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questforgalas · 1 year

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March on the Temple Pt. 3

Summary: Now with Rex, Echo decides now is the time to figure out what Rex knows about the fate of their brothers

Notes: I originally planned to only keep this as 2 parts - when Tech finds out and then when Echo receives the news - but when the writers for season 2 gifted me the canon present of putting Echo with Rex, I couldn't help myself! Takes place after "Truth and Consequences" of TBB season 2. Get ready for some Rex feels and some Echo admiration. Little somethin somethin for the batch fans at the end ;) hope you enjoy!

WC: 3.2K

Tags: Echo, Rex, Angst with comfort, post order 66, Anakin is talked about, 501st is talked about

Pt 1 | Pt 2 | Pt 3

Tay's Masterlist

On AO3

It was puzzling to Echo how surprised visitors sounded when they’d realize how cold Coruscant is. It wasn’t often he’d find himself amongst citizens of the Republic, mulling about their day, but, occasionally, back when they first got stationed on Coruscant, he and Fives found opportunities to spend their downtime outside of base instead of stuck in the rec room again. Did those opportunities usually involve volunteer patrols? Sure, but Fives’ skin would vibrate with energy at the thought of being a normal citizen and not just an expendable clone for a few hours, so off they’d go, blending with the habitants of Coruscant, both permanent and temporary.

The visitors were the easiest to spot thanks to their commentary. No matter what level they were on, whether exposed to the rays on the surface or exploring the eclectic markets of lower levels, visitors always commented on how cold the planet was. Echo didn’t understand. It was a planet made entirely of steel kept at a moderate temperature zone on the surface. Of course it was going to be cold. Did they think Senator Amidala wore all of those layers for fashion?

Sitting in the Martez sisters’ hangar, Echo lost himself in his thoughts as he leaned back in his chair, legs kicked up on the desk against the wall, crossed at the ankle. The spacious hangar was quiet, an ambience of speeder traffic muffled by the closed door hummed around him, allowing Echo’s thoughts to wander at will all while trying to keep at bay the constant chill across his skin. Trace’s latest project took up the majority of the space behind him, half-crafted hull and parts scattered on various workbenches surrounding the ship-in-progress. The steel hangar walls hid in the shadows under the dim, low-grade lights. Only the lamp on the desk emitted a strong glow, basking Echo in a steady white light.

He'd only been alone for a few minutes, waiting for Rex to return from receiving his next intel. The meeting spot was only around the corner, so Echo wasn’t going to be alone for long. Rex would never comment on it, but Echo knew his Captain was aware of his aversion to solitude, even if they’d never talked about it. That was Rex for you. He may have been captain of one of the largest battalions in the Grand Army of the Republic, but he knew each of his men individually as if he led a squad of two.

Skako Minor fortified Echo’s dislike of solitude, but being honest with himself, he had never been a fan of being on his own. Thinking back on it, he didn’t think there was ever a time he wasn’t in the presence of someone since he came out of the tube. Domino squad, regardless of their bickering, was always near each other while on Kamino. Fives and he gained the reputation of being inseparable early in their youth, mainly because Echo noticed Fives knack for going against regulation so he’d follow him while reading out the reg manual if only to remind him that there are restrictions in place for a reason. Apparently, continuously following someone around reading the reg manual amounted to inseparable.

Granted, Fives thought his reg-reading tail was amusing and eventually, unbeknownst to Echo, he’d purposely declare he was going to cause mischief before leaving the barracks just so Echo would follow behind, begrudgingly getting involved in whatever Fives had in mind. After the Rishi Outpost though, Echo decided life for them was a little too short to have his nose stuck in a manual, so he was more willing to help Fives pass the time. One could argue that their activities were positive additions to the 501st since they usually resulted in a fonder bond between whichever brothers were around. Rex would begrudgingly agree.

Every battalion of the GAR formed tight-knit bonds, and they echoed onto each Jedi general and commander, but it was silently understood that the tightest were formed between the boys in blue of the 501st. Skywalker and Tano’s bond as master and padawan was only rivaled by that between Skywalker and Kenobi, and the 501st reflected the bond of their General and Commander. War was ugly, buried in layers of scum that more often than not latched onto morale trying to pull the troopers down with it, but even after the ugliest campaigns, the men of the 501st worked together to pull each other out of the depths and keep the hope of the galaxy warm in their hearts.

That unending hope, the natural instinct to take care of their brothers and get out together, was personified by Skywalker. Rex told stories of when he first met him – the newly knighted Jedi with a terrible haircut who couldn’t tell strategy from a womprat but with a heart bigger than a Gundark and steel determination to take care of his men. Apparently, Rex and Skywalker spent the ride to Christophsis, the first battle they served together, with Rex teaching Anakin the basics of combat tactics, and each lesson Skywalker seemed to be imprinting in his brain, set on being the best general he could be for his men. So no, it wasn’t a surprise to anyone that Skywalker’s heart, determination, and loyalty poured into the 501st.

A faint, throbbing ache formed in Echo’s chest, bringing him back to the dim hangar. Over the months since the Empire formed, Echo became familiar with this particular ache as it only came when he thought about his old battalion. It wasn’t the fond ache of missing someone, it was the pain of mourning. The 501st he knew, the General Skywalker he served under, would never kill innocents. If Echo suggested the idea of marching on the Jedi temple to wipe out the order of warriors, he was certain Skywalker himself would have his lightsaber at his neck telling Echo to never utter such filth to him again. Yet, that was the reality.

Some days he wished Hunter had kept him in the dark to what really happened to his general and his battalion. Wished he remained naïve, not knowing the fate of his brothers and thinking that Skywalker was MIA or dead. Thinking that was better than knowing the truth. But he knew it was for the best in the end. It allowed him to find peace in the memories he had and to find motivation when hope seemed a distant shadow. Now working with Rex, he was as determined as ever to help as many brothers as he could, and he’d be there for each member of the 501st, if he could help it, as they wake up from the nightmare they’re currently living.

As if he knew Echo’s isolation was starting to take its toll, the small door to the hangar whooshed open, and Rex walked in. The sorry excuse of a poncho Rex passed as a disguise barely obscured the captain’s face as his head was tilted down finishing the data transfer on his datapad. Without taking his eyes off the tablet, he tugged the hood down, revealing his blonde hair to the dim glow in the hangar. His eyes didn’t move until he was standing next to the desk Echo sat at, moving to sit on its side while he continued tapping. Echo recognized that look. He knew better than to try and interrupt right now while Rex was deep in concentration. A few seconds passed before Rex tossed the datapad onto the desk, releasing a deep sigh.

“Alright we’ve got the next intel. It’s not going to be an easy one, but nothing we can’t handle. Another brother free when we’re done.” Arms crossed at his chest, Rex looked over at Echo, tired eyes crinkling in the corners.

Technically Rex was only a year older than him, but to the clones, even a couple months in age could seem like five years. Sometimes Echo still felt like a cadet when he looked at the captain, unable to help the tingle of admiration his older brother brought out. Fives liked to tease him about keeping the handprint on his armor, even transferring it over to his ARC armor once they were promoted, but to Echo that handprint meant everything. The man in front of him was his captain, his mentor, his savior, and he didn’t just mean Rishi. The batch may have been brought along on the mission to Skako Minor, but Echo knew if it wasn’t for Rex following his instinct and even defying the Jedi council – that made Echo blink a couple times when Rex filled him in on that part – he’d still be trapped in a chamber with no ownership over his own mind.

“When do you want to head out?” Echo asked.

The captain briefly closed his eyes and let loose a long sigh before answering, “We won’t have an opening for a rotation, possibly two. Like I said, it’ll be tricky, and we’ll have to hit our timing perfectly to get it right. We’ll need to go over the plan a couple times to make sure its airtight.”

“Want to work through it now then?”

“Honestly, I’d like to take a minute. It feels like it’s been nonstop since the Republic fell. It’d be nice to just sit still for a moment,” Rex answered.

“What, your old age getting to ya?” Echo joked. That one earned him a scowl lacking any venom. Soft chuckles rumbled from Echo’s chest, and Rex rolled his eyes at him before he cracked a smile of his own.

“Hey, give me a break! I’m generation 1. I’m practically geriatric at this point,” the captain poked at himself.

A hum came from Echo as they both settled into the silence. The Batch had only left yesterday, and Rex and Echo used the time to catch each other up on what they’d both been up to since Bracca. The captain’s report wasn’t too surprising. Finding clones waking up from the chips, getting them out when he could. Much of what he’d already talked about. Echo’s reports of the Batch’s lives took a little more time to tell. Rex kept his expression neutral longer than most would, but by the time they reached Tech’s blossoming racing career, the captain was holding his head in his hands. The mixed look of disbelief and horror was comical.

“How did you end up the responsible one? I mean, you even reigned in Hunter. How is that even possible?” Rex had said to him.

“I don’t know. Fives is probably rolling in his grave, though,” Echo had answered with a laugh.

The mention of Fives silenced them. Throughout the rotation, they danced around Fives and any topics that took place after Order 66 that didn’t have to do with their separate mission; however, with the thoughts fresh in mind from a few minutes ago, Echo felt himself getting itchy. As far as he knew, he and Rex were the only remaining de-chipped members of the 501st. If he had anyone to share this pain with, it was the captain standing next to him.

“Ya know, when we were on Saleucami after first fleeing Kamino, Hunter told me some news. I’ve seen him in some hairy situations, but I’ve never seen him as nervous as he was when he approached me that day. Didn’t need to be a Jedi to tell something was up,” Echo started. He felt his hand starting to sweat under its glove, and he kept his eyes trained on the desk in front of him, but he felt Rex’s gaze on him while he spoke. “I give him credit. It wasn’t easy news to deliver. He could’ve left it for me to discover myself or never discover. Kept in the dark about it all. In the end, I’m glad I know, as hard as it is.”

Eyes still trained on the desk, Echo heard Rex heave a sigh, and he caught the sight of his shoulders slumping in the corner of his vision. He looked up to find Rex staring at the ground in front of him now, back bowed like he was holding the weight of Coruscant.

“I think I know where you’re going with this, Echo. I’ll admit, I didn’t want to bring it up just incase you weren’t already aware. Wanted to gauge what you knew first.”

Deciding to rip the bandage off, Echo asked, “Are you referring to the temple, Rex?”

Rex flinched as if Echo had just slapped him. His eyes screwed tight, and a grimace of pain flashed on his face before he opened his eyes and looked at Echo again. Another deep sigh left the captain before he decided to pull over the chair that was on the other side of the desk. He sat down, body facing Echo, elbows resting on his knees, head hanging like he couldn’t hold the weight of it any longer.

The mention of the march on the temple was the final tether on Rex’s collected exterior. In front of Echo wasn’t the captain of the 501st, war hero and second-in-command to General Skywalker. In front of him was Rex, a brother who had held the weight of a battalion on his shoulders and took the fate of his men more personally than his own.

“I had just left Saleucami, only stopping to trade out my ship and get as far away from the Empire as possible so I could come up with my next move. I set course for Wild Space and used the time in hyperspace to learn as much as I could. I’m no Tech, so I couldn’t hack the Imperial records, but I gathered whatever the holonet would give me. Then I saw a headline that almost made me retch on the floor.” Rex was wringing his hands, never looking up as he spoke.

“’The Brave Story of the March on the Temple and How the Boys in Blue Rose to the Occasion’,” Rex spat. He lifted his gave just to now stare at the ceiling above. “I got about halfway through the article before I threw the datapad against the wall. Smashed the thing in half just with a throw.” Echo remained silent, giving Rex the room to continue when he was ready. Head still tilted, eyes on the ceiling, the captain went on, “The ship felt like it was closing in on me. I wanted to deny it, to call it venomous filth the Empire was trying to spread. But in my gut, I knew. The general had been showing signs of increasing irritation. He’d always toed the line of being a Jedi when it came to his emotions, but after Ahsoka left, it was different. He was different. The first time I saw the old Anakin again was when she returned, trying to get aid to Mandalore. Then I was separated from half my men, and Order 66 came in.”

Echo was listening intently when a sudden thought jolted him upright. “Wait, Rex, Ahsoka! She was with you on Mandalore when the order came in. Did you…you didn’t…” he didn’t need to finish the question which was proving difficult to form.

“No. Ahoska’s alive. I was able to fight the order when it first came in, giving her a chance. She de-chipped me, but we were the only two to make it off the Venator,” Rex answered.

News of Ahsoka pushed a breath out of Echo he didn’t realize he was holding, but the impact of realizing half a battalion was lost at once? Well, that was another punch.

“Jesse?” he asked. Rex answered by meeting his gaze and giving a small shake of his head. Echo allowed himself a moment to close his eyes, quietly mourning another brother confirmed gone.

“I’d parted ways with Ahsoka, and my first move was to look for published Imperial reports. I needed to figure out who was still around. If any deaths didn’t add up. MIA’s that had too much information missing. I’d have to be careful, but they could’ve been leads to who I could contact. Start putting missing pieces together. That’s when I came across a report saying the 501st battalion was under the command of someone called Darth Vader. No mention of Skywalker anywhere. That was the first time my instincts started screaming at me, but I didn’t want to face reality yet. One horror at a time. I had just had to kill 1000s of my brothers for a reason I didn’t understand. Senator Amidala was dead. Ahsoka was being hunted. I didn’t want to accept anymore changes.”

“Then that sithspit article came out. I had to face the new reality the last two rotations had thrown at me. Our general had turned to the dark side and brought the rest of our brothers with him. I put two-and-two together, realizing the majority of the Jedi were out at fronts and leaving the temple weak. Leaving it to be defended by…younglings,” emotion caught in Rex’s throat as he finished.

Echo remembers how hard it was for him to process this when Hunter told him on Saleucami. He chose to be alone after the shock subsided, but he had Hunter there to help him as he took in the information, processed the initial horror, and gradually accepted the news. He was also an ARC. He was friendly with all his brothers, but only close with some, and certainly didn’t know everyone in the battalion. His short time with the 501st made it so he was distantly familiar with the general, but he had no relationship with Skywalker.

Rex, on the other hand, had to process this all on his own, alone in hyperspace, mourning a battalion he knew every trooper by name and a general he called a brother. Anyone else, that reality would have broken them, but not Rex. No, Echo saw the unyielding determination in his eyes that took over once the resurfaced emotions passed, and once again, Echo was in awe of his captain. Turning to face Rex, Echo rested his scomplink on his knee and gestured with his hand.

“It wasn’t them, Rex. We know that better than anyone now. We’ll find them. We’ll get them out. That won’t be their legacy,” Echo said, confidence coating his voice.

A soft smile made its way onto Rex’s face, and eyes previously hardened with determination melted into hope. “It’s why I can’t stop now. I want all of our brothers out, but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t focus harder on the 501st. I’ve seen the reports of what they’re doing for Darth Vader. I want them out of that nightmare as soon as I can hep it.”

“Alright, let’s get started then. Sitting around here won’t get them out of there. Who was that intel on? One of our boys?” Echo steered the conversation to a topic they could both focus on: a mission.

“No, they’re off world right now. This is a brother here on Coruscant. He’s still in the base, but like I said earlier, we time it right, we can get him,” Rex explained.

“We’ve done crazier. Who is it then?” Echo asked.

Rex looked up, meeting Echo’s gaze. “We’re getting Crosshair.”

#tay writes #captain rex #arc trooper echo #the bad batch echo #the bad batch #the clone wars #post order 66 #angst with comfort #501st battalion #anakin skywalker

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hollenka99 · 1 year

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2022 According to my Tumblr Archive

January

Thasmin became canon

Horse plinko

Technoblade reached 10 million subscribers

Wilbur Soot posted Hitting on 16

February

Tommyinnit moved to Brighton and hijinks ensued

Tales From The SMP came back for a brief moment

The Legend of Vox Machina had its season finale

Someone wanted to name a particle Innuon after Tommyinnit

2sday (Tuesday 22nd February)

The PS5 was talking to us, inside our brains

March

Live slug reaction

Hermitcraft came back for season 9

MatPat tried to create the perfect pokemon for Markiplier

Heartstopper teaser

Will Smith slapped Chris Rock

April

Crabs

L’iverpool

In Space With Markiplier Part 1

Homestuck finally became old enough to be named

Walker Scobell was announced as the new Percy Jackson

Tumblr Blaze was released

After nearly 300 days, a brand finally crossed Markiplier again

Heartstopper came out on Netflix and for 8 episodes, I was 18 again

Misha Collins came out as both bisexual and then straight

Meanwhile Ranboo was begging his community to stop ignoring the blatant hints he was dropping about being queer

May

In Space With Markiplier Part 2

AO3 finally let the mcyt community have specific tags for various smps

Tumblr collectively got hooked on Dracula Daily

Daniel Howell showed up after 2 years on his own channel

Captain Sparklez finally broke his curse and got an mcc coin

June

Bo Burnham released Inside Outtakes for the anniversary

The Queen celebrated her platinum jubilee and there was a concert

Morbius

DSABCM turned a year old

The UK tried to get rid of the Human Rights Act

July

Technoblade’s death was announced through ‘so long nerds’

The UK was in political flames

Shinzo Abe was assassinated

Stray

Ted Nivison and Eddy Burback released their Rainforest Cafe videos

Pink Sauce

Bernard Cribbins died

August

The Sandman came to Netflix

Mar-a-Lago FBI raid

Percy Jackson will forever be 17

Snapcube fandub of Shadow the Hedgehog

Lovejoy started touring as themselves

September

The fucking Utah ending

I started watching House of the Dragon

Liz Truss became Prime Minister

Cbat by Hudson Mohawke

September 8th

Tommyinnit vibed in New York for 2 weeks

Ghosts came at us with a steel chair (season 4 edition)

October

Dream revealed his face

Ned Fulmer lost focus and had a consensual workplace relationship

Sam O’Nella came back after nearly 3 years

Twitchcon was a shitshow of near-Dashcon levels

Alex Jones lost the Sandy Hook trial and owes nearly a billion dollars

Markiplier threatened to start an OnlyFans for charity if we helped his podcasts

Rick Riordan announced a new Percy Jackson book

Dream was a piece of shit to cover up he’s a piece of shit

I got into Ride The Cyclone

A Lettuce beat Liz Truss

The Power of the Doctor

One of my teeth went *fuck this shit, I’m out* for no reason

November

Antisepticeye and Chase Brody returned

Twitter was having so much fun under new management that a bunch of people started flocking here

Ash Ketchum became pokemon world champion

Puppet History came back for its wildest season yet

The DSMP finale *shudders*

I briefly reverted into a Layton phase

Global population reached 8 billion

I got into The Dragon Prince

I also got into The Great Comet

Goncharov

HBomberguy’s Roblox Oof video and Defuctland’s Disney Channel jingle video

December

DSMP stageplay

We finally managed to perform nuclear fusion with net positive energy generation

Porn bot invasion

Puppet History season 5 finale said you will be emotional about the dinosaurs going extinct and we all nodded

Everyone fell in love with del Toro’s version of Pinocchio

This fucking post became my top post of the year at the last minute

We finally got Technoblade’s elbow reveal

Ghosts came at us with a steel chair (Christmas edition)

Everyone watched Glass Onion (and I finally got around to seeing Knives Out too)

Andrew Tate got arrested with the help of a pizza box when trying to be a dick to Greta Thunberg

Pope down

#holly talks #long post

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swampythesweetsketch · 2 years

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Swampy rates Ninjago seasons and the extra stuff

Uhhhh I curse a lot and say dumb shit, so be aware.

Pilots

Lotta gay undertones but Jay is on thin fucking ice. 8/10

Mini-movies

HOW THE FUCK DOES HELL (The Underworld) HAVE A OPEN BACKDOOR 9/10

Season 1, Rise of the Snakes

Holy fuck why is everyone a dick to Zane wtf. *sees everyone's "I'm insecure for ___ reason episodes* Oh that's why... Jay fuck u 7/10

Season 2, Legacy of the Green Ninja

Need more filler episodes tbh in the later seasons but at least we got Double Trouble and- *sees Child's Play* oh my fucking god- 8/10

Season 3, Rebooted

How the fuck did the Ninja become teachers when they're barely adults also, Nya wtf wtf ZANE NO NO!!!!!!!!!!!!!! 6/10

Season 4, Tournament of Elements

Cool, new characters we aren't gonna see in a while. And for fuck sake Jay, you're gay. You're gay you're gay you're gay stop fucking around and kiss Cole already. 9/10

Season 5, Possession

Bad season. The animators totally forgot to add Morro or Lloyd's trans flag cape in every scene they were in. But we got Cole screaming so that's a plus. 8/10

Season 6, Skybound

Nya should've stayed tf away from Jay. Jay, did you not listen to what I said about Season 4. Nadakhan was a good villain but holy fuck dude, she's maybe 18-19 at the oldest wtf you creep. 4/10

Day of the Departed

Cole is not vibing with his ghostly depression and fist fights a old dead man. Jay again is denying his love for Cole but what else is new- wait a minute- HOLY FUCK IT'S MORRO WITH THE STEEL CHAIR- 10/10!

Season 7, Hands of Time

Kai season Kai season Kai season-

Also why tf is Dumbassshipping Jay/Cole/Kai when it is clearly Jay/Cole/Zane? Do you see how quickly Zane turns stupid when he's with the other two??? 10/10

Season 8, Sons of Garmadon

Oh god they gave Lloyd a love interest I'm not for thi- oh wait she's a twist villain, nevermind I like this and oh no Lloyd's gonna be traumatized again. 9/10

Season 9, Hunted

Jay I love you. Kai I love you. Cole I love you.

Zane step up your fucking game. 10/10

Season 10, March of the Oni

Too short, but now I can enjoy watching Cole fall to his death to the tune of This is Gospel. 9/10

Season 11, Secrets of the Forbidden Spinjutzu

Wu, all you had to do was help them create a healthy schedule or keep them on track and none of this shit would've happened. 6/10

Season 12, Prime Empire

I'm glad that Jay came out as Bisexual and holy fuck did his avatar make me more gay than I thought I was. 10/10

Season 13, Master of the Mountain

COLE SEASON. WE SAW HIS MAMA. HE KICKED THE SHIT OUT OF KING VANGELIS. 15/10

The Island, Seabound Prologue

Gift of Jay and also that moment of Cole holding Jay that's allover the internet. Yes. 10/10

Season 14, Seabound

... Nya... 10/10

The Virtues of Spinjitzu

Putting them all together here, they were fun! 8/10

#ninjago

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avaritia-apotheosis · 3 years

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Phantom Children Ch. 6

Hi guys! I'm back <3 (also, I'm currently looking for alpha/beta readers for Phantom Children, so if you're interested, feel free to shoot me a message!)

In Which: Danny Attempts to get Answers, Bruce Learns, and Dick Finally Learns What's Inside the Door that Doesn't Exist

AO3 | Prologue | 5 | [ 6 ] | 7

DANNY IS KNOCKED DOWN three, four, eight times on the ice. Each time made his back ache, his bones bruised and tired, and his mind burning with embarrassment and a drive to lash out. But each time he gets back up. Each time he lasts a little bit longer against Talia.

The ice still shifts, cracks and rumbles with every wrong move. Danny learned to roll with it. Move on light feet but attack with a firm stance, gauge which parts of the ice are stable and which should be avoided. Multi-tasking has never been Danny’s strong suit, but he’s good at learning and learning quickly.

Talia corrected his form as much as she beat him down. Exploited every one of his openings until he learned to defend them and praised him whenever he managed to pull one over her. The League’s martial arts was the holy amalgamation between almost every single fighting style there is, mashed and refined to perfection to become almost unpredictable to the untrained. A vast improvement to Danny’s previous ‘fuck around and see what works’ brawling and had the added benefit of meshing together with his spontaneity.

“You are doing well, Daniel,” Talia said as she sheathed her sword, hand resting just above her hip. “You have improved greatly in such a short time, as I have expected.”

It takes every ounce of Danny’s superhuman energy to not collapse to his knees, his every breath a ragged shudder as he tries to get his breathing under control. “Still can’t beat you, though.”

“Very few can boast that feat.”

“I’m not exactly sure if that’s supposed to make me feel any better or not. Do I get my prize at least?”

Tahlia tossed her braid over one shoulder with a laugh. “Come, then, let us rest in the caves. The sun is to set soon and we must make camp before we freeze to death.”

“Hypothermia is so last season. I’m way too cool for that.”

He didn’t know whether to be disappointed that Tahlia didn’t react to his pun. It was pretty clever, in his opinion.

('Puns are the lowest form of comedy,' said mind-Jazz.

Says the one who named the Box Ghost the ‘Crate Creep.’

'That’s alliteration, not a pun.')

It was kind of pathetic that even his mind-version of Jazz was smarter than him.

“What would you like to know first?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Sarcasm dripped from Danny’s voice. He sheathed his sword and let it hang loose at his side. “Maybe how old this mysterious brother of mine is?” Ancients, his life was weird enough already, it wasn’t supposed to sound like the B-plot to a bad soap opera.

“Damian is younger than you by a little over four years. He will turn eleven this year.”

“Huh. Never been an older brother before.”

“Perhaps you might have been, if circumstances had been different.”

Cryptic. Great. Danny stepped over a particularly large crack in the ice and scampered over to solid ground. “You gotta give me more than that. What’s he like?”

“Prideful,” she said. “But skilled enough to warrant it. He was raised like a prince—as how you should have been.”

“And he lives with…our dad?”

“Yes. In America.” The cave was deep enough to shield them from the worst of the eventual mountain winds. Tahlia had already started building a campfire with equipment from her knapsack, embers eating away and growing into a steady flame. He sat down, legs crossed, beside the fire, hands tucked beneath his armpits.

He bit his lip, a question forming in his mind. “Do…do we have the same dad?”

Tahlia looked up at him. “Of course. Only your father has had the privilege of being called my beloved, and only he is worthy enough to have sired my children.”

Once night fell, it fell quickly. Blanketing as far as Danny could see from the mouth of the cave in a thick darkness. Snow fell from the skies in thick tufts and covered their footsteps.

“Does he—do they know about me?”

“No, they do not.”

“And you probably aren’t going to tell them anything about me, if you could help it.”

“That is very perceptive of you, habeebi.”

“You won’t tell me anything more about them, will you?”

“In due time, I will.”

Danny blew part of his fringe away from his face. Figures.

Despite the ever-present niggling at the back of his mind, Bruce had yet to see what was in the flash drive. The weeks since his strange meeting with Vlad Masters suddenly exploded with criminal activity with the recent breakout in Arkham and the brewings of another gang war in the shadows of Gotham’s paved streets. It was all hands-on deck. And Bruce, whether as Batman or Wayne, had always prioritized Gotham and its citizens over anything else.

The flash drive remained on his person despite the crisis, tucked away in one of the sturdier compartments of his utility belt to prevent the data inside from becoming damaged. Sometimes he found his hands gravitating towards it, fingers brushing against the button that would release the mystery from its confines before he realized what he was doing and steeled himself. Hands fisted to his side and attention forcibly directed elsewhere.

Eventually, the rogues were placed back into Arkham, and Gotham let out a shuddered breath of relief as it remained standing for another day.

Most of the family were out on a light patrol, cleaning up the remains of the breakout and helping where they can. Jason and Dick bickering over the comms whilst Barbara laughed in her clocktower.

(“It’s not that bad.”

