Ghost
Summary: Do you remember the episode Demonology where we learned of Emily’s past? What if I told you, you were apart of it. After years of silence on her end, you end up meeting her again.
Pairing: Emily Prentiss x Fem!Reader
Prompt: here
Warnings: Cursing | Sadness | Typos
Word Count:
Masterlist
An: Dedicated to my hundredth follower. Ahhhh I'm too hype about this! I also made a slight change to the prompt but everything else is the same :) Anon, I hope you enjoy.
Indignation
The screaming crawls up the walls of her oversized, child hood home to shake her ear drums. The thunder only adds fuel to the fire that is the rage possessed by both Prentiss’ as they continue their screaming match.
“Don’t you dare walk away when I’m talking to you!” Elizabeth’s voice matches the rain. The way she stomps behind her daughter looks almost comical.
“Back off mother.” She mumbles this more to herself than her mother.
She stops walking, planting her feet firmly on the Brazilian Chestnut flooring. “I will not ask you again.” She comes to a stop, takes a breath, and slowly turns to her mother. Not meeting her eyes, of course, because it’d hurt too much to see the hate in her eyes. “Look at me.” The mother growls. She slowly moves to meet her mothers eyes and finds nothing but rage there; energy matched to the thunder and rain outside. “You will not see that-” The derogatory term gets caught up in her throat.
Taking a step towards the elder, “What?” Daring to ask the question to which she already knows the answer. “What do you want to say mother?” Her jaw tightens, a sign that Emily knows all too well. “Spit it out.” Its taking everything in her not to raise her voice again and spew the word out for her mother.
Elizabeth takes a breath of her own before replying. “You are not to see that girl again or so help me, I will make sure she goes back to where she came from.” Before Emily could object, she speaks again. “That is final Emily.” Her voice holds strong, and suddenly the storm ceases its assault.
All is quiet in the Prentiss house yet the tension remains; so thick that you could cut it with a knife.
Disregard
The next morning you arrive to school earlier than usual, but for good reason. Some random college hoodie wrapped loosely around your torso and a dainty neck tucked under it. Your school uniform has never fit you quite right because of how late in the year you transferred, you know...left overs. Phone is going absolutely crazy in your shirt pocket but now isn't the time, you’re looking for somebody. You’re looking for her. Mr. Ricci’s voice can be heard on your left, telling a group of guys its time for class. Emily...where the hell are you?
As the day progresses you still see no sign of the brunette until now. “Emily!” Running up to her you deliver a swift punch to her shoulder. “Where the hell have you been?” When her eyes meet yours they puffy, like she’s been crying. “Em- I-”
“First of all, ouch. Secondly, I can’t right now.” She turns to walk off with her lunch in hand, but you quickly pull her back by her elbow.
“You ‘can’t’ right now? What the hell is wrong with you?” Its taking everything in you not to become overtly emotional. “And where have you been?”
“Y/n I’m sorry but I really can’t right now.” She pulls away from your grip. Leaving you more confused than before.
You scuff at her wording. “You never calls me by my first name...” Its always been her thing, starting with a joke about how she has another friend by the same name as you so she had to call you something else. The next day was the same, avoiding you at all costs.
But it didn’t stop there.
It felt as though you were left on a physical manifestation of ‘read.’ Her name with the red heart emoji attached, did not pop up on your phone for what seemed to be months but in reality it had only been a few weeks. If she were to simply pick up the phone you would have been able to tell her about your unforeseen departure time. Due to sudden changes in international studies, you had to leave and the academy needed their student back. The one of which you exchange places with in January. Tears spring to your eyes at the thought of leaving. Not only are you leaving her, but also leaving this city you got to call home.
Sunny days always seem to appear at the wrong time, your departure day. She’s not here to see you off, hasn’t been around for a while. Can you really blame her? She doesn’t even know you’re leaving because she wont pick up the fucking phone. It doesn’t matter anymore, your time is up and so is her’s. A line of black and white kittens sprint across the cobblestone streets and that right there is what makes you break down in tears. Seeing the delicate kittens run after a mouse while tripping over their own feet. Random yellow flowers peaking through the stone which you’ve never known the actual name of. That one girl in Chem that would bake cookies for the class on Fridays. Your host dad taking you to his favorite café that served an increasing number of Cuban smokers. Going to eat gelato after homeroom with that one guy who would always make Golden Girls references. Then there was Emily, the girl that gave you a dainty gold necklace for valentines day. The girl that got a random jock to stop harassing you. The person whose lap you’d lay in on Saturday mornings at the park, is the same person who randomly started to ignore you. Maybe you could have fixed things with her if you had more time. You were supposed to have until June but suddenly everything shifted and all you were told is that you needed to come home, promptly. You couldn’t wait for her any longer, not even sure why you thought she’d come in the first place. Casting one last glance over your shoulder before stepping into the buzzing airport.
At least meet me half way.
Hereafter
"I don’t think so.” You laugh at your friend’s proposition to set you up on a blind date. “I am absolutely content with the way I choose to live my life.” Shifting a bit on the new couch that hasn’t been broken in, resulting in the stiff cushions.
He lets out this weird scuffing noise. “No you’re not. Remember last weekend when we tried to pull an all-nighter but your sleep deprived brain betrayed you?” At your nonchalant shrug, he continues. “You started rambling about just wanting to find some well educated, fun loving, female in this world full of bureaucratic straight men. Your words, not mine.” You throw a pillow at him but he swiftly doges it. “But you couldn’t have said it better.” These recent years have been a series of unfortunate dates that have ended in you lying about having to leave early for something.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend you should be getting home to?”
“Not tonight, I’m all yours. Apparently she has her knitting circle tonight.”
“That's what you get for dating an older woman.”
“Its a five year age difference! What is wrong with you people?”
You hold your hands up in defense. “Nothing, as long as you’re both legal and she’s good to you, its fine by me.”
“Shut up!” He screeches. “Oh shit, don’t you have a meeting in the morning?”
“Yes sir.” He stands to take your glasses and plates in the kitchen but you object. “Leave it,” At his confused expression, you continue. “Cleaning helps me relax so I figured I’ll wake up early so I can do that and reduce my stress levels by at least ten percent.”
“Dude, you’re seriously weird.”
“Say another bad thing about me and I'm sending you home.”
Throwing him a few pillows from the hallway closet and a comforter just for him to scream, “Its too hot in this cottage core apartment!”
Its not even cottage core themed?? Its just cozy with a plant or two. Am I expected to live in an ice cold home? I feel like he’s just saying this because I’m gay.
Your prepared outfit hands on the back of your bedroom door, mocking you. Making you reconsider the entire thing and simply not go but it feels as though you’d regret it if you didn’t. Maybe not, who knows?
And with that as your final though, you drift off to sleep.
You wake at the amazing time of 6 A.M to see your guest gone with a note on the couch:
I cleaned up the mess from last night and I also did the dishes in your sink. Not sure how u slept through all of that...I made a fruit salad for ur breakfast and a normal one for lunch.
Good luck with your meeting!
And one of those old fashioned emoticons at the bottom corner. Idiot.
You eat the food he left from the fridge, brush your teeth with the news playing in the background, and continue on with the normal morning routine.
Gathering your lunch and the little items you feel like you’d need, phone, charger, paper work, and keys; you know, the works. Finally heading out to your destination with nothing but ambition, you run into a slight problem.
Overlapping breakfast with an old friend of yours. “Hey, babe, I am so sorr-”
“Absolutely not, I don’t want to hear your excuses.” The positive voice rings through the phone like velvet sheets after a cold shower. “You missed our reservation!” Have to admit hearing them whine is pretty entertaining. “You had one job. One!” You guys met some years ago over some random online forum, arguing over some random movie. You don’t talk as much as you’d like but breakfast is always on the menu--mostly in February.
“Quick question, am I allowed to apologize?”
There’s a beat of silence on the other end, “Yes you may, but only in fruit baskets and coffee.”
“I got you, next time though. I’m on my way to something right now.”
“Something...” In comes the teasing undertone. “Does this ‘something’ have a name?”
Bursting into a fit of laughter at what is implied and replying, “Definitely not, its a work thing.”
“Speaking of work, I have to go. Ciao!”
Just in time to end the call, you pull into the designated parking deck from the email. Going through all of the security procedures was hell but blatantly necessary; the rest was gravy. Floating through the rest of the building gave you a slightly stressful feel because of all the men walking around with perfect suits and casting no glances your direction. When the glass doors labeled BAU appear, you take a deep breath and walk in with confidence. Taking in the buzzing sound of agents at work all around you. Agent Hotcher’s office is glaringly obvious: higher up than the rest, perfect overview of the hive, and in direct eye sight of the entryway doors.
Delivering a swift knock to the office door you hear a faint invitation from the inside. Walking in with a smile and straight back you are greeted with a man in a dark navy blue suit and a stoic look to attached to him. It first starts with the small talk of your experience, early life, skill sets, and what not.
“Agent Hotchner, might I speak out of line for a moment.” He gives you a skeptical look before nodding. “I understand the nature of this meeting but I am not completely sure why it was conducted.” His furrowed brown is not a good sign, making you correct your structure a bit. “Right, well,” God his stare is fucking intense. “What I mean to ask is, why am I here?”
That was bold.
“Agent, are you not aware that this is a Career Analysis Assessment?” As it slowly sinks in an O-shape forms with your mouth. Now you feel like a complete idiot in front of this prestigious, tight suited, man. “You were unaware? Its fine if you were,” You let out a sigh at the confirmation. “I have a tendency to write my emails with an excessive amount of four syllable words so one could see where the confusion originated.” You let out a nervous laugh at the realization that this is basically a job interview.
“I see that you’ve spent time studying abroad.” Indicated by the recommendations from your Italian Psychology teacher. “Why not join the CIA?”
“Dare I say, they make me nervous?” He cracks a small, very subtle, smile at the admission.
“What made you want to leave Human Resources?”
“I got tired of analyzing decisions with nothing but dead bodies and messy crimes and having my primal focus be the agents and not the victims or perpetrators. Using what I’ve learned as material for agents in training when I could have prevented it from happening.”
“Well said, but I need to be completely transparent with you.” This can’t be good. “I will admit that I have serious reservations about adding a Human Resources officer to my team.”
Shit let me stop him before this spirals. He thinks I’m a spy. “Sir, with all do respect, I have no intentions of being a bureaucratic spy. I’d also like to point out that I wasn’t that high on the HR totem pole to the point where I had an explicit say on what happens to agents, who is hire, fired, or how they’re trained. I analyzed and compromised while expressing my findings to an unbiased extent. If I wanted to be a spy I would have joined the CIA.” Besides, Head Quarter’s is the one that does all of that internal investigation stuff, not HR.
He doesn’t say anything or make any sudden movements for a good minute. I fucked up. That spy line was too far. “I’d like to offer you a position on this team, so long as you can start immediately.”
“Yes, of course I can! I don’t have much office supplies besides a pen or two and-”
“Its fine,” He stands from his seat and straightens the dark blazer. “I’ll have one of my agents show you around.”
From across the bullpen you spot a familiar blonde. “Oh my god!” The file in her hand falls to the floor. “Its you!” She practically squeals.
“Penelope, I didn’t know you work here.” You give your old friend a tight, unapologetic hug. She said she worked as a tech analysis but you always assumed it was for an activism group or a tech firm, not the FBI out of all things. Despite having such interesting jobs, you never talk about work with each other. She knows you work for the government but not which. Although knowing how good she is at uncovering people’s secrets, there’s a good chance she already knew you work for the FBI too.
“What are you doing here? Like physically here. I thought you were in Florida.”
“I have to get back, can you take care of Agent Y/L/N for me?” Hotchner says before rushing off without an answer.
And there she goes with the snooping. “Actually, I left the Florida office and went to California.”
“Oh.” Her face twists a bit. “And now you’re here?”
“I thought you were the woman behind the curtains, the all knowing.”
“And wonderful!” She points with her perfectly painted finger.
In comes a slim man with a messenger back, making a click in your mind. “Now where have I seen him before...” Turning slightly to follow his trail.
“That’s our resident genius Dr. Spencer Reid.”
Unbelievable. “He’s twelve.” The young agent’s head snaps toward you and Penelope, “Does he have super human hearing too?” She introduces you to the Doctor who is, as expected, socially awkward in many ways. A man named David Rossi of whom you’ve met at least once during a few Bureau seminars; last you heard he had rejoined the BAU after retirement. Jennifer Jareau is gorgeous with a nurturing nature about her, she immediately recognizes your name from exchanged paperwork but that’s about it. The introductions are brief, everyone seems to be busy with their own things. “Penelope your team is kind of small.” You quietly mention to her.
“Oh!” Guess the realization that two people are missing, finally clicks in her head. She starts walking in the direction of a staircase so you automatically follow her. “This is Derek Morgan.” Standing in front of a round table is a tall man with a really toned body. “Derek, this is Agent Y/n L/n from Human Resources.” His eyebrow arches up in suspicion.
“Oh no I’m not here for anything bad, I’ve actual been transferred into the BAU. Working behind a desk and watching as others do the work I can’t, wasn’t working out for me.” Definitely won’t trust me until I save his life or something. “I’ve heard of you, one of the Academy trainers has shown a few videos of you.” He smirks at the implied compliment and finally holds his hand out for you to shake.
“Where’s...” Pen trails while looking around.
“Oh she’s getting coffee.” The darker man points behind himself.
“Who’s getting coffee?”
Reconciliation
Maybe we wouldn’t be so short handed if they sprung for better coffee. Emily thought to herself while stirring the flavorless, dark liquid. What if they attach a coffee shop to the building? Imagine how much money the shop would make off of overworked agents. But then I feel like we’d start developing a true addiction to this stuff. Her thoughts are interrupted by the approach of foot steps. She meets Derek’s figure and smiles at the resident goofball of the BAU. Followed by Penelope’s pink centralized outfit with feathers. Then there’s you, just as beautiful as the last time you saw each other. If not more. Your hair shines amongst the florescent lights, paired with the perfectly tailored outfit and jewelry. The same eyes that would brighten her day as they met. An almost unnoticeable bounce in you walk, same as it were years ago. As you step towards her there is a flash of gold on your wrist that sends a ping to Emily’s heart, its the necklace I gave you in high school.
Intersect
You would have know about Emily’s transfer here from a few years ago, had her paperwork gone through the HR department but apparently it went straight to the top because this is definitely a surprise. Once you realize its actually her you stop dead in your tracks. Can’t be.
“Y/n,” She stutters out your name in disbelief. “What are you doing here?”
“Emily, I work here.” Ripping the band-aid off like this is an every day encounter; seeing your unofficial ex who you were never actually with in the first place but had the same characteristics as a high school couple. Yeah...that.
She also blurted out a ‘no you don’t’ before Garcia interrupted. “How do you two know each other?”
You both snapped your heads to her simultaneously. “We don’t.” Also said that part at the same time.
“Right.” She drags. “I’m sensing some unresolved tension...”
“What are-” Em tries to object.
“So we’re going to go.” The tech analysis grabs the sleeve of the darker man and practically sprints off in the opposite direction. Morgan having a dumbfounded look on his face.
It feels like you’re at a stalemate, who will make the first move. What will the emotions be? Are they going to fly? Because I’d like to throw a few verbal punches her way. Who does that to someone? I thought I was over it but clearly the wound is still open. Great now watch her blame me for X, Y, and Z,
“I’ve missed you.” She barely whispers, sounding a bit broken yet insincere. Its like she’s detaching herself from the narrative. So unexpected that you almost think you’re imagining this. Why would she say that? This is not the Emily you remember.
Anger bubbles up in your throat ready to unleash upon her entirety. Instead of bursting into flames right on the spot, in the middle of your new place of employment you take a deep breath. Words of disbelief dance on your lips before speaking. “You did not.” She tilts her head like a curious puppy. Who am I even talking to?
