ringed with dried blood. He makes more sounds, feral inarticulate noises that don’t resemble actual words.

Elena’s frantic, stretched up on her toes, her head pressed to the bars but there’s no way she can see Damon. She glares at Caroline, “Do you not consider cutting out a tongue torture?”

A throat clears behind her and one of the guard pipes up, “Technically, that was Kol.”

Ah. She should have known. He’d acquiesced so easily.

Caroline wonders if she should be outraged but she finds she can’t muster the energy. ““I mean, it is but it’ll grow back.”

Elena gasps, “That’s not the point.”

“The Damon I remember was really bad at knowing when to shut up.”

Elena recoils, watching Caroline warily now. “And that makes it okay?”

It’s not a debate Caroline’s willing to entertain, especially when there’s no point in reminding Elena what a giant freaking hypocrite she’s being.

Stefan says her name, catching her attention. “Caroline,” he repeats, drawing out the syllables. “Klaus asked us about you. Several times.”

This time the noise Damon makes is a snarl and Caroline figures those were not civilized conversations. “Like I said, he’s been helping me.”

“For a hundred years?”

“More like a hundred and fifty.”

She can still read Stefan. He’s measuring her, trying to figure out how loyal she is to Klaus, if he can use her. He’s going to be disappointed. “An awfully long time,” he finally says, carefully neutral.

Caroline laughs even though none of her present company will get the joke, “Didn’t feel like it.”

She studies each of her old friends in turn. Stefan’s got his brows furrowed in frustration, Damon’s tense like he’s considering going for her throat, thick doors be damned. Elena’s sad and anxious, her knuckles white where they clutch the edge of the window.

Part of her hadn’t understood what it meant that she’d been erased. She’d half expected recognition. That seeing her in the flesh would shake whatever magic that had been weaved loose. She’d hoped for answers. At the very least she’d wanted a target for her anger.

Of course it’s not that simple.

* * * * *

She’d planned to sleep in her own bed.

Had showered, explored the bottles and tubes of sweet-smelling lotions and creams that had appeared in the bathroom adjacent to the room she’d been given. Had used up several hours making notes in the sketchbook Klaus had provided while scouring the internet for answers to some of her more practical questions.

She’s super disappointed that flying cars still haven’t become a common mode of transportation.

When she’d settled under the covers and closed her eyes she’d begun to get anxious. It wasn’t the silence because music hadn’t help. She’d turned on a lamp, just in case it was the dark. She’d grown tense as she’d lain there, struggling to take even inhales and exhales. Had thrown off the blankets once she’d grown hot and sweat slicked.

Her mind had kept returning to waking up alone, in the cave. To the moment when she’d realized she was trapped, when she hadn’t been sure if Bonnie was alive. She’d felt utterly alone and so scared. That same terror creeps into her bones, until she’s shaking and curled into a tight ball, her teeth grinding together.

Maybe she should have stuck it out. She’d known she was safe. That Bonnie was just next door, that it would be daylight again in just a few hours.

The longer she’d lain there, unsleeping, the harder it had been to tell herself that she needed to.

Why she should have to suffer? It’s not like Klaus is going to judge her or turn her away. He’d made that clear last night. She’s not sure what time it is when she gives up, only knows that she can’t hear a peep from any of the other occupants of the house.

She finds Klaus’ door wide open.

She can see him propped up in the center of his bed. He watches her approach, shifts to one side, an invitation he doesn’t bother to voice.

She reaches behind her once she crosses the threshold and shuts the door, fingers fumbling for a lock.

It’s warm when she tucks herself under the covers and she sighs and stretches out her legs, her muscles unclenching in relief. Klaus sinks down until his head rests on a pillow, on his side facing her. There’s no hint that she’s not welcome.

It used to make her jittery, the way Klaus looked at her. She’d tried to tell herself that he wasn’t actually interested, that he had a motive or a lack of other prospects in the immediate vicinity. That his pretty words were practiced lines and that he’d offered trips and trinkets to a thousand people before her.