"‘It’s not that bad’—shut the fuck up.” Jason spat. Bruce could hear him revving his bike. “You’re a fucking idiot, you know that? Certified Grade A idiot. B’s gonna kill you.”

He could hear Dick roll his eyes. “Sure, pile it all on, Jaybird. Blame the victim.”

"It was your fault.”

“It’s not my fault I didn’t see it there!”

"You tripped and got a concussion. From a stick. A. Stick.”

“Can we please just leave that out of the report?” Dick groaned. Barbara laughed. “Oh god.”

“Richard motherfucking John Grayson. I swear if you vomit on me then—”

“I’m not gonna vomit on you! You just turned the corner a little too fast. It’s nice to see you care though.”

"Fuck no, I just don’t wanna smell like regurgitated cereal.”)

Damian was benched from a patrol. Their last conflict with Poison Ivy ended with Damian sticking a bad landing and twisting his ankle. He dealt with it with as much grace as can be expected. Meaning that he spent the last few days sulking as he caught up on his missed schoolwork and shooting daggers at everyone else who came back from patrol.

Bruce flicked the flash drive open and plugged it into the computer. The flash drive contained only a single folder dated six months ago.

He clicked it, and a news headline popped up.

LOCAL TEEN DIES AFTER DRIVING OFF CLIFF

Beneath it, a picture. Blue eyes. Black hair. A familiar face.

Blood pounded in Bruce’s ears. He could hear nothing except a sharp gasp from Damian behind him.

When Dick and Jason arrived at the batcave, it was to an eerie silence. Not that it was usually loud, only that Bruce spent most of his free time down in the cave and Dick had come to expect hearing some signs of him around. Typing on keys, the clicking of a mouse, the heavy thuds of a fist meeting a punching bag or a training dummy, etcetera, etcetera. Or maybe even Alfred cleaning up around the cave, feeding the bats, or restocking their med bay.

(Dick, it turned out, didn’t have a concussion. Probably. Not a severe one anyway. What mattered most was that he managed to convince Jason to have dinner at the Manor. Alfred was making a tarte tatin for dessert tonight and those were absolutely to die for. )

One of Tim’s cases took him to the other side of Gotham. The only person in the cave was Damian, who was staring agape at the batcomputer.

“Why the hell is the demon spawn looking at old pictures of Bruce? We get it. They look alike.

“Uh, Dami? What’s up?”

Damian snapped his mouth shut. “I believe it might be best if you asked father that, Grayson.” Despite his clipped tone, there seemed to be little anger in his voice. His proud shoulders were hunched over on the chair, eyes trained on his lap.

He looked so small.

Damian clucked his tongue. “He’s upstairs, if you need him. So is Pennyworth.”

Dick shot a glance at Jason who raised his hands in mock surrender. “You’re up golden boy. Whatever the fuck the old man’s problem is this time, I’m not dealing with it.”

Dick sighed. “Fine.”

There was a door in Wayne Manor that didn’t exist.

When Dick was a child and recently adopted by Bruce Wayne, one of the first things he did was explore the manor. It’s the prerogative of every child that somehow found themselves in a large mansion—even more so given the castle-like exteriors of Wayne Manor. All castles have secret passages, and if the Batcave lay in the subterranean depths below, then surely the manor proper must have its own secrets.

Dick would tumble and cartwheel along the hallways, opening any and every single door he came across. A lot of them were just empty bedrooms or unused parlors and sitting rooms; the furniture covered by white sheets to keep the dust away. Alfred was probably magic, but even he can’t keep the entirety of the manor dust free.

The majority of the unused rooms were unlocked.

Except for one.

It was a room in the west wing, on the second floor. A couple doors down from where Bruce’s and Dick’s were. Why it was locked, Dick never found out. But he was curious since it was the only room on that floor that remained shut.

When he asked Alfred about it, the old butler only said that it was an unused storage room they preferred to keep locked just in case. When he asked Bruce about it, he’d be quick to change the subject. Usually something Batman related. Which, well, always worked, because it was Batman related. And Dick, young and spry and itching to fly under Batman’s wings, would quickly forget about that curious little mystery in favor of punching bad guys in the face and flipping over rooftops.

At some point that locked door quietly disappeared, leaving a blank expanse of wallpaper and a decorative vase where it once stood. It was never brought up again. And Dick slowly forgot that it was ever there in the first place.

Until now.

The wooden table and vase were shoved off to the side. Wallpaper sliced away to reveal the lines of a doorway. The door, covered in its faint damask wallpaper, was kicked open, the wood around the bolt splintered and cracked. He could hear voices—Alfred’s and Bruce’s—speaking softly on the other side.

He pressed his back against the wall and kept his breathing quiet.

“Three times, Alfred.” Bruce’s voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “Three times she’s done this to me.”

“Master Bruce…”

“I don’t—I don’t understand why—” Bruce choked, swallowing a shuddered breath. “Damian, I can understand. Jason, I can too. But…This? I—” Bruce suddenly quieted. Dick knew the jig was up.

He unlatched himself from the wall and slowly slid through the once-hidden-door, a hand kept on the frame. “Um. Hi, Bruce? Alfred?” The words fell flat, stilted. Dick winced as he said them. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop but, uh…” He trailed off the second he registered what was in the room.

It was large, as so many rooms in the manor were. The room was covered in peeling green wallpaper with faded pictures of baby deer and owls and other woodland creatures prancing about. There was a dresser on one wall. A shelf filled with little picture books and stuffed animals on the other. A brown teddy bear had fallen on its face on one of the shelves.

In the middle—where Bruce was hunched over—was a crib. The wood streaked and aged with time, the beddings within pristine and untouched, if not dusty. Hanging overhead was a mobile with little animals dangling on a string.

“Worry not Master Dick. It is good that you are here since it will inevitably involve the rest of the family at some point.”

Dick nodded absentmindedly, trying to lock eyes with his guardian. “B? What’s—what’s going on?” Dick took one step deeper into the room. “The pictures in the cave. I thought they were you since they were too old to be Damian—” Bruce’s hands on the crib’s railing flinched.

Dick’s breath hitched.

“They’re…not your photos, are they.”

Bruce took a deep breath in, the lines of his shoulders tense. “No. They’re not.”

In their line of work, the answer could have been anything. Clones, magical doppelgangers, alternate universe counterparts, hell, even just someone’s genetic code being coincidentally similar to another person. But…this room, this nursery, pointed towards only one conclusion.

“Who is he, Bruce?”

Bruce angled his head towards Dick, unshed tears glimmering in his eyes. “He’s my son, Dick.

“He’s my son.”

#danny phantom #batman #danny phantom x batman crossover #dp fic #phantom children.txt

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ramblesofajester · 3 years

Text

whispers of a witch (chap1/?

this is just a self indulgent fic for me to write when I feel like shit and yes it will have nsfw

info: they/them, curvy body, glasses, anxiety.

The cool wind sweep past your cheek as you squat down, fingers numbing and turning blue from the constant foraging across the forest floor to fine the herbs you require, its late winter and you have just run out of several herbs you use quite frequently for personal use and when healing the villagers. of course as always there is a catch when you need to get something done. one, you where delivering a baby a good portion of the day, then doing your normal round with the villagers, so soon night is to fall, two the Lycians have been testing there luck with the village borders as of resent, three the only place those herbs are left growing are near Heisenberg's land due to you harvesting all the more accessible ones previously. and just to top it all of duke wouldn't be able to gather a shipment until the next new moon, that being two weeks away so here you are right before dusk cut plants with frozen fingers outside of a missive chain-link fence in the middle of the woods. Gazing around, you are in a small clearing, the village is about a mile, mile and a half to the south west of here. the factory's smoke stacks just visible over the tree line. Sighing you focus on the task at hand, slowly griping the base of the plant you say thanks to the earth and pull it up root and all, listening to the birds as there song slowly drifted thru the trees. standing up you, make your way over to the next bushel of plants emerging from the thin coat of snow. suddenly all the brides stop singing setting off of several alarms in your brain knowing its wasn't you who disturbed them wiping around, franticly looking you hear and see movement all around you just out of sight in the brush you cant tell what it is. assuming it to be Lycians or and angry bear or even a stray ghoul from the castle grounds. garbing the dagger from your boot you crouch down to an defensive position slowly making your way toward the path you came from. as you take a step back slowly a few Lycian emerge from the tree line teeth bared eyes holding a burning hunger. a soft gasp leaves your lips if there are this many you know more are soon to follow

"well shit, I couldn't just go and have an easy day now could I?" you ask the Lycians sarcastically not really expecting a reply. a deep chuckle caught you off guard and in your shock you hear the swift shifting of metal. the feeling of cold steel on your ankle stealing your attention from the fast change of gravity as you are hoisted into the air, dangling like a prized fish. attempting to regain your bearings. you look around seeing the Lycian pack now completely surrounding you.

"well, well, well, look what the cat dragged in," standing clear in the path arm outstretched to hold the chain around you feet taking a step further with every word.

"a lost little bunny, who is hoping around where they should not be..." he says in a little tune with mirth in his step. finally stopping right in front of you raising you so your face is level with his shoulders you reach out attempting to swipe at him with you dagger, as soon as you weapon is revealed is ripped from your grasp and now spinning around you and the lord. a large gloved hand grips your face forcing you to look at lord Heisenberg.

"now I cant tell if that was stupidity, or bravery little bunny but I'm guessing you dont know who I am." he speaks with amusement as he examines your face and, forces you to look at him. you stop squirming long enough to stare at the round shades perched on his nose. this being the first time you have seen the lord this close ,its usually only in passing or from the shadows as to not be noticed, but now you have to admit the stubble and scars, the cocky smile, the smell of oil, pine, smoke, and Tabaco is actually not that bad.

"No I know who you are, just really dont care cause I'm a little busy" you immediately wiggle from his grasp and start reaching for the chain around your ankles. a boisterous laughter is released from behind you and suddenly your falling about a meter, back connecting with the ground a large "oof" emanating from you. Rushing to get the chain from around you ankles it fly from your hands. jumping to your feet you face Heisenberg head held high

"oh... you do know me, so it must be stupidity, that must explain why your on my land as well" Heisenberg ponders aloud." so you must either be lost or have a death wish" he says with a chuckle

"nope not lost, just need some of the herbs here and if you live in this village and haven't runaway or offed yourself you have a death wish" you reply flatly brushing the dirt of of yourself as you stand to gather your things. "now" you say turning back to him "my dragger if you'd please" extending you hand cautiously with and expectants look.

"wow, you've got some balls on you" puffing on his cigar "you better watch that attituded bunny" you are suddenly painfully aware of the small pack of hunger Lycian circling you both "and remember who the man in control is" hand still outstretched you snap back with

"listen hear 'lord Heisenbitch' I am sorry for trespassing on you land but I need 7 different herbs and at least 5oz of each, I need them before tomorrow evening, some of them for mother Miranda, as well as a women who just gave birth in the village. Now unless you wish to explain to Miranda why her healer is missing, and her people dead due to illnesses I would like my dagger back and you and your fine fuzzy companions to kindly fuck of." you knew your words where dangerous but at this point in the evening you really didn't give a fling fuck and the shock on Heisenberg's face when he recognizes you almost made it worth it.

"Wait your Miranda's prized witch, oh man this is great, how have you lasted so long, your so small bunny" this just pissed you off more you want your dagger back but he's just so infuriating. your dont have time for this

"Fine, just keep the dagger" you say shoving past him. Growling at the Lycians blocking the path they stay there ground and growl back, only to glance behind you whimper, and slowly back away clearing the path. A chain roughly wraps around you waist spinning you around and pulling you flush against Heisenberg before returning to his trench coat pocket. blowing his smoke in your face he drawls

"wow wow wow, slow you roll peter cotton tail I ain't being stingy, I just wanna talk a little" as he says this he wraps his arm around you waist slipping your dagger back into its sheath leaving his hand to rest on the dip of your hip, the other griping your chin forcing you to look up at him

"Let. Me. Go!" you hiss out never braking your gaze of his glasses

"now what would Miranda think of this, her pet of the leash, not respecting or listening to your lord" he teases not lessening his grip at all

"I dont give a scraggly rats ass, just let me go you bastard!" you spit at him, resaving a chuckle as a reply .

"ohhh I like you bunny, you've got fight not a lot of that left hear any more. but I need something from you darling, so we are gonna take a little walk back to your place, your gonna help me, then ill help you with your little situation how does that sound there bunny?" spinning you around arm still securely on your waist, he starts to walk still puffing on his cigar, quickly you realize you have no choice in the matter. the Lycians slow start to follow you keeping there distance at about 3 meters back this continues for a wile and it might have even been pleasant having company for once on the walk, you if you ignore the hungry Lycians and the fear Heisenberg will get angry or be done with his little game. slowly the forest edge and the village come in to the distances well as a small well worn foot path leading into a thick pine forest near the base of the Benevento valley

"so bunny, which way is it" Heisenberg ask moving his arm up to rest on your shoulders using the other to jester at the path ways.

"This way" you mumble out, gesturing to the pine foot path. now moving forward on you own accord tiered of being user around like a lost child. you dont make it very far seeing as soon as you start to move away he tightens his grip

"ohh come on bunny, no need to get cold feet. your getting something good out of this too, you just chill a little there thumper" he says smirk never leaving his face.

"well it sure as hell dont feel like it, this feels more like a kidnaping only we are headed to my own dwelling" you watch as the pine trees grow thicker with every passing second drawing closer to your burrow. soon a large moon gate covered in rosemary and lavender comes into a view just beyond it several greenhouses small and large soft light emanating from a few

"Now hold up thumper if you have all of these, what were you doing traipsing around by my factory? you weren't trying to get my attention were you?" he jabs at you obviously trying to get a rise out of you.

"What I was looking for I do not grow because it is local and I had a store of some, but it a since been exhausted, lots of sick ones this season." you replied tiredly seeing as dusk has passed a wile ago and you had been called out well before day brake. now you where just too tired to deal with his shenanigans. continuing forward you approach the door and tap the center of the door with the old iron key handing from your neck three times then you insert it into the keyhole and twist it three times to the right and it slowly creeks open. rushing forwards in an attempt to put some distance between the two of you you start to tend to the fire stroking the coals and adding a few logs. while your bussing your self Heisenberg makes himself at home pulling out a chair and throwing his feet on top of the table and popping a new cigar between his lips . Turning to grab your tea pot you see this unfold waltzing over to him and slapping his feet of the table

"That is mahogany" as you say this he goes to protest " no 'lord' Heisenberg you in my domain now no feet on the table" you snatch the cigar from between his lip and toss it into the fireplace "and no smoking in the main room."

"alright, alright," he says holding his arms in the air "one you could have just put it out and handed it back thumper, and second of all watch who your talking to darlin" to this you quickly respond with

"Still dont care" he gives you grunt as a response

"third of all I still have yet to disclose the nature of my visit I need you to look at something for me" and with that he stands up his chest now centimeters from your nose he reaches for his hat and sunglasses setting them on the table, tossing his trench coat on to the chair. your face quickly turning a shade of red dark enough to rival the radishes out in garden as you realize just what he is doing. pulling of his shirt with a wince. Holding his shirt in his hands, you try not to make your gaze obvious, he slowly turns to reveal a large, deep laceration very poorly bandages and clearly in the throes of a terrible infection. you immediately push all other thoughts aside concern taking its place, you recognized this wound, you where present when he resaved it .

flashback

"you stupid man child, you know nothing you should just leave the talking to the adults like a good little boy"

"shut your dame hole you bitch"

they have been going at it for 37 minutes and counting Alcina said something Karl disagrees and so the back and forth begins about 5 minutes ago Karl brought out his hammer and been waving it out in the open. tensions have been rising and your a little worried it is about to get violent. Anggie who had been watching the argument from you lap starts to vibrate with joy sensing the approaching violence.

"ooooooooohhh its aaboutttttt tooo get goooooodddddd!!!" she sings while hoping off your lap to sit closer on donnas lap seeing as you are perched by the back wall behind Miranda. and just as you both had predicted disaster struck.

"you insolent fool." Alcina suddenly cry's, swiping her hand forward as Karl turns his back to her slashing from shoulder to hip. you immediately rush forward, only to be stopped by mother Miranda holding her arm in your path.

"ENOUGH, stop the foolishness NOW!" Miranda's voice ringing out clear through the entire hall "Heisenberg my son, stand," she demands. he slowly makes his way to his feet now facing mother Miranda "your actions have been stupid and reckless as punishment, I shall leave you with this burden to care for. maybe it will teach you how much effort it takes heal rather than destroy. and what if feels like to live with ones mistakes." you hand covers your mouth as you bite your tongue. you may not like Karl that much but he still is not as bad as they say.

end scene

"BY THE GODS, how has this not healed yet!? have you been rubbing dirt in it? I knew this was a stupid lesson. I knew I should have gone against that two faced, false goddess, pretensive ass, bitch and marched my happy ass to that factor. THAT WAS TWO WEEKS AGO, this should have been gone ages ago!!!" you shout while carefully examining the laceration. quickly you pull out the char he was previously siting on out, so he could sit on it with his back to the fire and lean on the back of the chair. grabbing Heisenberg's shoulders you gently shove him into the chair. rushing around you grab several herbs hanging from the ceiling in bundles. then over to the counter you produce a mortar and pestle along with several oils and extracts

"woooow, thumper slow down, slow down," he chides calmly garbing your shoulders, your arms still packed full of items. slowly he starts to set the items on the table. "now I didn't rub dirt in it, but there might be some oil, its not healed because I have no idea how to treat a wound this large. and what's this about Miranda being a bitch and ignoring orders?" as he says this you realized just how bad you have fucked up.

"OH MY GODS, I didn't mean a word of it lord Heisenberg I meant no disrespect please I am so sorry dont tell mother Miran-" you franticly bow keeping your eyes to the floor hoping he would ether spare you make you death quick. while he clearly doesn't like Miranda or her family he was still a part of it.

"hay hay hay thumper calm down your alright. I'm not gonna go all psycho on you, and your secret is safe with me, your not the only one with unsavory views on that bitch Miranda." your slowly look up at him in shock it is widely know that he disagree with the other lords but this is a first. you gingerly make your way over to the table and start to mix together several herbs and flowers. "and thumper just call me Karl" he says with a flirtatious grin, you blush but grinding the herbs into a powder

"only if you stop calling me thumper." slowly adding some drops of oils to the mixture making a thick green salve.

"well I gotta have something to call you bunny" he say grin stretching across his face as you blush even more now

"well my name is (Y/N) ok, now stop" you say while puffing up you cheek in a pout. rushing behind him so he can no longer see your face and you can apply the salve" this is going to sting" not give him tome to proses any thing you said you rip off the bandages and start to carefully apply the salve. a shout bubbles up in his throat the second the salve touches his shoulder

"SON OF A Bitch..." he snarls" maybe a little more warning next time y/n" as soon as he growls out your name you short circuit you hand no simply resting next to his wound "y/n... y/n" he waits a couple of seconds before trying again. "y/n!" jumping a little you come back to reality " you all good back there" Karl questions

"almost done just need to finish this up, then I will apply bandages, and all you need to do is rest for a day or two" as you Finnish saying this you reach for he bandages and gently begin to properly wrap the wound "this is how you properly wrap a wound Karl" you make sure to say first his name. "go all the way around and over and around the shoulder" slowly and carefully placing the bandages showing him the movements and positions. you move around to the front of lightly wrapping his shoulder "dont go to tight when bandaging joints, it increases mobility but not lose enough to move" as you speak solely focused on you task at hand you dont see Karl staring at your face, a look of adoration on his face which he is quick to drop once you turn to him. gently patting his shoulder "now all you need is a lot of rest and a hot meal" smiling you slowly make your way over to the fire removing the teapot and hanging a medium sized cauldron over the fire. turning kettle in hand you see Karl putting on his hat and going to pull his coat on having already put his shirt on

"well thumper its been wonderful but I have to get back to my-" you cut him off taking his coat and hanging it by the door.

"oh no you don't, you need rest and real food, and not to make any assumptions but I doubt you'll get any of those in your factory" as you say this you put the chair back in its normal position swiftly going to a small spare room on the side. grabbing a thick blanket you walk to the table, and drape it over the back of the chair. patting it flat you open your arms and jester to the chair "now please have a seat food will be done shortly" you say with a smile as he just stand there slack jawed at you attempting to boss him around. slowly he take a seat and just watches as you prepare a cup of tea for you both "hear this should help with the pain" you say handing him a large mug that still looked too small in his hand. you turn and head back to the counter and start dicing us vegetables and some fish to put the cauldron.

"thank you" he mumbles quietly watching you dance about the kitchen a soft smile on his face. "so what's your story? you obviously dont like Miranda so why stay and be her little pet healer on her beck and call." Karl jests wanting to know more about you now that he has the chance with out his stupid family there

"well a long time ago I has someone I had to look out for, they needed help I could not provide it, Miranda could. So I made a deal, help her, and ill do as wish. So I comply to keep her safe and happy, if it went for her, I would have sent that false deity to her flaming grave decades ago." you finished cutting the veggies and meat depositing it in the pot, you make your way opposite of Karl at the table and take a seat. slowly sipping your tea. "now I just tend to the villagers for Miranda and visit my belladonna"

"wait who is belladonna" he askes a look of confusion overtaking his features

"my apologies, I mean donna, before Miranda adopted her and gave her her gift she was a sad and lonely child with parents too ill to save, so after her parents passing, I watched over her and loved her as my own" you say a soft smile on your face looking around the room I was the only one she let touch Anggie, she was such a kind child asking so many questions behind closed doors and always eager to learn new skills" you reminisce the old days setting your now empty cup on the table. "but now she's grown and well, and happy, so that is all that matters" you say curtly standing and heading over the the bubbling pot of stew and giving it a stir.

"so wait your telling me you the witch who raised Benevento," Karl spouts astonishment clear in his voice. "One how are you not dead yet? Two that's why you spend so much time in that spooky ass house, and three how come you aren't an old hag you dont look a day over 25?" even in shock this man some how still manages to throw in a flirt. you give a small chuckle.

"well when I struck my deal with Miranda," you make you way over to a tall cabinet and withdraw two wooden bowls and a large ladle ." donna was just become a young adult, so she new what excepting Miranda's gift would entitle, including the prolonged life." returning to the stew and scooping a hefty serving into Karl's bowl and only filling your half way. "after her parents suicided she couldn't handle the loss another parental figure, her words not mine, she refused the treatment unless Miranda changed me as well." hanging the ladle on the wall and carefully turning back to Karl and making your way to him. "I had already had my go at life and helped as many as I could so I agreed not expecting to come out alive," you say calmly sitting down in the seat acres from Karl. "unfortunately my will was to strong so hear I am now, a fail experiment serving out my end of the deal" you give a sarcastic smile and do a little jazz hands as your story comes to a close. Karl is still for moment then burst into a deep laughter, but still alarmed at your willingness to except death.

"I'm sorry bunny I dont mean to be insensitive," he attempts to suppress his chuckles. "you are really the one that raised donna?"

"yes I am I know its a little hard to believe, but yes." you say solemnly feeling a little weird everyone who knew you too be donnas nanny have long since passed.

"no no no, there ain't nothing wrong with that darlin! In fact you did fucking awesome, out of all of us monsters she has the best manners and turned out the best." he says in a panicked tone, afraid he has said something wrong.

"Karl none of you are monsters, and your ok you didn't say anything wrong" you say quickly adding " none of you are monsters! you and the other were forced into the experiments, unlike donna and I. your only a monster when you subject an enter village to a false religion just to slaughter them for her experiments under the name of a sick false family she has not love for!" you say venom and hate for that hag dripping from each word. a stern but caring look on your face as you look rights in his eyes as you say this "you aren't a monster. you where a kid with out a choice, and now you are a man surviving and your doing amazing in your situation." you cautiously grab his hand resting in the table " you are not a monster no mater who has told you that including your self" He pulls back lightly but does not remove your hand from his., allowing you to rub his knuckles.

"but I-" he starts but you dont let him continue

"nope you cant convince me other wise, I'm the village crazy witch I am all knowing and wise." you say in a cherry tone, garbing his hand with both of yours. using one to tap out a small tune on the back of his hand. that nice deep laughter made an appearance again you have to admit its nice to hear him laugh instead of ague with everyone.

"well dame bunny, can't argue with that logic now can I " A large toothy grin takes over his face little crinkles show at the corners of his eyes. shaking his head he gives a chuckle then picks up the bowl of stew and finishing what was left in the bowl in a few gulps. setting the bowl down he asks "shit that hit the spot, can I just take you home with me and have you cook for me every night that some dame good stew" he jokes. laughing a little you finish your bowl, garbing his you stand and bring them to a bucket at the end of the sink.

"no I cant come home with you every day" rinsing the plates before setting them in the bucket you continue. "but you can come over when ever the lantern on the porch is light, if its not I am either in the village with a patient, or visiting donna or Miranda, or foraging. I am a busy witch Karl, just a warning." he chuckles

"ill make a note of that expect me often that shits good." he says pointing at the pot hanging over the small flames.

"well in that case ill put some in jars so you can take it with you when you leave tomorrow" you say off handedly while making your way over to the pot fishing the leftovers out, and putting it in two large mason jars. out of the corner of your eye you see him deflate a little when you when you mention his departure tomorrow. moving over to a wall of cupboard you store the two jars "to night you can take my bed or the cot in the guest room, though I dont know if you'll fit" you say walking over to said door and opening it reveling a small room with a vanity in the back left corner to the left of the door was a small sink and counter with a basin next to it. opposite to that was a small cabinet and in the back right corner a small wooden cot about half the side of the man now standing directly behind you in the doorway. so close, when he took a deep breath you could feel his shirt brush your, and his warm breath fans across your neck. now with bright red face you make you hastily make you way to the cabinet to the right of the door and start to grab a large quilt and a pillow or two. Karl enters the room looking around taking in the new environment and casually making his way over to the cot and taking a seat. you head over to him staring at the blanket hoping that he would not see your face

"thank you, y/n you really could've just sent my packing I really appreciate it I do" he says with a soft smile resting on his scared face, 'it suites him,' you think to your self 'he should smile more.'

"well hear you go this should be think enough it gets pretty chilly in hear and I haven't fixed the heater yet so if you need more there are some in the cabinet you say gesturing to the cabinet with your head. holding the blanket and pillow out for him to take he reaches hands grazing against yours as he takes them from your hands pulling them closer"

"thanks bunny I re-" he is abruptly cut short by a sharp wine of wood under duress followed quickly by a loud snap of the cot braking a the loud thud of Karl's ass hitting the floor. "OH FUCK" Karl was now the one looking up at you. slapping a hand over your mouth to suppress the laughter about to burst from you.

"OH by the gods, are you ok" you say still trying to hold back the onslaught of giggles offering a hand for him to take

"so this is what the weather is like down here" he says jokingly as you hoist him off the ground carful of his shoulder and back. gently slapping his chest

"I'm only a little shorter than you, ya know" you say "but in light of me needing to purchase a new cot from duke, I guess you'll be sleeping in my bed tonight." he gives you a flirty look

"dame thumper if you wanted me in your bed that bad all you had to do was ask not buries my ass first" he says with a deep chuckle.