“What do you mean?” And just like that she’s whisked away by a guy in a suit of whom you do not recognize. Your jaw clinches in a desperate attempt to keep your cool, wondering what the hell is going on.
Realization
Besides the surprise of seeing Emily, your first day went great. Everyone kept checking up on you and you couldn’t tell if it was because they were trying to be friendly, excited to have a new teammate, or nervous of your background. “She used to work for the FBI Human Resources Branch.” You heard the skinny one tell Morgan when they thought you weren’t listening.
JJ and Penelope invited you out for drinks but all you really wanted to do was lay in your bed with a face mask and a bag of chips. Waving a farewell to the blonde women and head to your car, but a few feet away you feel a presence. You quickly loop around in search of the energy with your hand on the top of your gun. “Woah woah.” Emily holds her hands up in surrender.
At the realization of who it is you take a breath and clip your gun back in place. You give her a “what the hell look” before straightening your outfit.
“Were you going to shoot me?”
She’s met with wide eyes from your end. “Maybe?! Who sneaks up on someone with a gun?”
“I didn’t ‘sneak’ up on you.”
“Emily, you wear all black and walk like a feather. What were you expecting?” The buried anger is starting showing through.
“Okay,” She does a weird hand movement that kind of looks like she’s trying to calm you down. “I’m sorry. I just thought we could talk.”
“Talk...” You’re not really following.
“Yes, I’d like to talk.”
“Emily what are you asking? I’m lost.”
She take a moment to figure it out before answering. “For a second chance, I’m asking for another shot.”
You uncross your arms at the admission, letting them lazily fall beside you. “Em- I-” She can’t be asking what I think she is. “Its been years. More than a decade has passed since-” The words suddenly die on your lips
“I know,” And it looks like there’s a slight glimmer in her eyes, implying the presence of suppressed tears. “I’d just like to explain.”
“Explain?” You bite, tasting the bitter flavor of annoyance.
“Yes, I at least owe you that.”
And that’s how you ended up here, with her. In a cozy, minimalistic loft at nine in the afternoon with a coffee table separating the two of you.
“I’m sorry.” Was the first thing to break the silence, and this time it actually sounded sincere. “If I could have explained everything to you back then, I would have.”
You lean forward, closer to her and push the rather large vase off to the side so she has to be vulnerable with you. Nothing to help her hide from herself. At her confused face you lean back in your seat and nod for her to continue.
“My mother was always a difficult woman and although she has gotten better over the years, things were at their worst when she found out how much time I had been spending with you.” The brunette takes a minute before admitting the next part. “She was responsible for your early departure. I tried to stop her, give you more time but she’s relentless.” She waits for your reaction but when met with nothing, she continues. “She threatened me by putting our connection on the line, which in retrospect I now realize was impossible to save. She had already made calls to get you out of the country by the time I could sever what we had. I never wanted to hurt you or end what we shared.”
“And what did we share, Emily?”
Her tongue darts from between her lips, doing that weird little biting thing she’s always done since we’ve known each other. It sparks something in you that you haven't felt in a while. “I think you know. The fact that you still wear the necklace I gave you, bracelet, means you never really forgot.”
“I liked it where I could see it, but Em you could have called, texted even.”
“I couldn’t I was scared. Then after you left I started to distance myself from everyone and everything was really going downhill.”
“How so?”
“I got mixed up with peer pressure and boys.” This doesn’t sound good. “At one point I did anything I could to fit in.”
“What does that mean?” There’s a moment when a tear wells up on one of her eyes, but not dropping. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to.”
“I-” She tries to speak but nothing comes out. “I couldn’t tell my mother and the church wasn’t happy with my actions.” It suddenly dawns on you, like a smack in the face. You want to make her stop and just hold her but this needs to come out. “I couldn’t call you because it would hurt too much. I hated myself at that moment more than I ever have.”
“And you haven’t dated since?”
She sniffles and lets out a little laugh at that. “God no, I’ve dated people but I haven't dated another female since. It felt wrong, like I was replacing you or something.”
“You owe me nothing. You were just trying to protect me and I see that now.”
“I knew better, its been so long and when I heard you joined the academy I-”
“Wait, you knew and didn’t say anything?”
“Y/n I couldn’t bring myself to do anything other that attempt to move on.” Silence fills the room and its not the comforting kind. Its the tense, I need to do something, kind.
“Do you feel anything?” You dare to ask.
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. Were your feelings lost in transit?”
“They froze the day you left, and thawed the day I saw you again. Today.”
“So its not over.”
She appears to contemplate your statement. “No, its not over. We have a chance to start over.”
What now?
.。.:*・゜゚・*★*・ ・*・'・*:..:*・゜゚・*☆*:. .。.:*☆
Welcome to the tag list. Click here to be added or send me an Ask.
@beyondprincess @millipop18 @supercorp8388 @groovygoob @emilyprentisswife @covetedcoven @justaghostmonument @rabid-wild-misfits @nomit16 @afuckingshituniverse @mys2425 @fanfictionfangirl04 @aaron-hotchner187 @lisztomaniacalice @thestrawberrygirl @penelope-garciasbitch @criminalmindsmoodrn @ssacandice-ray @davidrossiismydad @blakes-dictionxry @ssaemxlyprentxss @andreaxxg13 @emilyprentissistoocute @mortallythoughtfulgurl @iamyouknow-yours @aesthbaby
@emilyprentissistoocute @confused-and-really-hungry
If you’d like to be removed or was accidently tagged, shoot me an ask. 3
151 notes
·
View notes
Death Of The Lie || Chapter 28: Firstborn
AUTHORS: @fandom-and-feminism & @fadingcoast
Summary: Odin and his daughter Hela are the perfect conquerors of the universe. The nine realms fall one after the other into their clutch. After Odin takes a second wife and has a son with her, he doesn’t need Hela anymore.
Hela abandons her father and ends up marrying Laufey, a sworn enemy of the Aesir people. Not long after, she becomes pregnant with Laufey’s child.
Odin cannot let that son be born, but against all odds, the boy survives. Odin is forced to bring him back to Asgard to be raised as his own until he could make further use of him.
The half-Jotun-half-Aesir boy grows up to look and act a lot like his mother, which disturbs Odin, and makes him treat the boy horribly.
Odin’s lies are deep and complex, but one day the boy will find out the truth about everything he is.
PAIRING: Multi
RATING: Teen
MASTERLIST
Feedback is always appreciated and reblogs are encouraged!!
.-
Chapter 28: Firstborn
The throne room was in ruins. Massive pieces of plaster littered the ground, forcing Thor to step over several of them as he looked around. Dust scattered around his feet with each step, the eerie silence broken only by the occasional clamor outside the castle walls. A piece of his own face looking at him made a shiver run down his spine.
Staring up at the ceiling, the images of war and bloodshed, slavery and death, made his stomach churn. Hela and Odin side by side. The king with his spear, Hela raising Mjolnir over her head. The king and his firstborn riding into battle, slaves building the very castle he was in right now. Images of a bygone era of which he knew nothing but what he had been told by Odin.
It disgusted him. Not only had his father lied to him about Hela’s existence, but about everything they did together. Everything they destroyed. These weren’t images of battles against enemies. This was slaughter. Nothing noble or glorious about it. The taste of bile burned his throat as he imagined just how many innocent people had to die for Odin to build his empire.
It was clear to Thor that Hela would want to continue this bloodshed. The evidence lay before his eyes, in a mural of death. There was a reason why his father had banished and imprisoned her. If he was to right his father’s mistakes, he had to start with the biggest one.
I can’t let her sit on the throne of Asgard.
Thor approached the throne, seeing it in a new light. His whole life he had known he would ascend to it, it was promised to him the moment he was born. He remembered looking at it when he was a little kid, how big it was, how big Odin seemed to be when sitting on it. Now it was a symbol of his own father’s tyranny, and it nearly made him sick to think about claiming it. But he was left with no choice. He gripped Gungnir with a shaking hand and took a deep breath before sitting on the throne.
A low rumble of thunder reverberated through the palace, and it was the first thing Hela and Loki felt when they appeared in his chambers.
Thor.
Conflicting thoughts warred in Loki’s head. On one hand he was relieved that Thor had survived, but if there was one thing he knew about his brother, it was that he wouldn’t give up the throne without a fight.
Forestalling whatever Hela might do, Loki stood in front of her.
“Let me go talk to him.”
“No,” Hela said. She attempted to push Loki aside but he stood his ground. “This is my battle. You’ve no need to interfere.”
“Please,” Loki implored her. “He has to know the truth.”
Hela smiled at her son. “Do you truly think knowing the truth will convince him to step down?”
Loki swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Thor wasn’t the one to listen before striking. Even if he did give Hela the time to explain, her words likely wouldn’t mean anything to him. If a fight started, it wouldn’t end until one of them was cold on the floor.
Once again, he would have to play mediator.
“Just…” Loki sighed, knowing full well that soon he’d have to make a choice between his brother and his own mother. And if he was honest with himself, he wasn’t certain who he would choose. “I only ask that you don’t attack him unless he attacks you.”
Hela considered this for a moment and nodded. “I suppose that’s fair enough, it’d be a shame to have to kill him.”
As they neared the throne room, Loki could sense a drastic surge of magic coming from his mother, likely the result of her strong connection to Asgard’s power. She walked taller, with a more commanding stride and a magical aura that Loki could feel crawling across his skin. At her full strength like this, she could easily collapse the castle if she engaged Thor in a fight.
The air in the hallway directly before the throne room carried the smell and taste of a thunderstorm, thick and metallic and all too familiar. Loki nearly froze when he came to a dangerous conclusion. Thor had possession of the King’s spear, Gungnir. Which meant only one thing.
Thor’s power had grown as well.
“Sister.”
It didn’t surprise Loki that Thor knew of their presence. Smiling, Hela walked closer to Thor, her palms facing him to show she was unarmed. Thor stared only at her, as though Loki wasn’t less than a step behind her.
“I see that you managed to find your way home, princeling,” Hela sneered, stepping over the pieces of plaster as she walked. “Like what you see?” She gestured towards the paintings on the ceiling.
Thor gulped hard. He had hardly looked away from the image of Hela holding Mjolnir since he sat on the throne. Again his eyes wandered back up of their own volition, betraying his thoughts.
“Ah. Mjolnir.” Hela followed Thor’s gaze and frowned at the mural in disgust. “Odin must have told you you were worthy. He said the same thing to me.” Thor remained silent but his grip on the spear tightened. “Worthy merely meant to be useful to Odin, following in his steps of course. I did, for a while.”
Thor stared at Hela, his fingers gripping Gungnir until his knuckles turned white.
“Odin, as Bor before him, drowned entire civilizations in blood and tears. Stole their gold, stole their people.” Hela advanced slowly towards the throne, never taking her eyes off Thor. “How do you think this very palace was built?” She pointed up towards the thousands of slaves depicted on the ceiling.
Thor shook his head. “I understand why you’re angry. You are my older sister, after all, and you have a claim to the throne. But if you wish to continue what our father stopped, I can’t let you sit on it.”
Hela laughed coldly and shook her head. “I see our father didn’t spare you the lies.”
Thor clenched his jaw, casting his eyes around the room. Briefly he looked over at Loki, then back at Hela. “That’s in the past.”
“That won’t give me my life back!” Hela swung her right arm out to her side and a jagged sword appeared in her hand. For a second, her mind traveled to the last time she had been in that room, in that same position talking to the King. The day her life was ruined. “You remind me too much of him. Step down or I’ll make you.”
Hela pointed her sword towards Thor, waiting for his reaction, sizing him up. Thor tensed, posed to jump at less than a second’s warning. Hela noted that he had the advantage of the throne’s height, and knew she had to either lure him off of it or get close enough for the difference not to matter.
Extending her other arm, she conjured another long jagged sword. The split second that Thor was distracted by it was enough time for Hela to swing her sword back over her shoulder and spin around, releasing the weapon towards Thor, who had to roll off the throne to avoid it. The sword wedged deep in the golden backrest.
When Thor looked up again, Hela was right above him, bringing her sword down and ready to split him in half. Thor grabbed Gungnir and held it over his head. Sword clashed against spear, the clang of metal on metal reverberating around the room as brother and sister dared the other to take the next strike.
Hela brought the other sword beneath the end of the spear and swung it upward, pulling it out of Thor’s grip and throwing it behind her. Gungnir slid across the floor and clattered at Loki’s feet. Loki looked down at the spear, stunned into silence and frozen into place, unable to do anything but watch.
Before Thor had a chance to react, Hela’s hand was around his throat. She leaned up from the floor and slammed Thor into the nearest wall with a wicked chuckle.
“Wait!” Loki called, slowly approaching Hela. Thor cut his eyes at Loki as he struggled to break free. “He’s unarmed. This is your chance to tell him the truth and spill no more blood.”
Hela didn’t take her eyes off of Thor, but the grip on the sword in her free hand slacked until it fell to the floor. “Stay out of this,” she hissed at Loki, and she raised her palm in warning. “Or I’ll make you.”
Loki took a step forward and immediately met powerful resistance. Hela had cast a shield around herself and Thor. Thor’s feet were no longer touching the ground as he uselessly clawed at Hela’s arm, trying to break free, his face beginning to take on a purple hue.
“Please!” Loki insisted. “He knows nothing of what you’ve told me. What Asgard has hidden from us all. He must know!”
But Hela would not listen. Having Thor this close only made her resentment grow. Had Odin not sired Thor, her whole life would have not gone down the path it did. His birth was the catalyst behind her banishment, behind Odin forsaking her. A fresh mind to twist to his will when I would no longer obey. To his credit, Odin had done a much better job with Thor.
The massacre of Jotunheim, a thousand years of imprisonment, the theft of her own child and all the misery Odin put Loki through.
Everything had been because of Thor.
She didn’t need him, she had no reason to keep him alive. In fact, alive he was a threat more than he was an asset.
“Odin destroyed my life, and yours, because of him.” Hela spoke to Loki again, but her eyes never left Thor’s. “I will repay the favor and do the same to his golden child.”
With a powerful blast of magic, Hela sent Loki out of the throne room and locked the doors. Try as he might, Loki could not counteract Hela’s seidr. He could not open the doors, he could not teleport inside, and he knew any weapon he could conjure would be useless against the gold and steel. Thor would have to fend for himself against an enemy he didn’t know how to deal with.
Inside the throne room, Hela put her jagged necrosword to Thor’s throat, right above where her hand was crushing his windpipe.
“Send my regards to the All-Father. I hope you both enjoy watching me take his place.”
Thor closed his eyes and gathered what strength still remained within him. Tendrils of lightning sparked from his hands and he managed to blast Hela backwards. It was a small shock, but it bought him enough time. He didn’t have time to recover, and rolled over to grab Gungnir once again.
Just in time, as a necrosword was already coming down toward his head. He blocked the blow with the spear and spun it towards Hela, sending a blast that hit her straight on the abdomen and pushed her back several feet.
Thor staggered to his feet and braced himself. Gripping Gungnir with both hands he felt the spear come alive, giving him strength. Hela might have been Odin’s firstborn, but secrets or not, Thor was Odin’s chosen one. Gungnir would protect him.
Hela stood before him, a jagged necrosword on each hand. Her attacks were fast and light, as if she was performing a dance around him, and Thor could barely keep up. It took all his energy but he blocked and parried her blows with the spear, reflexes on point to dodge her attacks. His lighting helped, but as Hela grew more and more impatient, Thor quickly realized this was a battle he wouldn’t win. He had to think of something else.
Hela cornered Thor on a pillar, necroswords mere inches from his throat, stopped only by Gungnir in between them, preventing Hela from closing them around his neck.
“Yield, little princeling, and your death will be swift and painless.”
Her swords slipped further close, biting the skin of Thor’s neck with a rush of searing pain. A thin trickle of blood ran down to his clavicle. Thor closed his eyes and took a deep breath, when something occurred to him.
She draws her strength from Asgard.