Caroline knows she was wrong. That if she’d been only convenient he never would have bothered digging her out of that cave.

That should scare her.

Should.

Caroline pulls the heavy comforter over her shoulders, wonders if she should just say screw it and cross the few inches that separate her from Klaus now, or if she should make a show of getting heavy eyed and sleepy first.

“Something wrong with your bed, love?” Klaus teases.

Ugh, he’s so not going to let her get away with faking sleep before she gets hands-y, is he?

She rolls until she faces away from Klaus but rests against him. “Shut up,” she mutters, reaching back to grab his arm. She wraps it around her middle, rests her hand over top of his and squirms until they’re comfortably pressed together. He takes the hint beautifully, his legs bending to tangle with hers.

She feels him laughing, his breath against the back of her neck. “I’ll take that as a no, then.”

They shift, settling, and Caroline finds that she can breathe easy now that she can focus on the faint thrum of Klaus’ heartbeat. “How did your visit downstairs go?” he asks.

Caroline scoffs, tugs at a leather cord on his wrist, “Like your minions didn’t report back my every word.”

“They would have. I didn’t ask.”

Caroline finds that she’s smiling, presses her face into the pillow to try to hide it. It’s a simple statement but it tells her that Klaus trusts her. She hadn’t expected that.

“They don’t remember me. I knew they wouldn’t but I still didn’t totally expect it. I felt… expendable a lot, you know? I thought I’d gotten past that but… they kind of brought that all back.”

His grip on her tightens, his stubble scraping her skin as he shakes his head. “You are not expendable.”

“I know,” she answers, firm and steady.

Caroline isn’t who she’d been when she’d called Mystic Falls home. Getting out had been good to her. She’d lost the instinct to second guess her actions, to wonder if her choices would negatively impact her friends. Outside of the tiny town, away from all the people who’d known her all her life, she hadn’t worried about anyone whispering about how she was disgracing her family name or embarrassing her mother.

She’d shed insecurities as she’d hopped planes and trains.

Caroline knows she deserves to be happy, that she matters. Leap frogging into the future hasn’t changed her mind.

“Good,” Klaus rumbles, a wealth of satisfaction in his tone.

Caroline shifts back slightly, nudging him with her elbow, “What? Did you seriously expect me to argue?”

She knows he’s smiling, can hear it in his taunt, “Are you implying that you’re not argumentative, love?”

Caroline twists to glare at him, “I’m going to ignore that obvious baiting because I recognize that I’m totally invading your space right now.”

“It’s not baiting, it’s a statement of fact. And I’m not implying it’s a defect. Quite the opposite, really.”

She studies Klaus carefully, judges that he’s being honest, and turns until her head’s once more resting on the pillow. “So I like a lively debate, sue me,” she mutters.

Klaus laughs, so softly that she feels it more than hears it. Caroline closes her eyes, lets the warmth of him behind her help ease her into sleep.

Tomorrow’s bound to be another whirlwind of a day.

#klaroline #klaroline drabbles #yay sequels finally #ybtn

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seasonofthegeek · 4 years

Text

Sacrifice of Three, Part 1

The lovely @miraculouspaon requested another part of this drabble through ko-fi and I decided to use that story as inspiration for the expanded universe because I feel like it would be such a fun AU to play in with more detail. So this is taking it to the beginning of the story and working to the part in the drabble and beyond. :D

___

“I don’t understand why I continue to receive these meeting invitations. I’m not part of a Fae court; there’s no reason for me to attend a Winter Solstice conference of the supernatural community.” Gabriel dropped the leaflet of cardstock into his assistant’s desk in tray. “Please confirm my absence. Perhaps one of these days those ancient monsters will stop bothering me.”

Nathalie slid the invitation out of her tray with a curt nod. “Very well, sir. I will have to ask that I be excused for the event though. I was chosen as the representative for my pack.”