"I am not tying to get you in my bed" you say panicked face exploding with red. "I wont even be in it with you, and secondly it wasn't that far of a drop so the only thing damage was you ego and my cot obviously. now come follow me please." you say now attempting to lead him out of the room. Karl looks at you as if he was trying to figure something but soon trailing behind you like a lost puppy. you lead him through the main room down a hallway with three doors heading to the furthest down you push open the heavy wooden door. letting Karl enter first you make your way to the bed garbing your favorite pillow and a thick blanket off the bed spread "well she's all yours" you say jokingly waving your arm over the bed as a invitation dont lay on your back or shoulder" you say making your way back to the door arms now full "sleep well." and with at you turn to leave only to be stopped by a hand on your shoulder.

"wait if I'm sleeping here and I just demolished your spare bed where will you be sleeping" he ask concern lacing his voice a he turn you around to face him

"well ill go clean up the old cot and then ill just use some spare blankets as a mattress for the night." you say with out a second thought.

"no no no, I will not let you do that you have done enough for me. I'll just go back to my factory and be out of your hair." your face scrunches up.

"you say that as if I am annoyed by you, but I can assure you, you do not annoy me. next I wont let you leave this hut you need to rest and I need to change those bandages as soon as you wake." you say no room for argument evident in your voice. "and if you have such an issue using my bed but I apologies its the only one, and I wont let you sleep on the floor with that wound." you with finality.

"then I guess well just have too share it. cues I will just jump through a window to go back home" he say with a laugh. you have no idea if he was joking or not. still, gazing up at his face the smirk remained "so" he asks "which will it be will you join me or and I gonna have to practice my long distance sprint." you sigh growing tired with every passing second your long day finally catching up too you. no longer having any energy to argue.

"fine" you huff out walking over to the bed where Karl was I like the right side" climbing in you take a body pillow from the back of the bed putting it in the middle " you better stay on your half of the bed old man" you say climbing back down from the bed and heading a dresser under a large window. you produce a pair of sleep thin pants and a large think white long sleeved shirt. "I need to change so ether steep out or just dont look." to tired to care at this point you look over your shoulder and see him turned away from you sitting on the left side of the bed. replacing your dirty clothe with fresh sleep pants and a oversized top. garbing a spare pair of large sleep pants and shirt before making your way back to the bed, flopping onto it comically ,while tossing the change of clothing on his side of the bed "hear you go, this should fit" he looks down at the articles of clothing.

"well thank you bunny," undoing his belt and changing his pant, completely ignoring the new shirt. "but uhhh I dont think that shirt is gonna work though" he says smirk evident in his voice.

"and why would that be-" you ask confusion clear on you face as you roll over to face him without thinking. face exploding in color as you freeze up, now staring at his bare chest brain loosing any train of thought.

"my eyes are up hear now bunny," he says with a deep chuckle "but please dont let me interrupt your staring. as for why I never sleep with one its confining" smirk never leaving his face, as he lays down on his half of the mattress. quickly you roll over

"I wasn't staring, I zoned out. Just toss the shirt on to the top of the dresser" he gives another chuckle but says nothing. pulling the thick comforter up to you chin due to the chill, reaching over you turn the knob on the lantern smothering the flame. "good night Karl sleep well" you say without a second thought closing your eyes slowly, reality fading out as you hear Karl

"goodnight thumper sleep well" a gentleness to his tone that sends the rest of the way to sleep.

word count: 5884

ps: please forgive my horrid grammar

#karl heisenberg #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil #res 8 #res evil #donna beneviento #re8 angie #re8 donna #re8 karl heisenberg

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yongiefilms · 3 years

Text

FILM | Together Alone

BASED ON | The NCT secret santa collaboration feature done by bumblebeenct and lucaswithnoshirt studios over @neoculturechristmas headquarters

DEDICATED TO | My own precious secret santa, @sly-merlin! This one is for you my love. I hope I did you justice for the type of fic you requested and I hope you like it! By the way I apologize for getting your present to you late.

STARRING | Huang Renjun and Female Reader

FEATURING | Lee Donghyuck

GENRE | Romance, Drama, Angst, Fluff, Business centred, and Holiday centred

RATING | PG-13

WARNINGS | Thematic elements, suggestive references and implications, crude humor, language, mentions of death, a deceased parent, drinking, alcohol, and other adult themes

PLOT | Everyone knew him. The heir to the multimillion dollar company. Next in line to inherit the top pharmaceutical business in all of China and South Korea. For being only 20 years old he was the most accomplished person of his age. Set to become the CEO at age 21 on his birthday, nearly a few months away, there was nothing that could deter him down the road for further success. They say he’s envied by most, yet loved all the same. If only people knew who Huang Renjun really was without his family’s name plastered against the walls of society that gave him fame and fortune. Only one would have the chance to find out the truth of his reality and sometimes when that comes near the end of a year shutting close, not everything can end pleasant like one hoped. OR Happy endings might not exist in this messed up world.

RUNNING TIME | 6.4k

DIRECTOR’S NOTE | Happy Holidays, my loves! This work is in honor of you all and the amazing year you all gave me with your immense love as well as support. I appreciate every single one of you more than you will ever know so I wish happy days among you this season and new year. I love you and please enjoy! Also, shout out to my lovely proofreader, @dvrlingrenjun, you’re the best.

1, 2, 3 Now Rolling...

“Fuck them all!” Huang Renjun yells out in frustration, leaning back abruptly in his black cushioned chair, his hands clutching tightly at his dark strands of hair.

The younger boy smirks at him, leaning against the pillar by his office. “Wouldn’t you like that?”

A glare was sent in his direction in retaliation. “Shut up, Donghyuck.”

“Sure, big guy,” he dismisses, the jab made at the older visible with the way his words cut through the air. “Still doesn’t render the fact that you have to go to this event like you always do.”

Renjun groans, his right hand going around his left wrist to play with the gold Cartier bracelet that rested there. A gift given to him when he turned the legal age of eighteen a few years ago. A gift given to him by his father, on behalf of his mother or so it was said. One that was a promise of luxury and achievement if he continued down the path they set out for him. His decision then when he was an adult to decide his fate, but that was only a lie. The bracelet was only a bribe for a materialistic life where he could be well off and if he stepped away then he would be stripped of everything that made him who he was.

“I know, okay? We do it every year but that still doesn't take away from the fact that I hate it. I hate all of it.”

Perhaps his father was a part of that.

“Well,” Donghyuck drawls, shrugging his shoulders when he lifts his body off the pillar to take long strides in order to reach the other boy. “At least it’s out of town this year so I’m down...I mean free vacation.” He gives a toothy grin, his eyes sparkling of juvenescence and a thrill for adventure, mystery, excitement. At least one of them still had a childlike soul and a more or less normal life while the other was forced to grow up too fast in the spotlight where eyes were scrutinizing his every move before he could even walk.

They called it maturity, but Renjun calls it loss of youth.

“You’re such a freeloader,” Renjun mutters, his hands stopping from playing with the bracelet to glance up in exasperation.

“Says the boy inheriting an almost billion dollar company without batting an eye,” Donghyuck snorts with an eye roll, picking at his nails that now gained all of his attentiveness.

It was true after all.

Renjun laughs in mockery. “You’re just jealous, so I wouldn’t be talking if I were you.”

Donghyuck sighs loudly for effect. “Cous, I wouldn’t want your life even if I tried. Some horrifying shit.” He shakes his head, obviously disturbed by the notion.

Renjun’s voice becomes small, yet firm. “It isn’t that bad...”

Donghyuck finally stops twiddling with his fingers to give the other the time of day with a look of obvious reluctance. “Uncle is scary, can you blame me?”

“Guess not, that man is my father.”

“Exactly and as much as I would love to continue this conversation,” Donghyuck glances at his crisp navy steel Bulgari watch, seeing the time half past noon. “I got to run, meeting with the boys soon and I just needed to deliver the message before that. Little pit stop if you will.” His hands flair out in a theatrical motion as if he were giving a bow.

“Oh?” Renjun raises an eyebrow, hands reaching out to get started on the stack of papers placed at the edge of his desk by his receptionist before Donghyuck’s surprised arrival. “Say hi to them for me.” He pauses in afterthought, knowing the younger’s antics. “Or not.”

Donghyuck’s boisterous laugh rings. He knew him so well. “Very funny, but oh, wait!”

The increase in his tone attracts the older’s regard who was beginning to read through the proposal. “Yes?”

“Here,” Donghyuck states, reaching into the back pocket of his chinos to pull out a small black velvet box with gold edging. “An early present of sorts. I assumed you might like it.” He slides the box over on the desk where it is caught in the grasp of delicate hands.

“Proposing are we? You know we are related right?” Renjun smiles snidely, running his fingers over the soft velvet in wonder. It was rare to get a gift from Lee Donghyuck himself and with the right intentions at that.

“It would be an honor and privilege to marry me, thank you, but no it’s just...open it when I leave. I’m not into that sappy shit as you know. I have a matching one too, but yeah merry early Christmas and New Years.” His easy grin widens as he winks to take backward steps to the exit of the office. Always one for a dramatic flare.

“Matching...we can’t be a couple either, Hyuck,” Renjun says, shaking his head while he puts the box down on his desk in wait.

Donghyuck flips him off and grits out a reply. “Shut up and be grateful for once.”

Turning his head back to his papers, he mutters, “Oh, I am.”

“Anyways, bye you fucker. Don’t drown in work,” Donghyuck lets out once he turns his back.

“Thank you for caring, delivery boy,” Renjun shouts as his cousin finally opens the door to exit after his much longer than anticipated stay.

Donghyuck’s hands still on the silver knob before he can fully push the door. “When don’t I? If you’re gone then that means I would have to inherit the company and as much as I would love the money, the fame, the attention, maybe even the girls...I don’t want that responsibility. You get me?”

Renjun rolls his eyes, spinning the black ballpoint pen between his index and ring finger. “Just say you’re lazy and go.”

“I am going!” Donghyuck exclaims while he turns his head over his shoulder, shooting the boy sitting at the desk that didn’t quite fit him well, another wink. “Bye for real, Junnie!”

The door at last closes and he is gone in a blur of colors.

Renjun mumbles under his breath. “I told you not to call me that.”

His mother used to call him that and she didn’t have the chance to stay long in this world. Taken too soon is what they say, but maybe she was blessed before everything turned to stone.

With Donghyuck’s departure, Renjun looks over at the lone box that was gifted to him, perhaps not a gift like the others that held no meaning, for this one was an outlier in the equation. Donghyuck never gave without meaning or gain so it had to be special.

He places his pen down and picks up the box, undoing the clasp that held it close. The box opens to a sight he has gotten used to, yet there was a disparity. In between the cushion of the velvet laid a beautiful silver Chopard ring. The band was simple in design, yet intricate with the signature ice cubes filled with small sparkling diamonds across the entire width. Renjun handles the ring with care once it is taken out of the box to inspect every detail. Not only was the brand engraved in stunning cursive on the inside, but Donghyuck had gotten the ring customized with the word family in the same writing on the opposite side of the inner circle.

Renjun runs his fingers over the engraving, the words rough under his calloused hands. He hums in thought as he slips the ring on his middle finger, the radiance seeping in from the windows catching the precious metal. “Family...family...I haven’t had one in a long time.”

The truth is he had, has, but he was too blind to see.

Family is not just those that are immediate, composing of a father and mother or even siblings. Family can also entail the greater extent from cousins to aunts to grandparents. Family can even be those that are not blood related like the friends a person surrounds themselves by.

Renjun has family. If only he could acknowledge them before they too left him utterly alone.

Alone was something Renjun was not for the days to come.

A week later after his cousin delivered the news about the annual holiday vacation and company sponsored events that his family has been hosting since his late teen years, he was flown in a private plane against his will to a remote town near Busan, far off from the heart of Seoul. He would rather spend the holidays in the city where he grew up like all those past seasons ago, but his father decided there was a need for change, a mirror of one forthcoming in virtually three months. Usually those that made the trip came for the designated three days they were given which still involved work communications with scant room for relaxation depending on the schedules of selected individuals. However, if one was a Huang, which Renjun was the only one left along with his father that were at least part of the business, then departure and stay differed. Intermingled was the Huang winter vacation with that of business affairs, a factor that was born when the tradition started. His father always said to kill two birds with one stone when given the chance and this very situation was one he took hold of to morph into a personal gain.

Nothing was ever as it seemed with his father, nor himself. One characteristic they shared among a hundred to a thousand polarities.

Albeit this time around, Renjun had fought against his father’s wants, which was not the first instance, but was one that ended in surprising success. Success he tasted on the daily, even if all was bitter with no room for happiness. However, this success was sweet with contentment, ending with an awfully horrid aftertaste. Convincing his father to fly him out along with the others on the 23rd of December instead of the 20th was a victory no less. At least he didn’t have to spend unwanted days in the presence of his old man longer than necessary.

He arrives in wealth and social standing like he always did for once his black A.Testoni dress shoes hit the white tiled floor of the airport’s general aviation ramp building, everyone within his general vicinity, even those afar, are taking heed to his every need, that as of now are limited.

A slightly older woman who he deems as his assistant, comes into view, her black Prada heels clicking loudly against the tile as she advances with a clipboard and her trusty cell in her hands to the boy. She cheerful speaks into the empty building, her smile unwavering. “Mr. Huang, I am glad you had a safe flight. I printed your itinerary for the next couple of days that I will hand to you once we are in the limo. Considering it is…” She glances at her Apple Watch Series 6 to check the time. “Two forty three as of now, we can drop off your luggage at the Lodge and get you settled into your room before your three fifteen lunch with Mr. Kim and his wife at the Yongsusan Café. You will be with them for an hour before the rest of the afternoon is yours to spend productively. Then at six o’clock the maids and stylists will come by to get you ready for the business meeting at seven thirty, following with a small dinner party with those same individuals, including their wives and children. Sounds good?”

Renjun does not even have time to reply before his assistant speaks again.

“Yes, okay! Let’s get going then.” She turns on her heel abruptly, yet with expertise without room for error and begins taking steps away from the plane to the left. “The limo should be this way, follow me while your luggage gets loaded. The drive should not take more than ten minutes.”

He has no choice but to accompany her as he would not be able to make a run for it, he will be caught within seconds. He tried once and that was only one failure amongst little to none in his book.

His strides are slow and lousy as if he had all the time in the world to do as he pleased, when he in fact did not, far from it in actuality. Even so before he knows it he reaches the limo and is lurched forward in motion towards his destination for the next few days. The place his dad selected oozes with sumptuous intent, being a gorgeous mid-century modern wooden lodge that nearly looked like a manor upon inspection. As the limo pulls up to the front, Renjun is able to see the beauty up close that he is entranced by even if he seems unfazed. New places and people excite him more than he lets on for his life is dull, lacking fulfillment of an unknown tomorrow.

The porter, who is situated in patience by the front doors, strides forward to open the door of the limo, permitting Renjun to step out with the authority and grace bestowed upon him.

When he crosses the threshold into the Lodge he is met with an even better interior that rivaled that on the outside, but he is not allowed to ponder too much on the design before the head manager greets him.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Huang, it is certainly a pleasure for you to stay with us at the Lodge this fine holiday season. I am Gwan Jang-Mi and I will be showing you to your room today along with giving you a small tour of this place in order to familiarize yourself with the setting. If you look here to your left…”

Her speech is drowned out into obscurity as Renjun’s awareness shifts to another woman, one so stunning that he is surprised he did not take notice sooner. When sauntering through the entryway into the resting room that will be cleared out in the next couple of hours, a bar is situated to the left where you stand, arranging countless bottles of liquor to wine on the counter, no doubt for the little party later or for the meeting. Those men were heavy drinkers and needed alcohol to make it through the rest of the evening. Renjun did drink to drown his sorrows, worry, and anxiousness away, but he was not one to throw himself down a spiraling hole of darkness nor chaos that he could not get out of, for those consequences were ones he did not want to reap.

The soft sunlight peaks through the high guarded windows, shining down on your face that enunciates your features. For simply being in a black polo and khaki pants, you made it work and drew all attention to yourself without even knowing the power you held.

The moment of admiration comes to a close when Renjun is ushered away from the ground floor to make way to his room in the upper levels, leaving you behind.

Yet that would not be the last time.

Time goes by slowly when there is no purpose, no meaning to the daily workings of one person in the masses of others. Renjun has experience in that regard, time always goes by slowly for him and exhausts him a great deal like a rotary clock that seeks no end.

He was worn out by the time he got back to the Lodge in the early evening due to the stay with the Kims went longer than necessary and he was called elsewhere upon emergency to discuss future matters. He did not have time for himself like his assistant had plainly made known so there he was, collapsed head first into his silk covers, ten minutes to six.

Instead of taking a long awaited nap he is ushered up and into more formal wear after a cleanse from the bustle of bodies that barge into his room.

No privacy. No sense of normality.

That is the normal.

The next few hours go by in blur from him sitting in front of a mirror to have his hair styled to sitting in front of burly old men that were associates and inventors of the company in a grad meeting room with locked doors and the finest assortment of liquor that money can buy.

He is out of the confines in no time, not even bothering to say one final hurrah before he lurches himself out the door and into the now cleared out resting room. One of the servers comes by then dressed in all black attire that was nothing of the typical black and white uniform, edging towards a usual guest. Renjun snatches a glass of sparkling champagne and gulps it down in one go off their silver platter, discreetly of course, for he has to look composed—sober throughout the entire affair. He always could hold his alcohol without a problem and he felt blessed to have that advantage. One thing he is proud of.

He is whisked away not even moments after by one of the older investors, Mr. Han, to moreover chew over the end of the year budget and his stance on future decisions to be made in the new year. From the corner of his eye while listening to the man talk in a flamboyant manner, he sees his father standing with a glass of white wine happily talking to another investor, a more influential one, the most influential one of them all and his wife along with their daughter who was not even carefully surveying the room in search of someone.

Renjun’s eyes widen in shock, mumbling under his breath, “Shit.”

Mr. Han stops the flow of words out his mouth, his eyebrows rumpling together. He did not hear the swear word the boy uttered, yet he heard something in passing. “Pardon?”

Renjun shakes his head vaguely, bringing his third glass of champagne in the air as a sign of departure. “Ah excuse me, Mr. Han, but it seems I have been beckoned elsewhere.” His eyes shift over to his father who was not making direct eye contact with him, but Mr. Han did not need to know that little detail as he observes Renjun’s line of sight.

Mr. Han chuckles brightly. “I see, well I must not keep you from your father.”

Renjun smiles. “No, you must not, but we shall continue this conversation later, Mr. Han. I am sure you have much more to say and I will happily discuss further with you.”

Mr. Han waves his hand in the air nonchalantly. “We shall. Now off you go.”

Renjun nods his head, his lips still quirked up in a smile, this one more genuine than the last, as he makes a beeline towards his father to make everything seem more believable. Though once he no longer feels the eyes of Mr. Han on his retreating back he switches routes, going to the left rather than straight ahead. He circles around the opposite side, catching a stark mop of washed out red hair amongst the crowd in the process—Donghyuck. His cousin is not alone, however, talking rather freely with a girl he could not quite see in his peripheral vision. The grin on Donghyuck’s face is undeniable even with his back turned and the way Renjun hears the tiny giggles you are emitting, all is too familiar, which is the perfect cause for a disruption.

Renjun does not acknowledge his cousin when he arrives at the bar, the younger boy too immersed in conversation so he signals for the other worker that comes becking to his call.

“A Negroni, on the rocks.”

The girl nods in understanding and turns to prepare the drink while Donghyuck still has not noticed his presence. The younger boy always did focus on what was in front of him rather than on his surroundings, contrary to his cousin that saw the whole picture. Two contrasting people surely with unlike futures ahead of them.

The frosted glass with the reddish-orange liquid and topped with orange shavings is served to him a minute later, placed in front of him on a matching glass coaster.

He clears his throat loudly in an attempt to catch Donghyuck’s attention. “Thank you.”

A method that proves effective since the younger boy finally turns his head to the right to see Renjun sitting on the barstool next to him, sipping casually on his high class Negroni.

His eyes are wide, but he masks his shock with a subtle smirk. “Jun! Well, well, if it isn’t the mini man himself. How long have you been sitting there?”

Renjun snorts into his glass, shaking his head at the dig Donghyuck made at his height, always one out for blood. “Far too long to have noticed your flirting from across the room, Hyuck.” It is now his turn to smirk, but Donghyuck’s own is still unfaltering.

“I take pride in my skills, glad you gave your time of day to notice.” He elevates his glass up then, filled most likely with a Nicolashka, his favorite holiday drink to date, and takes a sip himself, a move Renjun mimics.

Then your voice interrupts. “Sorry to cut in, but I have to get back to work. You’ve been distracting me for the last ten minutes, mister.” Your stern gaze is directed at Donghyuck from the latter statement. Although once your words are uttered, Renjun focuses his eyes on you, scrutinizing your appearance. The very girl he saw earlier today, the girl Donghyuck so happened to have a chance with before him—you.

Donghyuck laughs, the smirk morphing into a shiteating grin. “I told you, call me Hyuck.”

“Well, Hyuck, I have to get back to work...plus I am sure you want to talk to your friend.” Your gaze flickers to Renjun in that instance and lingers there longer than necessary that has him laughing to himself.

Donghyuck’s charm only goes so far.

The younger boy peers at Renjun when you utter out friend, and he smiles small in remorse. “Sadly, but do not let me keep you from your work.”

You turn your back on him, your eyes catching Renjun’s in the process before you look away from the intensity of the dark orbs. “I wasn’t planning on it.”

You leave the bar area then most likely to put on an apron that Renjun noticed you had not worn throughout the entire duration. Donghyuck simply distracted you before the start of your shift and after, not a good trait to inherit.

Donghyuck hums, but let’s the remark go as he fully turns to Renjun to start up that conversation.

He raises an eyebrow. “Must you always keep me from having fun?”

Renjun shrugs his shoulders, swishing the liquid in his glass. “Not always, but I was saving that girl from misery. You should be thankful that I care enough.”

Donghyuck taunts. “Oh wow I feel so special.”

Renjun sternly eyes him, his voice lowering. “You should.”

Donghyuck’s lips open to retort a response, but no words are spoken on his end for his eyes look over the older boy’s shoulders and he catches sight of someone none of them truly like or have liked after the incident. He sees her.

“Well fuck, here comes the devil,” is all he makes out and the phrase enough has Renjun turning his own head hastily to see who he was watching. Such is when he sees his ex-girlfriend, Cha Yeona, prowling straight towards their way.

“I’m going to go...so good luck, mate. You’ll need it.” Donghyuck pats Renjun’s shoulder in departure and his gesture of sympathy, leaving him in the wake of a girl he really did not wish to see or converse with.

Once he leaves the bar in quick speed, you come in at that exact moment, your eyes zoning in on the way Yeona’s dainty hand latches onto Renjun’s forearm in greeting. You turn away from the image, busying yourself with wiping down the glasses.

“Oh! What a lovely surprise,” Yeona voices, letting her hand maneuver down to place on top of Renjun’s hand in which she gives him a faint squeeze thereof. He flinches from the contact, retracting his hand to slip into the pocket of his Burberry blazer while the other rims his glass.

He peers at her intently, a potency that has her giggling nervously. His looks could kill whenever he was serious with a blank face and austere hollows of eyes. “Hello, Yeona.”

She sits down gracefully on the stool next to him, crossing her long unblemished legs over each other, her hands placed in her lap. Her smile is bright and makes him want to pull out his hair. She was always two-faced. “Hi Jun Jun! How have you been?”

He lets the pet name go, but does not glance at her again, looking over her head at the white lights strung outside. “Good.”

Silence engulfs them that has her fidgeting out of discomfort. He evidently did not want to talk. She reaches her hand out to touch him once more that has him leaning away. She sighs in defeat, retreating from the gesture. She would have to reach him some other way. “Well...I—”

He cuts her off from continuing, drowning the last contents of his drink before he pushes the glass away towards the server at the end of the counter. He puts a hand up. “Save it. I have no reason to talk to you again. Leave.”

He arches his eyebrow when he sees she makes no move to leave and he chuckles darkly. “Do I have to tell you again? Or should I have security escort you out?”

She flinches from the tone of his voice and gulps, her throat becoming exceptionally dry. She hurriedly stands up, almost ripping over her heels and departs without a goodbye, not that he wished to get one from her. Her slim body covered in a blood red dress slips into the crowd and Renjun finally releases the breath he was holding.

He tugs at the strands of his gelled back hair. “Fucking bitch,” he mutters, lifting a finger in the air to signal for another drink that the server speedily moves to make.

“A little harsh, don’t you think?”

Renjun lifts his eyes to see you gaping at him, an eyebrow uplifted in fascination as you finally were in your uniform, a white cloth draped over your shoulders. Renjun runs his hand through his hair and scoffs from the remark thereafter. He was sure the stylists would be upset to see him dishevel their mighty work, but he could care less.

He shakes his head, the strands of hair rustling. “No, I think not. She deserves it.”

“Wow. Again, harsh.” You laugh mockingly and grab his drink that was slid over by your coworker to clean the glass again. You place the beverage down on the coaster which he takes with pleasure, muttering a small thank you that you can barely hear amidst the classical music playing in the background. Your hands make contact for a split second that has tingles erupting on your end, in a rather cliche response, yet he made no move of the feeling.

There is quietness again that makes you flustered since you were never one to enjoy the muted scenery, always wanting a sound ringing in your ears. While Renjun enjoyed the still, always wanting a sound that faded in the wind and never made a comeback appearance.

In a desperate attempt to keep conversation while making yourself busy by fixing up the bottles of alcohol, you propose a question that invades his privacy, whilst he never had privacy to begin with, a factor you were left in the dark about.

“So...um...your girlfriend?” You ask, in regards to Yeona that left some minutes ago.

Renjun snorts, placing down his glass and interlocks his hand to rest his chin on, a move to focus solely on you. “Right. She’s my ex-girlfriend actually so you’re not entirely wrong.”

You mumble out a quiet, “Oh.” It was not your business to know his affairs after all, yet there was a voice nagging within that made you curious to find out every part of him.

The tranquility hugs the both of you once more, until he questions you out of the blue.

“You want to get out of here?”

To say you are shocked is an understatement, since you are in fact bamboozled beyond belief. He says the declaration with so much firmness and certainty, it has your heart twisting on the inside.

You lightly laugh to mask the shock and turn around to really look at him, a look that he reciprocates. “I don’t even know you.”

A keen smile is visible on his lips. “Exactly the point. You have nothing to lose.”

You shake your head, leaning against the counter of the bar to stare into his eyes that look so lifeless, yet beautiful. “Maybe, but this is my job. I can’t just bail.”

He leans his head closer to you, an act that allows you to a whiff of the Christian Dior Ambre Nuit cologne he wears and his minty fresh breath. “Of course you can.” His soothing voice turns teasing as he smirks. “Don’t worry I won’t tell.”

You scoff to yourself, surprised by his mannerisms of outforwardness. You look around then to see if anyone is watching the two of you, but all eyes are elsewhere and you let out a sigh of relief. Another girl comes into the bar when you glance to the side, most likely to cover the next shift that was not yours quite yet, be that as it may you did have a break coming up.

Renjun outstretches his hand in patience, his smirk slowly growing, even if it was borderlining a smile that you could see right through. He hums in anticipation and you give in.

“Okay fine, but not for too long,” you say as you rest your hand in his. The cold of your fingers meet his warm ones and you latch on for dear life, afraid to let go.

He grins at you and squeezes your hand. “No promises.”

Then he proceeds to drag you out of the bar, tugging you to who knows where. The tingle of a secret keeps you on your toes and you become giddy, laughing along the halls as he steers you left, right, straight, left, right, up...a never ending cycle of adventure.