Asgard is not a place.
You are a destroyer, son of Odin. Heimdall’s yellow gaze bore in Thor’s eyes. You will bring about Ragnarok. You will destroy us all and save us all.
Ragnarok.
The Skull of Surtur.
With an anguished cry, Thor summoned a storm. Static filled the hall, making the metallic structures crackle and sparkle. A blinding flash of light exploded inside the throne room, and the sonic boom of the thunder that followed sent Hela flying to the dais. The doors were blasted off their hinges and the palace shook to its foundations.
Stumbling to his feet, a disoriented Thor sprinted out the throne room. Loki was just getting from under the debris when he saw Thor. Conflicted, he decided to follow him, wondering about his brother’s plan. Why was Thor going to the vaults? When he got to the door, he saw Thor placing Surtur’s crown on top of the Eternal Flame and everything made sense. Thor planned to destroy Asgard, and Hela with it.
“By the power of the eternal flame, you are reborn.” Thor recited.
“Do you have any idea of what you’ve done?!” Loki asked, stunned.
Thor didn’t answer. Instead, he grabbed Loki’s clothes and slammed him against the nearest pillar.
“Make your choice, Loki. Ragnarok will be unleashed and Asgard destroyed.” Thor’s voice was quivering, as he found no joy in the decision he had to make. “You either come with me, or you stay and die with your mother.”
Loki gulped hard, and clenched his jaw. “Father taught you well if you’d rather destroy Asgard than to yield to the truth,” he spat.
Thor growled loudly with a deep disappointment written on his face. He threw Loki to the floor and ran out of the vaults.
Loki turned to watch the crown of Surtur. The flames engulfing the metal sparked the crown into life. It was impossible to do anything about it, no matter how powerful his seidr was. He could not stay to watch Surtur be reborn, he had to get Hela out of Asgard.
Back in the throne room, Hela was slowly gaining focus again after bashing her head on the throne’s steps. The first thing she saw was Loki sliding to the floor by her side.
“Thor has unleashed Surtur,” he said. “We don’t have time. We must go.”
To Loki’s surprise, Hela laughed as she slowly sat up to regain her bearings. The rumbling of the floor and the harsh scent of sulfur in the air didn’t seem to phase her. Finally she rose to her feet, her smile stretched unnaturally wide, and summoned yet another necrosword to her hand.
Loki’s heart sank, even in his panic. “You plan to fight him.”
“It is my duty to protect Asgard,” she simply said. “You must go.”
Loki shook his head. “I don’t want to leave you. You have to come with me.”
“Loptr,” Hela raised her hand as if she was going to touch Loki’s face, hesitating at the last moment. “I will always be grateful for these past few days. It might not have been much, but it was enough.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Oh, my son.” For the first time, Hela’s smile was not hard or forced. It was probably the first genuine smile Loki had seen on her. “You know the truth now, the whole truth. That will have to be enough.”
Loki clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. He knew if Surtur succeeded in destroying Asgard, Hela would die with it. And Hela knew it too. Part of him refused to lose what he had found.
Loki cupped Hela’s face with his hands and touched her forehead with his. “Thank you.”
Hela returned the gesture, her cold fingers trembling against Loki’s face.
“Go.”
Loki reluctantly took a step back and closed his eyes. He teleported to the rainbow bridge, where Thor and Heimdall were guiding the people on board a strange cruiser. He summoned a long cape and disguised himself to blend with the last group of Asgardians getting on board so he wouldn’t be seen or recognized.
“Heimdall,” Thor said, still staring at the city gates. “Where is he?”
“I cannot see him,” Heimdall answered. “Hela is the only one who remains inside the castle.”
A growing rumbling sound shook the ground, and the crystal beneath their feet began to crack. They had to leave. Thor clenched his fists and walked backwards to the door, as the last to board the cruiser.
Quietly, Loki made his way through the refugees, trying to keep a low profile. The cruiser was already airborne and soaring away from Asgard, but the echoes of the battle being held on land could be heard. And felt, as the cruiser jolted with each wave of sound that reached it.
Most of the Asgardians had gathered in a wide hall on one side of the cruiser, and watched the fight below through a massive glass pane. Thor was standing right in the center, body tense and jaw clenched. Eyes full of tears he could not yet spill.
Loki stood to the side, still hidden. In the distance he could see a small wisp of green light that he knew was Hela fighting the reborn fire giant that was Surtur. Several spikes pierced Surtur’s body, but they did little to slow him down. His obsidian sword slashed back and forth, tearing the golden palace to pieces. The fire that emanated from his feet spread unchallenged throughout the whole land, scorching forests, rivers, and mountains, and leaving behind rivers of molten rock.
A huge lance pierced Surtur’s neck, and his pained bellow was heard even in the cruiser. Loki allowed himself to have hope for one second, but then he saw Surtur raise his sword over his head and bring it down right into the crystalline heart of the realm, destroying the very thing that kept the land alive.
Every single asgardian felt it in their chest. Some even fell to their knees and silently cried. Loki saw the flickering green light of Hela’s seidr put up one last fight. Yet another huge lance was thrust through Surtur’s chest. With his mission accomplished, the giant didn’t fight back, and his body started to disintegrate into ash, raining down the blackened dead terrain.
A tight knot formed in Loki’s stomach when the green light died down.
The Realm Eternal was no more.
.-
<< Chapter 27 – Chapter 29 >>
.-
@nikkalia @xalgaliareptx @christy-winchester @silverhart93 @honeybournehippy @unseelie1963 @angryowlet @thelittlestlittlecutiepie @moonlightprime @velvetzybanshee @bengalaas @damalseer
16 notes
·
View notes
Of Kings and Queens: 10
The only thing you hate about this journey is the fact that you don’t have a horse of your own. Riding behind Edmund isn’t the most comfortable experience. Even if his horse Phillip has the smoothest gait you’ve ever experienced.
“How are you doing?” Edmund asks over his shoulder. He doesn’t have to talk too loud since you’re practically plastered to his back, holding on so tightly there’s no way you could slide off.
“I’m alright. How long will it take us to get to Narnia?”
“Maybe two days. We’ll have to spend the night in the woods tonight.”
“That’s alright. The King and I used to go on over night trips when I was younger. He taught me the stars on those trips.”
“Is that where you got the nickname?”
“Partially. I think it was just because I love the stars so much. My father and I bonded over them, it was something that just the two of us did.”
“That sounds really nice. I still don’t know much about the Narnia stars. Lucy has learned them better than I have.”
“I envy your relationship with your siblings.” You admit softly and Edmund hums softly.
“We haven’t always been this way. Do you know much of our story?”
“I don’t. My father kept me away from the violence of the white witch as much as he could. She came to visit once and he hid me away from the palace.”
“Probably because you’re a Daughter of Eve.”
“Will you tell me your story?” Edmund sighs softly then begins to tell you their story.
You didn’t realize how hard it might be for him to do so. The fact that he’d accidentally betrayed his family and caused Aslan to sacrifice himself for Edmund is a humbling story. It also explains why Edmund is known as the Edmund the Just.
“Thank you for telling me.” You say when Edmund finishes talking. He’s quiet for a while then says,
“I hope you know how much Peter cares for you.”
“I care for him too. I’m very grateful for the risks you all are taking to help me.”
“He’s never done anything like this, but Pete has always been protective of the people he cares about so I’m not overly surprised.”
“My king!” A bird swoops down to land on the arm that Edmund offers. “There’s a group of what looks like bandits up ahead.”
“Can we avoid them?”
“Not easily. It’d add another day onto the journey.”
“Orious?”
“Your choice your majesty.” Orious says and you feel Edmund let out a slow breath.
“Are we still in Archenland?” You ask and the bird gives a nod. “They’re never well trained. What does their party consist of?”
“Three fauns, a bear and a dwarf.”
“No horses?”
“No your highness.”
“I say we just barrel through. The bandits of Archenland don’t usually have bows and arrows, the dwarf might but he can only reload so fast.”
“And we have the advantage, we have Wrym, if you’re willing.” Edmund says to the bird who nods.
“I am at your disposal sire.” Wrym says with a nod.
“Let me string and nock an arrow first.” You tell Edmund, “I want to be the one prepared. Can you keep Phillip’s gait this smooth while running?”
“Of course your highness.” Another voice comes and you’re so startled that, had Edmund not stopped you, you’d have fallen off the horse.
“You’re a talking horse!” You cry pausing with your bow in your hand. “Cousin why did you not say anything! I could have walked!”
“You humble me your majesty.” The horse says, “I allow his majesty to ride my back because it is a great honor to be the confidant of the King. I taught him to ride and there is no safer back than mine.”
“If I ride backwards will that be aright?”
“Hold tightly with your legs highness.” Phillip says and you take that as affirmation that you should be just fine to ride backwards. You finish stringing your bow then turn around on Phillip’s back before grabbing an arrow from your quiver at your side.
“Stella put your hood up.” Edmund says and you tug your hood over your hair. “Ready?” He asks as you nock an arrow, then let out a steadying breath.
“Ready.” You call back gripping Phillip tightly with your legs. There’s a slight lurch as Phillip starts at an easy trot then he slowly picks up speed. Wrym circles around then leads the charge, the two mice are on Orious’s back as he thunders along next to you and Edmund who has his sword out and in his hand.
Now the thing about a charging horse is that if you’re not on a charging horse they’re terrifying, no matter what world you’re on. A charging talking horse of Narnia is truly an impressive thing. They’re smarter and much more deadly and honestly, if these bandits even try to stop you with a charging horse they’re idiots. Phillip and Orious build to full runs and your heart is racing as they dash through the woods.
“Just round here.” Wrym says as he flies between Phillip and Orious.
“Only wound if necessary.” Edmund commands, “distract and confuse first.”
“Yes Sire.” The bird says before flying ahead again.
“That goes for everyone. Only attack if necessary.” Your party rounds the corner and as you thunder past you see their flag, two stars, and gasp. Before you know what you’re doing you’ve leapt from Phillip’s back, hit the ground hard and rolled.
“No!” Edmund yells as Phillip winds around. Some of the bandits rush toward you and you stand quickly pulling your hood back from your face. The charging bandits freeze, their weapons still raided then drop quickly to one knee.
“It’s alright! They’re friends!” You tell the Narnian’s before any of them can attack.
“Your Majesty,” one says from his knee, “we were coming to rescue you.”
“On whose orders?” Edmund asks, he’s still on Phillip’s back his sword in his hand.
“His Royal Highness King Lune.”
“Please rise.” The group all rise and you can’t help but be thrilled to recognize some of your brother’s most trusted soldiers. “King Edmund, it is my pleasure to introduce you to my brother’s most trusted. The King’s Guard, Mylos, Ellis, Braum, Nikols and Hylin. King’s Guard, His Royal Highness King Edmund the Just of Narnia and his trusted. Orious, Wrym, Phillip, Tillia and Quono.” You say introducing each in turn.
“We are at your disposal your Highness.” Ellis says and you nod.
“King Edmund, a word.” You say before moving away. He dismounts before following you. “I’d like them to come with us.”
“You trust them.”
“They’re basically the most trusted soldiers in my brother’s army. If he sent them now he had a good reason why and I think they’ll be able to tell us what that is.”
“Alright. Let me send word to Peter.”
Tag list:
@lumar014 @dutch-girl @justnerdystuffs @onebigolemess @yeeticheep @samarcher79 @aasthapiplani @burningmusicmachine @bloodangelballerina @thesleepyhermit @dame-doctor @princess-is-writing @bibbitybobbitypan
40 notes
·
View notes
Superhero/villain AU - Baby Daddy Drama
It’s been a while since I’ve posted a ficlet! I’ve been busy, haven’t had time to write up ficlets. But I have a bit of a break right now, and since I won’t be posting the next chapter of Recoil until tomorrow (I decided I needed to edit it more), here’s some stuff I wrote up today. I’ve danced around Tate’s role in the Superhero/villain AU, mostly because I couldn’t figure out the circumstances behind how he comes to be. But I finally figured it out, so behold! Tate McGucket’s origin story.
(Btw, I forgot to mention, but like in most of my nonsense, Fidds is trans in this)
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“They’re down,” Stan said, walking into the living room. Ford looked up from his book.
“Good. That took a bit longer than usual.”
“Eh.” Stan joined Ford on the couch. “Thanks for letting us chill at your place for a while.”
“No problem. May I ask why, though?”
“Fidds had a baby today,” Stan said casually. Ford’s eyes widened. “Angie went to go see him and the baby, but we figured that we’d wait a couple days before the girls met their new cousin. They can be hell on wheels, after all.” Ford chuckled.
“That’s an apt descriptor of them, yes.” Stan’s cellphone dinged. He dug it out of his pocket. “Is that an update from Angie?”
“Yep.” Stan grinned at his phone. “And a picture. Aw, that’s a cute kid. Not as cute as the girls, y’know, but still. Pretty damn-” His phone chimed again. Stan’s face went slack.
“Stan?” Ford asked, after a few moments passed in silence.
“Shit,” Stan whispered. He looked up at Ford. “Ford…”
“Yes?”
“You- uh- nine months ago, you and Fidds didn’t-” Stan rubbed his face. Ford felt dread begin to build in his gut. “You guys didn’t knock boots or something, did you?”
“Wh- my sexual history is none of your concern,” Ford blustered, trying to mask his growing unease. Stan pinched the bridge of his nose.
“No, I think it is right now. Fidds’ kid has twelve fingers.” A heavy weight settled in Ford’s stomach.
“Pardon?” he asked. Stan silently handed him his phone. Ford looked down at the messages Angie had sent. The first was a picture of a newborn swaddled in a white blanket, with a large nose like Fiddleford’s and thick, dark brown hair. Immediately after the picture was a text.
“Tate here has twelve fingers…” Stan’s phone chimed and buzzed as another text arrived from Angie. “Fidds won’t say who the other parent is, but I don’t need your mom’s power to figure it out. You need to talk to Ford right away.” Ford swallowed and returned Stan’s phone.
“I didn’t even realize he was expecting. He didn’t tell me.”
“Why? He told everyone else.”
“I- when we-” Ford looked away, feeling a flush beginning to creep onto his face. “I was very…emotionally vulnerable that night. Maybe he was worried about how I’d react.” Stan was silent. “As for why he won’t tell anyone outright who helped to- to conceive-”
“Seems pretty dumb, since it’s obvious,” Stan muttered.
“I assume Lute is there?”
“…Yeah.”
“He probably wants to spare Lute’s feelings.” Ford looked at Stan again. Stan rubbed his face. “I mean…”
“Okay, yeah, you and Lute used to date, which is…really awkward for all this, but Lute’s not an idiot, and Fidds knows that. Lute can figure it out. Why the hell would he keep his mouth shut when it’s this obvious?” A strange look crossed Stan’s face. “…Ford.”
“Yes?”
“When did you and Lute break up?” Stan asked in a dangerous tone.
“…Nine months ago.”
“Son of a-” Stan put his head in his hands. “Please tell me that what I’m thinking is wrong. Please tell me you didn’t rebound from my brother-in-law by sleeping with one of my other brothers-in-law.”
“If I was good at lying, I would,” Ford said softly. Stan let out a loud groan. “Look-”
“Okay, how soon after the breakup did you two sleep together?” Stan interrupted. Ford was silent. “Stanford.”
“That night.”
“That night?!” Stan whipped his head up to stare at Ford. “Holy fucking shit, really? While Lute was crying over the breakup, sitting on my couch and eating my ice cream, you were banging his older brother? Son of a bitch, Sixer, the McGuckets aren’t the only family with twiggy, big-nosed farm boys!”
“I- Fiddleford was visiting, we were reminiscing about our college days, and-” Ford looked down at his book, still open on his lap. “Even though Lute and I parted on amicable terms, I was still emotionally vulnerable. Fiddleford offered me comfort and one thing led to another and-”
“You do realize he’s gonna kill you, right?” Stan asked flatly. “The day you two broke up, you slept with his brother. And you didn’t just sleep with his brother, you got his brother pregnant!”