“You don’t even get along with your pack.”

She shrugged. “I suppose I could fight another member to pass on the invitation but I’d rather not.”

“It’s barbaric.”

“There are only two werewolf packs in the city and the one I chose is the less aggressive of the two. It’s better than the alternative.”

“If you say so.”

“Not all of us can pretend to be human all the time,” she replied, tone even. She ignored the glare cast in her direction as she began to work on his invitation decline. “If I hadn’t sought out one of the packs after I turned, they would’ve come after me eventually. Better to have a choice.”

“Better to be left alone entirely.”

“If that’s an option, which it wasn’t.”

Gabriel clenched his jaw until it made a tight ticking sound. “Fine. I’ll accept the invitation.”

“That’s not necessary.”

“Perhaps if I attend, they will stop harassing me.” He turned away from her desk to return to his.

“I wouldn’t call sending an invitation to events a few times a year harassment, but we all have our burdens to bear,” Nathalie replied dryly. “Why the change of heart?”

He stiffened. “If we’re there together, perhaps we won’t lose an entire week of work.”

“Ah, yes. I was hoping I wouldn’t be allowed a vacation.” Nathalie kept her face blank, fighting against the smile she could feel tugging at her lips. “They’ll ask what court you’re representing upon accepting.”

Gabriel sighed and looked back at the large painting of his deceased wife. The portrait had been done in shades of green and gold and had managed to catch a fraction of the beauty of the sun nymph who’d shined down on him for a short time. “The Summer Court, I suppose, though I never really felt right there.”

“It’s possible you’ll be asked about Adrien,” she warned him, pausing in her work.

He turned away from the portrait. “And I’ll tell them he died with his mother.”

“You think it’s wise to lie? Anyone could come here and find him.”

“Then I’ll have to make sure to seem as human and uninteresting as possible, won’t I?” He gave her a wry smile. “Changelings barely register on the supernatural scale. I’m sure my continued requests for attendance are about my son and what he can do for the courts, but I have no intentions of allowing him into that life. Perhaps they’ll be led to believe he takes after me.”

“Anyone who saw him would know that isn’t true.”

“Mmm, well, there’s a reason he stays here most of the time.”

Nathalie shook her head, unsure if Gabriel actually believed his son stayed put in their large home or if he was simply in denial of Adrien’s frequents nighttime walkabouts. “Of course, sir.”

___

Jagged leaned back with a content sigh and licked his blood-stained lips. “Penny, love, you’re as exquisite as ever.”

“And you’re as greedy as ever.” She stood and went to the vanity, shuffling through the mess on the counter to find a clean bandage. “I’m going to have to take a nap at some point to get some energy back.”

“I’ll keep you company, pet. I’d love to have someone pretty and warm like you in my bed.”

Penny laughed as she smoothed the bandage over the wound in her neck. “I’m sure you would, but I’ve got other things to do today.”

He stuck out his bottom lip in a pout. “But I’ll be lonely.”

“Somehow I think you’ll survive. Have you decided about the meeting yet?”

“Didn’t wanna go the first time you asked and haven’t changed my mind.” He let his arm fall languidly off the couch and felt rough scales under his palm. “There’s my good boy. Who’s my favorite dragon?”

“He’s not a dragon.”

“Don’t listen to Penny, mate. She’s all cranky due to blood loss,” Jagged soothed, scratching along the crocodile’s back.

“If you say no to this meeting, you’ll have to go to the next one. Winter Solstice doesn’t sound too bad anyway. And the cabin looks nice.”

“Ah, a cabin. A house made entirely of wood. Exactly the kind of place a vampire wants to find himself in when a bunch of other supes are hanging out and plotting.”

“Stop being a baby.” Penny turned to face him, leaning against the counter. “Are you going or not? You know Arkana will give you hell if she has to go this time too. It will be her third one in a row.”

“Why do they keep requesting us anyway? Our nest isn’t even that big. Why not the uppity vampires near the center of the city?”