“Where exactly are you taking me?” You ask after gaining the courage. He is intimidating in some regards, the thought of how he acted towards his ex-girlfriend as visible as day in your mind.

He shrugs, finally slowing down. “Who knows. Could be outside in the cold or near a fireplace in the warm. You will just have to see.”

“That certainly gives me no direction at all.”

He turns his head to look at you and stops suddenly, having you nearly crash into his back before he tugs you to the other side. He chuckles when he sees your horrified face from almost busting your nose. “That was the point, darling.”

You huff in annoyance when he continues walking, the pressure of his fingers around your own feels heavier as time drags on and your heart has no sense of calm, constricting with the name of endearment that slipped past his slim lips.

“Okay, we are here!” He announces and lets go of your hand, the bareness of his heat leaving you shivering. You take a step back from planting your feet firmly on the floor and glance around the room in which he stopped. It was one of the upper level rooms with strict access only to the most wealthy of the associates and investors. His family must be one of those highly regarded, if only you knew how highly regarded his family is, being the ones with the most status, the most affluent lifestyle. However, you would remain clueless.

“Oh, wow. The view up here is amazing.”

Renjun laughs, placing his hands in the front pocket of his slacks as he strolls around the room, glancing at the glowing fire that was left on and the books that were sealed shut. “Trust me, I am well aware. Why do you think I brought you up here?” He gives you an exasperated stare, peering past at the giant window you stood in front of that showcased the whole town, now covered in sleek white snow. It must have snowed while he was conversing with others at the party for when he arrived at the meeting hours ago, the land was void.

The white flakes are still falling outside, delicately covering everything in one uniform color that leaves you in awe and he is left admiring you, how at peace you are. How free you look, an emotion he never held onto in his entire life.

“So besides admiring this view, what are we doing up here?” You ask, your fingertips grazing the cool frosted glass of the window, seeing beyond to the endless landscape and twinkling stars along with lights of the houses nearby.

Renjun answers bluntly. “Admiring the view.”

You can’t stop the titters from escaping you and you roll your eyes, an action he sees through the reflection.

He steps forward, coming up besides your figure to look more clearly at the breathtaking scenery of a winter wonderland. “No, I’m joking...at least partially.”

You giggle some more, interlocking your hands in front of you. “I didn’t know you had it in you to joke.”

It is now his turn to laugh. “Darling, I have a lot in me that you don’t know.”

You sigh solemnly, taking a step back to turn around, examining the other objects around the room. “Oh, I’m sure.”

He is an enigma waiting to be unraveled, but you would not be the one to solve his case and that alone is an idea that scares you.

Before you can get farther away, his hand wraps around your wrist, preventing you from escape. You peer down at his hand then up to his eyes, your eyebrows scrunching together in perplexity.

He does not speak, only drags you into him to where you are now chest to chest, only an inch of distance between your bodies. The closeness between the two of you leaves you breathless and gasping for air. His thumb carrasses your arm and runs down to the palm of your hand, enveloping his fingers around your skin. Your eyes are trailing the movements and you take a sharp intake of breath, curious as to what can happen next. He hooks his other free index finger under your chin to lift your face up so he can see you in distinct luminosity.

You have gazed at his eyes practically all evening, but nothing has prepared you for seeing him up close. He is even more handsome in full definition from the lines on his soft pink lips to his perfectly tousled hair.

“You’re beautiful,” he mutters, his thumb running along your cupid’s bow. “Absolutely and breathtakingly beautiful.”

You gulp, the words drying up in your throat for what could you say to his compliment?

Then everything happens at once.

His hand moves to wrap around the back of your head and he tugs you closer by the other until you are pressed up against each other. He lightly pushes your head forward and contact is made.

Lips against lips. Moving and moving against each other, taking all your breath away for the second time within a span of a few seconds.

He lets go of holding your hand and wraps his arm around your waist, to pull you closer if such is even possible. To make the contact more tender and desirable.

You suppose desire is that which allows the moment to escalate further. From a mere innocent kiss to a fiery passion of craving for more.

When your lips separate, he does not think twice before grabbing your hand once more and dragging you down the long corridor to arrive at his secluded room around the corner.

He opens the door with haste as you come tumbling in after him, grabbing, pulling, tugging until all that is left is just you and him.

The frantic beats of two hearts.

The heat of skin pressed against skin.

Simply two bodies that became one all due to the desire floating around the room and pushing you to the limit.

You lost yourself in him that night and he in you.

Lost to the pure ecstasy of pleasure during the season of joy and love.

Yet the season could also be one for giving and taking.

You wake to a cold bed the next morning.

Gone is the warmth of a boy who made you feel like you were on top of the world, someone special enough to demand notice and have anything that is asked for.

Gone is the sweet nothings he whispered in your ear, the words of assurance, comfort, and false love that made you feel worth it and simply protected.

Gone is the long lingering touches of his fingers pressing into you and dancing along the lines of your body to explore and learn.

Gone is the feeling of his lips on your skin that was enough to ignite you ablaze and leave you seeing all the colors of the rainbow.

Gone is he—Huang Renjun.

All that remains of the remembrance from the night is the note he left by the oak bedside table, one that crushed the dream of longing and hope within. One that slapped you with the crude reality of who he truly was, is, in a place that you did not belong to and never would.

Thanks for last night, but it’s a one time thing. You can see yourself out. Happy holidays.

He signed the note with his initials, H.R. and his family’s embroidered seal.

Then you realize in that moment, your bare body covered in his silk covers in the large suite he had all to himself, that the holidays are not for everyone.

You can either be together with someone else or alone by yourself.

Never the two.

Always one or the other.

You had hoped to be together yet alone with him in privacy to make your own memories away from prying eyes, but at the end of the day you were by yourself and he was too.

That is how life works in this sick, twisted world.

Men against men. Women against women. Everyone against everyone.

Alone.

Never together.

Like he and you.

146 notes · View notes

fitzs-trained-monkey · 3 years

Text

Chapter One: Lonely Together

Jack Kline x OC

Rated: PG

~I might hate myself tomorrow

But I'm on my way tonight

Let's be lonely together

A little less lonely together~

Sent: 10:52 PM

Merry Christmas, stranger. I hope yours is as bright as new fallen snow. Stay warm.

I smiled down at my phone before clicking it off and slipping it into my pocket. I didn't know who I had sent the message to. It was just a number I had punched in at random. I didn't expect anyone to reply.

Wrapping my dark green cardigan tighter around my body, I pulled my knees in closer to my chest and pressed myself closer against the wall of the bakery. The wall was only slightly warmer than the frigid air around me. It was December 2nd and icy gales were blowing in from Lake Superior and stinging the skin of the city's occupants.

The sky hung dark, low, and flat over Copper Harbor, Michigan. Copper Harbor was an itty-bitty town at the northern most tip of the northernmost part of Michigan. You know that piece of land that's only connected to the mainland by a highway, that in-between place that really should be Canada, but isn't? That's where Copper Harbor is and that's where I was.

Copper Harbor was the sort of town where newcomers and visitors are as common as flying pigs and are treated with about as much scrutiny. It's not one of those small, friendly towns just off the highway; the ones that are pleasant to find yourself in if you've taken a wrong turn. It's quite the feat to get lost and turn up in Copper Harbor, considering its miles away from anything and everything remotely interesting, unless you're searching for Bigfoot or a drunk Canadian that took a wrong turn. Though those two things might just end up being one and the same. No, nobody came to Copper Harbor unless they had a reason. That's just the sort of place it was. And aside from the mind-numbing cold, it was exactly the sort of place I wanted to be.

The clouds were so heavy with the snow that now drifted down, dusting everything in a layer of fine white powder, it seemed that someone standing on even the lowest rooftop could reach up and touch them. The snowflakes raining down from those clouds gave the appearance of tiny shooting stars. Many would have found the sight beautiful. I didn't. I just found it cold and somewhat depressing. Some people say that shooting stars are angels, falling to the earth to bless the lives of people in need. I've never liked those sorts of stories. The stars belong in the heavens. The dust belongs on the earth. Collecting in puddles, the sparkling, sugar-like ice crystals did nothing to ease the bitter cold. I shivered and coughed, my breath fogging in front of me.

I should have frozen to death hours ago.

But I can't die. At least, not that way.

Suffering, on the other hand, I can do that to no end.

I put my head between my knees, hoping to retain what little heat my walking corpse had to offer. I struggled to remain conscious. The story of the little-match-girl was playing in my head. I'd never liked that story's ending. Hallucinations really weren't my thing, especially hallucinations about things I tried not to think about, the things I tried to burry in the farthest corners of my mind. I had to distract myself, to think about anything that would keep me awake. The problem was, there was nothing to distract me.

Pling!

My phone buzzed in my pocket with a text. I grasped it quickly, greedy for a distraction, but I paused upon seeing the number displayed upon the screen. It was that number I had texted the Merry Christmas message to. Whoever it was had texted me back. I unlocked my phone and peered at the mystery person's message.

Received: 11:18 PM

Merry Christmas to you as well!

The message read. I smiled a little, surprised that anyone would care to return my quiet Christmas wish. The screen of my phone lit up with another message.

Received: 11:19 PM

Who are you?

The question was a simple one. Though tone can often be difficult to infer over written text, the question seemed to bear no hostility, only innocent curiosity. I thought for a bit about what to say, the answer was not as simple as the question had implied.

***

Located quite literally one thousand miles away from Copper Harbor, was the small, out-of-the-way town of Lebanon, Kansas. Now, in the outskirts Lebanon there was a hill. The hill was modestly sized and carpeted with thick grass painted with a layer of frost. Although it was a rather pleasant sight for some stray hiker to find, the hill was really quite unremarkable. That is, if you ignored the hulking steel door built into the side of it that looked like the entrance to a post-apocalyptic hobbit hole. See, built under that hill there was a bunker. It looked like any ordinary bunker if one can ever describe a bunker as ordinary. But inside this ordinary looking bunker, sat something rather extraordinary and his name was Jack.

Jack Kline was quite happy where he was. Sitting with his legs crossed on a chair beside the bunker's fireplace, Jack held Sam's beloved lap-top between his knees. Sam let him borrow it on the nights he couldn't sleep. Those nights were many. Sleepless nights were one of the many side effects of being half-angel, but he didn't really mind. Jack wasn't overly fond of sleep, not like Sam or Dean who adored the few hours they got. Jack would much rather be awake because if he was asleep then he couldn't observe. He liked to observe. He loved learning. He loved taking in anything and everything going on around him, soaking it all up like a sponge with legs. He especially loved to soak up a story. Epic ones with heroes that defeat powerful villains. Jack loved stories.

So, no; Jack Kline was not overly fond of sleep. No, Jack preferred to just sit quietly and watch those epic stories as they played out in front of him on the screen of Sam's lap-top.

Currently, he was watching Star Wars: The Clone Wars. The computer had said he would like it, and the computer had been right. He had just finished season 2 and had begun on season 3. Some small voice in the back of his mind told him he should slow down and draw the series out a little longer, but Jack just couldn't find the will to do so. This story was just too good to stop. Jack shoved a hand full of popcorn in his mouth as he pressed the play button on the next episode. He had managed to sneak several bags of popcorn from the kitchen and into the secret stash in his room a few nights earlier. It was perfect, except popcorn needed to be popped and popping the kernels without attracting notice was a bit of a challenge. But he found that if he popped them during the day, when everyone was clamoring about and busy with whatever, the noise from the popping kernels wouldn't peak any suspicion. The only downside to his strategy was that it left him with cold popcorn. Though this too could be remedied via his angel powers, if he was careful about it, he could warm up the popcorn undetected.

Now, don't get the impression that Jack was being starved, or held in this bunker against his will, or something awful like that. As was mentioned before, Jack was very happy there. The Winchesters, Sam and Dean, and the angel Castiel, lived there with him and took care of him. They were his family and Jack loved them. The only reason he had a secret stash at all was because Sam was the only one in the bunker who cared about the importance of having a somewhat healthy diet. Whereas Dean let the boy eat pretty much anything he wanted and Cas- well in Cas's mind food was food and that's all there was to it. But Sam didn't like it when he caught Jack eating what he referred to as 'junk food'.

Somehow, Sam always caught him.

"That stuff’ll rot your teeth, Jack!" He'd sigh, as he'd flip on the kitchen light and catch Jack eating cereal sometime around midnight. Then he'd look at Jack with a disappointed look on his face until Jack threw the cereal away and went back to bed. Jack hated it when Sam looked at him like that, he just couldn't bear to let the Winchesters down.

But Jack loved to eat. Eating was enjoyable as it brought with it something new every time. Yet more things to absorb and to experience. Although the younger Winchester disapproved of the more sugary foods; Jack liked those a whole lot more than the salads Sam tried to get him to eat. Jack didn't like the salads or 'Rabbit Food' as Dean called it. No, Jack liked popcorn a quite a bit more.

He smiled as he brought another handful into his mouth. Yes, Jack Kline quite enjoyed eating.

Plip! Ploop!

Jack's head swiveled away from the screen to stare at the phone laying face-up on the arm rest of the chair in which he sat. The screen was alight with a text message. He picked up the phone and unlocked it. The message read:

Received: 10:52 PM

Merry Christmas, stranger. I hope yours is as bright as new fallen snow. Stay warm.

That was all. Jack was quite confused; he didn't know that number. Who had sent the text? What should he do? Should he say something back?

Curiosity and caution struggled in a match tug-of-war in his head. He wanted to know who the message had come from. He wanted to know why that person had sent it. He also wanted to know why he had a strange feeling that whoever had sent the message was horribly sad. But would the Winchesters be mad at him if he answered? Sam and Dean had given him the phone just a few days earlier.

"For emergencies," Sam had said as he laid the device in Jack's hand before resuming his packing. Jack had stared at it, rather confused as to its purpose. Castiel had been off somewhere doing something and Sam and Dean had been leaving for a hunt, leaving him alone which Dean was completely and utterly against.

"Only for emergencies," Dean had stressed, jabbing his finger in Jack's general direction as he inspected various articles of clothing before tossing them into a duffle bag. "That means don't text or call unless someone is breaking in or you're dying!"

Sam shot his older brother a warning look. Dean ignored it and pulled a pair of socks out of his dresser, sniffing them briefly before making a face and chucking them to the other side of the room. Jack looked back down at the small black rectangle in his palm.

"Okay so, only text or call in case there's an emergency. Got it." Jack clinched the thin black box between his thumb and forefinger, carefully lifting it up as if it might explode in his face. "But, one question, if something happens like-like you said, like somebody breaking in or me dying, how-how would I do that?" He asked, looking back at the two brothers. They both froze their hasty packing and pivoted to stare at him, their eyebrows raised with disbelieving question.

"What?" Dean asked the young Nephilim. Jack shrank away a little, not wanting to upset the older Winchester.

"How do I text or call you? I don't know how to do that," Jack had timidly replied. Dean just shook his head and returned to over-stuffing the duffle. Sam, however, was much more understanding.

"That's right, you-you don't, do you?" Sam asked, realizing his mistake. Jack turned his attention to the younger of the brothers, shaking his head in an answer to Sam's question.

"Unbelievable," Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. Sam shot him another glare which Dean merely shrugged off.

"Well, come on then, I'll teach you," Sam had said. Jack watched as Sam set the contacts and explained how everything worked. He showed Jack how to send a text, how to dial and answer a call, and all the other things Jack would need to know. Jack just watched him and took note of every little thing. Watching and replicating was how Jack learned best.

"Now, if I don't answer my phone, you call Dean. But if he doesn't pick up, I want you to call me again, if I still don't answer a second time, I want you to call this number right here. That's Jody Mills, she's a friend of ours and she'll help you, alright? You get all that?" Sam finished explaining and looked for Jack to confirm his understanding. Jack nodded.

"I got it!" He said, enthusiastically. Sam gave the young boy a nervous smile.

"You do? Can you repeat it back to me?" Sam asked Jack the question the same way Sam and Dean's father had always asked them.

"If something happens, call you, and if you don't answer, call Dean. If Dean doesn't answer then I call you again, but if you still don't pick up, then call Jody Mills." Jack repeated all of Sam's instructions perfectly, grinning proudly at the younger Winchester when he finished. Sam laughed a little, but nerves twinged his voice.

"Good, yeah. Okay," Sam paused, thinking things over, "You know what, Jack? If neither of us answer your call and it's really that urgent, don't bother calling me a second time. Just call Jody right away if you can't get through to either of us. Alright?"

"Alright!" Jack nodded, grinning. Sam nodded back, stiffly.

"Alright." He seemed like he wanted to say something else but didn't know how to say it.

"You two done in there, Sammy?! We gotta go!" Dean called, walking in from another room. Sam stood and looked at his brother.

"Uh, yeah. I think we're good," He took a few steps towards the stairs that lead up to the door before pausing and turning back to Jack, "We're good, right? You're gonna be okay here by yourself?" Sam asked again. Jack grinned and gave him a thumbs up.

"I'll be fine. You don't have to worry."

Sam nodded and smiled with so much nervousness it almost hurt to watch.

"Okay, good. It's good. We're good," He said, nodding and trying to reassure himself more than anyone else. Dean raised an eyebrow at his overly anxious little brother, tugging his old leather jacket on over his shoulders, but he didn't say anything. Instead, he directed his remarks at Jack.

"Hey, kid. Whatever you do, don't do anything stupid," He'd said, half glaring, "We'll be back in a few days." Then they'd left.

Now, Jack glanced back down at the phone in his hands, remembering Dean's warning about not doing anything stupid. But his curiosity regarding the sender of the message was overwhelming. It couldn't hurt to text this person back, right? Was that what Dean had meant by his warning? Did this count as something stupid? What was the worst that could happen? Deciding that the benefits outweighed the risks, he texted back.

Sent: 10:18 PM

Merry Christmas to you as well!

Jack wrote.

Sent: 10:19 PM

Who are you?

No sooner had asked his question, he began to worry that he might have sounded rude. He waited with anticipation for the mystery person to reply. He didn't have to wait long.

Received: 10:20 PM

It doesn't matter, you don't know me.

I'm just someone wanting to give you a warm holiday wish.

Jack frowned. Again, he got the distinct feeling that the person on the other side of this conversation was deeply saddened by something. He desperately wanted to know what. So, he did the thing he did best. He asked and waited to see what would happen.

***

Received: 11:21 PM

If you don't know me, why do you care?

I don't mean to be rude. I'm just curious.

Why do this?

I read the person's question once, then twice, then three times and I realized that I didn't have an answer. Why did I care? Why was I texting some random person a Christmas wish? For all I knew, this person may not even observe the holiday. I had so many of my own things to worry about I was nearly drowning in them. I didn't know this person. I had nothing to do with them. So, why did I care about their holiday season? Why was I doing this?

I told myself it was just a random act of kindness. But deep down I knew what the reason was, and even if I didn't want to think about it, I felt it in my heart. I was doing this for the same reason I did everything. So, I took a few moments and came up with a reply.

Sent: 11:25 PM

I'm doing this because I believe that no one should ever have to be alone,

especially during the holidays.

I sent my reply and remembered to keep on shivering. I could hardly feel the cold anymore, I had gone almost completely numb. But I knew if I didn't keep moving, I would surely freeze in place and be unable to move until spring came. I vaguely wondered how cold it was. I remembered having heard on someone's car radio that this was supposed to be the coldest winter Michigan had experienced in the last decade. Though winter had only just begun, it was already cold enough for the district council to be suggesting face coverings to prevent citizens from getting frostbite and losing their nose.

I sneezed. I had no such face covering. Hell! I didn't even have a jacket! Let alone a coat or anything mildly warm. All I had was my oversized green cardigan, my black Star Wars t-shirt and my black jeans. That was it. Yet here I sat, outside a bakery in well below freezing temperatures, shivering myself into next decade.

I could go to a shelter. At least there I wouldn't have to endure the bitter biting of the wind as it gushed with double its normal force through these tight, abandoned alleyways. But if I went to a shelter then there was no chance of leaving undetected, I reminded myself. No, it was better to stay here, cold and alone, than to risk human contact.

I was pulled from my thoughts by another pling from my phone. Another message from that unknown contact.

Received: 11: 27

Are you alone?

Again, the question was simple. And although the mere thought hurt like a knife twisting in a fresh wound, I looked around at the dark, trash littered alleyway I sat in, watching the scattered rags of paper flutter and tumble in the winter gales, and I looked at the brutally beautiful puddles of speckled ice gathering along my body and melting on my skin, and I examined the bleak night sky, choked starless by the drifting dreary clouds; and the utterly silent stillness of the sleeping city revealed the harsh reality of my answer.

No one was here.

Nobody cared.

Not even the stars would keep me company. Because the stars never cared who I was.

So, with no reason to keep the truth hidden. I answered the question honestly.

Sent: 11: 29 PM

Yes.

Sent: 11: 30 PM

I am alone.

I was completely and utterly alone.

***

Received: 10: 30 PM

I am alone.

Once again Jack got the distinct impression that these words carried a heavy burden. It made him frown. What could he do to help a person he didn't even know? He wanted to ask this person if they had any friends, but something about those words told him the answer. When this person had said they were alone, Jack got the feeling they weren't just talking about the current moment. But maybe that's what this person needed. Maybe they needed a friend.

Sent: 10: 32 PM

Well, I'll be your friend and talk to you. There, now you're not alone anymore!

Jack smiled as he sent the text. The reply didn't take long.

Received: 10: 33 PM

Thank you.

You don't have waste your time on me but thank you.

It didn't take any special powers to read in between the lines this time, anyone could see the sadness in those words. Though Jack wasn't sure if it was his powers causing that strange feeling or if he was just imagining things.

Sent: 10:34 PM

I don't mind. Really!

Besides, I don't have anyone to talk to either.

Received: 10: 35 PM

Well, in that case, we can be lonely together!

Jack grinned. He'd made himself a friend. He couldn't wait to get to know them.

***

Received: 11: 36 PM

Since we're friends now, what's your name?

I smiled down at my new mystery friend's message. There was something about the words that made them seem innocent and earnest. It couldn't hurt to give my name, right? It’s not like he could find me. After all, I'm supposed to be dead.

Sent: 11: 37 PM

My name is Martina.

I sent my name and waited for the response. It came quickly.

Received: 11: 38 PM

I like your name Martina!

It's very pretty.

I flinched as I read the text. Something about seeing my name written in the text brought me back to a conversation with a different person a long time ago. It was a painful memory, and I didn't want to see it anymore. I didn't want another reminder of the still bleeding wounds in my heart. I remembered why I didn't let anyone call me that name anymore.

Sent: 11: 39 PM

Thank you.

But I would prefer you call me Marty.

I didn't want to be so sensitive to things like this, but I just couldn't help it.

Received: 11: 40 PM

Alright! I like Marty too.

It's a fun name.

I smiled; grateful they didn't ask why it was so important that they called me by a nickname.

Sent: 11: 41 PM

Thanks for understanding.

So, what's your name?

Received: 11: 42 PM

My name is Jack!

I grinned to myself. I'd made me a friend. I just couldn't wait to get to know him.

Sent: 11: 43 PM

Heya, Jack!

It’s nice to meet you!

I think this is the beginning of a wonderful friendship.

Received: 11: 44 PM

I agree, Marty. We are going to be great friends!

Sent: 11: 45 PM

So, what's your favorite movie?

And just like that, we talked until the sun came up. And suddenly, for the first time in quite a while, I wasn't completely alone.

***

"Hey, uh, Jack? We're back!"

Sam's voice drifted in from just outside Jack's bedroom door. Jack was surprised. He hadn't heard the brothers come in which, for him, was quite peculiar.

The door creaked open and Jack hastily attempted to pretend like he hadn't been using the phone.

He failed.

Miserably.

The device slipped from his hand and he fumbled to catch it before it smashed against the grey, polished concrete floor. He let out a sigh of relief as he snatched it just in time.

Sam peered around the door, checking in on Jack, who was now hanging halfway off his bed and clutching the phone. Scrambling to sit upright, Jack gave Sam a half-panicked smile.

"Hi Sam!" He waved a greeting, shoving his phone behind his back. Sam raised his eyebrows in a questioning expression and stepped into the room, shutting the door behind him. He folded his arms and leaned back on his heels.

"Hey Jack," Sam seemed a little distracted, "Have you seen Cas?" He asked. Jack shook his head vigorously.

"He's not back yet," He answered. Sam nodded and started to leave before stopping and turning back. Only now seeming to notice Jack's odd behavior. Sam gestured at the phone hidden behind the boys back,

"So, what were you doing in here just now?" Jack's eyes flew wide as quarters and his gaze shifted rapidly around the room, focusing on anywhere but Sam. His mind was working overtime trying to find a viable excuse.

"Uhhhh...Nothing!" Jack tried; his brain had gone blank. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You sure about that?" Sam leaned forward a little, narrowing his eyes. Jack leaned back to match; his face scrunched up with the guilt he was trying very hard to hide. Everyone in the bunker knew how terrible Jack was at lying. He might be able to pass a few simple fibs by a stranger, but his family saw through him like he was made of glass. He couldn't deceive them. But that didn't stop him from trying, however.

"Yes..." Jack said slowly, his eyebrows pulling together in a rather sad attempt at looking sincere.

"Jack, what were you doing?" Sam asked more sternly. Jack looked at his feet and didn't answer. His shoulders moved up and down in a shrug.

"Do I have to go get Dean?" Sam pressed. Now Jack's head shot up. He stretched his hands out in a pleading gesture.

"No, no! Don't tell Dean!" Jack begged. Sam's expression shifted into one of concern.

"If you tell me, I won't tell Dean." Sam agreed, moving to sit on the bed beside Jack who shifted to give him some space. Sam waited patiently for the young Nephilim to speak. Jack kept his head down and rubbed his hands together nervously as he tried to think of how he should explain himself.

"Well, last night I was watching Netflix when I got this text from somebody wishing me a merry Christmas-" He started.

"Someone we know?" Sam asked, interrupting. Jack shook his head and continued.

"I asked them why they would do that, and they said it was because they thought that nobody should be alone this time of year. So, I asked if they were alone and they said, yes ─" Jack looked the younger Winchester in the eyes ─

"I don't know why but I just got this- this feeling, and they sounded just so sad, and now we're friends! But Dean said not to do anything stupid, and now I'm worried that I did! Are you mad?" Jack finished, worry coloring his features. Sam blinked. Once again astounded by the size of the half-angel's heart, he shook his head.

"No, Jack. I'm not mad," He said, softly.

"Really?"

"Really. I think you did a good thing. Everyone needs a friend." Sam patted Jack's shoulder and smiled. Jack looked down, grinning to himself as pride filled his chest.

Sam waited a moment before getting up from the bed. Stretching his back out and groaning a bit as he stood. It had been almost 48 hours since he last slept, and he was more than ready for a long nap. His hand rested on the doorknob and he paused a moment before turning back around.

"Hey, uh, Jack. Just one more thing. Do you by chance know this person's name?" Sam asked. Jack looked up briefly before looking back at the floor again, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping up to stain his cheeks.

"It's, uh, it's Marty," He replied. Sam nodded and moved to leave again but he stopped. His eyebrows pulled down with confusion before he turned back.

"And uh, is that a boy's name or a girl's name? Do you know?" Jack turned his head a bit to the side and picked at a thread in his jeans.