“I didn’t know about that last part!” Ford snapped, slamming his book shut.
“That doesn’t make the rest of it hunky-dory!” Stan shot back.
“You’re not exactly one to criticize me for who I sleep with!”
“God fucking-” Stan ran a hand through his hair, which was beginning to smoke. “You are not gonna bring me and Angie into this! We made a shitty decision, yeah, but it wasn’t half as shitty as yours!”
“You were archnemeses!”
“You slept with your ex-boyfriend’s older brother the day you broke up!” Stan thundered. He shook his head. “God, my three-year-old daughters can tell right from wrong, but I need to explain to you why what you did was bad?”
“I just- I don’t hear any of this vitriol being sent Fiddleford’s direction,” Ford stammered. He could feel himself running out of steam, guilt beginning to replace his rage.
“Two things. First, he’s not fucking here. Second, he just had a baby. I’ll wait for him to be out of the damn hospital before I yell at him.”
“How considerate,” Ford muttered. Stan’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t get cute with me.” He jabbed a finger at Ford’s chest. Ford winced. Stan was worked up enough that his powers were emerging; the jab felt like it was from a red-hot fire poker. “You’re the one that fucked up here. You couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough for the dust to settle from your breakup. You and Fidds. Lute’s not gonna be happy about this.”
“You’re not going to tell him, are you?” Ford asked. Stan scowled.
“Hell no. But it doesn’t matter. Underneath that blustery, overprotective twink exterior, Lute’s just as smart as Angie and Fidds. He’ll be able to figure it out. And he’s gonna be hurt.” Ford felt his chest ache. “He’s gonna be hurt that the ex-boyfriend he loved so much and parted on such good terms with slept with his brother. And he’s gonna be hurt that his brother – the one he’s stood up for his whole life – would sleep with his ex-boyfriend.” Ford slumped against the couch. “He’s gonna use that anger of his to hide how much this whole thing hurts him. He was so damned excited to have a new nephew to spoil, and now he knows how that nephew was made.” Stan looked away. “Lute and I might have started off rough, but we’re good now. I’m not gonna be on your side this time.” Stan stood up. “I’m gonna take the girls and head home.”
“But you just got them to nap.”
“I don’t wanna be anywhere near you when Lute comes to your door demanding answers,” Stan said. His voice was devoid of emotion. “I sure don’t want my kids around.” Stan’s phone chimed again. Stan looked down at it. His face hardened. “Yep.”
“What?” Ford asked weakly. Stan shoved his phone in his pocket.
“Lute figured it out. He’s on his way.”
“How bad-”
“Count yourself lucky that he needs Angie’s help to make tornadoes.” Stan began to head towards the room his daughters were napping in. “You might wanna invest in some scuba gear, though.”
-----
The door opened to reveal Fiddleford, dressed in baggy clothes, a towel tossed over one shoulder. Fiddleford rubbed the bags under his eyes.
“I was expectin’ you at some point,” he said tiredly. Ford swallowed.
“May- may I come in?”
“By all means.” Fiddleford stood to the side, allowing Ford to enter. Ford had visited Fiddleford’s home a few times. Each time, it had been somehow both cluttered and clean; every single one of the many pieces of machinery tucked away on some shelf or in a drawer somewhere. Now, though, it was a mess. Empty boxes for various baby-related items lined the hallway leading to the door. In the far-off living room, Ford could see baby clothes and toys scattered on the floor.
“How- how are you doing?” Ford asked softly as he stepped inside. Fiddleford closed the door behind him with a shaky laugh.
“I’ve got no clue how Stan ‘n Angie managed to deal with two at once.” A shadow fell over Fiddleford’s face. “Then again, no one in the fam’ly was just pretendin’ to be nice when they helped out with Danny ‘n Daisy.”
“What do you mean?”
“My folks are here,” Fiddleford said in a low voice. Ford’s mouth went dry. “They wanted to stop by fer a couple days to help. And…well…once word spread about Tate’s parentage…” Fiddleford trailed off. “They’re goin’ easy on me right now, ‘cause I’m still a bit vulnerable. But once I’m back to normal, I wouldn’t be surprised if my whole garden up and died, or if a freak windstorm dinged up the house.” Fiddleford sighed. “Honestly, I wish they’d be upfront about their frustration. It’d be better than this fake cheerfulness.”
“This seems rather…harsh,” Ford ventured cautiously. Fiddleford slumped against the wall, rubbing his face.
“I wonder if their reactions would be dif’rent if we weren’t a fam’ly of villains. The ‘no snitches, no traitors’ code runs deep. And I’ve betrayed Lute.” Fiddleford’s voice broke. “My own brother.”
“How is he?” Ford asked. Fiddleford shook his head.
“If I knew, I’d tell ya. Within about five minutes of seein’ Tate up close, he stormed out. Haven’t seen him since. He’s- Lute ‘n Angie are awful sim’lar. They struggle to keep their emotions under wraps, ‘specially in the heat of the moment. I get the feelin’ Lute knows he wouldn’t be able to control his powers if he spent time with me or Tate. He might be fine if I got a bit scratched up, but he wouldn’t want Tate to get caught in the crossfire.”
“It doesn’t help that Lute tends to use anger to mask his more vulnerable emotions.”
“No. It doesn’t.” Fiddleford bit his lip. Finally, he let out a long sigh. “Well, no point in delayin’ it. Come meet the lil Tater Tot.” Ford silently followed Fiddleford down the hall and into the living room. Mrs. McGucket sat in a rocking chair, holding a small bundle, while Mr. McGucket was tidying the room. Mr. McGucket looked up at the sound of footsteps. His face twisted.
“You!” he snarled, stomping over to Ford. “Get out!”
“Mr. McGucket, I just-”
“Leave! You broke my son’s heart and then broke it again! Lute’s been devastated by this.” Mr. McGucket shook his head. “Can’t believe I was naïve enough to think that Stan would be the problem of the two of ya.”
“Mr. McGucket-”
“No arguin’, boyo. Yer not welcome in this place. Not after what you’ve done.”
“Pa,” Fiddleford interjected. “This is my home. I let Stanford in. He can stay until I kick him out.” Mr. McGucket glared at Fiddleford. The venom in his expression startled Ford.
“If Lute hears-”
“Mearl,” Mrs. McGucket said, still rocking back and forth in her chair. “Stanford has a right to meet his son.”
“Th-” Ford started.
“Don’t thank me,” Mrs. McGucket said shortly. “Then I’d have to say you were welcome. And you aren’t.” Ford’s body filled with ice at her vicious tone. She got up from the chair and strode over. As she got closer, Ford could feel harsh, dry, hot wind biting where his skin was exposed. Fiddleford looked at his mother, exasperated.
“Ma. Please cut that out.”
“Hmph.” Mrs. McGucket pursed her lips into a straight line, but the wind stopped. “Hold out yer arms.” Ford did as he was told. Mrs. McGucket carefully deposited the bundle she was holding into his arms. Ford felt his heart begin to race. He carefully parted the infant’s bangs to reveal his eyes. Tate stared stoically at him, his eyes brown, rather than Fiddleford’s blue.
“Hello, Tate,” Ford croaked. Mr. and Mrs. McGucket exchanged a frustrated look before turning away and marching out of the room. Ford swallowed the sudden lump in his throat. “Fiddleford, I’m sorry that your parents are-”
“We’re both to blame,” Fiddleford said. He stroked Tate’s cheek with one finger. “I refuse to let ya bear it all on yer own.” His voice was thick with emotion. Ford could only nod, unable to speak, the weight of everything that was happening finally crashing over him in full.
“He’s very- he’s very handsome,” Ford managed, still staring at Tate.
“I agree,” Fiddleford said softly. Tate yawned widely. Despite himself, Ford smiled. He held out a finger. Tate eagerly grabbed it with his hand.
His six-fingered hand. Ford had known Tate had twelve fingers like him, but actually seeing it in person was more than he could bear. He let out a choked sob.
“You all right?” Fiddleford asked. Ford shook his head. “What’s wrong?”
“Well, my ex-boyfriend flooded my house, my sister-in-law refuses to let me in her house, my twin brother is following her lead, and the relationship I built with my sister-in-law’s family is crumbling. And all of it is because of the conception and birth of my son.” Ford closed his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I hoped it wouldn’t be obvious whose he was,” Fiddleford said. “I thought I might be able to get away with no one suspecting a thing.”
“Polydactyly is dominant. There was a 50% chance he’d be like me.”
“And 50% chance he wouldn’t.”
“I just- you were really going to keep me in the dark?” Ford asked softly. “About my son? You expected to raise him as a single parent, never telling me whose he was?”
“I hadn’t planned that far ahead. All’s I planned was keepin’ it a secret from Lute fer a while. Maybe until he’d found himself a new main squeeze.”
“What if I had gotten back together with Lute? What then?”
“I…” Fiddleford looked away. “Like I said. I didn’t plan nearly as far in advance as I should have. I just wanted to keep Lute from gettin’ upset like he did.”
“No matter how long you held off telling him, he would have been upset,” Ford pointed out. Fiddleford sighed.
“Yer right.” He rubbed his forehead. “All I can hope for now is that he cools off a bit. Give the sit’ation some time, and maybe I can build up a relationship with him again.” Tate began to fuss loudly. “He’s prob’ly hungry.”
“Oh.” Ford handed Tate to Fiddleford. “I- I should probably go. I have some work to do at my mom’s place.” Fiddleford cocked his head curiously. “She was the only person willing to take me in while my house gets repaired.”
“Ah.”
“Even still, she’s pissed at me. Stan told her what happened.” Ford rubbed his forehead. “It feels a bit like it’s just me against the world right now. And rightfully so.”
“I’ve been feelin’ the same way m’self,” Fiddleford said softly. He took a hold of Ford’s hand and squeezed it. “Don’t worry. It might take a while, but things’ll blow over soon.”
“Easy enough for you to say. Aerokinesis runs in your family,” Ford said. Fiddleford managed a small smile. On impulse, Ford leaned over to kiss Tate’s forehead. “Goodbye, Tate. I look forward to spending more time with you.” Tate stopped fussing for a moment to stare at him in shock. Fiddleford chuckled softly.
“I think he’s lookin’ forward to it, too.”
24 notes
·
View notes
rated: t
original work: Of Storm and Ash
prompt: “Communication Suddenly Cut Off” + Nerissa & Poseidon
requested by: @kohakhearts
so taylo req’d a while ago “communication suddenly cut off” with their OC’s, Nerissa and Poseidon, an absolutely DYNAMIC sibling duo both of whom I adore, and I was helpless to say no. both chars come from their upcoming novel, Of Storm and Ash, so if you like them, GO CHECK OUT TAYLO’S STUFF MAN it’s super good
also i got to toy with a sci-fi au i’ve been itching to do for a while so y’kno. win-win. enjoy!
- o - o - o -
Illimitable
[Read on AO3]
- o - o - o -
Space is a vast blanket of multi-colored nebulas and galaxies swathed in an endless black embrace. Pockets of suns and stars glitter, rich and tempting in Nerissa’s eyes as she peers up at the expanse, cheek resting against her folded fingers. It seems as if in their tiny little scavenger ship, they, too, are enfolded in it: swallowed up by the greatness of infinity.
Nerissa’s kind of in love with that.
“Hey, Issa?”
With a soft exhale and a lazy, long stretch, Nerissa leans over and presses on the glowing comm button at her right. “How’s it goin’, squirt?”
“I told you not to call me that.”
“And I said I’ll stop calling you that the day you finally hit that growth spurt.” Nerissa grins. “So what, did you need something?”
“Just wondering if Ryes is back yet?”
Nerissa sighs. The button clicks again under her finger. “Negatory, squirt. Sorry.” Then, just as fast, an idea pops into her head. She straightens, slipping her crossed feet down from the wide dashboard. “What, are you getting tired? Wanna switch?”
“Get lost, Issa. I didn’t say that.”
Nerissa drops her fist against the dashboard’s rounded steel edge. “Damn it.”
Poseidon’s laugh on the other end of the comm earns her an extra eye roll. He’s holding open the comm so she can hear him on purpose.
“Who’s the one who drew the short straw, again?”
“I don’t care. I want to see the geodites!”
“There’s not really much to see out here, Issa. You’d be disappointed. I don’t even think I’m going to be able to bring back a full crate. All the geodites I can find aren’t worth very much. They’ve all got common cores.”
“I don’t care.” Nerissa drops her head against the dashboard and groans. “It’d be better than being cooped up on this damn ship waiting for Ryes to get back from the nearest outpost.”
“Haha. That’s your--uh.”
Nerissa waits for a second, and then two, and then leans forward again. Click. “My what?”
Poseidon doesn’t answer.
Click. “You okay, squirt?” Nerissa presses.
“Y-yeah. I just thought I saw something.”
Nerissa’s eyes snap to the radars and the blip-less maps of the asteroid’s surface across the green screens on the left wall. There’s only one cool, blue dot that is Poseidon. “Saw what? There’s still no other signs of life here on our, uh…” She checks the note Ryes had scribbled in his excitement on finding an unclaimed asteroid. “X-11-07. So you’re good.” Safe, she means and knows Poseidon understands. “Gettin’ hungry? Wanna head back?”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
When he doesn’t say anything more, Nerissa gentles her tone. “It’s okay, squirt. When you get here, you can eat some of those nutrition bars you like so much, break a few teeth, and then get back to checkin’ out the geodite deposit. I promise I won’t steal your thunder by switchin’ out with you.”
“I like that they’re crunchy.”
“Those nutrition bars are fuckin’ rocks.” Nerissa tries not to smile.
“You just say that because your teeth are weak.” Poseidon rises to the bait like he always does. “Natural selection is coming for you, Issa.”
“Oh yeah? Consider me terrifi--”
Nerissa cuts herself off the instant Poseidon screams her name.
Her knee bangs against the underside of the dashboard on her way to her feet. The tall coffee mug she had been drinking lazily from bumps to the floor, spilling everywhere. Ryes’ note flutters slowly into the coffee, soaking from the center of itself and spreading outward.
“Poseidon?!” Nerissa’s fingers burn white, jammed as hard as they can be into the comm button. “Poseidon, answer me!”
“I--” Poseidon’s voice, panting and shaking, is still an immense relief to hear. “--Issa, I think the scanners are wrong. There’s definitely something--someone--out here!”
“What makes you say--” Nerissa doesn’t even let herself finish. She knows Ryes would have her head if she left the ship abandoned, but she can’t--she couldn’t--she can’t stand here if Poseidon’s in danger. Surely their mentor would understand that. “--no. Hold that thought. I’m on my way. How far away from the deposit are you?”
Nerissa runs to the side wall for her dangling suit.
“No! Just let me come back to the ship! I’m on my way!”
Of course. Of fucking course he’d say that. Nerissa runs a trembling hand through her hair, pulling it up and out from under the back before she taps the shoulder sensors and the suit squeezes tight to her form, vacuuming shut around her. “You’re out of your fucking mind if you think I’m just going to sit here while you’re out there with--” Nerissa’s eyes dart to the screens still blank and blipless safe for Posiedon’s figure, making a beeline for the ship. “--whatever the hell it is that our scanners aren’t picking up.”
“I think--” Poseidon’s breath fades in and out, heavy and cloudy over the line as he runs. Nerissa listens to it as she suits up. “--I think it’s a person. Human. Maybe otherwise; I don’t know. But…Issa…I get the feeling--”
Nerissa’s helmet clicks into place, locking onto the neck of her suit. There’s a sigh of decompressed air, and then a hub of information lights up around her vision. She hurries to the door. Her fist slams into the button to unlock the decontamination chamber as she switches her comm link to hands-free. “Get the feeling of what, squirt?” she urges the silence to speak, to answer her. “What’s going on? Poseidon!”