“They might be there too. You’re hardly a good representation of the species.”

“I think you used to be nicer,” Jagged pouted. “I should’ve left you as a naive human out in the world.”

“I’m still a human out in the world,” she winked. “Just not nearly as naive. So is that a yes?”

He groaned and Fang made a chuffing sound by his side. “Fine, yes.”

___

“Oi, you lot notice we’re still the only ones here?” Jagged leaned in the doorway of the study and crossed his arms. “This shindig was supposed to start over an hour ago. Where’s everyone else?”

Nathalie looked up from her laptop and blinked. “No one else has arrived?”

“Nah. I’ve been roaming around this place like I’m haunting it and there’s not hide nor hair of anyone. Something doesn’t smell right.” He watched the werewolf sniff gingerly at the air and couldn’t help the wide smile that crossed his face. “Didn’t mean literally, pet.”

She glared at him. “Don’t call me that.”

Gabriel set his own laptop on the coffee table and went to the window. “There is quite a bit of snow. Perhaps it’s slowing the others down.”

“All of them? Seems a little ‘spicious, don’tcha think?”

“Is it getting heavier?” Nathalie joined them by the window and hugged herself. “I believe that’s sleet. I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere ourselves for a while.”

“This day and age and not a phone number or email to be found between us to reach anyone, is there? You ever wonder why the powers that be insist on keeping things so old school?”

“It wouldn’t help even if we had contacts. There’s no service up here. Gabriel and I have been working on a portable backup drive we brought ourselves.”

“Aren’t you two just the ambitious little duo?”

Gabriel ignored the other man’s remark as he stared out the window. “Well, this is certain to cause us trouble. Jagged, I think it would be best if you retreat to one of the guest rooms. I can lock you in for your own safety.”

The vampire visibly bristled as he leaned against the wall. “I’m not an animal, mate. Believe it or not, I can survive being snowed in with you two without ripping your throats out.” He flashed a wide smile that showcased two delicate fangs. “Might be fun though. Besides, if you’re going to lock me up, you should lock up your sweet lil pup too.”

Nathalie scowled at him. “It’s not even close to the full moon. I’m in no danger of transforming here.”

“Wonder if there’s an old tale about this somewhere. A vampire, a werewolf, and a changeling snowed in late at night in the middle of nowhere…” Jagged chuckled to himself. “Who will survive, who will thrive, who will take an eternal dive….”

Gabriel turned away from the window and pinched the bridge of his nose, pushing his glasses up in agitation. “Please don’t call me that.”

“S’whatcha are, Gabe. Wee little Fae babe who was left to be raised by humans ‘cause he couldn’t cut it in the courts. Nothing to be ashamed of. You got that pretty bride of yours due to your heritage and all. Worked out, didn’t it?”

“Don’t speak of things you don’t understand,” Gabriel warned with a growl.

“Oh, I understand,” Jagged replied with an easy grin. “I met her before you, ya know. Wouldn’t have worked out what with her being one with the sun but she was pretty enough for it to be tempting--”

Nathalie stepped between the men with a put upon sigh. “Since we don’t know how long we’re going to be here, perhaps it would be wise to take stock of our supplies instead of being immature brats. Jagged, did you bring any bagged blood with you?”

“Don’t drink the stuff, pet. I like my blood alive. Besides, usually they have willing donors at these things. Vamps aren’t the only ones who like blood and this was supposed to be a big meeting of the supernatural minds for the Winter Solstice and all that.”

“In other words, you’re unprepared.” She turned to Gabriel. “Do you think we can expect any of the others to make it here before things get too bad?”

“I think they’ve already gone bad unfortunately. I don’t believe anyone could make it in a storm like this. We should’ve left earlier before we got stuck here ourselves.”

Jagged pushed away from the wall. “Well, as much fun as it would be to watch you two moan and groan about our predicament the rest of the night, the cold doesn’t much bother me so I think I’ll be off.”