"Does it matter?" He questioned back. Truthfully, it didn't. Sam wouldn't make Jack stop if he didn't want to. But to say that the boy's current evasive behavior didn't pique his interest, would be a lie. Though, the kid’s flushed cheeks told him quite a bit about the answer.

"It doesn't matter," Sam said, shrugging, "I'm just curious is all." The tall man watched the boy's reaction. Jack nodded and shifted as if uncomfortable.

"Marty's a girl." He answered, trying to force his voice into sounding nonchalant. And failing.

"Okay, cool." Sam nodded, turning around again, and reaching for the handle. Jack's head whipped around.

"Wait, Sam!"

Sam looked over his shoulder.

"Hmm?"

"Don't. Tell. Dean!" Jack stressed. Urgency was evident in his voice. Sam huffed a laugh.

"Okay, Jack." With that, Sam pulled open the door and walked out letting the heavy steel swing shut behind him. Behind the door, Jack sighed with relief. He'd dodged a bullet with that one.

Walking a ways down the hall, Sam got to Dean's room where his older brother was now unpacking. The younger brother leaned on the door frame and expelled the laughter he'd been holding on to since Jack’s room. Dean turned around, holding a pistol and a pair of weeks old and hopelessly blood caked socks in his hands, he faced Sam with a questioning look.

"What's got you so giggly all of a sudden?" The older of the brother's asked.

Dean glanced at the pair of socks in his hand. He grimaced at the stench and held them further away from his face, trying not to breathe. It didn't work. The socks odor was so pungent, Dean could smell them through his mouth. There was no hope of washing them. Nope, those things would have to be burned. Though, taking another whiff of them, Dean wasn't sure that even incinerating the socks would do him much good now. The stomach-turning stink would be branded into his memory forever. Sam straightened up, shaking his head of shoulder length hair.

"It's just something Jack said." Sam smiled and laughed again before taking notice of the unholy stench wafting off the socks. He coughed. "Dude, those stink. Bad!"

"Yeah, it's a sad day, Sammy." Dean nodded solemnly. Sam covered his nose.

"Why?"

"These were my second luckiest pair of socks."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

"Well, they're not anymore," Sam pointed out. Now, they were just rancid.

"I think we should give em' a Viking funeral, something to honor their service. I mean, I remember one time when I wore these things for two weeks straight!" Dean reminisced, grinning. Sam looked mildly disturbed.

"That's, uh... nice... But, uh, is there somewhere we could put them before the funeral? Because they, uh, they reek." Sam was trying hard not to gag and couldn't understand how Dean could be holding them and remain unaffected. Dean smirked.

"You wanna go put em' somewhere?" He asked, waving the socks into Sam's face. Sam leaned away.

"Ah! God! No! Put those things somewhere! Please!" He choked out. Dean just grinned and moved to the other side of the room. Grabbing a cardboard box from off the shelf, he shoved the socks in there and sealed the lid. The stench quickly began to dissipate.

"Better?"

"Yeah, thanks."

"We're gonna have to burn that box too."

"Yup." Sam still felt a little sick but at least the socks were gone.

"So, what was it Jack said that you thought was so funny?" The older brother asked.

"Oh, uh, nothing. It was nothing," Sam said. But laughter began to creep up on him again. Dean rolled his eyes and went back to pulling more dirty clothing from the duffle bag.

"Are ya gonna stand there or are ya gonna spill?" Dean pushed. Sam sobered up again.

"Well, I'm not supposed to tell you," He said.

Dean shook his head, mildly annoyed. He knew Sam was going to tell him whatever juicy information he had gotten, just like he always did when he got that sly look on his face. Sam could be a bit of a schoolgirl that way. Except, of course, when it came to the important things, the things Dean was supposed to know. Those things Sam always kept to himself.

"Well, Sammy, if you ain’t gonna spill─" he used the gun in his hand to gesture from Sam to the duffle bag─ "get workin'."

The younger Winchester moved to the bag and started unpacking, grinning his face off all the while. Dean knew his little brother was waiting for him to ask about the thing with Jack again, so he said nothing. He just waited for Sam to look over to him eagerly, which is exactly what Sam did.

"So get this!" Sam started.

'Here it comes.' Dean predicted internally. Sam kept starring.

'Yatzee.' Dean thought. He knew Sam like the back of his hand. Actually, he probably knew his brother better than that.

"Apparently, Jack got a text from some random person last night wishing him merry Christmas. And, well, you know Jack! So he─" Dean stopped his brother mid-sentence.

"What's her name?" He interrupted. Sam looked confused.

"I didn't say anything about a girl," Sam trailed off. Dean sighed and shook his head.

"Geez, Sammy! If you love drama so much, you should go be an actor. You ain't foolin' anybody. We both know where this is goin' so just cut to the chase!" Dean sighed, opening a trunk and tossing in the gun he'd been holding along with several knives. His small outburst had startled his younger brother, but Dean didn't really care. Sam wasn't the only one who hadn't slept in 48 hours. Sleep was calling and Dean wanted nothing more than to answer. Sam frowned.

"Marty. The girl's name is Marty," Sam stated, sounding rather put out that Dean had guessed at his not-so-cleaver ploy. The older if the pair turned to the younger with a perplexed expression.

"Wait, wait. Marty?" He clarified. Amused disbelief written all over his features.

"Marty," Sam confirmed.

"Marty?"

"Yeah. Marty."

"Like the zebra in Madagascar, Marty?" Dean asked, grinning. Sam nodded.

"Yeah, like that. But remember, you didn't hear anything from me!" He answered, smiling as well. Dean laughed as he turned his attention back to the mess of clothing and weapons surrounding him on the floor.

"Yeah, whatever, drama queen." Dean rolled his eyes and kept working. The room was silent for a moment before the older Winchester burst out laughing again. He couldn't help himself; he found the subject hilarious.

"Ah, man. Marty! Now there's a name!" He exclaimed as he started folding the few clean clothing items laying in the pile. "What? Did her parents just take one look at her and say: 'Look at our beautiful baby! Let's name her Marty!'" Dean scoffed.

Sam snorted and shook his head at his older brother's bad joke. Then he leaned his head back and yawned.

"Man, I think we need some sleep," Sam sighed. Dean smirked.

"Is it your bedtime already?" He taunted, expecting a playful retort. But this time, Sam didn't argue. He just nodded.

"Yeah, I think it is." Though worried about his little brother, Dean held his playful smirk in place perfectly, just like he had been doing for so many years.

"Well, you go ahead and hit the sack. I'll finish up here." He said, easily. Even though he was just as tired and Sam was, he would finish out like always. Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You sure?"

"Yeah, o'course. There's not much left anyway." That was a lie and they both knew it, but Sam took the offer of sleep while it was on the table.

"Thanks, Dean."

"You're welcome, Sammy."

Sam patted his older brother on the arm as he stood and left the room. Traveling down the corridor he got to his bedroom and was out as soon as his head hit the pillow.

Meanwhile, Dean mouthed the strange name of Jack's mystery girl and chuckled about it to himself. Sitting on the floor in his room as he continued folding the rest of the clean clothes, cleaning out all the weapons and putting everything back in its place. The chore took him two more hours to complete but when it was done, he stretched himself out and laid back on his bed.

"Marty. Now, that's hilarious." Dean snickered to himself as he drifted off to sleep.

~I might hate myself tomorrow.

But I'm on my way tonight.

Let's be lonely together.

A little less lonely together~

Lyrics from: Lonely Together by Jasmine Thompson

25 notes · View notes

writer-k-pop · 4 years

Text

Three Seconds

너는 나에게 3초를 주었다. You gave me three seconds.

Description: 6 months after breaking up, you had finally gotten used to life without S.Coups/Seungcheol and the 12 other members. You kept up with news surrounding them but you never really expected them to reenter your life. And you didn't expect him to reenter with the explosive news that he dropped into your lap. Warnings: Swearing [Also note: yes I know this would NEVER happen in real life but hey, this is fiction and fiction means anything can happen :D] Genre: Angst Word Count: 3.5k

Seventeen Masterlist | Masterlists

"Get out. Just get out." He stared at me with cold eyes.

"Do you really want me to go?" I asked with tears at the brink of falling down my cheeks.

"Yes." He straightened out his back, "Yes, I do."

..............

Walking around the town on a Friday night as the sun fades was probably not the smartest idea. The streets are packed with people. Their conversations seep into my ears though I have headphones in blasting music. Most are in groups or pairs and, at some intersections, it feels like I'm busting through a solid concrete wall of people.

"Why do I have to live this far away from my favorite cafe?" I mumble to myself as a female bumps into my shoulder.

Five more minutes of packed walking, I finally reach the block where my destination resides. I found this cafe about 6 months ago. Right after... it all happened. It quickly became a favorite. The drinks are prefect and the atmosphere is like a warm weighted blanket around me. I try to come at least once a week for some R&R, but this week was rough and this'll be my second visit. I have yet to experience a 3-cafe-visit week and hopefully I won't ever have to.

Just as I grab the door handle, someone yells out my name from behind me.

"(Y/n)?"

I turn and face three men who are all staring with wide eyes but I instantly recognize them. Joshua, Jeonghan, and Dokyeom.

"It is (y/n)!" Dokyeom exclaims and runs in for a hug.

"Hey, Dokyeom." I sigh happily, giving him a squeeze.

Jeonghan and Josh also give me a warm hug.

"We haven't seen you in forever!" Dokyeom continues as we step to the side as to not block the cafe entrance. "How have you been?"

I smile softly at him, "I've been... okay I guess."

Dokyeom scrunches his eyebrows together, "We miss you." He says softly and Josh nods. I glance at Jeonghan who is awfully quiet.

"I miss you too but you know, life got chaotic." I say in hopes to deter the conversation.

"What are your plans for tonight?" Josh asks as if we're not standing in front of a cafe.

"I, uh, I was going to chill out at the cafe for a bit and then go home and probably lay around." I answer honestly.

"On a Friday night?" Dokyeom then shakes his head, "You should come hang out with us. I mean what are the chances of running into you after 6 months of nothing?"

"I-"

"It's just the three of us." Jeonghan interrupts me with knowing look.

"Yeah, we're going to grab a late bite to eat and then go back to the house." Josh explains their plans.

Jeonghan looks like he mentally facepalmed himself and I felt my entire body hesitate.

"Dinner sounds fun but I don't think I should be going back to your house." I look at each of them.

"He's gone for the weekend." Dokyeom quips, "He left a few hours ago to go visit his family for the weekend."

I chew the inside of my cheek. "Well, I guess a small visit wouldn't hurt."

Dokyeom loops his arm in mine, "No it wouldn't. And then it would prove to the others that you didn't just drop off the face of the earth."

"They don't think that, do they?" I ask as DK leads me down the sidewalk.

"Most of them don't, but Hoshi seems to be pretty adamant that you really did disappear." Joshua offers from behind.

I laugh, "Sounds about right."

................

As we climb the steps to their house, my heart starts to beat faster and my stomach empties as if I didn't just eat a gigantic meal.

"He's not here." I keep reminding myself over and over in my head but my heart is still racing like I'm running from a masked figure with a chainsaw.

Jeonghan is the first through the door without a single word. Josh holds open the door for me and Dokyeom walks in behind me.

"How was your dinner, hyun-?" Seungkwan stops abruptly upon seeing me standing in the entry way. "Y/n?"

"Look who we found on the streets!" Dokyeom says happily.

"More like barged into her quiet Friday night plans." I snark back playfully.

"Hey, you're the one who agreed to come with us." Dokyeom shoots back.

"Y/n?" Seungkwan repeats and I smile at him. "Y/n!" He all but screams then ambushes me with a hug.

His scream alerts the others who are in the house of my appearance and within seconds there are stomping footsteps and yells of my name throughout the house.

We make our way towards the large living room as the members show up.

Hoshi, Dino, and Jun rush in first, nearly tripping over each other. Wonwoo, Mingyu, and Minghao calmly make their way in after, wondering what all the screaming is about.

"Where are the other two?" I ask after hugs have been distributed.

"Woozi and Vernon are at the studio." Dino informs us.

"How have you been?" Jun asks, practically forcing me to sit on the couch next to him.

I nod, "I've been okay. The busy season has started at work." I pause but they all stay quiet as if the wrong word will send me into a ball of smoke and I'll disappear again. "I saw the last comeback. It was quite good."

"Just good?" Dokyeom repeats, slightly offended.

"Well, no one can beat One Direction." I shrug with a mischievous smile.

"So where did they find you?" Mingyu asks, nodding his head towards DK, Josh, and Jeonghan.

"Outside of a cafe I was about to step into." I say, patting my purse still by my side, "I was going to relax with a nice drink for a couple hours but they had other ideas."

"Just think, if you had gotten to the cafe 30 seconds earlier, they would've never seen you and Hoshi hyung would still think you weren't on the face of the earth." Mingyu comments with a laugh.

"Hey, I never believed those words for a second." Hoshi defends himself.

Jun playfully hits his arm, "Even though they came out of your own mou-"

"Y/n?" A surprised soft voice asks from the doorway.

Everyone freezes and a wave of dread washes over me.

"Coups." Jeonghan walks up to him. "What are you doing here?"

"I live here?" Seungcheol looks at him like he's gone insane for asking such a question.

"You were supposed to be with your family." Jeonghan clarifies himself as Dokyeom wraps an arm around my shoulders, my eyes staring at my hands in my lap. In my peripheral, I can see the others giving each other looks of blame and silent questions being thrown like softball balls during practice.

"They told me to come tomorrow because there's bad weather." Seungcheol responds.

With every word I hear, sadness and pain rises from the pit of my stomach.

"I-I should go." I shake my head, "I need to go." I rephrase, standing and walking towards the front door. My hands grip the strap of my purse tightly.

Behind me, multiple hushed arguments erupt. But one sticks out.

"Coups. Don't."

"I need to."

"Coups."

"Jeonghan it's been SIX months. Even if she hates my guts, she still deserves an explanation."

I whip around facing the man who broke my heart all those months ago. Seungcheol stops two steps in front of me, blinking at me as if he suddenly forgot how to speak.

"I deserved an explanation the day it happened. Not six months after." I tell him with a steeled front. Jeonghan looks between us two before quickly shooing the members out of the living room.

"I know." Seungcheol sighs in defeat, "You deserved one before and I can't go back and change that but I can give you an explanation now. If you'll listen."

I study his eyes, the ones I looked into every day for over a year, the ones I knew how to read like my favorite book. In this moment, all I can see in them is sadness and regret with the tiniest sliver of hope.

Hope that I will sit down and give him the chance to explain. And it's all up to me. Whether I give him that relief or I completely crush him.

I've only ever seen him completely crushed once before and it was one of the most painful things I've ever gone through. Just thinking that I would be the one to push him to that level again is something I could never do to him. No matter how much he hurt me in the past.

"Okay, I'll listen." I tell him with a small nod, my hands still gripped onto my purse.

Seungcheol sighs in relief, "Thank you." He looks around the entrance way, "We could go talk in my room. It, uh, would give us more privacy." He adds before I can protest.

Now it's my turn to glance around the area and mentally agree that we weren't exactly in the most private area. And considering Vernon or Woozi could come back home at any second, we were completely in the open.

"Okay." I nod.

He turns and starts walking towards the staircase. After a couple seconds, I follow him, knowing the way as if I had been here yesterday.

Once inside his room, I close the door and stay standing next to it. His room hasn't changed much. The furniture is in the same places: bed off to the side, closet straight across from it, and his computer sits next to Wonwoo's on the opposite wall from his bed. The bedding has changed from a deep blue to a gray yet the pillows are arranged in the same way as before. A new lamp sits next to the desks and it looks like Wonwoo bought a new gaming chair.

"You can sit." Seungcheol says nodding his head towards the bed.

I shake my head, "I'm okay standing."

He opens his mouth as if to protest against me but thinks better of it. He opens his closet and stands on his tiptoes to reach the top shelf.

"Coups." I start, wondering what he's doing cause it is definitely not explaining.

Seungcheol finally grabs what he was looking for and lowers himself back down. He turns and in his hands is a folder. A thin folder, might I add.

"What is that?" I ask.

"My explanation." He looks at it and for a moment, anger flashes past his eyes. "Well, at least part of it." He holds it out for me to take.

"A letter isn't an explanation." I cross my arms over my chest.

"It's not- will you please just look at it." Seungcheol's shoulders sag in defeat. "Please."

I wanted an explanation. I never clarified what kind of explanation I wanted.

Stepping towards him, I take the folder from him. What sits inside the folder is something I never expected. Instead of a letter of any kind, I stare at the official format of a contract.

"What-" I leave the unspoken question in the air as I grab his desk chair and sink into its cushions.

Seungcheol is silent as he moves to sit on the edge of the bed while I read through the contract.

I read through the first page and move onto the second. The complete shock and bewilderment of such a contract growing with each sentence. At the end of the second page sits a signature I don't recognize. And Seungcheol's. Dated the day before we broke up.

My fingers slide over his signature in disbelief. Disbelief that a company could extort its own artist to this extent. Disbelief that he didn't tell me any of it.

I quickly close the folder and look at anything in the room that isn't him. Even though his gaze is begging for my attention.

Seungcheol sighs after giving me a few seconds to say anything. "I never wanted to do it. Ever." He runs his hands through his hair before continuing and I lower my gaze to meet his. "They brought me in for a meeting and instantly something felt off. They didn't greet me with smiles like they used to and simply slid over that contract. Their reasoning for this I will never know but they forced me into a decision.

"Either I break it off with you or be forced out of Seventeen with evidence that you were fighting with the members and that in the end, I had sided with you and not my members. Which would mean that even though I had you, you would be berated with hate and society would turn on you. And me."

I watch as his eyes fill with tears of anger. He leans his elbows on his thighs and grips both hands together in front of him, his gaze locked onto the floor. I stay silent, soaking up the information and processing it all.

"I couldn't- I couldn't do that to you. It would've started a war that neither party would've recovered from. The members would've suffered a hit of losing their leader and the backlash from fans about why they couldn't just get along with you. And you and I would've suffered the hate from betrayed fans and you didn't deserve that." His voice fills with anxiety as he explains what he thought would've happened. "In the end, I chose to protect you the best way I could. The only way I could."

"Even if it meant I would still suffer." I say with sadness, recalling the painful nights of non stop crying.

"Either way you would've suffered. But this way, you wouldn't be touched by the public and you would slip away." Seungcheol confirms. "I told myself that as long as I didn't hear anything about you in the news after our break up hit the new outlets, I had protected you to the best of my abilities. I had to protect you."

"I couldn't tell you because well, the repercussions of that would've been just as catastrophic." He adds as if he could read my mind.

I lean back in the chair. My hands play with the edge of the folder as I feel tears fills my own eyes. Watching and listening to him get this off his chest like he's letting go of a spiked ball he's been gripping for months scrapes at my own heart. Now he's showing me his hand, all bloody and torn up. And only I have the bandages to stop the bleeding.

"How did you get a copy?" I ask when I find my voice again.

He lets out a single puff of breath in a half laugh, "I asked to take the contract home and think about it. They were dumb enough to let me take it home even though they had already signed it. Came home and the night I signed it, I copied it and kept it for myself. Insurance." Seungcheol explains.

"Why now?" I question.

Seungcheol glances up at me, "Because I'm no longer tied to that, that poisoned paper." He nods to the folder in my lap. "You saw the news last week?"

I nod. Two weeks ago it was announced that Seventeen would not be renewing their contracts and a week later it was announced that they had signed with a different company.

"When our contracts ended, all our contracts ended. Including that one." Seungcheol squeezes his hands together. "I would've tried to tell you when we signed with this new company but I had to iron out everything with them. Everything had to be right before I could tell you."

"What had to be right?" I ask.

"I told the CEO what had happened and showed him the documents." He sighs, "And asked them to help me take that company to the courts. They agreed immediately. But they warned that they would have to talk to the members and that I would have to tell you so you wouldn't be dragged into this unwillingly."

"They know?" I widen my eyes in shock betrayal rising in the pit of my stomach.

Seungcheol quickly shakes his head, squashing the betrayal feeling. "Most of the members only know the overview of what I had to do. That I was forced to break it off or be forced out. But they don't know the full details."

"Don't know?" I question the tense he's using.

"I decided that you should be the first person I talked too. Once I had a chance, if I had a chance, to talk to you, I would tell the members the full story so we could take this to court." Seungcheol informs me.

"You said most of the members, who knows the full story?" I continue to question him, my mind just throwing them out before I can really think about what I'm asking.

"Only one." Seungcheol answers quickly like the more he tells me the more relief he feels, "Jeonghan."

That explains why Jeonghan was so quiet all night.

Seungcheol lets his head fall forward as tears begin to fall down his cheeks, his strength finally failing. Seeing him like this, in this kind of pain, shatters my heart into millions of pieces. I walk over to him and sit down next to him. He doesn't move but continues to cry, his shoulders beginning to shake. I wrap my arms around his shoulders and lean my cheek on his shoulder as my own tears fall and land on his back. He begins to cry harder, his hand moving to grip my arm, and mumbling apologies.

For minutes, we sit like that. With silent cries and mumbled apologies filling the room. Somewhere in the depths of my chest, a warm flame ignites itself and slowly grows. Unfamiliar with the feeling, it takes a few seconds for me to register it as the warmth of hope. A hope that was buried deeper and deeper everyday since we broke up.

When I open my eyes, rain is pit-pattering against the window.

Feeling his cries settle down, I decide it's my turn to talk.

"Three seconds." I quietly say.

Seungcheol lifts his head slightly but I stay put. "What?"

"Three seconds." I repeat, "That's what I held onto for awhile. It was much less than any sane person would've held onto. But I held onto those three seconds."

I pull back and look into his slightly confused eyes. Readjusting, I attempt to pull my arms away but he keeps a grip on the one he's continuously held onto, moving to grip my hand instead.

"That night," I explain, "I asked if you really wanted me to go. You gave me three seconds. For three seconds you hesitated and I saw you fight an urge. Then you gave your answer. But I still got three seconds." I give his hand a small squeeze.

"Because of those three seconds, a fraction of a sliver of hope lived inside my mind for months." I continue when he doesn't say anything, "With every passing week the pain and sadness slowly dimmed the hope but it never truly died." I laugh at how crazy I sound. "I sound like a maniac saying that. But those three seconds told me something wasn't right."

"Nothing's been right since that night." Seungcheol whispers leaning his forehead against mine for a second. Pulling back, he squeezes my hand once more and then places my hand in my own lap. The second he lets go, I have to fight the urge to grab his hand back.

"I have to ask you something." He turns to face me properly. His eyes are tinged red with evidence of the tears that had spilled over. "If you're okay with this all, we can go through with bringing that company to court but know that this will be a very publicized case and the media will be all over it. If you don't want to, the CEO has promised to provide you with protection and whatever you need to stay away from the media while the trials are in progress."

I raise my eyebrows at such a protective offer.

"That was my request." Seungcheol informs me, "I wasn't going to go through with this if we didn't have protective measures for whatever decision you made."

'I had to protect you.' His voice rings in my mind.

"Will you be by my side if I agree?" I ask, feeling my heart mend itself with his words echoing in my mind.

"Everyday if you needed it." Seungcheol nods.

"And none of the past six months was real?" I question, jumping back to past information. "None of your decisions were your own?"

Seungcheol is slightly shocked that I would be asking that but quickly composes himself. "None of it. I loved you that day, I loved you everyday since, and I still love you. Though I would understand if you didn't feel the sa-"

I quickly press my lips against his, stopping him from finishing. After a second of stunned shock, he easily kisses me back like fitting two pieces back together.

Pulling back, he holds my face in both hands.

"Don't you dare finish that sentence." I shake my head slightly to emphasize my point. "I believe you. And I love you. Always have and always will."

A small but bright smile breaks onto his face before he pulls me forward for another kiss.

"So you'll help us?" Seungcheol asks, leaning his forehead against mind again.

"So long as you promise to stay by my side." I tell him.

"Everyday." He confirms, "Every damn day."

I smile, "Then let's do it."

#seventeen #seventeen imagine #scoups #scoups imagine #choi seungcheol #choi seungcheol imagine #seungcheol imagine #seungcheol

234 notes · View notes

haliyam · 3 years

Text

interim (iii)

zeke x reader/oc

summary: You return to Liberio not long after the Warriors arrive home from their failed mission in Paradis and discover that things have changed. (Or they will, and maybe a little more with Zeke than you expect.) [Season 4 and manga spoilers ahead]

AO3 link | Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 4

Hello! This came out longer than I meant it to be, but I enjoyed writing it. I admit that the chapter couuuld have gone without the middle bits, and I trimmed out a lot already, but this is purely self-indulgent fanfic and I love writing about the Warriors/the candidates, so I hope you enjoy it too.

Reminder that the Reader/OC is a cis-female Eldian character with a set background/surname, but please feel free to set the substitution for the Reader to your chosen First Name using the InteractiveFics browser extension if you’re reading through the browser! So on the browser extension that would be: Lucy = Your chosen First Name.

Chapter 3

If Zeke is going to shut his door in your face as soon as you try to enter, he gives no indication of it. Eyes to the ceiling, fingers barely grasping his doorknob, he doesn’t even look at you as you take one step closer, then two, only urging you to hurry up with a flick of his fingers. As if anyone else is still awake. With nothing for it, you step inside.

Zeke’s room is lit a warm yellow from the lamps standing next to his desk and sitting at his bedside table. It hasn’t changed much, save that he’s replaced his old bed with a much larger one. That makes sense, even though you hadn’t imagined he could get any taller as a child. The only other addition apart from his much fuller bookshelf is a pack of cigarettes on his desk.

You can’t help but pick it up. “You smoke now?”

Closing his door behind him, he snatches the pack from your hands and walks past you, tossing it back by his desk lamp on the way. “Problem?”

You shrug. You’re surprised, but you suppose that sort of thing doesn’t really matter when you’re a Titan shifter.

He pulls out the chair by his desk and takes a seat, crossing his arms at you with a brow quirked. Somehow, he manages to be intimidating in his pajamas—though that could very well be your guilt. “You wanted to talk,” he says. “So talk.”

The indifference in his voice makes your throat catch, but you steel yourself. “I’m sorry,” you say, one hand scratching at the other’s wrist. It seems your courage fell apart at his door. “I’m sorry I didn’t write for the last five years.”

“Why?”

“Because—because I should have.” You wrap your arms around yourself, tucking your hands under your elbows. “We were friends. You and Pieck were—are,” you hope, “my closest friends, and… and I left you hanging like that. Even knowing every year that the others hadn’t returned, how worried you must have all been… I didn’t write. I’m sorry.”

“No,” Zeke says slowly, irritated. His lip curls, and you feel nauseous. “Why did you stop writing back?”

Your nails dig involuntarily into your arms. “I was a stupid little teenager. I was upset.”

He scoffs, like he can’t bear the sight of you. “What did that have to do with me? ...With us?”

You swallow, eyes downcast, though they briefly flicker to his. “Am I secure here?”

Zeke glares at you. “Of course you are.”

“That’s not what I mean.”

His gaze softens just a little before the walls shoot back up. “Yeah.”

You nod. And then, after a long moment, you reluctantly begin. “Willy sent me to boarding school once I caught up with the necessary schoolwork. It was… well, you know. Boarding school was an entirely different world.” He does know - you had written them until the end of your first year. “And then summer came. Willy wanted me to spend it with them at home, and I did. The first week or so. But he had business to attend to, as always, and Mila invited me to her tour for the Foundation instead. Willy thought it would be nice for us to bond, and I thought…” You gnaw on the inside of your lower lip in embarrassment. “I thought she was finally giving me a chance.”