There’s a crackle on the other end. Static. Then, oddly distorted speech: “I think there’s more than one!”
When the ship door finally opens, the landing steps don’t even finish extending to the lifeless grey dirt before Nerissa jumps out over them.
Gravity is strange on X-11-07.
Nerissa swears at the slowness of it: the exact contrast to the fierce rabbit’s foot patter of her heart against her ribcage. When her boots hit the ground, she launches herself back up immediately with more force than she intended and flies. The ground passes quickly under her, dips and odd, holey stalactites poking up out of the earth, only to zip by harmlessly out of reach.
Damn. That’s actually kind of cool.
“Poseidon!” she calls; the shout of her own voice reverberates back at her inside the confines of her helmet. “I’m coming!”
The ground rushes up to meet her. Nerissa throws her feet out first and lands at an awkward angle. The grey asteroid rock crunches easily into dust, spraying up quickly and falling slowly. It obscures her vision for a second too long, a second Nerissa doesn’t have time to sit and wait through to see clearly. She jumps again.
“Poseidon!”
“Issa! Issa, get back to the ship!”
“What?!”
“Get back here! Now--”
There’s a harsh, buzzing click.
Then, nothing.
Nerissa lands hard. Dust clouds up, everywhere. Rising immediately. Falling slowly, drifting lazily. The substance is outside of her airtight suit; there are no cracks in her helmet for the asteroid dirt to seep into. And yet all the same, Nerissa does not think she can breathe.
“Poseidon?” she calls and she tries to open the comm link again. And again. And again. But there is nothing there. No buzz and quiet static like she should hear.
The line is dead.
“Poseidon!”
The sound starts behind her, back the way she had come from. It’s odd, traveling through an atmosphere that morphs and dulls sound to an odd, distant roar, but she recognizes the tremble in the ground underneath her boots and the quiet thrum of their scavenger ship’s engines and she turns around as a pulse of wind scatters the cloud of dust into nothing.
Nerissa recognizes, in the distance, so far back from where she has launched herself, the body of their scavenger ship--theirs--as it rises into the sky, thrusters aimed at the ground. It pushes itself up, and up, and up.
That’s what Poseidon was trying to say.
They have the ship.
They have him.
Nerissa pushes herself up again, launches herself. Something frantic makes her scream, gives voice to whatever is building inside her chest and needs to be set free. Needs to get to Poseidon, needs to not be stranded on an unclaimed asteroid in the middle of nowhere. No one knows X-11-07 even fucking exists yet.
When Ryes gets back--
--will he come here? And find Nerissa? Or will he follow the signature of their scavenger ship and find it hijacked and Poseidon--
--is Poseidon okay?
“STOP!” Nerissa screams at the top of her lungs as the ship, now at a safe altitude to turn and begin peeling away from the asteroid, slowly angles its nose towards the sky. The beautiful, kaleidoscopic spread of the universe is winged out above her, abyssal and amazing, and it betrays her.
The thrusters turn and push the ship up. With a bright flare and blast, the ship launches off.
And the void of space accepts it in its embrace.
Nerissa’s boots slowly hit the dirt. The burst of asteroid dust underneath her is smaller, gentler; it rises no further than her knees, juxtaposed entirely to the deep crater that has been punched into her chest.
- o - o - o -
The first few minutes in the following silence is filled with the same thoughts on repeat, over and over again, tumbling through Nerissa’s head in a tight and panicky mess: “What do I do now?” and “I’m all alone. Oh god; I’m all alone. I’m stranded on an asteroid no one even knows exists yet and I’m alone,” and “What if Ryes never comes back?” and “I shouldn’t have fucking left the ship! I’m such an idiot! If I hadn’t left the ship, I could have…”
An hour passes.
Nerissa curls, pressing her forehead into her knees and hoping that if she puts her hands on the back of her helmet, she can trap and bottle her panic and focus it into something helpful.
Like taking inventory, for starters.
All of the suits Ryes had equipped their ship with are built to power through six hours before needing a recharge. If she doesn’t manage to do anything else stupid for the next five, then Nerissa knows she should be able to continue having access to a stable air supply and technology.
But that’s all she has. What about after those five hours? She doesn’t have a ship, now. No Poseidon. No idea who the fuck even--
--no.
Nerissa’s head snaps up.
No.
That’s…not entirely true.
Slowly, Nerissa pushes herself to her feet as her mind scrabbles to replay her and Poseidon’s conversation those precious few moments before he was taken. She assumes he was taken, anyway; that those pursuers chased him. He had been panting over the comm, undoubtedly pushing himself as fast as the gravity of this asteroid would allow.
He had corrected himself, at one point. It wasn’t something chasing him; it was someone.
And if they were able to avoid our ship’s scanners, fooling us into thinking this asteroid was safe, and they know how to fly a scavenger ship, then that means they’re probably sentient. Familiar with technology to some level. But…they used our ship to get off this hunk of rock. And we didn’t see any buildings or structures on the surface of this asteroid before we landed. Ryes said it was unclaimed. Which means…
“Please tell me they have some sort of bunker they left behind,” Nerissa murmurs. That would, at the very least, grant her access to some sort of means of survival. If it was human-friendly. But more importantly, it might give her an idea who--or what--had taken Poseidon and their ship.
And if I can find them…
There’s fire in that thought. Power. It stirs Nerissa into motion, pushes her to move, shoving aside the idle helplessness and despair at her loneliness to find hope: for as big and expansive as it is, the infinite measure of space is not enough to keep her from her little brother.
1 note
·
View note
Dance with Me, Chaton - 23
Read it on A03, WattPad, FF.net
Written for @ladynoirjuly2019
< Previous
23. Blindsided.
The weather was sunny with a few clouds when Adrien and Marinette had entered Lace Rose. When they exited, the rain dribbled. Once they’d reached Gabriel’s office, it poured from the sky like there was no tomorrow. Since neither of them had an umbrella, Adrien covered Marinette with his jacket for the few meters they had to run in the rain, claiming that he could change into any of many clothes from the previous collections his father had in the building so getting wet for him wasn’t an issue.
“I’ll change and then head to my father’s office,” Adrien said as they entered the building. “Then another few fittings and I’ll be free in three or four hours. Can I come to help you? Even if it’s for moral support?”
Marinette chuckled. “I feel like I’ve acquired a shadow, not a boyfriend.”
“Am I too clingy?” He frowned. “I probably am. I can tone it down... It’s just that… we are still together, but I’m already missing you because I know we’ll part soon.”
She reached for his hand and smiled. “You know, puppy eyes look adorable on you.”
“Do they work, though?”
“Maybe? Just a little.”
“So, I can come?”
“I’d love that,” Marinette said. “But it isn’t very professional, and if we want your father to approve of us, we have to keep it purely professional at work.”
“Bummer,” Adrien grumbled, lacing his fingers with Marinette’s. “But we still have a few minutes and an elevator ride until your lunch is over. Can I be unprofessional until then?”
Marinette bit her lip as she mulled it over before relenting a shy smile. “Okay.”
The elevator arrived sooner than Adrien would’ve liked. The ride up was even faster, the door opening at Marinette’s floor way too quickly. Before she exited, Adrien sneaked a kiss to her cheek. She smiled, whispering “I love you” before the door closed again and Adrien was left alone. His knees weak and his heart singing from joy, he closed his eyes. So this is what it felt like to be happy?
Proudly grinning, Adrien entered his father’s office at exactly the appointed time, only to be told that Gabriel was busy.
“Take a seat, Adrien.” Nathalie pointed to a couch by a window. “He’ll see you as soon as he can.”
Adrien obeyed, not being surprised at all. It’d always been like that. Father didn’t make time for him; he squeezed him between his appointments.
Something in his pocket poked him. With a frown, Adrien reached into his pocket and pulled out a slim, crème-coloured box. The necklace he got Marinette. He groaned. How could he forget to give it to her? Unbelievable. But then… it could be his official excuse to drop by after work. Maybe he can even score permission to walk her home… or drive. Nah, walking would allow him to spend more time with Marinette… unless she was tired after a long day, so driving her home would probably be a better option—
“Mme Bustier told me M Agreste wanted to see me?” the woman on his mind asked Nathalie.
Adrien stirred. How did he not notice her walking into the room?
“Yes, he did.” Nathalie nodded towards Adrien. “Take a seat. I’ll let him know you’re here.”
Marinette headed his way. “Hey, stranger. Fancy to see you here.”
Adrien stood up. “Did you miss me already?”
“Not at all,” she teased.
“Mean.”
She giggled. “Well, maybe a little, but I’m here because your father summoned me, not because I’m chasing every opportunity to see you. Don’t get any ideas.”
“Yeah.” He grinned. “I totally believe you. Especially knowing you’ve had a crush on me since forever.”
“Look who’s the meanie here,” Marinette pouted. “And you had the guts to accuse me of being mean to you?”
Adrien chuckled. His sight fell at the box in his hands. “Shall I give you this then, to atone for my sins?”
He offered the box to Marinette. She hesitantly took it and opened. The moment her eyes landed on the ladybug pendant, a muffled gasp escaped her lips.
“Adrien,” she muttered. “It’s gorgeous, but I can’t accept it.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s an expensive gift—”
“And you’re my girlfriend,” he interrupted. “Why can’t I give a necklace to my girlfriend?”
She looked at him, biting her lip. “Adrien, it’s too much.”
“It isn’t. It’s not as expensive as you think.” He took the necklace out of the box and circled around Marinette to stand behind her. A moment later Adrien brushed her hair aside, his fingers lightly glazing over her skin. He placed the necklace around Marinette’s neck, its pendant landing on her chest, and whispered into her ear, “A ladybug for my Ladybug. Fitting? Isn’t it?”
With a swift movement, Adrien closed the clasp at the back, just as clapping thundered through the serenity of the room.
“Congratulations, Adrien!” Gabriel smirked, clapping his hands as he walked closer. “You’ve brought her right to my door and even took care to mark her with a necklace, so there would be no doubt for me. Nice job. I’m impressed.”
Adrien’s blood ran cold. Beside him, Marinette stilled, her body going rigid.
“Nice to meet you, Mlle Ladybug.” Gabriel stood in front of them, his hands behind his back. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng. Interesting. Didn’t expect you to be the one who said my collection was ridiculous and would make me a laughing stock of the entire industry.”
Marinette gulped, her eyes wide as she side-glanced at Adrien.
His body barely functioning, rapid breaths and clenching heart, Adrien still took a step forward to cover at least some of Marinette from Gabriel. “Father, you’ve—”
“Nice job,” Gabriel said, smirking. “You know, finding her would’ve been enough, but I see you’ve enjoyed the challenge, prolonging the chase—” he stepped closer to Marinette, almost leaning in, “—luring our little bug in a false sense of security, and delivering her to me with a bow on her… neck. Impressive.”
Adrien stared at Gabriel in shock. “Father—”
“I always knew you had it in you. You are my son after all.”
As if brought out of her trance, Marinette jerked to Adrien. Her breathing heavy, she stared at him in horror. “You were searching for me on your father’s orders?”
“Now, why would you think so,” Gabriel cut in. “Adrien is fully capable of coming up with his own brilliant ideas. Now, if you don’t mind, Mlle Ladybug, please, step into my office. I’d like to hear more of your opinion on my creative choices.”
Her face pale, Marinette stared at the floor as she silently headed towards Gabriel’s office, not sparing Adrien a glance.
Adrien gasped for air. His head spun, invisible force gripping at his chest. This couldn't be happening! What was even happening? Nothing made sense, but desperate to do at least something, Adrien grabbed Gabriel’s shoulder. “Father, you’ve got it wrong. She isn’t Ladybug.”
Gabriel quirked an eyebrow. “And why would you lie to me, Adrien?”
“I’m not lying—”
Gabriel narrowed his eyes at him, scoffing. “Do you really think I would’ve let you do this on your own? You aren’t competent enough for that yet.”
“You—what did you—”
Gabriel laughed. “You’re such a child still, Adrien. Yes, I’ve been monitoring your every step. Your entire Discord chat history is on my desk.” His tone changed, cold and threatening notes slipping through as Gabriel took a step towards Adrien. “You should consider yourself lucky I’m willing to overlook you hacking into my computer and stealing my private files against you. I get it, everything is worth the finish goal, but if you were spending an insane amount of cash on something like that, at least hire a competent hacker who won’t leave traces. Now, go or you can kiss that insufferable ‘Freedom’ whim of yours goodbye.”
Barely breathing, Adrien stared at Gabriel in shock. How foolish of him. Why would he ever think his father wouldn’t monitor him?
“Father—”
“We’re done here, and I suggest you don’t push your luck, Adrien. If you make me angry, I may just forget about our deal. You wouldn't want that, right?” Gabriel threatened.
Adrien pressed his lips together, clenching his fists. He couldn't push anymore. Father was mad. That was clear as day. If he did, who knew what Gabriel would do. And it wasn’t him who’d just entered his office. That was Marinette. Adrien couldn’t make Gabriel even angrier. For her sake.
He still pleaded, “You promised not to fire her.”
Gabriel scoffed. “Go before I change my mind.”
Adrien stood in his place frozen, silently staring after his father and Marinette until the door behind them closed. His stomach turned. He… Did he just give away his Marinette to his father’s wrath? His eyes to the ground, Adrien groaned. He did. Unintentionally, he’d just betrayed Marinette, and there was nothing he could do at the moment. Interfering now meant she could not only lose her job but be blacklisted from the entire industry. Gabriel was powerful enough to do that. From experience, Adrien knew he would do that if pushed any further.
The air thinned, noises slowly vanishing into background. Adrien felt sick. His head spun. He was disgusting. How could he? Curling in on himself, Adrien tried to grasp that tiny sliver of hope that maybe his father really just wanted to hear Marinette explain her reasoning behind her opinion? Maybe, Adrien was just severely overreacting—Perhaps…
Holding onto his head, Adrien sunk onto the couch. “I’m an idiot.”
Out of nowhere, Nathalie touched his shoulder. “Do you need a glass of water? You look pale.”
“He won’t fire her?” Adrien mumbled, staring at the floor. “Tell me, Nathalie. Will he?”
“I don’t know,” the woman replied, shrugging. “Your father never let me in on his plans regarding this girl.”
“I see,” Adrien echoed. “Then maybe—”
The door swung open, and Marinette walked out, failing to hold back the tears streaming down her face. She was pressing some file to her chest, walking away as fast as she could, not sparing him a glance.
“Marinette!” Adrien got up and followed her. “Marinette, wait!”
“Leave me alone,” she barked. “I don’t want to see you right now.”
“Marinette, wait.” Adrien grabbed her arm, catching up with her. “Marinette, what happened? He promised he won’t fire you.”
Marinette jerked her arm away from him, brushing him off. “Oh, don’t worry! He didn’t fire me.”
“Then what happened?” Adrien tried to reach over to her again, but she flinched away.
Her voice bitter and labored, she asked. “Did you search for Ladybug for your father?”
He stalled. He couldn’t lie to her. Not when he’d already betrayed her so. Even if unintentionally. His eyes falling to the floor, Adrien mumbled, “It’s not so straightforward as it seems. He promised me—”
“Did you or did you not?”
The lump in his throat won’t let him answer. The words had vanished. Something gripped at his chest, squeezing all the air out. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t say it.
She glared at him. “Answer me, Adrien! Did you or did you not search for me for your father?!”
His shoulders slumped, Adrien lowered his head as he whispered. “I did.”
Her lips quivered. He could see her body trembling as she gripped at the file on her chest. Tears streamed down unobstructed and with a shift movement, Marinette ripped the ladybug necklace from her neck and threw it at his feet.
“I’m such an idiot,” she spat. “You never loved me. This all was a game to you. You used me for what? A thrilling pastime? And I… I believed you… I was blindsided by you. I can’t believe I even fell in—” She pressed her lips together and swallowed the rest of the words, growling instead, “Never come near me again.”
Marinette ran.