Nathalie snorted. “You can’t be serious.”

“Course I am. Not all warm blooded like you lot. I can walk right out of here.”

“You’d freeze,” she replied incredulously. “You wouldn’t make it to the nearest town before you froze in place and then the sun would catch you when it finally rose again. Even you have limitations.”

“Let him go. It’d make the stay much more pleasant,” Gabriel remarked. “Would you like to go see what the food situation is like? It’d be best to settle that early.”

“That sounds reasonable,” she agreed, following him towards the kitchen.

“I mean it. I’m leaving,” Jagged called after them. “Not waiting around.” He growled under his breath when he received no reply. He could leave. He could walk right out the door, but Nathalie was probably right. He didn’t have a clue where he was going and if the ground was frozen over, he’d have a hard time burying himself deep enough to keep safe from the rising sun.

He grumbled to himself and dropped down on one of the couches. Flames licked the bricks of the fireplace and he watched them until he fell into a peaceful trance, letting his body shut down little by little to conserve energy. While it was fun to tease Gabriel and Nathalie, the worry that they might be there longer than anticipate nagged at the back of his mind. Better not to waste any energy he could hold onto for the time being.

___

“The bread’s gone stale.” Nathalie stared at her sandwich before taking another bite.

“There isn’t much more to put on it anyway. This was probably the last day we could do sandwiches.” Gabriel bit into his reluctantly and chewed as he reached for a book on the coffee table. “We can probably use the last pieces with some of the soup.”

“Cold soup and stale bread; I feel spoiled.”

“Things must be bad if you’re talking like that.”

“Losing the electricity’s made me cranky,” Nathalie said in way of apology. “I know we’re all making sacrifices.”

“At least you two get to eat,” Jagged whined, draping himself across the couch. “I’m starving. I’ve got bags under my eyes and my skin’s looking all waxy. I hate when my skin looks waxy. Haven’t looked this rough in decades.”

“Perhaps you should’ve left when you threatened to.” Gabriel didn’t look up from his book. “You know where the door is.”

“I can’t go out in this state. I wouldn’t make it to the end of the driveway. This storm’s unnatural. There’s a warlock or something behind it, mark my words.”

“I’ve been wondering about that actually.” Nathalie set her plate down and went to the wall of bookshelves, looking over the titles. “It might not be an accident we’re the only ones stuck here.”

Gabriel closed his book and looked to her across the room. “You really believe someone targeted the three of us?”

“I don’t know why they would. We’re only representatives, not even important members of our groups, but it’s just a feeling.”

“Why’d you have to go and bring that up?” Jagged groaned. “You’ve gone and made me think and now my head hurts.” He closed his eyes and rubbed his temples. “See what you can find in those books about the Sacrifice of Three for the Solstice. I can’t believe I’m even considering that being a possibility. And keep it down; I need a nap.”

“Wait, what do you mean the Sacrifice of Three?”

The vampire didn’t reply as his body fell into a chilling stillness.

“He’s been doing that a lot the past day or so,” Nathalie remarked, keeping her voice low. She turned away from the sight and went back to the books. “It can’t be good.”

“He’s trying to conserve his energy, but I agree. We need to keep an eye on him. I don’t think it’d be wise for either of us to be alone with him at any time.” Gabriel set his own plate down and joined her by the bookshelves. “I’ll help you look while there’s still daylight.”

She cast another wary glance at the still vampire. “What if he loses control?”

Gabriel clenched his jaw. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

“Not if?”

He didn’t respond, instead pulling a book of the shelf to thumb through it.

“What if we’re still here when the full moon hits?” she asked, voice quieter.

“We’ll deal with that as well.”

“I’d kill you both. I can’t control it.”

“Then we better look for a way to get out of here, hmm?” He met her eyes and they shared a look of understanding before she nodded and they continued their search.

Buy me a cherry coke?

#agrestonath #gabriel agreste #nathalie sancoeur #jagged stone #miraculous ladybug

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