“Lucy,” Zeke murmurs. You can’t tell if it’s pity or disappointment, and you don’t want to know. You’re staring at his lamp, as if doing so long enough will burn out the memory from your mind.

“We visited Marley’s new southern nations at first. It was strange to be treated so well again.”

Zeke shifts in his chair. He has his cigarette pack in his hands now, fingers idly folding and unfolding the lid. “What did you expect? You’re Lucy Tybur.”

“I meant by Mila.” When he falls silent, you continue. “And then we visited Ulodana.”

Your eyes meet at that name. No reminder needed for that—Ulodana was the first country to which the regime deployed its new Warriors only months after they inherited their Titans. By then the rest of the unit had been informed of your true identity, and it was the brass’s idea to bring you along as a spectator. Imagine what more the motherland might achieve if the War Hammer were to join the fight, then-Commander Bruning had whispered to you, the mushroom cloud of Bertholdt’s transformation setting your eyes alight.

“The nations in the south had had time to recover. Grow accustomed to Marleyan rule. But Ulodana was still... bleeding. For the most part, we stayed in the cities which had already begun to rebuild; ones with budding military bases and an increasing Marleyan population. But Mila insisted on bringing us further from the coast—places you and I had last seen as smoking rubble. The people there were… They were still so afraid. Many of them…”

You gulp, pressing your lips between your teeth to regain your composure as you remember the survivors. You can still see them, hear them, smell them. Feel their hands in yours. Mila had pulled you aside and scolded you when you first shed tears before them, saying it was not you who had a reason to cry. And she had been right.

“So many of them were Eldians; others non-Eldians too poor to join the earlier evacuations. They still saw us coming that day, and with no aid forthcoming, they thought the Foundation had returned to deliver the finishing blow. They were terrified, Zeke.” His fingers fall still around the pack as you say his name, but he wears no expression, only studying yours even when he reveals nothing. Even Mr. Ksaver had been unable to read him when he was like this, so you know better than to try.

“Mila spoke with the people there, comforted them. It was jarring to see her so kind, but she was. And even then, it was hard. They aren’t exactly the regime’s priority, and the promise, even the swift arrival of aid with the Foundation’s help, could only do so much.”

Zeke’s gaze stretches far beyond the walls of his room, but he brings it back to you when you pause. “So,” he concludes, “you hated us for doing that to them.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“It is that simple. You saw what Lady Tybur wanted you to see.”

Appalled by the lack of sympathy in his voice, you square your shoulders at him. “Mila didn’t conjure those victims out of thin air, Zeke!”

“That’s right, Lucy.” Zeke rises out of his chair back to his full height, reminding you that he only lets you glare down at him. “The Warriors destroyed their military, their cities, and their homes. And if there were civilians who were too slow, Bertholdt and I destroyed them, too. The ones you saw just weren’t lucky enough to die.”

He advances toward you as he speaks, stopping near enough to barely graze your chin with his chest, and it takes all of the girl from back then to stand your ground. But you can only bear so much, and the sound of the boy you once trusted entirely so remorseless as a man has restrained grief ringing in your ears. “Don’t say it like that.”

“How should I say it?” Zeke asks closely, head tilted toward you. Even with the reflection of his lamp shining into his glasses, his eyes, half-lidded with what must be disinterest, bear no light in them. “Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

“I’m not crying.” You fix another glare at him, but it doesn’t last long. Your vision is blurry and your cheeks are wet with runaway guilt, and you wipe them with the back of your hand. “I’m sorry, all right?” you raise your voice, speaking forcefully through your shaking voice.

“I… I thought I’d seen everything here in Liberio, but that place was hell. And Mila said to me… She said it was greed back in Marley that kept things this way. The regime’s… but ours, too. To free the Eldians in the Marleyan internment zones, you… we... made things worse for everyone else in the world. I ate it up. I couldn’t bear to face those people knowing I had been a part of that, no matter our promise. It was easier to turn against the idea of you.”

Zeke is no longer looking at you. You feel like the earth swallowing you whole would feel better than the pressure crumpling at your chest, but there’s no way to go but forward.

“So I did. Held onto that for months and had nightmares about Ulodana for twice as long. By the time I realized how pathetic, how stupid I was… I was too ashamed to write back.”

The steel that has constituted Zeke’s bearing since your arrival has withdrawn. He seems exhausted, resigned as he sets his eyes upon you again. You watch each other for what feels like eternity, in the place where you first became friends, both trying to feel out whether a sliver of that bond between clean hands still remains between the two of you now.

Whatever it is he decides, he asks, “If you knew better... why didn’t you visit? We all heard about Lord Tybur making trips here over the years. He never stopped sending his gratitude to my grandparents and Mr. Finger, either.”

You huff, not at him but at the thought of your older brother, even as you sniffle. “Willy wouldn’t let me. I became… too willful.”

Zeke raises his brows at that.

“When I figured out Mila’s true intentions, I realized just how much the Tyburs were at fault. They hid it all from me when father died, but… I learned everything. Our relationship with the regime most of all.”

You’re grateful when he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, because despite everything, you don’t want to tell him the whole truth about the Tyburs. If there’s anything that might make him hate you for good, it might just be that. You know that certainly did it for you in spite of Lara’s good intentions.

“We knew. My ancestors knew about Fritz’s vow and still refused to speak out for Eldians, didn’t protest the development of the Warrior program when it happened. I mean—” Your hands rake through your hair, stopping only when they’re caught in the end of the half-ponytail you’ve been wearing. “Child soldiers? We always knew Marley was vicious, but we—Marley—sent children to Paradis on a recon mission, alone! I didn’t realize it until I saw my niece. She’s eight now. A baby. At that age we were slogging through the mud, learning to assemble weapons, to kill! What kind of monsters would allow…”

Your hands slide down your face and cover your mouth as your head shakes on its own. You’ve said this all before, to Willy, to Lara, to Pieck, and you’re exhausted. You both know the answer to that question, anyway.

“The Tybur family doesn’t get involved except to play the benevolent Eldians to the world’s devils, all to soften Marley’s image to the world. It doesn’t care that Eldians abroad are even worse off than we are here because of our Titans. It doesn’t care that Marley draws that debt on Eldia’s name,” you murmur, voice fluttering with emotion again, “not its own. Willy didn’t appreciate how angry I was and wanted to keep me at the estate until I could calm down.”

You only realize you’ve been rambling when all you hear is the cracking of your knuckles beneath your thumbs at your sides and the low hum of the lamps around you. Biting your tongue, you venture a glance up at Zeke, who has his back to you on his way back to the desk, hand in his hair. You don’t know if it’s worse than seeing what he must think.

“But I really am sorry,” you take a step, another after him when he doesn’t turn to look. “You all deserved more. I… I understand if...”

Zeke whirls just before you touch the hem of his shirt, seized instead by a thought. “Why let you choose to study here, then? Magath’s summons?”

At this point, you practically leap at the chance to respond, hands raised slightly. “No. It was Lara. She convinced him to let me, when she saw how much I’d studied. Actually studied, you know,” you chuckle, nervously when he acknowledges it with only a tilt of his head. “And by then I had learned enough of Mila’s game to pretend I had given up.”

“Oh.”

You barely just catch the disappointment in his tone.

“And I missed you,” you scramble to add, obviously. “I missed you all so much. I swore to be on my best behavior just so I could come back.”

A hint of warmth fills Zeke’s deep blues, but he glances away with a familiar eyeroll. “Good save.”

You frown. “I mean it. I just didn’t know it had to be said. You were my first friends. I didn’t exactly make many in boarding school. They were too different.”

“So you were just lonely.”

“Not just lonely,” you say, prepared to launch into another passionate speech about how much you ached to see your friends again, how much of your pride you sacrificed to pester Willy to let you go with the promise of Liberio’s impressive own medical program, when you catch the slight amusement tugging at Zeke’s mouth. “You—are you—” you sputter, embarrassment seeping in cold, before you manage to close your mouth. “You… are awful.”

Zeke smirks. “Even if I forgive you?”

It’s infectious, and you have to resist the urge to both laugh and cry at the very concept of his forgiveness. Eyes wide, you watch him carefully. “Do you?”

He crosses his arms again, sitting back against his chair. “I can put you through more hoops, if you’d like.”

“No!” you gasp, the heat of indignation taking over the chagrin, only to sigh when you realize you’ve given yourself away. “Well, I wouldn’t blame you. You have all the right to be angry.”

“...I was a pretty angry teenager too,” Zeke shrugs. “Then a spoiled little girl had to come and keep disturbing me because if she couldn’t get any sleep, then neither could I.”

Your jaw drops. “That is not how that went. Besides,” you raise your head, every inch the Tybur, even as you slowly make your way to the edge of his bed and take a seat, “that girl was the reason you have any friends at all. I… I bet you missed her.”

“Sure. Now where did you put her?” The full familiarity in his voice has you smiling now, or maybe it’s the grin he openly wears. “Only figured out it was you when I realized there could only be three Eldian runts Magath would ever care to acknowledge.”

You stare at him for a beat and then make to push yourself off the bed. “Anyway, I’m going to sleep now that I’ve apologized.”

“Aw, come on,” Zeke laughs, reaching for your arm, and you squint at him as you dramatically tear it from his grasp. Still, you fling yourself back upon the edge. He leaves his desk to occupy the space next to you, one knee drawn up over his sheets. “Honestly? I was more surprised they’d let anyone in Magath’s office with such a messy armband.” He reaches over and adjusts the pale one wrapped around your arm, pulling out the edges folded in. “You know you don’t need to wear this at home, right?”

For some reason, your breath catches as the heat of his fingers gently press through the cloth of your sleeve. You recover with a cough and a quick oops. “Force of habit. That was the one thing boarding school was stricter about than the military.” You smile at him, leaning away from his touch. “Thanks.”

Zeke suddenly withdraws his hands, now watching you instead of the sleeve. “...Yeah. Just make sure you check it before you leave the house tomorrow,” he says sternly. Not a tone you’ve ever heard from him in private.

Regarding him strangely, and desperate to bring you both back from this alien tension between you, you sit up straight and stiffly raise your hand to your shoulder in salute. “Yes, Warchief.”

Zeke responds with a blank look in his eye, mostly, save the tinge of humor kindled by the upward tug of your lips. You can tell he’s about to kick you out of his room.

“I’m kidding.” You lower your arm, sensing the return of that comfortable familiarity. “I haven’t congratulated you on your official promotion, either.”

His mirth fades. “Do you hate me for it?”

“No. No,” you stress, as though he has no reason to ask. “You’ve done what you’ve had to.”

After a long inhale, Zeke sighs as he nods. This time, it is he who fills the silence. “Uh—I’m sorry again about your father. So he was the...”

“Yeah.”

He gives you a once-over, as if to search for Titan marks. “Are you…?”

“No, I’m not.”

The slight bitterness in your voice draws Zeke’s gaze back to yours. You shrug before he can say any more of it and try to put it out of your mind. Those are, after all, matters for the Tybur estate. You’re here now, and Zeke has forgiven you. In spite of everything else, the thought makes you giddy with relief, and you rear your head toward him with a smile.

“So… is there anything you want to tell me?”

Zeke wonders who might have been chosen to inherit the War Hammer instead of its most obvious candidate, but mostly he’s glad it isn’t you. It’s a selfish thought he keeps to himself, but the idea of you living past your twenty-sixth year is one that does not fill him with dread.

Thirty-nine. He’s thinking about how you’ll live to be thirty-nine when your voice interrupts what he imagines you might look like by then. Your tone says you’re fishing for something, so he opens his mouth, meeting your gaze to tell you you’re not quite as much taller than Pieck as you think (he has one joke), nor is subtlety your strong suit, when the whole of you seems to come at him all at once. Your now messy hair, crinkled eyes, that expression he used to find both funny and irritating on your mouth—except the obnoxious grin that subsumes it as he lets the silence pass is suddenly... adorable.

Huh?

Sitting back, Zeke abruptly presses his palm to your face and promptly pushes it away. “Don’t press your luck, Blanchard.”

You smack his hand off, face flushed as you cry out, “Rude!”

He’s already laughing, using your indignation to overcome the urge to gulp down the breath caught in his throat when you suddenly lean back on his bed and raise your foot. You kick it into his side with a strength he absolutely remembers, sending his ribs knocking against his footboard with a groan. “Ow! You—get out of here and let me sleep already!”

You smile to yourself as you lower your legs to the floor, feet searching for your house slippers. “I chose not to go for your face, you know.”

“Are you seriously studying to be a doctor?” Zeke mutters, rubbing at his side. “You haven’t changed at all.”

You chuckle through a yawn, hand over your mouth as you ease yourself to your feet. “Okay.”

He rights himself quickly when you’re crossing his room toward his door already. “Lucy, wait.”

You stop, lean against his desk with a small smile like it’s your room. “Hmm?”

Zeke pretends to shake his head at your audacity, letting you grin a little longer before he asks, “Do you want to meet the new Warriors tomorrow?” You blink, and he starts to regret the question. “I just figured—”

“I’d like that.” You open your mouth, ostensibly to say more, when both of you hear movement from down the hall. Footsteps by the stairs. “I should go. See you tomorrow.”

He waves, content to watch you hurriedly leave his room. When he hears the door to yours open and click shut, he goes himself and catches his grandmother still sleepily making her way out into the low lit corridor. Her hands are searching for the stairway light switch.

“Grandma?” he asks, coming over to set a supportive hand along her upper back. “Why are you up so late?”

“Zeke,” she smiles in greeting, yawning. “I was just going to get some water.”

“Let me. I’ll get new glasses for you and grandpa, so go back inside.” When his grandmother thanks him, he heads for the stairs, bounding down the steps with sudden enthusiasm.

Your words will stay with him long after you’ve forgotten them, and perhaps not for the better—but for the moment, Zeke feels inexplicably light.

So do you when you awake the next morning. Of course you’re still sorry for all you did, or didn’t, do, and you know you deserved all the guilt, the anxiety, being on tenterhooks about your friendships for all that you left Zeke and Pieck hanging. But now that their forgiveness is a certainty, you feel utterly content. Now you can start making it up to them.

Then again, you are so pleased that you could lie in bed all morning and hardly feel guilty.

But you have miles to go, so you roll out of your blankets and get yourself ready for the day. Briefly, you wonder if Zeke has gone ahead again, but you find the answer you wanted as you open the door to the dining room downstairs.

He’s chewing on a piece of bread as he waves at you, the last bite in his hand. “Morning. Breakfast?”

He really has forgiven you, and everything can go back to the way it was. “Morning,” you beam, though you decline as you pass him on the way to the kitchen. “No thank you. I ate too much last night.” You pour yourself some water instead. “Did you have some of the blueberry pie?”

“Yeah. The Galliards always make quality stuff.” He dusts his uniform off as he stands and heads for the sink with his plate. “Though I could tell who cut it because she left the side with the slightly burnt crust in.”

“It’s crispy, and you know that’s my favorite part,” you huff, leaning against the counter next to him and handing him your empty glass. “That was part of my apology.”

Zeke grins, eyes to his task. “Yeah, yeah.”

You refrain from elbowing him and move to start cleaning his crumbs off the table and the floor. “Where are Mr. and Mrs. Yeager?”

“Market day. Oh—bring a book. We can drop in on the candidates come lunchtime.” He glances over his shoulder. “Or did you have other plans today?”

“I wanted to pass by the university and find the general book list for the first years, but after the line I went through yesterday... I’m not in the mood. I’ll bring a book.”

“Good.”

The two of you head out once the dining room and the kitchen are spotless. The sky is overcast this morning, so the zone takes its time waking up for the day, even with others already on their way to work.

It starts to properly stir on your way to the gate. The view of the zone coming to life is something you once enjoyed watching on break days, especially compared to the lonely silence of the estate and eventually to the rigid rush of boarding school, but you don’t get to see all that much today—Zeke purposely avoids the larger avenue coming to the gate and leads you through side streets and alleys instead. Something about avoiding the morning rush.

You don’t mind. You’re still waking up, too.

Eldians have no real hope of rising through military ranks, save those sacrificed among the Warrior unit, so Zeke’s office is quite impressive. He has his own mahogany desk, an entire bookshelf packed with volumes, yet more books and maps stacked against the wall, and his own gramophone. Not to mention the view outside the window behind his desk. He even has a cabinet to the side for his own alcohol, tea, or coffee—the latter of which he offers to you once you two arrive.

“Coffee, please,” you say, on one of the pillowed seats surrounding the coffee table at the center of the room. Sitting back, you throw an arm over the backrest to peer at the bookshelf behind you. “That’s quite a selection. I can’t believe you have your own office now.” You grin, turning back to watch him quietly preparing you a cup. “Zeke?”

“Coming right up.”

His response seems a little muted. When you question him with a tilt of your head, he jerks his in the direction of the gramophone.

Ah, you mouth. Even the Warchief can’t have his own office without being tapped. Par for the course when there are Eldians about, you imagine. That explains why the guards at the front gate delayed you with meandering conversation as soon as Zeke mentioned taking you to his office.

“So what kind of work do you do anyway, Warchief?” you continue far too seriously, absentmindedly flipping through your book for your marker.

“You know that’s top secret, Miss Blanchard,” says Zeke, who of course plays into it. “Unless you’d like to join the ranks again. You’re certainly welcome to.”

You sigh. You never win when you try him like this. “Commander Magath told you?”

Zeke chuckles, walking your coffee over. “He mentioned hoping you might still be interested in our line of work.”

“Was he mad?” Regardless of your feelings about the regime, you have always remained conflicted about your former drill instructor. There was a time you were certain he wanted you dead, and you won’t forget what he and Commander Bruning put the rest through even more than yourself, but there were flashes of kindness you saw from him that you’ve never witnessed from any other Marleyan as Lucy Blanchard. You still don’t know how to feel about him.

Zeke snorts at such a childish question, pulling out several folders from his desk drawer as he takes his seat. “Should I ask him?”

“Of course not!”

He chuckles in response, and then starts to ignore you completely for his work. Grumbling incoherently at him from behind your tilted cup for good measure, you turn to your book and begin to read.

Your coffee is long finished next to a similarly empty glass of water by the time you start yawning. You’ve read the same page thrice now, and that’s when you know you need to get off your ass and take a little walk around the room.

Zeke yawns as you start a cross-arm stretch by the door. “You’re so noisy.”

“The nerve of this man, inviting me to his office and then complaining when I breathe.”

He smiles. “Breathe more quietly, then.” Slamming the folder he was reading shut, he follows you to his feet and pulls at his sleeve to check his watch. “Almost lunch time. Want to go check on the candidates?”

Your deadpan stare at his earlier remark remains until you feel just how empty your stomach is. Skipping breakfast was not your best idea, but you prefer it that way before you have to see the poor children who will one day replace your friends. “All right.”

The two of you wind your way through the complex and out to the courtyard, where the sun remains blessedly hidden as you watch the children at the far end doing their loaded running for the day. You hear them more than you see them, panting as they do their best to earn the honor of that red armband on Zeke’s sleeve.

Zeke catches your doleful expression and lets out an exaggerated sigh. “I do not miss those days.”

You grimace at him. “My body hurts just remembering them.”

“Don’t remind me. I was dead last in my class before I built any endurance.”

You don’t comment on the real story behind that. The children are coming closer to your side of the courtyard, though they don’t appear to notice you, and Zeke points them out: Udo, a boy with glasses whose family moved to Liberio from Marley’s new southern territories; Zofia, a girl with a heavy fringe who reminds you strangely of Annie; Falco, a blond boy who—Zeke cuts himself off when the last candidate pushes past them all with a yell. That one is Gabi Braun, Reiner’s younger cousin.

“Cousin? Extended families aren’t made honorary Marleyans?”

“I was a special case, for obvious reasons,” Zeke answers your real question. “And yeah. Otherwise there would be too many of us, right?”

You frown, starting to fall into deep thought again when a familiar bark makes you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Hey! No Eldian civilians allowed on base!”

An older man is jogging over, almost comically shaking his fist at you. It’s as he comes up to the building that he notices Zeke on your other side, and now he peers more closely at your face, head cocked forward.

“You—” he starts. The years have been kinder to him than to Commander Magath, so there is no mistaking him. As his footsteps slow, his posture shifts from indignation to surprise, and then finally settles on diffidence. “Is that you, Miss Ty—”

“Blanchard,” Zeke coughs.

“Miss Blanchard?” he finishes.

“Instructor Marras.” Among the three who assisted Magath with Warrior training, he was probably the most bearable, if only because he left you to your own devices. He was much kinder when he discovered your true name, which was a shame. “What a pleasure.”

“We didn’t think we’d ever see you again around here,” he smiles widely, briefly acknowledging Zeke. “What brings you back around this end of Marley?”

“This and that,” you say, not quite in the mood to get into it when you can see the children still running. As though he’s read your mind, Zeke steps up next to you and signals toward them. “Isn’t it about time for lunch?”

Marras follows his gesture. “Ah. They got a little mouthy since I’ve been going easy on them, so training has been extended. But,” he says, attention back to his visitors, “you rarely come to check in on the new candidates, and you visit us even less, Lucy!”

Waving at you to wait just a moment, he barks at the children to come over. They’re even smaller than you imagined up close, just like your niece Fine, panting as they clutch their replica rifles for dear life. They do their best to salute Marras, but very obviously find it difficult to keep their composure when they see Zeke.

“It’s the Beast Titan,” Udo yelps.

“His name is Zeke Yeager, dummy,” Gabi nudges him with what she must think is a whisper.

Zeke raises his hand in a bland wave, “Hey, kids,” but you can’t help your delighted chuckle. Fine is a very reserved little girl compared to these excitable children. Wide with effort and at a real Warrior’s arrival, their eyes all dart to you, and Gabi’s in particular squint at your armband. “I thought civilians weren’t allowed in HQ?”

“And I don’t remember asking if you had questions, candidate,” Marras snaps in his Instructor Voice. The children straighten up at once.

“Sir, sorry, Sir!” Udo and Gabi yell out. Zofia and Falco quietly exchange glances.

“Hello. I’m Lucy,” you cut in with a smile. “I was a Warrior candidate in my time, just like you.”

You can all tell that they’re itching to ask why your armband is grey instead of yellow like Porco’s was until recently, but Marras doesn’t let them. You find yourself grateful to him for once. “It’s thanks to Zeke and Miss Blanchard here that you’ll get an early lunch in spite of all that yapping earlier. So thank them, get changed, and get your sorry asses to the mess hall.”

“Thank you, Zeke! Thank you, Miss Blanchard!” They mix up whose name goes first between the four of them, but Marras doesn’t bother with a correction and nods. The children salute, all of them a mixture of suitably chastised and utterly relieved.

“Dismissed!”

Nodding and offering you and Zeke grateful little smiles that make your heart melt, the four walk as quickly as they can to storage to deposit their load. Gabi nudges Zofia on the way, challenging her to a race, and the boys bump each other to catch up while Zofia chooses to keep her own pace, simply shaking her head.

Marras sighs, hand over his stomach. “I should get going myself.”

Zeke agrees, “Don’t let us keep you.”

“All right. But you should drop by more often, Miss Blanchard,” says Marras. “I’m sure the Commander would be pleased to see you. He worries. About all of you,” he adds, nodding toward Zeke.

Neither of you replies to that when Marras departs. In fact, you pretend not to have heard it as you both stare into the courtyard. “They seem like sweet children,” you start after a while, “though I don’t remember being that boisterous.”

Zeke breaks the mood with the most disgusting snort as he bursts into laughter. “You? Sure, Lucy. All right.”

You peer up at him, refusing to dignify such a violent reaction with one of your own, even if it does please you to see him laugh so much around you again. “You know what I mean. Maybe I was insolent, but I wasn’t boisterous.”

“Maybe, is it? Well, all I know is I’d grown out of all that by the time you and Pieck were selected.”

“Apparently not enough, Yeager, if you think Marley pays you to tour civilians around HQ.”

You and Zeke whirl in perfect sync to raise your right hands at that imposing voice, except you manage to swing yours right over your ear to pretend you were tucking stray hair behind it just in time to meet Commander Magath’s lifted brow. Behind him stand a surprised Porco and another Warrior candidate, much older than the eight-year olds you just met.

You clear your throat at once, hand falling to your side. “About yesterday, Sir...”

Magath nods at Zeke in acknowledgment before waving at you. “Don’t mention it, Blanchard. It’s a choice for a reason, and really it was supposed to be the briefing.”

That’s as much of an apology as you’ll get around the others, so you nod. “I understand, Sir.” You lean a little on your right side, trying to steal a peek around the corner. “So Pieck has already gone?”

“Not that you need to know, but yes.”

You try not to flinch at the reprimand. Force of habit. “And Braun, Sir?”

Now Magath peers at you. “His debriefing ends today, if you want to see him that badly. Yeager, I’ll leave that to you since she’s your guest.”

“Yes, Sir.”

With a nod of dismissal at all of you, he continues down across the courtyard, leaving Porco and the candidate behind.

Porco glances between you and Zeke. “Friends again, huh?”

Zeke stares at him. “Problem?”

You don’t know it, but that’s Zeke’s Warchief Voice, one Porco has never heard outside of training. He immediately shrugs. “Just curious.”

“All right. Lucy, we might as well have lunch first before you go see Reiner.”

You nod, and gesture unsurely at the two before you. “Would… you like to join us?”

“I’m good. Got errands to run for the Commander since Pieck is out and you’re too good for chores,” says Porco, gambling a glare at Zeke in jest. When Zeke chuckles, he sighs. “See you around.” Giving the quiet candidate next to him a light smack on the shoulder, he heads back the way they came.

By now the Warrior candidate looks very confused but also very familiar to you. Luckily Zeke has decided that it’s finally time to introduce you, a former Warrior candidate yourself—and then the boy, who cannot be older than fifteen. “This is Colt Grice. Falco’s older brother, and the new Beast Titan candidate.”

“Oh.” It feels like a weight has settled in your stomach when you realize that it is about time they selected the candidate meant to inherit from Zeke, who received the Beast Titan around a year ahead of the rest. Seeing the children just made you… complacent, think that there was more time. “I guess it makes sense that they chose someone a little older, too.” You smile, slightly guilty about his obvious unease after your reaction. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Colt.”

“No, it’s my pleasure, Miss Blanchard,” he says politely, shaking your hand.

“You can call me Lucy,” you insist, and then jab a thumb over your shoulder. “The children left for the mess hall, by the way.”

Zeke raises a hand to correct you. “Colt doesn’t need to know that. He’s not made to babysit them like I was.”

“Really?” you ask Colt, who nods in affirmation. “But that was half the fun.”

“She means half the torture,” Zeke says to Colt, who chuckles nervously at his superior. “No, I figured he could take on other responsibilities. Like letting the barracks know that Reiner’ll be having visitors after lunch, and then meeting us at the mess hall. Right?”

“Yes, Sir,” says Colt, clearly eager to please. He gives you another smile before he runs off.

“Falco’s older brother,” you repeat, when the boy is out of earshot. “This isn’t like Marcel and Porco. Why is Falco in the program?”

Zeke clicks his tongue. “The Grices are nephews of one of my parents’ co-conspirators. They need to prove their loyalty, for their family’s sake.”