Adrien couldn’t move. His ears ringing, he couldn’t even look at her vanishing in the distance. Instead, he slumped down to pick up the necklace. The rubies of the ladybug sparkled. The chain was broken. Torn in pieces. Ripped from its owner’s neck.
His heart clenched. Hopelessly, he looked after Marinette, but she wasn’t there anymore. A few people staring at him from their offices hid back into their rooms. He didn’t care. He should probably go back to his father and ask what happened. His legs refused to listen. Clutching the pendant to his chest, Adrien fell to his knees, his vision blurring.
He had one person. One person in this crazy life of his who loved him. Whom he loved more than anything. How could this happen? How could he lose her?
“Get up!” Gabriel’s voice cut from behind. “Don’t embarrass me more than you’ve already done.”
Adrien clenched his teeth together. Don’t embarrass him? He never did! He was a good boy. The perfect son. Always did his best. Excelled in his studies. Didn’t have any friends his father wouldn’t approve of. Worked at the family company ever since he could remember. He sacrificed his life to please his father. For what?
“I said get up, Adrien!” Gabriel barked. “I don’t need you throwing tantrums. I’ve already had enough with you parading about the office with that tramp.”
“What did you do to her?” Adrien seethed through his teeth, not moving an inch.
“I beg your pardon?”
“What did you do to her?” Adrien stood up, spun around, and glared. “What did you do to Marinette?”
“Nothing," Gabriel stated as a matter of fact.
“Liar," Adrien growled. “She came out crying. What did you do to her?”
“Nothing,” Gabriel repeated, his lips pressed thinly together, yet his face emotionless. “I did nothing to her, and if you want to discuss this issue further, I suggest we go to my office.”
“I won’t go anywhere, Father,” Adrien snarled. “What did you do to her? Answer me!”
“And I repeat, I did nothing,” Gabriel responded dismissively. “She quit. Why are you blaming me for that?”
“She what?” Adrien frowned, anger coursing through his veins. “Marinette loved her job. She couldn’t quit unless you threatened her. What did you do?”
“I’ve had enough of this,” Gabriel groaned, rolling his eyes. “You should better ask yourself what did you do to her.”
“Excuse me?”
“She quit because she couldn’t handle the pressure that dating you had brought her." Gabriel’s said, his voice silky smooth, yet every word ripped at Adrien’s heart.
“What are you talking about?” Adrien snarled. “We’ve been dating for less than an hour. What pressure are we talking about?”
Gabriel puffed. “Huh, so even an hour of dating you had proved to be too much for her? Interesting. What did you do to her, Adrien?”
Adrien pressed his lips together. This didn’t make any sense. Marinette was perfectly fine with dating him.
“I guess you were too intimidating for her,” Gabriel continued.
No! That couldn’t be true! She was the cooler one in their duo.
“Or maybe the fame got to her, and she decided that she doesn’t need you anymore?”
What was he talking about? Marinette wasn’t that kind of person.
“Or perhaps she just got bored with you. She played her game, captured a mouse and decided it wasn’t worth it. Who knows? She isn’t any better than any of those friends you’ve brought home before. Forget her, Adrien. Enjoy the freedom you’ve wanted so bad.”
Adrien stared ahead of himself. His breathing ragged, a chill running down his spine, he gripped the necklace in his fist tighter. His walls around, the peeking people, his father, everything around suddenly blurred as he remembered all the friends that suddenly cut their ties with him before their friendships had barely started. There were so many. None of them stayed, all leaving him at the first opportunity. He eventually gave up on finding more, Nino being a rare exception. Father never approved of any of them. Nino never approved of Father and couldn’t care less about him or what he could do. It all clicked.
“You made her…” he whispered as if in a trance. “You made her quit, didn’t you? What did you do? Threatened her?”
Silently, Gabriel walked closer. He fixed Adrien's jacket, shaking off the non-existent dust, tighten Adrien’s tie back to its perfect shape, and fixed his hair.
“Now, don’t say such nonsense,” he said, looking Adrien straight in his eyes. Taking the ladybug pendant from his hands, Gabriel dropped in the nearby trash bin. “Why would I do that? She was a talented designer, and her input was valuable. You’re just upset because she dumped you, so you’re trying to pin the blame on someone else. I understand, and I’ll forgive you. Now, let’s go. You need to calm down.”
Adrien didn’t move. “You’ve made her quit because you didn’t like her dating me, didn’t you? Not even for daring to stand up to you. Why Father?” he whispered. “Why do you hate me so much?”
Gabriel scoffed and leaned closer. “You misunderstood, son. I don’t hate you. I only want what’s best for you and she…she was not what you need. You are an Agreste, Adrien. You need someone who would know how to serve you, how to please you. Not boss you around with her opinions. You’ll understand later.”
Adrien flinched. His stomach violently heaved, leaving a bitter taste in his mouth as Gabriel continued.
“And I’ll keep you safe from everyone unfitting you put your eye on until you get your head out of the gutter and choose the right woman.” Gabriel straightened and turned sideways, ready to depart. “So stop slumming it after lying, entitled gold diggers and look at someone like that Rossi girl, for example. You were wrong about her, by the way. She reached out to me and told me the truth about what happened that day, what was happening for years and how she’d been suffering at the hands of that Dupain-Cheng tramp. I couldn't believe what vain and vile person I was harboring in my walls. So, I've fixed your injustice and rehired Mlle Rossi. She’s starting tomorrow as our newest junior designer. Luckily, we’ve just had an opening, and I suggest you think about inviting her to dinner next week as an apology. But now, be a good boy and go rest, clear your head, and come back when you’re more reasonable.”
Adrien felt sick. Did his father even hear what he was saying? Did he really trust the sweetened lies of a pretty stranger more than the words of his own son? No wonder Marinette couldn't handle Lila back in her school days. How was she handling her up to now was beyond him.
His stomach sunk. Adrien pressed his lips together and clenched his fists to stop himself from saying the words he knew he’d regret later. He needed to get away, or he would either cause a scene or get sick in front of everyone, and he didn't have time for that now.
He had to fix this. He had to find Marinette and explain everything. She couldn’t have gone too far, and if he’d rushed he might have a chance of catching up to her.
_______________________________________________________________________
Next >
24 notes
·
View notes
In Front of the Camera: Part 12
Fandom: Marvel (Cam Guy AU)
Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Your friend and neighbor, Bucky, is a cam guy, but you have no idea until your friend sends you a link to one of his live streams.
Part 11 | Series Masterlist
Bucky sat there staring at the Cam4You website. If he went through with this, then he’d no longer be receiving that large amount of cash flow in a while. He’d have to go out and get a real job instead of working from home. But if that meant there was a possibility that he’d be coming home to you waiting for him, then so be.
“One last time,” he mumbled as he clicked on the ‘Go Live!’ button. The camera light went on and he sighed. He waited for a good amount of people to log onto the livestream. He ran his fingers through his disheveled hair and spoke, “So...I’m leaving. I’m quitting this site.”
Nooo!
What?! Why?!
James, nooo! Please don’t leave us!
Bucky sadly chuckled, “Yeah, uh, this is a shock to you guys, I know, but it has to be done. I-” he wiped away his watery eyes, “I fucked up, guys. I was dating my baby doll for months and it was perfect. She was perfect. And I fucked up. I got tangled in some twisted game with some other woman. I went above and beyond what my job entailed and it resulted in losing the woman who-who captured my heart. She broke up with me and she won’t answer my calls or my texts, nothing.
“Sure, if it wasn’t for this site, we wouldn’t have gotten together in the first place, but now...this whole thing tore us apart...I tore us apart. But I wanna fix this. I wanna get my girl back ‘cause-’cause I love her. She’s made me the happiest I’ve ever been and because I was thinking with my dick instead of my head, I lost her. I need to make this right. I’m leaving and I’m finding a better job, one that doesn’t get me involved in all this.” he gestured to the screen.
“So this is it everyone. I want to thank all of you for the amazing couple of years I spent on here. It was a blast. Now I gotta say “good-bye” to the virtual world and say “hello” to the real world...Good-bye.” Bucky ended the livestream. He went to his account and clicked on the settings. At the very bottom, the cursor hovered over the “delete account” button.
“This is for you, Y/N.” he clicked onto the button along with the ‘Yes, I’m sure’ and the account was gone. No more James Barnes, Cam Guy.
__________________________________________
You wallowed in your bed trying to pay attention the best you could to your tv in front of you. When your phone vibrated, you saw that Wanda had sent you a message.
You unlocked your phone to see that Wanda sent you a link to the cam4you website. Why would she send you this after you told her what happened? You clicked on it and it brought you to Bucky’s sight. It hurt to see him. The wave of emotions crashing down on you. You started to cry as you listened to Bucky speak.
“I fucked up, guys. I was dating my baby doll for months and it was perfect. She was perfect. And I fucked up.” Psh. Understatement of the century.
You continued to listen to him summarize the situation and you tensed when he admitted he loves you. He loves you? If he loves you, why did he lie and cheat? If he loves you, why didn’t he tell you what was going on instead of hiding it from you? Is that really what you do to someone you love?
“Now I gotta say “good-bye” to the virtual world and say “hello” to the real world...Good-bye.” the stream ended, leaving you even more confused.
Knock, knock, knock!
You set your phone down and wrapped your blanket around your body as you padded over to the door. You looked through the peephole to see Bucky standing there.
Knock, knock, knock!
“Y/N, I-I don’t know if you saw the livestream, but-but I’m done. I quit the website. I quit it all. I-I know it’s not much, but it’s the first step to me making it up to you. Well, technically the first step was me blocking Dot and deleting her number. So I guess quitting the website was the second-” the door swung open to reveal you, “-step.” he gulped, “H-Hi.”
You moved to the side, opening the door wider so he could walk in. He entered your apartment and immediately went to sit on your couch.
You closed the door, following him, and sitting on the far side of the couch, “I don’t really know what to say other than you hurt me, Bucky. You took my trust and you stomped all over it. You-” you let out a sob, “you made me feel unwanted. Like I wasn’t good enough.”
Bucky’s hands itched to pull you to him, to hug you and make you feel better, but he lost that right, “Y/N, that’s not what I intended to do. I didn’t intend for any of this to happen.”
“Why did it even happen in the first place, Bucky? I thought you were just going to talk with her online only?”
“She said she’d pay more if I did more so that’s what I did.”
“So you did it because of greed?”
He winced at your harshness, “Yes, and no. Yes because I wanted the money and no, because I was gonna put it towards having a future with you. I’ve had feelings for you for so long. Even before we started dating, I knew you were the one for me.”
“Did you develop feelings for her?”
Bucky looked down at his lap in shame, “A little.” he heard you scoffed and he looked up at you again, “But they couldn’t compare to my feelings for you!”
“You cheated on me, Bucky! If you really meant that you love me, you wouldn’t have done all this!”
“But I did it for you! I did it so when the time comes we’d be financially stable-”
“I don’t care about that, Bucky! I don’t care if we’re poor or rich! All I cared about was you and having you! I didn’t ask for you to try to get as much money as possible! I just wanted you!” you threw your head into your hands as you sobbed, “I really thought I was falling in love with you, Bucky. But now I can’t even look at you without thinking of how much you hurt me.”
Bucky wiped the stray tears from his eyes and nodded, “I understand. But this won’t stop me from loving you. I won’t go back to that site. I’m gonna get a real job and show you that I can be the man you truly deserve.” he stood up and walked over to you. He kissed your head, relishing the feel of your skin against his and the scent of your shampoo one last time.
You didn’t look up as he trudged to the door, pulling it open, and walking out, it softly shutting behind him.
__________________________________________
Bucky sat across the table in Steve and Sharon’s kitchen. While Sharon got Jaime ready for bed, Bucky told Steve everything that happened with him, Dot, and you.
Steve stared at his friend disappointedly, “I’m gonna be honest, Buck, I’m disgusted by you. Y/N was the perfect girl for you and you fucked it up because your dick liked the thrill of some twisted game this woman started! I can’t believe you threw away everything you had for Y/N! You’ve pined for her for so long and you go ahead and fuck it up!”
“I know, Steve! I know! And trust me when I say I hated myself every day since!”
Steve took a swig of his beer and spoke up again, “So you start looking for jobs?”
“Yeah, but there aren’t a lot of people looking for a guy who’s majored in art history.”
“You know, Tony’s opening up a restaurant in a few weeks.”
Bucky shrugged, “Yeah? And?”
“He’s looking for chefs.”
Bucky snorted, “I ain’t no Gordon Ramsay or Bobby Flay, Steve.”
“It’s something though. Just talk to him and see how it goes, okay?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
__________________________________________
“So that’s it? It’s over?” Wanda asks on the phone as you work on making dinner.
You sighed, “Yeah, Wan. It’s over. I can’t take him back after he betrayed my trust like that. It’s-It’s too hard. Too much.”
“So what’re you gonna do now? You guys are neighbors. You can’t avoid each other all the time.”
“I’m already looking for a new apartment. There’s a building two blocks from work. It’d make commute a lot easier and I won’t have to see Bucky.”
“I was really rooting for you two, Y/N.”
“Yeah...me too.”
Part 13
TAGLIST IS CLOSED FOR THIS SERIES.
In Front of the Camera Taglist: @angryschnauzer @papi-chulo-bucky @sad-af1121 @thatawkwardtinyperson @cherrynat @221bshrlocked @liffydaze @acambridge @cinema212 @aw–heck @shaboibucky @yknott81 @hereforsumbucky @marvel-girl01 @spoonfuloffridges @forensicdeer @superpaperclip @thunderous-flower @danis-strange-inferno @bloodiedskirtts @maaryisafangirl @vgurl18 @smallmarvel @m4shtyx @his-paradox @slender--spirit @thebookwormslytherin @imarockstar45 @laheyakins @caramell0w @nattchelle @iamwarrenspeace @songsaboutcupcakes @stevethotgers @keldachick @ughitsmetina @lowkeysebby @swagfancroissantpizza @disco-planet
601 notes
·
View notes
Too Late - Peter Parker
Summary: Y/N gets a letter written by Peter 3 months late. In said letter, he pours his feelings out to Y/N, and Y/N decides she feels the same way. So, instead of responding over text, she runs to him in the pouring rain.
Word Count: 1520
Warnings: Flash ruining EVERYTHING and being annoying.
A/N: Heavily inspired by Love, Rosie. It’s a good book and movie!! Anyway, this fic is a lil bit like Love Me Back. I don’t know if I like it, but here I am posting it. Please let me know what you thought and if you want a part 2. Excuse any errors, I never proofread.
You sipped your tea as the rain pounded against the windows. You loved to sit by your window and just watch the rain fall over Queens. You had 80s music playing in the background, and you found it to be very calm right now.
Then, your serenity was interrupted by a hard knock at the door. You sighed and got up to answer, assuming it was MJ forgetting her jacket or Peter coming over to help study. You opened the door, and to your surprise, it was Flash. You frowned, curious as to why he was here. You prayed he wasn’t going to ask you out again…
“Ummm, can I help you?” You said as he stood there in your apartment hallway.
“Well…” Flash sighed. “Look okay, I shouldn’t have done this but…” His started speaking faster, and you could tell he was nervous. You couldn’t wait to tell Peter and Ned that THE Flash was nervous because of you… “I saw Penis Parker sneak an envelope in your binder. Now, something in an envelope is sketchy to put in my lady’s—”
“I’m not your lady.”
“—binder.” He continued. “So I took it out when he wasn’t looking.”
“What the hell?” Who just takes a letter like that? It was probably just some money he had to pay you back. Flash was creepily possessive of a girl he wasn’t dating, or wasn’t even close to dating.
“I never read it but I decided to give it back to you.” He held out a plain white envelope with Y/N written in Peter’s handwriting on it.
You snatched it away from him. “You’re a weirdo.” You said, glaring at him. “How long have you had this?”