“After all these years. Poor things.” Not that you’re surprised. Marley has a long memory, however false. “Did you have a hand in choosing him?”

“Wouldn’t that make the brass suspicious? It was the commander’s choice alone.”

“Huh.”

“They’re good kids, Colt especially. Now come on—” he nudges you forward with his elbow as he passes you, “you should eat before you see Reiner or you’ll lose your appetite for good.”

“...That bad?”

Walking ahead of you, Zeke only shrugs. You don’t know if that should worry or comfort you, so you follow suit.

Reiner is in his own room in the barracks, resting, when you visit him. He’s just finished eating his lunch when you arrive, and your shock at seeing him is a perfect reflection of his at seeing you. You last looked upon him as a boy, and though you know he only turns eighteen this year, he is now, most undoubtedly, a man. Almost everything about him is unfamiliar to you. His height, for one, his broad build, the slight stubble he’s neglected to shave for the past few days. His demeanor as he stares at you.

You thought Pieck spoke of growing up in general when she compared the two of you having become completely different, but it’s only now that you understand what she meant. Long ago, try as you might to deny it, the two of you were, with Porco, the most boisterous Warrior candidates in your generation. You left no challenge, even your superiors at first, unanswered; Reiner was certain, no matter his rank among you, that he would inherit before the Paradis operation; and Porco was quick to remind you how stupid and ridiculous you both were.

But that was many years ago. Porco failed but has remained mostly himself, and you failed and realized the sham that is Tybur pride. Between the three of you, only Reiner achieved his dream—and yet you are more similar with one another than with Porco. Even amid his utter shock, the shame in his gaze as he meets yours, though unfamiliar on Reiner to your eyes, is one you’ve intimately known for some time now.

“Lucy?”

“Reiner,” you greet.

Reiner smiles in spite of himself. You do too. You were never close, but if nothing else, you were still Warrior candidates together. “You’ve... grown.” His voice is deep now, just like Zeke’s, but his is… gentle. Another unexpected development.

“That’s an overstatement, compared to you,” you chuckle. He smiles just a little wider, almost shy, but only for a beat. He remembers swiftly enough when he is, just like you.

“How are you, Reiner?” you can’t help but ask. Wrong question. You quickly follow it up with, “I’m glad your debriefing has ended. You deserve to rest at home, with your family.”

“I…” He appears to disagree, lowering his head at once. For one heartbreaking moment, you wonder if you see a shimmer beneath his lashes, but he only seems curious when he blinks up at you again. “Thanks, Lucy.” His voice is steady. Maybe you were imagining things. “I can’t believe I haven’t seen you since you were called home.”

You don’t complain about the change in subject. “Yeah… I always wished I could have seen you all off,” you murmur, even if part of you is glad you didn’t have to witness Pieck’s sorrow firsthand. Seeing it in Reiner at the mention of the operation, though, you add, “Oh, actually—I just got back a couple days ago, not too long after the rest of you. I’m enrolling in the medical program at Liberio University.”

“Oh?” He considers your words. “So you didn’t…”

That is the question of the century about you, isn’t it? At least among the Warriors. But then who else really knows who you are? “No.”

“Ah.” Reiner nods, more times than is really necessary. You know he doesn’t know whether to congratulate you or to apologize. “The medical program, though. That’s… unexpected.”

“Why does everyone say that?” you laugh. “Is it really so strange for me?”

“Uh—no,” he replies with an apologetic rush. You realize just how much you dislike it in his tone. Zeke says you were always last to say sorry, if you did at all. The same went for Reiner. Where is that obnoxious little boy you knew? “It’s better that way. You’ll do great.”

“I hope to,” you admit, but this visit isn’t supposed to be about you. “Anyway, Reiner… I just wanted to see how you were doing. I missed you all, and I’m really glad you’re back home.”

He’s too slow to conceal his surprise this time, or the way he blinks away coming tears. He always was a bit of a crybaby. To a child who desired to live up to her family name, that was a weakness. To a woman who knows better, you wish you could have told him it was all right. “We… I missed you all, too. It was…” he swallows. “I...”

The truth is you were a crybaby too, just not in front of the others, but you can’t help it when you hear the tremble in his voice, so grown and yet still the same. The first familiar thing of his that you’ve witnessed. Flicking a knuckle at your nose, you nod when he trails off. “You don’t have to say anything. Pieck told me the little she could.”

“Yeah?” he asks innocently enough. And then his voice shifts into something just a little tougher. Maybe harder. “What did Zeke say?”

“Zeke? We didn’t really…” It comes to you as you say it. “...talk about it.”

Of course you didn’t. You were busy talking about you, and he quite literally pushed you away when you tried to ask. But that doesn’t seem to be what Reiner is searching for in the first place. Not with that look on his face—another familiar expression, but not because you know it from your own heart. It’s familiar because you saw it just last night.

“Should I be crying like you, acting like you know what it was like?”

Zeke’s eyes as he said those words were recalling a memory you can never understand, you know now, because it’s the same with Reiner. Whatever he went through in Paradis for years will only ever be a tale to you. Your shared memories ended before you turned thirteen.

Still, the resentment that you saw in Zeke remains in Reiner’s golden eyes; only this time you don’t believe it’s meant for you.

You reach out to him, clearly elsewhere as his fists clench over his knees, but stop when your hand rests on the edge of his bed. “Reiner?”

“Sorry,” he blurts out when he returns to his senses. Somehow, he seems more tired than he already did.

“That’s all right. I should let you rest.” When he nods, shoulders still slumped in apology, you put on a reassuring smile. You understand Reiner even less than you did before, but somehow he also feels more like a kindred spirit than you remember. “When you’re well enough to return, maybe we can have lunch with Pieck.”

Reiner visibly hesitates, but he nods in the end. “Yeah. That sounds nice.”

You bid each other goodbye, though you tell Reiner to stay seated when he tries to walk you to the door. When you close it behind you, glancing around, you assume Colt has been sent on another errand. Only Zeke now awaits you along the wall outside, one hand in his pocket as he smokes a cigarette, gaze once again far beyond the buildings ahead.

When he isn’t playing up his irreverence to deflect or get on somebody else’s nerves, Zeke has always been aloof in public. In that way he hasn’t really changed, but you realize now that you were a fool to think things could just go back to normal between the two of you. Not that they haven’t, on the face of it; he seems perfectly happy to return to your old dynamic, and maybe all this strangeness is just in your head, or a natural consequence of growing up.

Seeing Reiner, though… you realize maybe you were a little too hasty trying to go back. Just like you, just like Reiner, Zeke must have changed. You wonder how; wonder what he could have done, apart from suggesting the debriefing, that would make a now gentle Reiner wear such resentment. You have some idea, but you brush it aside before you can dwell on it.

“If you want to try smoking,” Zeke chuckles, “all you have to do is ask.”

You blink, cheeks tingling with embarrassment and a sheepish smile when you realize he’s caught you staring. He holds the smoke out for you, but you wave his hand away. “No thanks.”

“So?” He pushes himself off the wall, putting the cigarette out under his shoe. “What do you think?”

You fall into step with him and take a deep breath. “I think maybe he just needs more time to rest. Grieve properly.”

“Generous evaluation.”

“I think it’s more… it’s not my place to say.”

Zeke regards you with an indecipherable look, but it disappears as soon as you try to capture it. He only shrugs. “Okay. I need to get back to work. Want to stay, or will you be going home?”

You pretend to give it some thought. “I can stick around your office a little longer.”

“Good. Just try to keep it down.”

He chuckles at your eyeroll and starts to head back to the offices with you in tow. You stare at his back as he turns a corner ahead of you until he glances over his shoulder, ensuring you’re still with him. You give him a smile, brows raising with a question he answers with a shake of his head. But he’s smiling too, the one you got to know past that wall of apathy, and you know that he can’t possibly have changed all that much.

Zeke is still your best friend—the only one who knew everything about you, and the one who trusted only you with everything about him. You’re sure of it.

/////

I mean, obviously, aside from Mr. Ksaver. Do I think Zeke was the guy whose only friends were younger kids he was forced to interact with for his own survival? Yes. His best friend in canon and the only important person he trusted in his childhood/adolescence was his father stand-in, and even if as he grew up I'm sure he became more sociable (and likeable/'admirable' to Marleyan Eldians as a Warrior), Zeke's existence is a lonely one in my eyes because of the way he viewed life and the lives of others. There would have had to be certain circumstances to gain his absolute trust I think, so feel special, Reader/Lucy. Haha. I swear I love Zeke even if I see him as this sad and lonely bastard.

Also, I know it's not obvious, but I don't dislike Porco. I actually like him a lot (except when he's like -that- to Reiner) and he influenced/es Reader/Lucy more than he knows. And I know I didn't mention Bertholdt in this chapter but that would have been a sensitive topic for Reiner, so Reader/Lucy knows to avoid it for now. (I just wanted to make that disclaimer because I love Bertholdt and I miss him a lot.)

Thank you for reading! I would love to hear what you think so far.

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navigatrixnarrations · 3 years

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Sometimes Always, Chapter 1: Thieves Alley

The first chapter of a canon divergent kind-of fix-it set after Season 3 as encouraged by @whenimaunicorn. The beginning looks familiar because I posted it as a WIP, but it continues.

Warnings: Canon-typical violence and profanity

Words: 2034

Charles Vane once heard that a man can only truly possess that which he cannot lose in a shipwreck. For all the times he’s had to run with nothing but his life in his hands, and those times are many, this most recent is the hardest to bear.

The late autumn sleet beats against the drafty window of his rented room by the wharves. Nor'easters, he learned these storms are called, blowing in off the Atlantic, bringing traffic in the harbor to a standstill and turning the muddy streets into debris-strewn rivers.

Until recently, he spent his entire life in the heat of the West Indies. New York City is cold and unceasingly raw. Its damp chill seeps into his bones and makes old injuries ache damnably. Vane finds himself taking a liking to these storms anyway; they match his mood.

Perhaps he should head to the tavern where he works instead of huddling by the small fire trying to ignore the past. The tavern owner is a freedman, known to give a hand to other former slaves. All Vane had to do was show the brand on his chest and scowl a little, and he was given a job as a bouncer. The irony of it: Charles Vane, notorious scourge of the seas, reduced to breaking up drunken brawls and preventing grown men from pissing on the floor under an assumed name. Still, he’s alive and free, right under the noses of the fucking English…

He’s definitely being followed. He dislikes being followed. He turns to see that several of the tavern-goers are coming toward him, an assortment of weapons in hand. He dryly thinks that times must be hard indeed if they intend to rob him of his pay; split several ways it wouldn’t even be enough for a mug of ale each. A pistol goes off, grazing a leg just barely recovered from the last time he was shot, and Vane staggers. His attackers are nearly upon him when a slightly-built figure leaps between them. A low-pitched female voice, an oddly familiar voice, calls out something in what Vane recognizes as Dutch. There is laughter from the others, and they withdraw.

The woman approaches, her hands empty, reaching down to assist him. He gets the impression of large eyes in an angular face, a dark coat wrapped tight against the mist. Is it? Can it be?

She looks at him as if seeing a ghost, albeit a ghost with whom she is slightly cross. Then she remembers herself. “Charles.” Her expression turns wry. “Did I hear them refer to you as ‘Mr. Thatch’ back there at the tavern?”

He checks her face for any sign of fury, and sees none. “I can’t very well go by my own name now, can I, Miss Teach.”

“It’s Mrs. Sullivan now. And no, I suppose you can’t. I’m sure my father wouldn’t mind you using one of his last names; you’re more his child than I ever was.” Her tone is matter-of-fact, without bitterness.

He forces a levity to his voice that he does not feel. “So you married Sully? How is he, anyway?” At least she wedded a brave man and a kind one.

She shuts her eyes slowly, shakes her head, then reopens them. “He’s been dead three years. Took a bullet to the head in a raid.”

“Margaret, I’m…”

“Save the platitudes, Charles. They don’t suit you.” She looks tired, her eyes far away. “He was right beside me when it happened. He died free and he didn’t suffer.”

He doesn’t know what to say to that. What can he possibly say to that. Memories of the three of them as teenagers, skylarking in the rigging of the Revenge. Vane was the strongest, Margaret was the fastest, and Sully, well, Sully was acrobatic and fearless. And Sully made her laugh, something she did far too seldom. Vane envied him that ability.

She turns her sharp gaze back to him. "If you’re wondering what I said to your new friends back there, I told them that while it is clear that the only thing you use your head for is growing hair, entering Thieves Alley alone as you did with a pocket full of coin, it would be cruel to deprive you of it."

In spite of himself, he huffs out a short laugh. She’s studying him, and he thinks she sees the question that he cannot bring himself to ask aloud. I missed you. Did you miss me?

“My last words to you were cruel.” She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “I regret them. I’m glad I have the opportunity to tell you so.” Why did I get you out of there if you’re going to go do her bidding, be her attack dog? She doesn’t love you, Charles, she’s incapable of loving anyone. And now you’re walking right back into another kind of slavery and it was all for nothing. If I never see you again, it will be too soon. She jumped into one of the longboats and never once looked back at him as the men rowed it out to the ship. He wanted to call out to her to stay, that he changed his mind, but youthful stupid pride made the words stick in his throat. In the end he watched her climb the rope ladder to the Revenge, watched her sail out of Nassau Harbor, watched her disappear over the horizon...

Vane holds her gaze because he’s certain that she would not welcome him holding her body. “Everything you said to me was true, though I couldn’t see that at the time. You had every reason to hate me.”

Margaret tilts her head to one side. “I never hated you, though I tried. Never even resented you, really.” She sighs. “I resented my father for wanting a son so badly that he all but ignored me once you arrived, and I resented the hell out of myself for trying so hard to win his approval.” She pauses. “You’re shivering.”

He starts to deny it but Margaret rolls her eyes at him. “Yes, I know, you’re tougher than the rain and wind and you’re made out of pain and hunger, but you’re not dressed for this climate. Let’s get you in front of a fire. I didn’t come to your aid yet again for you to catch consumption in fucking stinking Thieves Alley.” Vane knows better than to argue with her when she takes that tone.

He falls into step beside her and follows her through a series of alleyways, up some back stairs to a garret. It’s two rooms, sparse but clean, a fire burned down to embers in the small hearth. She drags two chairs and a small table closer to the fireplace and gestures for him to sit while she sets about stoking the fire. He finds himself admiring the quiet confidence with which she moves, the deft precision of her hands. That hasn’t changed. The wooden chair feels like heaven after a night on his feet, and the fire quickly warms the small room. He slouches back and stares into the flames while Margaret bustles around, hanging her coat on a peg, boiling the kettle. Unconsciously, the fingers of one hand worry at the scar on his neck left by the hangman’s noose. It’s slight, but it’s there. In most ways he’s recovered from his brief hempen jig. He can sometimes go hours without thinking of it, but there will always be reminders. Much, Vane muses, like his years sailing with Edward Teach and daughter.

Everything hurt. The latest flogging from the taskmaster tore his back open from shoulder to waist, and he could barely stand. His whole body was wracked with fever. He heard a girl’s voice, and a man’s voice, both unfamiliar, distorted-sounding, and then he was being carried. He must have lost consciousness; when he came to, the whole world was swaying and he heard the creaking of boards, waves lapping against the...hull? Why was he on a ship? Had he been sold again? And then a girl about his own age was looking down at him with a grave expression, her hair in a braid and her big eyes curious. “Where am I?” he asked her. “You’re on the Revenge,“ she said, and, seeming to intuit his next question, she added “you’re free now. We’re all free here. We’re pirates.” There was pride in her voice and her posture at that last. He later learned he was free because Margaret Teach talked her father into taking him with them.

In the silence that has fallen between them, his stomach growls. He tries to ignore it, but she’s heard. She fetches bread and cheese from a box on the windowsill, a bottle of rum, and a pair of dented tin mugs into which she pours tea, putting it all on the table between them.

That’s what seemed off. She’s wearing a dress, and it’s all wrong. It flatters her well, but it’s all wrong. A proper pirate like her, dressed like a merchant’s wife.

Margaret raises an eyebrow at the look on his face. “It isn't poisoned, Charles” she says dryly as she pours rum into her tea. “If I wanted you dead, you’d be dead by now. I wouldn’t waste good rum.”

He takes the offered bottle and adds a heavy pour to his own tea, then takes a sip and lets it burn all the way down to his belly. “Thrown your lot in with civilization, have you?”

“No.” Her knuckles whiten on the edge of the table and she scowls. “I fucking hate it here.”

He reaches over and places a hand on hers, and is gratified when she doesn’t pull it away. “You’re like me, Magpie. We belong at sea.”

“We do.” Her voice is quiet, wistful. “Nobody’s called me that since Sully died.”

Sully grinned at the way Margaret's eyes tracked the doubloon that Vane set dancing back and forth across his knuckles. “You’re a magpie, that’s what you are.”

“ What’s a magpie?” she asked.

“Very clever little bird, a bit like a crow. They’ll steal anything that catches their eye, especially if it’s shiny, and they’ll have a go at birds of prey many times their size. They live in England.”

Margaret curled her lip. “Fuck England.”

“Fuck England,” Sully agreed. “Rest of it suits you, though.”

Vane thought it was apt for the clever dark-haired pirate girl. His fierce little Magpie.

She turns her hand over in his and gives it a brief squeeze. “I don’t mind you calling me that.” They finish their meal in silence, but it almost feels like the silence of old times. As in old times, it’s easy to fall back into task organizing without needing to discuss it much; he clears up the remnants of their meal while she makes up a cot for him near the hearth.

He hadn’t expected her to invite him to her bed, not really; she never did in the past, and the disastrous choices he made when he was a young man likely destroyed any chance of that in the future. They’re no longer children with a habit of falling asleep in a pile among coils of rope like a litter of alley cats between their watches. But now, all these years later, they’re reunited. It will have to be enough.

From the other room, he hears a sob, quickly stifled. Vane knows Margaret doesn’t want him to know she’s crying, perhaps wants it less even than he wants her to cry, yet how can he ignore the pain she’s in? He tries her door, only to find she’s bolted it from within. He returns to his cot. Eventually sleep takes him, and by some mercy, he does not dream.

#black sails fic #charles vane x ofc #charles vane x oc #sometimes always fic #charles vane fic

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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 3 years

Note

Dabb-only anon here: 1) uuugh, why he constantly makes Dean mean to children, why. Dean is great with kids! He loves kids, he understands them! How someone can miss such a core character trait, I hate it.

2) Fucking Cole thing. It would be as bad as Amy thing if it weren't this dumb. I feel like everyone pretends it never happened bc it was so lame.

3) Uh-oh, several foreshadowings for Cas returning to Heaven to rebuild it as atonement for his past mistakes. I remember that Misha said there were changes to the finale script but were they that big? Anyway, can't relate to this thing, never really cared for Heaven.

4) I obv not a Sam girl and probably miss something, but Dabb's Sam really wants to be normal, hmm. Maybe settling with someone from this life and being the hunters' leader never was his endgame.

Bonus point: Idk how it went down in the writing room, but BL episodes constantly coming after Dabb's and being like "No ❤️" at his interpretation of characters and situations is the funniest thing ever.

You know, it’s curious that I never really found myself analyzing Dabb as a writer, not before the finale. Maybe it was because Dabb had been there for a long time, so he was kind of a fixture of the show, and didn’t really catch attention. I entered the fandom in late season 8 so everyone scrutinized Bucklemming episode to the last tiny pebble to find All The Plot Holes (most times they weren’t plot holes), or Robbie Thompson episodes for the good shit, and then Berens came in with the steel chair and the attention was on him, and then Yockey... Dabb never really met much scrutiny, neither for bad reasons (Bucklemming, Klein and Charmelo-Snyder were usually the ones bitched about) or good reasons (newer fans have no idea how much the very activity on tumblr rose when Robbie Thompson episodes happened!).

Dabb was always... there, writing episodes, his Dark Side Of The Moon wildly beloved, although now maybe we loved it for the wrong reasons, who knows now.

You’re right about the kids, I dunno if we can say Cole is Dabb’s since he only wrote him for one episode and also... well, the Cole arc was ruined by the actor, he was supposed to come back but then the actor was an ass so they had to create a new hunter character out of the blue, leaving Cole’s story kind of there without much meaning. At least Cole was a new character and not Amy Pond’s son...

Cas ended up being written as some kind of... Woman In White, unable to “go home” because of the guilt of what he’d done to his angelic family. Hunteri Heroici was always hailed as proof that Dabb was Good, but eh. In the big picture, eventually Cas did not actually do anything related to heaven again, heaven kind of became irrelevant and at some point there were like 5 angels and they barely did anything anyway, occasionally a plot device but nothing more. Cas was written as increasingly human and increasingly belonging to earth, not heaven, so... in the end, nothing was actually done with Cas. Cas didn’t do anything angel-related (“Cas helped” isn’t a story arc resolution after years of essentually ignoring the thing) or became human. Heaven was dropped, Cas’ journey was dropped, everything was dropped actually.

Might I add

5) what he fucking did in Clip Show. Killing characters that Dean and Sam had saved years ago. That was so vile. Bringing back Sarah Blake, establish she is married with a little kid and happy, just to murder her horribly. That was bad.

#spn #anon

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modern-inheritance · 3 years

Text

Modern Inheritance: Sakura Blossom (Pt 5 of Torin’s Story)

(A/N: Yay! Torin gets a baff, a shave, and a haircut! This is a sort of intermission chapter where Torin starts to drag himself out of the dark place he’s been locked in, physically and mentally, by refreshing his body. That sounds...weird. But yeah lots of descriptions of wet shaving as I warned yesterday.

It’s not the most well received idea, but I’m solid on that Torin’s new haircut is the same Late Season 3!Sokka from Avatar: The Last Airbender. I promise I’m not giving him a man bun. Just a fresh new look and feeling. Anyway, cheers!)