“Three months.” Flash scoffed. “You don’t have to get so worked up about—”
You slammed the door in his face. How annoying…Asshole. You sat back down by your window, your tea slightly less hot now, thanks to Flash. You saw a Flash of lightning outside, and heard thunder a few seconds later. You thought for a few moments before ripping open the envelope that laid in your hands. It was odd of Peter to give you a letter instead of a text, and for a moment, you were terrified of what was inside.
You pushed those thoughts aside, and decided to open it. You pulled out a piece of paper covered in words, and you could see it was long. The font was about 9, it was so tiny… May hated when Peter used too much paper.
You took a breath in, braced yourself, and began reading.
Dear Y/N,
Look, don’t make fun of me for writing a letter. I know it’s nerdy, but I didn’t know how else to get this off my chest. I’m leaving for my decathlon this weekend, which is why I’m writing this letter now. Everything I’ve been thinking and feeling inside are overflowing from this pen. I’m leaving this letter so that you don’t feel pressured to give me an answer in a moment, so you have a lot of time before we each other again. I know you will need to take your time trying to decide the answer to what I’m about to say.
I know you, Y/N. You’re my best friend. I can see it in your eyes when you’re happy or sad, angry & mad… You can never lie to me, because your eyes betray you. I know you more than anyone in the world, maybe better than you know yourself. And I don’t want just any guy to date, because that isn’t what you deserve.
You deserve someone who loves you with his entire heart, and thinks about you every second of the day. Someone who constantly just wondering where you are, what you’re doing, who you’re with, and if your okay. You should be with someone who loves all of especially your flaws. You should be with someone who can make you laugh, and have fun with you and your nerdy movies and 80s music. Someone who should’ve taken a chance to be with you months ago insteading of being afraid to try.
But I’m not afraid anymore, Y/N, and I’m not afraid to try. I want to be with you and I want to be the person who gets to love you. I know it’s crazy and I know it’s a risk. But I love you more than the world, I love the little things you do, your laugh, your smile, the way you care for others…
I understand if you don’t feel the same way about me, and when I come back, we can act like this never happened. I never wrote this letter, and I never poured my heart out. I’d be okay with that, as long as you’re happy. We can still be best friends, and I’ll be okay with knowing that I tried. You don’t have to say anything if you don’t love me that way.
(However, if you do, please tell me.)
Love, Peter.
You blinked, still trying to process. You could feel how much emotion Peter had poured into the letter. You were left breathless, and just sat there with the rain pouring down outside. Peter loved you…
Peter, the boy you had written a secret admirer card for Valentine’s Day every year since seventh grade. Peter, the boy you had gone to the movies with so many times hoping it’d finally be a date. Peter, the boy who (unknowingly) broke your heart when asked another girl to the 8th grade dance. Peter, the boy who you had slowly fallen in love with. He loved you back.
“He loves me back.” You whispered to yourself. You leapt up from the lounger by the window, threw a coat on over your big Star Wars shirt, and slipped your rain boots on. You grabbed your keys, and you were out the door.
The sky was growing darker, and the rain was getting heavier as you ran to Peter’s apartment. You clutched the now-wet paper tightly in your hands. Your hair was soaked now, and your boots weren’t helping much with the rate of the rain was falling. You could feel your soggy socks each time your foot touched the ground.
You turned the corner of the sandwich shop, and the street lights light up the dark and empty road. Thunder roared over your head, and you continued to run as fast as you could. You were almost at Peter’s building now, and could feel your heart beating in your chest.
As you turned the corner, you saw a flash lightning, prompting you to run faster. You were almost there, and you still held the letter in your hand.
When you approached his building, you stood, trying to catch your breath again. You looked up, and you heart continued to beat in your chest. You could feel the butterflies in your stomach as you thought of what you’d say to him.
Peter, I just now got your letter and you have to understand that I couldn’t respond until now. I love you the way you love me, and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that until now. I was afraid just like you were. I can’t stand here another second, tell me you still love me.
You stepped into his building, and sighed at the sight that the elevator was out of order. You ran up the stairs, and cursed that he lived three stories up. Once you reached his door, you softly knocked. You were out of breath.
Peter opened the door and stared at you with wide eyes as you caught your breath. “Sorry, so many stairs…”
“You’re soaking wet! Are you okay Y/N?” Peter said with a concerned look on his face.
“I-I’m fine, I just got to tell you…” You prepared to give him your speech that you thought of earlier. You were afraid, but knowing he was too made you feel better
“Peter hurry up I want to watch the movie! I wanna know if Han’s okay!” You heard someone yell from his apartment. It was a girl’s voice, too childish sounding to be May…
“Sorry.” He mumbled. “It’s Liz, we’re watching The Return of the Jedi. She’s never seen it.”
You felt like he stabbed you in the chest, and your mouth fell open. You felt the tears pool in your eyes, and you felt so stupid for believing for one second… The note fell out of your hand without you noticing. “I’m too late…” You murmured, and then took off down the hallway.
Peter was surprised, and was worried about you… You acted so strange. He picked up the soaked paper you dropped, and it ripped in his hands. He could only make out the smeared words “Love, Peter.” Instantly, he knew it was his letter. There were very few things he’d sign with love.
You were finally home an hour later, soaking wet from the sad rain outside. You sobbed with the rain, and you felt you had lost him. You had him for one second, and then you lost him. All because you were too late.
1K notes
·
View notes
Prompt; Kyoutani and Yahaba being forced to share a bed, sarcasm, bantering, blushing, cuddles, denial etc ensues. (Honestly I just love this trope XD)
HI, HELLO, THANK YOU! I don’t know if this is what you wanted ;___; i tried.
(also i started it like three times and i might develope one of those into a ‘future fic’ thingy because why not, so THANKS)
Here we go
Yahaba is about to die.
If it’s of a heart attack or in the hands of a bloody youkai, he doesn’t know, but if Yahaba has to take another step in this darkness, he’s sure he won’t make it out alive.
“Watari?”
Watari doesn’t answer. Yahaba has lost him some corridors ago, right when the lights had gone out on them. The storm has been raging for hours, now, but its intensity hasn’t decreased on the least. Yahaba’s heart will explode if another lighting flashes on him.
Taking in a sharp breath of courage, Yahaba keeps walking forward. He’s not sure where he is, exactly, but if his memory doesn’t betray him, the next door should have some of Aoba’s players.
Yahaba’s heart is beating out of rhythm by the time he knocks on it, thunder crashing somewhere on his back. There’s sweat running down his spine, no matter the unraged wind hitting the windows. Something cold touches his nape. Yahaba thinks, It’s a breeze, it’s a fucking breeze, it’s a goddamn—
The door opens right when Yahaba’s turning around and a lighting lights up the outside, shaping a shadow that should not be there at all.
Yahaba shrieks so loud he scares himself, and he jumps into the room and into whomever has opened the door with enough strength to throw them both to the ground.
“Close the door! Close the door, close—˝
“Shut up!”
Yahaba’s fingers dig on Kyoutani’s arm, —of course Kyoutani had to be the one to witness Yahaba’s worst panicked moment—, and doesn’t let go even when Kyoutani leans forward and kicks the door closed.
Another thunder resounds around them, and Yahaba can’t hold the little whimper that leaves his lips.
“You scared of storms or what?”
Yahaba frowns and glares at him, (glare might be too nice a word, for Yahaba’s squinting, trying to make out where Kyoutani’s face really is).
“It’s not the storm, I—” don’t tell him you felt something, don’t tell him you felt something, don’t— “There was… something… outside.”
A beat of silence. Then, “Seriously?”
“Don’t mock me.”
“I’m not.” Kyoutani sits beside him and grabs his wrist. “Let go, dammit, you’re gonna make me bleed.”
“There was something,” Yahaba repeats, and there’s panic in his words now. “I felt… I felt it, okay?”
“You’re full of shit.”
Yahaba growls at him. “Yeah? If you’re so sure there’s nothing, let’s go!”
Kyoutani snorts. Yahaba doesn’t see him clearly enough to hit him, although he wants to very much. “This is my room. Don’t wanna step outside for shit, thanks.”
“Oh, so much for the brave stance, huh.”
“I’m not scared,” Kyoutani groans. “Whatcha doing here, anyway?”
“I’m looking for Watari. He got lost when we—”
Another thunder, this time so close Yahaba’s bones clatter. He’s not aware he’s grabbing Kyoutani’s arm and has his nose buried in his shoulder till the echo vanishes and his heartbeat falls into a regular pace.
“You are scared of storms,” Kyoutani says, amused.
“Shut up.”
But this time Kyoutani doesn’t untangle Yahaba’s fingers from his arm, no matter how hard Yahaba’s still holding him. Kyoutani’s pulse is constant under Yahaba’s hand, warm and solid and real.
Yahaba doesn’t want to let go, but the lights are still off, Watari’s still lost, the storm—
“What were you doing outside, then?”
“Trying to find the fuses.”
“Do you even know where they are?”
“Obviously not.”
“That’s pretty dumb, then.”
“What—”
Another lighting, another thunder. Yahaba controls better the sound of pain this time, maybe because Kyoutani’s hand covers Yahaba’s, and Yahaba’s heart skips a beat for reasons not related to the stupid storm.
It’s not fair. Yahaba oughtn’t be feeling safe in a room with Kyoutani, of all people. Not when—
“Scared of storms, scared of ghost, starts something without knowing how the fuck it’s supposed to happen… really, how did you manage to become captain?”
Yahaba snarls. “You little piece of—”
They both see it, this time. Yahaba knows, because Kyoutani’s heart goes from steady to mad crazy in a second under his fingers, his muscles tense and cold on his grip.
It’s just a second, the lighting showing them the shadowed figure of something, —someone— on the door from outside the window, but it’s enough to make Yahaba want to crawl under the tatami and die in piece.
“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—”
“That— What?”
“WE ARE GOING TO DIE!” Yahaba screams, all composure lost, nose buried in Kyoutani’s shoulder. “Oh, god, we are going to die! I knew I shouldn’t have let Watari convince me to book this shitty place!”
“Calm the fuck down.”
“You calm down! We are gonna get murdered!”
Kyoutani grabs Yahaba’s arms and shakes him, but it only makes Yahaba’s panic worsen, because as soon as they turn he can see the window, and what looks like a hanging body right outside. The shriek he lets out probably deafens Kyoutani, but what surely chokes him is the deadly grip Yahaba has now on his neck.
He can’t bear stare at anything, so he closes his eyes and lets Kyoutani’s warmth be the only real thing in his world.
“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”
“Can you fucking calm down?”
“I already told you I can’t!”
“God, you are so fucking annoying.”
Yahaba wants to say, I know that, I know that, you don’t need to remind me, I know I’m annoying and I always yell at you and that you hate me, probably, and that you wish it’d been anyone else who’d stumbled into your room.
But what leaves his mouth is, “I can’t move.”
Yahaba waits a second for the mocking remark, but Kyoutani only sighs deeply and soundly. “I really don’t understand how you made it this far.”
It stings, but Yahaba’s lips are sealed for all he’s worth. He shakes his head, Kyoutani’s groan heavier than any thunder so far.
“You saw it too, though, didn’t you.”
Kyoutani stiffens under Yahaba. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Yahaba wants to yell at him, I’m not crazy! I know you saw!, but a part of him relishes the fact Kyoutani’s not losing his shit, too.
“I need to go find the fuses, but—”
“Pointless. It’s the middle of the night, anyway. If they aren’t asleep, fuck them.”
That brings another question into matter.
“I can’t—”
“Move, yeah. So you say.”
“Stop being so condescending.”
“At least I’m not laughing at you. Be thankful.”
“Thankful!” Yahaba leans back, eyes open. He’s close enough to Kyoutani, they’ve been in the dark long enough that he can see the shape of his nose, the sneer on his lips, the light in his eyes. They are close enough Yahaba can feel his breath. “Oh yes, my big brave ace, you’ve been nothing but helpful.”
“Tone the sarcasm down.”
“You tone it down!”
Maybe Yahaba’s mental capacities aren’t in their best shape, his retorts nothing short of childish and typical of what one would expect of a ten year old. Kyoutani arches an eyebrow, and somehow his hands shift and find Yahaba’s waist.
The blush has nothing to do with that. The raise in his body temperature is just a reaction to the closed room, to the fact they are burning oxygen faster, being this close.
“You feeling better?”
“No!”
“You are nothing but work, you know.”
“I am– Seriously? Says the man who can’t even listen to what I say when we practice.”
“That’s not true. I do listen, I just ignore most of your orders, because they suck.”
“That’s it,” Yahaba growls, a hand on his hip, the other pointing at Kyoutani’s face. “You are reckless and suck at teamwork and you believe your perception of a game is better than anyone else’s.”
“So do you.”
“I am the captain!”
Kyoutani huffs. “And so what? That doesn’t mean you know what’s best for the team all the time, or what are the best plays in every single match.”
That’s true. It hurts, but it is true, although Yahaba has been trying to ignore that same fact since he became captain three months ago, trying to fill the space Oikawa left behind.
“Take that expression off your face,” Kyoutani growls, and Yahaba blinks in surprise. “I’m not attacking you, don’t take it personally.”
“It feels pretty personal.”
“Well, it isn’t.”
“Really? Because when you say—˝
Lighting and thunder, all together, happen three times in a row, with no break in between for Yahaba’s sanity to find any peace. He makes a strangled sound of despair, his hands again on Kyoutani, the only real thing in the world right now, and by the time it passes, he’s sweating as if he’d just played a five sets match.
“Your heart is beating like crazy.”
“I’m not feeling very good right now.”
“Let’s go to bed.”
“I can’t sleep with this storm going on!”
“I’ll sleep with you,” Kyoutani muters, already shifting away from Yahaba’s grip.
“What?”
“You heard me. Bring your ass here, come on.”
“I don’t wanna—˝
But the next thunder has Yahaba on his hands and knees, crawling to the futon in less than a second. Kyoutani’s already there, and he pulls the blanket over their heads, covering them from the darkness, the rain and the light.
They’ll probably have to take it off soon, but Yahaba’s thankful for the heavy air, Kyoutani’s warmth and the protective veil they build around him.
“Thanks.”
Kyoutani shrugs. They are nose to nose, their hands almost brushing. Yahaba’s pinky finger twitches, so close to Kyoutani’s he’s tempted of tangling them, of holding him. It’s dumb. Kyoutani is Yahaba’s main source of frustration, of anger, of hurt. Sometimes, when they play something magic happens and they sync, and they know what the other’s thinking without words, and they just become this tandem of ace and setter, of partners, Yahaba has trouble imagine on his own.
But those times are few and hard to arise. The trick of their happening it’s just a mystery to Yahaba’s eager senses, so he usually ends up mad at Kyoutani for not filling up all his expectations.
“You okay?”
“Am I a bad captain?” Yahaba whispers, the words leaving his lips without his permission. It’s too late to back down now, so he says, “Am I a bad captain to you?”
“What’s with that question?”
“Answer me.”
Kyoutani shifts closer, and their fingers touch. Yahaba’s heart stutters in his chest. All his attention focuses on his hand, on the spot where they are touching, on the skin that could be touching his next.
“I think you’re a good captain, but you need to listen more. You’re not Oikawa, you know.”
“I know,” Yahaba says, hurt, hurt, hurt, because that’s what Kyoutani does, hurt Yahaba with his power, with his presence, with his truths.
“I’m not saying it to be mean,” Kyoutani presses, because he’s a sharp bastard as well. “Not being Oikawa it’s not a bad thing.”
“So you say.”
A thunder echoes around them. Yahaba flinches, unbidden, still scared of the shadows even under the covers of this little world Kyoutani has made for him. Another thunder is crashing over them when Kyoutani says, “Come here”, and grabs Yahaba so his head rests on his arm, his nose in his chest.
Yahaba doesn’t bother hiding his fear, nor does he pretend it to be an accident when his arms cross from his body to Kyoutani’s, circling his waist. A soft hand finds his hair, and brushes it, soothing his fears away.