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // PART 5 // TBC

~~~

The tight quarters of the bathroom didn’t leave much room to maneuver. Twice Torin nearly fell face first into the frosted glass of the tiny shower stall as he peeled off his grimy prison greys, tripping on the hem of the pants before he caught himself on the sink’s counter. Once fully undressed he opened the door and adjusted the shower’s temperature before gingerly stepping inside and clicking the stall shut behind him.

The sensation of warm water flowing over his skin felt almost foreign. Torin tilted his face upwards to catch the spray, relishing in the tendrils of heat that drained back from his forehead and over his scalp.

The Ward Captain had either left in a hurry, or the bathroom had been stocked before he was brought to his new room. A bottle each of shampoo and conditioner sat on the shower caddy, with a bar of the standard issue strong soap that everyone received in their hygiene kits nestled on a folded washcloth on the shelf beneath.

The runoff from the shampoo stung as Torin splashed another handful of water on his hair to lather it more deeply. The sores scattered across his body protested, the cracked and gashed surfaces of his knuckles screaming as the soap infiltrated every crevice that the injuries created. Instead of avoiding the wounds, Torin took his time with them, ferreting out the embedded grit and scrubbing out damaged and dying tissue to give them a fresh chance to heal in this new, clean environment. Months of dirt, sweat, and blood washed away, leaving his body feeling almost raw in its refreshed state.

A new start, vulnerable as it was.

Wrapped in a towel, Torin stepped out with a billow of steam. The collection of clothes in the dresser was indeed quite varied, from jeans and clean prisoner uniforms to cargo pants, T-shirts, and sport shorts. Feeling overheated from the shower, the young man dressed in only a pair of clean underclothes and shorts before returning to the bathroom.

Tendrils of steam still curled lazily from the open shower door, caressing the ceiling before trickling out into the bedroom. The currents they created bloomed small patches of fog on the mirror, the gentle ebb and flow having drawn Torin’s attention. Curious, yet almost fearful of what he would see, the young man reached out with a dry cloth and wiped down the mirror.

Dark eyes stared back at him, ringed and sunken. His damp hair was still wild and jumbled, matching the rough two inches of snarled beard that covered his lower face. Torin ran his fingers through the scraggled mess of facial hair, tugging on it as if to ensure it was real.

He had never grown a beard outside of prison, and even inside it was managed for minimal hygiene’s sake. Every three months the guards would take him out to shower, then strap him to a chair in the back of the base’s barbershop. A gruff, mute master sergeant would then shave his face and trim his hair till it was just at regulation length before shoving Torin out into the waiting hands of his guards and slamming the door behind him. The whole process was reminiscent of the first two hours of his arrival at Gil’ead as a forced recruit, a whirlwind of activity and movement where he had no choice of where he was going nor when he went there.

The guards hadn’t done any of that the last two cycles though, only gave him a large bucket of cold, mildly soapy water and a rag to wash up in his cell. Too much to deal with concerning the war than to worry about prisoners facing the possibility of lice.

Torin scratched at the tangled bristles that obscured his face, frowning. He could barely feel his cheek through it. It looked awful, like an angry mess of thick, curly boar bristles slapped onto his skin.

The beard would have to go.

A little rummaging in the medicine cabinet behind the mirror produced more than what he needed. He found a half-full tin of medicated ointment, which he gently dabbed on his knuckles before bandaging them with the plasters tucked beside it. On a lower shelf was a standard shaving kit, complete with spare blades, scissors and a comb for trimming hair to regimented lengths, and what Torin assumed had been the Captain’s rather fine badger hair brush. A puck of dimly scented shaving soap rested in a mug on the counter, a piece of tape boldly reminding the former owner that it was for ‘SHAVING ONLY.’

As the soap and brush soaked in the filling sink, Torin busied himself swapping out the old blade in the kit’s safety razor before the young man turned back to the mirror with scissors in hand. With a wince of pulled skin, he seized a clump of beard, pulled it away from his face as best he could, and slid the scissors in.

The slow snick as the strands were severed, followed by the chunk of damp hair releasing its hold, was oddly satisfying. Torin settled into a rhythm, slipping his fingers under the tangled mess to move it away from his skin before clipping it. As the pieces came away, scattering across the counter before being swept into the tiny wastebin, something almost recognizable began to take shape. As the final clump fell, Torin raised his gaze to meet that of the man in the mirror.

He had lost weight. His cheeks, still mostly covered by the now close cropped beard, reflected the years of meager meals served in his cell, so different from the slight softness of his teen years. He reached up and gently felt along the ridge of his cheekbone, feeling for the wire-like scar there. As he did, the changes to his body became more apparent. His muscles had been lean before, but were now almost etched under his skin. His collarbones and shoulders bore the brunt of the sores from his dirty uniform, the rough patches raw from where sweat collected and irritated the tiny scratches left from the sand and grime embedded in the coarse cloth. More scattered across his chest and back, where he rested between fits of tossing and turning in restless sleep on that cold steel cot and concrete floor.

Torin swallowed. Maybe recognizing the man in the mirror wasn’t a wholly good thing in his current state. He closed his eyes and breathed deep of the humid air, trying to calm the tremors in his hands.

As the shaking eased, Torin retrieved the wet brush, warmed razor and slick soap from the sink. A shave would help him, he was sure of it. It was an unexpectedly skilled task, one that required concentration to be done correctly and safely, never mind done well. The act had always served as a calming start to his day before it all happened, a ritual carried out by men across the whole of Alagaësia that he shared.

With a practiced flick of his wrist, Torin flung the excess water from the brush and began to swirl it over the puck of soap. Each turn loaded the fine hairs with light froth, building up as the moisture was absorbed. He stopped twice to drizzle the puck with droplets of water, and continued the smooth turning of his wrist until, by feel of the resistance and the sound of the brush alone, Torin knew the foam was instead a thickened paste of froth.

A sprinkle of water into the mug and he began the long art of building a proper lather. The act brought a tiny smile to his face, the slap of the brush as it circled the mug in quick succession reminding him of long past mornings watching his father shave. Once the lather formed peaks, Torin began working the rich foam into the cropped bristles across his face. Light strokes painted everything white, soft and airy on his damp skin.

Outside the room, Torin heard Naela speaking to someone. There was movement and a clattering jangle of objects being settled on the desk, but he paid it no mind as he picked up the razor. This was not a time to be distracted. A steady hand was needed now, and for once his did not tremble.

Tilting his head slightly, Torin set one of the edges of the safety razor against his cheek, right above the gentle ridge the foam created over the start of his trimmed beard. The angle was muscle memory, as was the feather light pressure he applied as he guided the blade with short strokes downwards. After so long, a second pass going against the grain would probably be in order, but for now Torin followed his father’s advice to follow the grain first. It wouldn’t do to have a sloppy shave if the Queen of the Elves were to visit again, no sir.

Every few strokes saw him flip the razor to utilize both sides before swishing the whole thing in the warm water of the sink. It was not long before the first pass was complete, and with a quick reapplication of the still-activated brush, white foam covered his face and neck again.

Moving more carefully now, Torin began the second pass, going against the grain and removing any stray hairs that remained. He could feel the familiar smooth, almost slick texture of the skin that was revealed with each stroke under his fingers as he pulled the awkward sections taut. It felt...good. Felt like normalcy.

With one last stroke, the final patch of soap was removed. Torin set the blade aside and drained the sudsy water from the sink, wiping the stray flecks of foam away with a hand towel as he watched the dregs slide down the drain. Two cupped handfuls of cool water splashed across his face saw the ritual completed in its entirety, soothing the minor irritation that always came with a close shave. He checked the mirror one last time as he ran his hand over his now smooth chin, feeling for any missed spots.

If it weren’t for the haunted look of his eyes and the wild length of his hair, Torin could have sworn the scrawny young man looking back was him on the first day of bootcamp. His face had matured somewhat since then, but the skinny frame and baby smooth cheeks called him back to those first few days of his forced service.

He picked up the scissors and rinsed them in the sink before awkwardly pulling a strip of his hair down. This would be a tad more difficult than a shave.

“You look much younger without your beard. Would you like help with your hair?”

Torin jerked, whirling to face Naela where she stood at the doorway to the bathroom. She tilted her head slightly, hands clasped behind her back. “My apologies. I did not mean to startle you.”

“I-it’s fine.” The young man looked back to his reflection, contemplating his still-damp locks. “...A bit of help would be appreciated. Thank you.”

“Of course.” Naela took the scissors from his hand and led him to the desk chair, which she dragged to the rough center of the room. “Is there any particular way you would like it?”

Torin paused. Part of him simply wished for a return to his previous style, to be able to look in the mirror and forget that anything had happened. To believe that the last years were simply a dream.

But no. To cast aside the time spent in Gil’ead’s cells would be to cast aside the changes he had gone through, changes that were integral to his sense of self. It would also feel like...a disrespect to the elf woman who set in motion Torin’s new path in life those years ago.

A thought occurred to him. “One of the Queen’s guards...I think his name was...Macil? D-do you think you could cut my hair like his?”

The smile that graced Naela’s face could be heard in her words. “I think that is going to suit you very well. I will do my best, Aldsson.”

“Thank you.” Torin smiled as well. The elf’s warmth was infectious. “And Naela? You can just call me Torin.”

The room fell to comfortable silence but for the rasping sound of the scissors through Torin’s hair. The feeling of the comb gently running over his scalp was surprisingly calming. It was nice to just sit for a moment, free from fear.

As the minutes passed, a question drifted into Torin’s mind. “Naela?”

“Yes, Torin?” The elf returned from retrieving a small hairband from her pack, where it leaned against the outer door frame.

The young man chose his words carefully. “When...when I was a guard, there was an elf woman here.” Naela’s hands, gathering up sections of his hair, paused for the briefest of moments, a stop so short that it was little more than a twitch. “Did you know her?”

Naela gently snapped the elastic around the small ponytail she had made and began trimming down the back of his head. “I cannot say. I heard about her, but do not know much.” She checked the length of her cut and used the comb to even it out.

“Oh.” Torin hadn’t considered that. It occurred to him that he had no idea just how many elves there were left after the Rider’s Fall. Were there hundreds? Thousands? It was foolish to think that a single elf out of their entire species would be, just by chance, known by his new guard. “...I never even got her name.” Even if Naela hadn’t taken that moment to tilt his head forward for a better angle, Torin would have hung it in shame. “It’s strange, but...I’ve always wanted to know what happened to her. It’s like her face is burned into my memory.”

Naela didn’t respond, engrossed in her work. Torin left it at that, but the questions still swirled in his mind.

It was only a handful of minutes more before Naela gave a soft hum and used a hand towel to brush the stray hairs from Torin’s back and shoulders. “Finished. Let me know if you would like me to try something else.”

Torin moved to the bathroom to see the elf’s work, peering into the mirror.

He couldn’t help but smile as he ran his hand over the soft three quarters of an inch left at the sides and back of his head. The remainder of his hair, gathered in a tufted ponytail, would hang at the edge of his jaw when released.

It felt clean. New. A true fresh start.

“Thank you, Naela.” He turned back to the summer-eyed woman, beaming with a long forgotten smile. “It’s perfect.”

Not long after, Torin found himself seated at the former Captain’s desk with a bowl of warmed stew and a slab of bread. He did his best to not look like a feral beast as he ate, forcing himself to take a single spoonful at a time and a bite of the thick bread after. It was the first real, filling food the young man had eaten in years, and he would savor it.

Torin finished off the final dregs of the stew and rinsed the dishes in the tiny bathroom’s sink. Once done he wandered back out to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, feeling drained.

Out of habit the young man looked up to the wall to judge the time by the glimmer of the moon and stars. It took him a moment to remember that the Captain’s room was more central than the wards and had no window.

“It is nearly midnight.” Naela commented from the door. “Would you like the light off?”

Moments after Torin confirmed that he did, his head hit the pillow. He sank into sleep, mind abuzz with the turns his life had taken.

~~~

The morning brought a breakfast of overnight oats and fruit, a delicacy Torin had nearly forgotten existed. As he slowly peeled each segment from the last orange at his disposal, the young man mulled over what to do in the coming hours till the Queen came to him again.

There were no books in the room. Naela was reading a novel, but when she offered Torin one of the two others she had in her pack he was dismayed to find that they were in a script that he did not understand. Most of the drawers of the desk were empty besides a few pieces of the thick, cotton-based stationary the Captain used for official correspondence. No pencils or pens rattled about, and beyond a dusty chewing tobacco tin filled with paper clips that had fallen between the desk and the wall, nothing else of note could be found.

The last segment disappearing between his lips, Torin quietly got up and rinsed the oats bowl in the bathroom sink and disposed of the strawberry tops and orange peel in the small wastebasket.

Naela looked up as he moved. “Would you like anything else, Torin?” She smiled, sliding a thin wooden tab into the book on her lap. “There is plenty more food if you are still hungry.”

As always, her kindness made the edges of Torin’s lips tilt up in a returned grin. “No, thank you.”

A jolt suddenly shot through his mind. The conversation the night before. Naela’s uncertainty surrounding the elf he had met those years ago. His shame at never even learning the woman’s name.

“Actually, Naela. Do you happen to have a pencil?”

He didn’t know her name. But he would never forget her face.

Torin shifted his grip on the pencil, feeling the gentle rasp of the graphite against the paper’s texture as he defined the edge of the scar that interrupted the woman’s right eyebrow. That one had been old, he was sure. He refused to add any of the scars she had gained in Gil’ead, trying to capture the person she was away from the prison’s influence.

It had been hours since Naela handed off the pencil to him. She occasionally peered over his shoulder and praised his unusually steady hands but otherwise let him work in comfortable silence. Torin let the world melt around him, everything else a blur.

A sudden shuffle alerted him to a change outside his cone of focus, but he paid it no mind. He was almost finished, added the last flecks to the eyes, and sat back with a crackling pop as his hunched spine straightened.

The elf he had met before stared back at him. As always, there was fire in her eyes.

“It is customary to rise when a guest enters.”

Torin strangled a yelp. Queen Islanzadí stood in the doorway, Naela at an eased attention just outside.

“M-ma’am!” Torin put the pencil down and scrambled from the desk, nearly knocking over the chair in his hurry. A long buried instinct told him to snap to attention and salute, but at the last moment he stifled the urge and hastily bowed. “I-I’m s-sorry, I didn’t hear you c-come in. I beg your f-forgiveness.” Torin kept his head low, unsure if he should rise from the kowtowed position.

He could feel Islanzadí’s golden eyes roving over him. “That is quite enough.” Torin straightened, somewhat relieved. The Queen turned to Naela with a short, “Thank you. You are dismissed. Return in three hours.” before returning her attention to the young man before her.

Torin felt his fingers digging into his skin where his hands hung at his sides. Naela was a balm to his anxiety, and part of him wanted to ask if she could stay. The departing elf gave him a warm smile over Islanzadí’s shoulder and subtly nodded towards the hall door as she left.

The knot of tension in Torin’s stomach eased slightly. Naela would not be far.

“Tell me. What had you so absorbed that you forgot the world, Aldsson?” Torin snapped his gaze back to the Queen just as her own gaze fell on the desk.

A bolt of lightning seemed to shock through Islanzadí’s expression. It was there for the barest measure of a second before it was gone, replaced with a sudden tightness in her voice. “What is this?”

Torin felt himself shrink at the sharpness in her tone, but something inside him held firm. He drew himself up, and lifted the sketch from the desk with steady hands. “Ma’am. I don’t know the woman’s name, but I can remember her face clearly.” He offered the drawing to the Queen, a nagging urge to please flitting in the back of his mind as she accepted it. “I...I wanted to know if she made it. Naela did not know but–”

Islanzadí held up a hand, halting the rush of words in Torin’s throat. She studied the drawing intently, eyes gliding over the details Torin had included. The young man swore he saw a hint of warm softness color the chill of the Elven Queen’s countenance.

What felt like an eternity ticked by. Cautious, curious, Torin risked a quiet question that had been burning in him since waking that morning.

“Did...did Your Majesty know her?”

Islanzadí did not look up. Instead she breezed by him to the desk and picked up the discarded pencil. Torin felt a jolt of protectiveness over the drawing, surged forward to stop her from destroying it, before Islanzadí’s sharp glare stopped him in his tracks.

Torin could only watch, first in dread and then in relief as the Queen wrote out four human runes at the base of the picture.

She turned back and held the sketch out to him. “Arya.”

The former guard’s mouth went dry, heart pounding in his chest at the single uttered word as he carefully took the offered page. “A-Arya?” He dropped his gaze to the drawing.

“Yes. Her name.” When Torin did not move, frozen in place, the Queen pointed to the bed. “Sit.”

Body numb with the new information, emotions roiling through his skull, Torin obeyed. He sat on the edge of the simple bed and finally managed to tear his eyes away from the name elegantly scrawled below the face that had haunted him all these years. One question answered, another took its place. “What ha–”

“Now is not the time.” Islanzadí’s statement snapped his mouth shut again. Regal even now, the Elven Queen turned the desk chair and sat to face him. She had taken on the cool demeanor once again, the deadly hawk still debating on whether to end this little field mouse or let him live.

“Tell me more of your story, Aldsson.”

Sakura Blossom: Renewal

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modecaisnow · 4 years

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Fitness Roommates

**This story contains topics suitable for 18 YEARS OR OLDER! Read at your own digression. This story contains themes of realistic(ish) weight gain (ie. 150 pounds – 800), mentions of challenges being overweight. This story is 3360 words, and 6 pages long, was gonna be part 1+2. This was a story I had saved for a bit. ENJOY!**

[This story follows Tyler and Zach, a dynamic duo of health and fitness. Zach, a bodybuilder with all the know how of exercise, and Tyler, a healthy and fit nutritionist, have teamed up and opened a business together. However, their business has gotten slow and not as many people are getting memberships anymore. As a marketing experiment, Tyler agrees to pack on some weight with the ultimate plan to lose it all following their dieting and exercise plan. But, it turns out gaining weight is a little more enjoyable than Tyler expected.]

Zach and Tyler have been friends for years. They first met in their freshman year of college, and Zach and Tyler were both fitness buffs. Their bodies were toned with dense muscles, but Zach was much larger. Zachary studied Athletic Training and Tyler studied Nutrition over the years. After 4 years of college, they decided to open a gym together and become business partners. Zach would help train people and show them how to exercise, and Tyler would teach them about nutrition. However, a couple of years later things have changed. Zach walked into the living room of their apartment. His face was akin to a greek god – high cheekbones, square jawline, and a strong nose. He was a tall, tan-skinned, with a body covered in rippling muscles. From his thick neck and massive traps to his softball-sized calves, which everyone used to tease him and call them ‘steers’, Zach was the personified ideal of fitness. His broad shoulders and flared out lats created the classic ‘V’ shape all bodybuilders aspired to get. His arms were absolutely massive, with cannonball-sized biceps, horseshoe triceps, and forearms that were as large as a normal man’s biceps. Zach’s torso and legs were just as impressive. His barrel chest must’ve been 60 inches and was covered in brown hairs. Beneath his meaty pillows that were his pecs was a wall of abs that looked like bricks. A dark trail of hairs led down his carved abs and into his boxers, which were being stretched from both ends. Zach was blessed with large junk in the front and a lot of junk in the trunk. His bubble butt was made of pure steel and bounced along everywhere he walked. Further down were two thick quads with equally powerful hamstrings. Bellow the knees were the most well defined and muscular looking calves anyone has ever seen. Tyler, on the other hand, was not nearly as much of a ‘greek god’ as Zach. He was very toned, but also on the skinny side. His face was square with a pointed chin and a sloped nose. His hair was cut short, and he didn’t have much facial hair. Being a nutritionist, he knew all the ins and outs of healthy eating and dieting. He was part of the reason why Zach looks the way he looks. He kept Zach on his meal plan. Tyler has helped countless gym-goers reach their goals faster and easier with the help of his dieting plans. Tyler looked up at Zach. He stood in his boxers in front of the TV, blocking his view of it. Zach crossed his arms, causing his large slabs of chest meat to squeeze together. Tyler grabbed the remote and turned the TV off. “Is everything okay, man?” Tyler asked. “We have to talk about business.” “What’s up?” “It’s been slow recently-“ “-Yeah-“ “-and I have an idea,” Zach sat down on the brown, cloth couch next to Tyler. Zach widened his eyes and tried to look innocent. “Well, …what’s the idea?” “Well, bro, what if we have an experiment where one of us puts on some weight, and then we both work together to try and get that person back to a healthy weight?” “That might be good, but it might take too long. We need people to join now, not after months of gaining and months of losing weight.” “Well, with our expertise, we’ll be able to lose the weight pretty quickly,” Zach snickered. “Also, I’m sure you know of some quick weight gain techniques.” “I mean…I guess,” We both sat there quietly for a moment. Zach continued to stare deeply into Tyler's eyes. “So…do you want me to put on the weight?” Tyler hesitantly ask. “…Do you mind?” “I mean…I guess…” Zach jumped up. His face brightened up and he fist pumped into the air. The two immediately started to plan out how this would work, and Tyler got to work researching foods and gaining techniques. He started planning out a grocery list filled with unhealthy fats, carbs, protein, sugars, as well as a plan for minimal movement for himself. Zach started to create exercise plans so when Tyler finishes putting on the weight they’ll be all set to take off the pounds. Before starting it all, Tyler stepped up on the scale to take the initial weight. He was 154 pounds. At first, gaining was an awkward feeling. Tyler’s flat abs slowly started to look more and more like a gut. He was continuously shoveling food into his mouth, even while at work. It made it difficult to work with new patients, given that their nutritionist was eating junk food, and had a little bit of a belly while trying to give tips on staying healthy. After explaining the experiment to every single patient, they all seemed to understand. After the first week of constant binging, eating even while Tyler was stuffed in order to expand his tank of a gut, he had managed to pack on 15 pounds. His flat wall of abs had officially become a rounded, flabby belly. When he sat down, it would flop over the waistband of his pants. Tyler’s hips were stretching his pants to their max. The waistband would dig into his hips, and his thighs actually ripped the seams of one of his favorite pair of pants. And still, Tyler continued to gain weight. He added more meals into his daily diet and doubled the serving sizes. Tyler added two snacks between meals, as well as a “weight gain” shake between snacking. All this food, along with his restricted movement, helped him gain weight exponentially. Tyler’s face was looking rounder and fuller. His arms were softer and would stretch the sleeves of his tightening shirts. The once toned chest started to sag down over his belly, which was spilling down lower and lower towards his crotch. Even his pubic area was softer – a layer of fat was forming and starting to creep towards his junk. Everything about Tyler was getting flabbier. This continued for weeks. Tyler had to expand his entire wardrobe. One day, when he went to sit down, his shorts gave in and ripped all the way down his ass cheeks. From that day on, Tyler only wore stretchy pants – no more khakis, or dress pants, just the stretchy kind. His shirts also went from XL to XXL, and then just as quickly to XXXL. Tyler was officially 330 pounds. His chest continued to sag lower and lower as his belly continued to get larger and larger. Tyler had patients who were as large and some who were much, much larger, and they used to tell him what it was like to be big. However, now he lived it. The sagging breasts slid and rolled over his belly, which seemed to weigh him down. As Tyler walked, he needed to lean back a little bit so his substantial belly wouldn’t pull him down to the ground. Even sitting in chairs, which now had to not have armrests so his hips could fit, he needed to slouch and lean back so his belly could spill over his lap. It was quite the feeling. After a while, Tyler started to like it. It felt nice to be big, but he didn’t feel big enough yet. Zach asked him if he was ready to start their little experiment. Tyler told him that he wasn’t ready, and Tyler asked for a couple more weeks – business picked up anyway since it was about a month away from New Years. Tyler continued shoveling fattening treats into his mouth. Serving sizes became even larger, he went from 6 meals a day to 9, and he started doubling the size of the gainer shakes. This was to help break out of his weight plateau. His arms started to feel even heavier, and Tyler’s thighs always brushed against each other. His feet also started to get fatter, to the point where he needed to purchase ‘wide-fit’ shoes. At night, he would slouch on the sofa, which started to feel slightly smaller, and he would balance a 60ounce cup of soda on the crest of his soft belly, and slurp it down. All while lazily watching whatever was on TV. After chugging the entire soda, Tyler would rub his belly to help with all the bubbles. His blubber was warm and malleable. He could no longer see his belly button, or feet as a matter of fact, but Tyler could still poke a finger in the deepening cave that was his belly button. When he waddled onto the scale, it showed he was about 423 pounds. Eating only got easier and easier as the holidays came. Zach and Tyler usually went their separate ways to see their respective families, since Zach’s are out west, and Tyler’s are up north, but this season they had decided to just relax and focus on the experiment. Tyler continued to bloat up and shovel food into his face, and now that holiday cookies were out and on sale, he made it his goal to eat at least 3 boxes of cookies a day. Zach would tease him and say that Tyler surpassed ‘Santa-size,’ and Tyler laughed along with him. Deep down, he was excited to see how far he could push this. Tyler’s neck had officially disappeared into the fat on his shoulders and chins after a couple days of gorging. Actually, his chins were now flopping onto the crest of his flabby chest. Tyler’s moobs hung down, almost as far down as his elbows – not quite, but close. His fat arms started to feel very heavy. Despite always being hungry, after hours of grabbing for food, it started to feel like an arm workout. When sitting down, he would have to spread his legs far apart to give his substantial belly room to flop down. On the topic of his belly, a fold had started to form above his belly button, creating the double-belly look. Tyler’s belly was getting hard to contain in shirts, so instead, he started to get even larger pants to pull the waistband over it. Speaking of, Tyler’s pant sizes went up a lot faster than his shirt sizes did. He needed extra stretchy, 6XL pants in order to try to contain his growing belly. The fat over his junk also grew, making it hard to reach down there, as well as use the bathroom. However, he figured out how to manage in both areas. Tyler started to just sit on the toilet when he needed to pee, and just reach around and push his fat pad down towards the toilet bowl. Tyler also started to sleep on his side at night, it was much more comfortable, and whenever he’d need to shift his belly, Tyler could just dig a finger in his belly button like a hook, and shift it manually. After the holidays went, Tyler stepped on the scale for the first time in a few weeks. He was officially 546 pounds. Zach was proud and impressed. He asked Tyler when he would want to start buying healthy foods and start training. Tyler told him to instead buy a larger scale. Zach looked a little concerned at first, but Tyler explained that in order for them to make a bigger impact, they would need a bigger test subject. Zach eventually agreed and continued to go along with everything. He even did buy a larger scale, one that went up to 850 pounds. At this point, food became really expensive for them to afford on their own. In order to eat a meal every hour, on the hour, the two needed to dip into their company’s profit. It would be fine since it would all work out in the end. Thanks to their excellent accounting skills, Tyler was able to eat as much as he wanted, when he wanted. Tyler truly blew up in size after this. Walking became really difficult…well, if you can call it walking. It was more like a waddle. Tyler mostly spent time sitting on the couch, eating, watching TV, with the occasional trip to the fridge, or to the front door to great the delivery boy. After a while, Zach mentioned it would be best that he didn’t walk too far, so he moved the fridge into the living room, and anything else that was needed, he would get for Tyler. Tyler rarely went to the gym anymore to meet patients in person. Instead, Zach set up an online messaging system for him to reach out to their “premium” customers. That way they wouldn’t be able to be turned off by what a huge blob of lard Tyler was becoming. His ass cheeks started to take up a considerable amount of space not only on the poor little couch but in his bed as well. Tyler was just about as wide as his full-sized mattress, so Zach thought it was best to buy him a larger one. Zach was about to buy a larger sofa too but figured that he didn’t need to since he never really sat on it. Zach was rarely in the living room anyway, unless it was to drop off Tyler’s next heap of food. He was always working or working out. Shirts and pants both struggled to contain all of Tyler. Folds and rolls of flab started to ripple and slide over one another as he walked, hiccupped, or burped. His breasts had become so large that a pillow of flab had connected his moobs to the wings of back flab. This gave Tyler’s arms more support, which made it less work to shovel food into his fattening face since all he needed to do was just bend his elbow. Tyler’s cheeks were very fat and flopped down his face and onto his shoulder flab. Sweat almost constantly dripped down from his brow, and he was almost always out of breath. When Tyler finally stepped on the scale, he was up to 623 pounds. He still shoved on…well, he still shoveled more food in. At this rate, he was just eating one large, nonstop buffet of food a day. Tyler was always ordering pizzas, Chinese takeout, donuts, and delivery from every fast food joint in a 10-mile radius using those new food delivery apps on his phone. Tyler continued to gorge, slurp, and chomp down food for a few more weeks. As it got closer to the end of January, he had officially changed his wardrobe to 12XL shirts, and God only knows how many X’s for his XL sweat pant shorts. It was interesting to wear them because, with each day he grew fatter and fatter, one could see the ends of the drawstrings slowly disappear, as they were pulled deeper into the expanding stretchy waistband. As Tyler’s stomach grew so did his fupa. It became impossible for him to reach even close to his fat pad anymore. Whenever Tyler used the bathroom, it came to the point where he would have to just sit and pray that it went in. His old technique of digging into that deep belly button to shift his mound of a gut had officially been rendered impossible. Tyler couldn’t reach down that far anymore. Tyler sat on the ever-shrinking couch, with his ass cheeks spilling outward on both sides and behind him by a foot, and shoved more food into his deep mouth. His moobs had officially started to hang lower than his elbows, which were now a series of folds of flab. Tyler’s arms were incredibly flabby and even when he raised them over his head, some of the fat would still be weighing down against his torso. That massive belly of his hung down, past his knees as he leaned back. Tyler’s fat feet didn’t fit in normal shoes anymore, and Zach had to measure them to get custom made ones. Tyler was a mound of flab, and he loved every soft, wobbly inch of it. When Zach finally brought the large scale into the living room, Tyler placed his feet down and rose up off the couch. He was officially 710 pounds, and he was not quite done yet though. Tyler had one more goal he wanted to reach– to officially take up all the space on the couch. Zach, after trying to convince him that enough was enough, finally caved in and agreed to help Tyler gain even more weight. To do so, Zach raised the price of their gym membership. He told people it was for “marketing purposes,” and most people thought it was a good idea. Little did they know, it was to stuff Tyler’s fat face with food. It only took a couple weeks before he met that goal. It was hard to increase the frequency of Tyler’s feedings, so instead, he increased the amount he stuffed in at one time. Since his cheeks had bloated up, Tyler found there was more room in his mouth to hold food. As a result, he ate multiple pizza slices at once, instead of one at a time. He also would dump food in by the containers. This included containers of french fries, chicken nuggets, candy, Twinkies, devil dogs, breadsticks, bowls of pasta, you name it – Tyler just dumped it in. It must’ve been the sight to see. His downstairs neighbors hated it though. They had started to leave complaints about an “elephant” walking around, making their ceiling rattle. Tyler used that as more fuel to his fire. He continued to stomp around his apartment like the whale of a man he was, in order to get to his next source of food. The ground would groan and the couch would creak with every little shift of motion. Tyler’s folds and rolls of flab rippled and jiggled as he chewed, burped, hiccupped, scratched, pretty much any type of movement caused him to undulate like a waterbed. Tyler’s arms were extremely heavy and tremendously difficult to move. However, his insatiable desire to eat and feast gave him all the strength Tyler needed. As his hips started to finally touch the armrests of the couch, he called out for Zach. Zach was thrilled. Not only for Tyler, but also for the publicity this would get the two of them and their business. Tyler couldn’t help but smile and think about how much larger he could get. To celebrate, Zach went all out and hired caterers for the evening. That night, Tyler went all in on the food. The caterers pulled in carts, and tables of food, and set them up all around Tyler. They all circled around him, and he would eat from whichever one was in front of his fat mountain range of a body. As Tyler finished off one table, they wheeled the emptied table away, and immediately wheeled in the next one. He just ate and ate and ate all evening, until there was absolutely nothing left. Tyler probably could’ve eaten a little bit more, but his arms were incredibly tired. As the caterers all funneled out of their place, Tyler’s stomach gurgled and growled for more. He rubbed and pat his fat sides with his hands sending tiny ripples reverberating through his gelatinous form. Tyler leaned forward and moaned as he felt his heavy love handles slide against the armrests of the couch. His folds all glided against each other, and the two massive ass cheeks seemed to rise up out of the deep crater they formed in the cushions. He was massive. Zach quickly grabbed the massive scale and placed it right under Tyler’s fat feet. His massive thighs made it hard to keep his feet close enough to stand on the scale. Zach grabbed Tyler’s fat fingers and pulled him up onto his feet. Tyler’s bulky flab slid off of the couch and flopped downward. As he stood up, the scale buzzed. “What…does it…say?” Tyler huffed, out of breath from standing. “It says ‘Error.’ Damn…” Zach muttered and smiled. “What’s the…weight limit?” He wiped the sweat from his brow. “850 Pounds.” Tyler was massive…and he loved it… -THE END-

#maleweightgain #weightgain #muscleguy #SSBHM

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