“Just go to sleep, would you? No point on going to bed if you keep talking bullshit.”
“Fuck you.”
Kyoutani’s muscles move under his palms. He’s so warm. And he smells good, too.
“Kyoutani.”
“Mmmh?”
Yahaba has so many things to say. You are a jerk anyway. This was nice. Did you really not see anything? Please, help me be a better captain. God, you smell so good. Can we do this tomorrow too? Please, please, can you let me sleep with you every night we stay in this awful place? Would that be okay? Would you like that? Do you like me?
Does this mean something to you too?
“What is it?”
“Nothing. Forget it.”
“Just spit it out.”
“No.”
“Goddammit, Yahaba, I swear—”
Another thunder. Yahaba tightens his arms, buries himself in Kyoutani’s body. Their legs tangle. Yahaba maybe whimpers in fear.
“I hate storms.”
“Yeah, I noticed.”
“I can’t sleep, even if—”
“Not enough, huh?”
Yahaba’s too lost to the never stopping fall of thunder after thunder, so loud now it’s as if trees are being crashed by a divine force in this same room. He feels small and meaningless, his mind a chaos of scenarios of death and shadows in walls and scary tales, and so he says, “It’s not enough distraction, okay? I can’t play deaf. I can’t ignore—˝
“God, you are fucking difficult, aren’t you.”
Yahaba means to answer him, —the banter is keeping him sane,— but he has no chance to word anything else because as soon as he leans his head back to growl at Kyoutani, Kyoutani is there, there, there everywhere, and he’s looking at him with enough intensity to make the world just vanish and he—
Yahaba lets himself be kissed, because the roar of his blood in his ears finally quiets the crazy nature around him. He lets himself be kissed a second time because Kyoutani has the most beautiful eyes up close, and a third because Yahaba might have dreamt of kissing Kyoutani more times than he cares to admit.
They are chaste and short and dry, but Yahaba doesn’t care. He wants Kyoutani to keep kissing him, just like this, for the rest of the damn night.
But Kyoutani stops at the fourth time, so red Yahaba knows he’s blushing by how hot his face feels.
“Better, now?”
“No,” Yahaba says, just to piss him off. “Kiss me again.”
“What? No! I was just— I was just distracting you! Shut up, I’m not kissing you again.”
“Fine, then I will.”
Kyoutani lets himself be kissed too, although Yahaba doesn’t pretend to know his reasons. It’s rougher, this time, because Yahaba has little to no self control at this point. Kyoutani’s hands are gentle on Yahaba’s face, and his lips are gentler still, and by the time the storm clears off, Yahaba has memorised Kyoutani’s lips by heart.
It’s funny, when Kyoutani says, “Now you owe me,” as if the little paradise he’s built for Yahaba under his covers were nothing but a one sided favor.
But what really brings a laugh to Yahaba’s lips is when he answers, “Fine. I’ll make it up to you tonight,” and Kyoutani, beat red, chuckles with the softest of expressions, and nods.
97 notes
·
View notes
No Harm 1/?
Characters: Youngjae, Himchan, Zelo, Yongguk, Daehyun
Relationships: Daehyun/Youngjae, Youngjae/Himchan, Yongguk/Himchan
Setting/Genre: Criminals!AU, Bank Robbery, Roommates!Himjae, Humour, Utter Confusion, Youngjae’s been thrown into a mess, Past Relationships,
Length: 2.7k
Summary: Youngjae inadvertently stops a bank robbery, but that isn’t necessarily a good thing. Alternatively: Some heart breaks never heal.
Read on AO3 or below!
If there’s one thing Youngjae has learnt in the past hour, it’s that time was not on his side. It’d been an hour, waiting in line at the bank, and it seemed like he was as close to the clerk’s desk as when he had entered.
His tendency towards frustration only made the situation worse. He couldn’t even bite his nails and relieve himself; the lady behind had chided him once already. She had the same expression his roommate did during his complaints about the habit, and that was enough to scare him.
As he unwillingly relived those moments, his phone buzzed with the name “Himchan” flashing on the screen. Speak of the devil.
Youngjae held the phone away from his ear as he answered.
“You said you’d be here thirty minutes ago! I only had measly toast for breakfast, and I am incredibly hungry and you, sir, are testing my patience. How long are you going to keep me waiting?” screamed the husky voice from the phone.
“Hello to you too,” Youngjae said, glad about the precautions he’d taken.
“I don’t have time for your pleasantries, just tell me where you are or I’m eating without you.” Himchan’s no-nonsense tone wasn’t supposed to amuse Youngjae, but it did anyway.
“I’m still at the bank, this line just won’t move.”
“That’s what you get for being lazy and going in the afternoon. I’ve told you a million times that this bank is empty in the morning but you just won’t list-”
“I don’t have time for your nagging, Himchan.”
“First you ditch me for lunch and now you interrupt me? You’re becoming more of a bother than a brother. I’m hurt.”
Youngjae could hear Himchan’s smile. He reciprocated the smile as he replied, “Go on and eat, I don’t think I’ll be done anytime soon.”
“That bad, huh?”
“Yeah. Even if there was a gun pointed at these people, they probably wouldn’t hurry up- “
It was Youngjae’s turn to be cut off mid sentence, but the perpetrator wasn’t a voice. It was a sound. A loud bang which could only be one thing. A gunshot. His phone fell to the ground, the natural response to the jolt sent through his body.
“PUT YOUR HANDS UP AND GET DOWN ON THE GROUND. ALL OF YOU. NOW.”
Everyone at the bank did as asked. 5 fully armed men weren’t a matter to be trifled with. Youngjae’s heart was thumping as if trying to burst forth from his chest. Beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. His eyes gave away that sharp, clenching feeling of fear building up in his stomach. He could hear faint traces of Himchan’s anxious voice from the phone. How did a monotonous day at the bank turn into this?
The men, who Youngjae presumed were robbers had stationed themselves at different corners. The one that was looming over his head also seemed to notice muffled sounds coming from a discarded phone. He immediately lifted it off the ground and asked, “Whose stupid phone is this?”
Youngjae was in conflict: should he claim it as his? Should he remain silent? However, this crisis was soon resolved with the robber’s next statement. “If no one owns up, I start shooting.”
He couldn’t risk others’ safety. “It-It’s mine,” he croaked out, his voice faltering.
“Get up,” came another imposing command.
Youngjae complied, slowly standing up, arms still raised. His hands mimicked the throbbing of his heart.
“Who were you tryin’ to call? The Police?”
Youngjae lifted his head instantly and quirked out a “No!” The terror on his face suddenly turned into an expression of confusion- the eyes he was dreading to meet didn’t look cold or rowdy. In fact, they looked scared. He hadn’t thought he couldn’t sense more fear than already present in the room, but here in front of him, stood a man shaking in his boots.
The robber’s grip on his gun became weaker as he wriggled backwards. His gaze was fixed on Youngjae’s face, as if slowly becoming cognizant of every single feature. His mind seemed to be assembling some sort of puzzle. “Yo, Tiger, you gotta come here man,” the man called for his associate, his voice getting increasingly nervous with every syllable.
‘Tiger’ walked up to them. He was the one who had announced the troop’s grand arrival. Though the robber who was (somewhat, at this point) holding a gun to Youngjae's head was far taller, Tiger had the more commanding presence. He looked stone cold and emotion less. Well, that was, until he saw Youngjae.
The same expressions of fright were now plastered on Tiger’s face. But he betrayed his iciness only for a couple of seconds before regaining composure. He immediately turned around and gave a firm command, “We’ve gotta get out of here. NOW. MOVE.” His deep voice resonated.
The other associates didn’t seem to question him, and they promptly stopped everything they were doing and made for the door with supreme haste. As they headed out, Tiger gave Youngjae one last look, and with that, they were gone.
Each person in the room was reeling from shock at what suddenly turned into an attempted robbery. Youngjae still hadn’t put his hands down. What just happened? Why were they so nervous the moment they saw him? How did they know him? They sure didn’t look familiar to him. Why did they flee? A thousand more questions plagued Youngjae and his thoughts raced at the speed of light. His heart was still thumping, now more erratic.
He was pulled back to the real world when a thundering applause broke out as people rejoiced in their safety. Some applause looked like it was directed towards him. Youngjae had absolutely no clue what he’d done to deserve it. He left the bank in a trance.
Well, at least the line did move.
“I’m telling you, they ran away after seeing my face!” repeated Youngjae, for what was probably the twentieth time that evening.
He’d come home to an extremely hassled Himchan who’d ditched work to look after him. Youngjae would be lying if he said that he hadn’t thoroughly enjoyed all the attention. He was tense, and having that support calmed him down, probably a little too much, considering how funny the day's events now seemed to him. But that surge of love and care had fizzled out about an hour ago. They were in the kitchen, leaning against opposite sides of the counter.
Himchan questioningly eyed his friend from head to toe. “No offence, but you’re the fluffiest looking twenty-four-year-old I’ve ever seen. There’s no way they were scared of you.”
Youngjae smiled, but it was more like a grimace. “Good looks can be scary to anyone,” he said. His reply was met with a derisive yet somehow loving snort.
“Your life was in danger today, so I’ll give your shameless self-praise a pass.”
Youngjae chuckled and left his spot to grab a drink from the fridge. “So who’s driving us to work tomorrow?” he said, tossing a beer to Himchan.
Himchan furrowed his eyebrows. “You’re going to work tomorrow? Don’t you need some time off after what happened today?”
“Of course not, I was a hero. Heroes don’t take days off.” Youngjae wasted no time with his clever remarks.
“God if it was any other day I would’ve punched you by now,” said Himchan laughing. “Are you sure it’s safe though?”
Before Youngjae could reply, the doorbell sounded. He smirked at Himchan as he walked towards the door of their rather lavish two-bedroom apartment. “I guess?” he said opening the door. “I mean, it’s not like the robbers are going to show up at my door or someth- “
He stopped midsentence. He really needs to work on his choice of words.
Tiger and his tall friend were standing at the door. “Can we come in?” asked the unnamed one as they simply stepped inside. Youngjae had no time to react and his jaw just hung wide open as he stared at them walk past him.
Both were brown haired, but Tiger’s hair was longer and curly, almost covering his eyes. They were dressed expensively, different from the attire they’d worn during the robbery. There was a bulge in their shirts, it was either a gun or a disfigured burrito. Youngjae’s bets were on the former. Crying out for help would just create more trouble. There goes his one true skill during crisis.
“We feel like we have some explaining to do, about earlier,” said the tall boy. Boy, because Youngjae had just realized how young he looked. Tiger seemed like he was around Himchan’s age, and that reminded him. “Uh, my roommate is home,” was all Youngjae managed to say. He was beyond worried.
Tiger spoke now, “We mean no harm to either of you, Mr. Yoo.” His deep voice was far more impactful in smaller quarters. “You can bring him here too, if you like.” His tone didn’t really imply that he was giving an option.
Youngjae took doubtful steps backward till he was almost running to the kitchen. He entered to find Himchan armed.
“Really? A frying pan? T-That’s going to work against their guns?” he asked, flailing his limbs about in impatience.
“Well, you’ve got nothing!” hissed Himchan.
“I have my face.” This prompted a soul piercing frown from Himchan. “Oh come on, I don’t want to mess with them. Besides they say they mean us no harm.”
“Are you really taking a robber’s word? Do they look any bit trustworthy to you?” questioned Himchan, as he peeked out of the kitchen door. His eye spotted Tiger running his hand through his hair. “Oh mama.”
Youngjae couldn’t believe what he’d heard. He also couldn’t believe what happened next. Himchan set his ‘weapon’ down on the counter and headed out. Unabashedly walking up to Tiger, he extended a hand. “It’s Himchan. Kim Himchan.”
Tiger looked up to meet a smouldering gaze. He looked more confused than Youngjae did, who by now had come out to behold this bizarre event. Tiger took Himchan’s hand and shook it formally, not reciprocating the introduction.
Youngjae pulled Himchan back, giving him a glare. Are you seriously flirting with a criminal?
Himchan simply shrugged in return, his flirt-smile never leaving his face. The heart wants what the heart wants.
Youngjae’s emotions were going through an utter rollercoaster at this point. He didn’t know what he felt about the situation anymore. One moment he was laughing, the next terrified, and now he was just, stunned.
“So, about today afternoon.”
Youngjae snapped out of his thoughts at the Tiger’s words. “Yeah,” he said, weakly.
“We’d like you to come with us,” said Tiger. Again, this wasn’t really a proposition presenting options, but a command.
Youngjae’s eyes widened. “Why?”
Himchan butted in. “I’d go wherever you take me.” There was a weird air of silence around the room. Ignoring him, Tiger continued, “Our leader wants to meet you.”
That didn’t sound very good. Before Youngjae could question him further, the tall boy clapped his hands together and said “Well it’s settled then! I’m gonna take Youngjae to meet our leader, and Tiger here will wait back to ensure your roommate doesn’t call the cops or anything.”
Youngjae seemed to be the sole person distressed by this turn of events. He looked at the three faces around him - unbothered. His varied feelings decided to bubble to the surface all at once. “AM I THE ONLY SANE ONE HERE? I’M NOT LEAVING THIS PLACE UNLESS SOMEBODY TELLS ME WHAT’S GOING ON!!”
As Youngjae continued to ramble (read scream), Tiger looked at his companion with a hint of exasperation and said, “We can ignore the list, slightly. Just this once.”
The tall boy nodded gleefully and within the next few seconds, Youngjae was forcefully carried out the door, into the elevator and before he knew it he was being driven off somewhere.
They’d been driving for around twenty minutes. Youngjae shifted uncomfortably in the passenger seat. He knew not to protest now, but he was worried about Himchan. The tall boy seemed to sense that.
“I told you we won’t hurt you. Don’t worry about your roommate,” he said, taking a sharp left turn.
Youngjae nodded curtly. There were a few seconds of silence before he spoke again. “So do you have a name or something?”
“Lil’ Runner.”
Youngjae snorted at the irony. “I meant a human name.”
He looked at Youngjae briefly, and after discerning what he could about his standing, nature and reliability, he replied, “Junhong.”
Youngjae hummed in approval at getting some information out of him. Hoping to develop a streak, he asked, “where are we going?”
“You’ll know when you get there.”
This response sent a wave of comfort through Youngjae. Here he was, in a car with someone who’d attempted a robbery, and he was feeling at ease? Youngjae didn’t know if this was better than crippling fear. Nevertheless, he decided that if he was going to settle in, he would truly settle in.
Thus, much to Junhong’s dismay, Youngjae commented on whatever he saw – the traffic, the night sky, the pleasing lack of bondage items used on his body. Junhong half wished he’d tied the seat belt around Youngjae’s mouth too. He entertained his captive as patiently as he could – he had no choice, he was given explicit instructions to not stuff him in the trunk. Thus Junhong sat through unmitigated chuckles and plenty of quips about the world and all it contains.
“So why’s your name Lil’ Runner?” Youngjae asked, still reeling from the humour of his last joke.
Though Junhong was slightly taken aback at the question, he grudgingly answered, “I ran from home when I was little.”
Youngjae looked disappointed, he was half expecting some sort of badass story. “Whoever gave you that name doesn’t seem very creative.”
“Tiger did.” Youngjae swore he saw a twinkle in Junhong’s eyes as he said that.
"Ah well, stupid of me to expect something great from a man called 'Tiger', isn't it?"
Junhong was offended and his tone didn't mask that. “He lets me call him Yongguk when we’re not doing business.”
“You really look up to him, don’t you? I can see some unresolved issues between you two.”
Junhong’s face tightened, but his eyes didn’t leave the road. “Why do you say so?”
Youngjae rested his elbow on the ledge of the car’s window. “I took a Behavioral Psychology class in my 2nd year of college.” This was met with a light hearted chuckle. “What?”
“No, I was just thinking of how I’d probably have punched you by now if not for the list.”
Youngjae frowned. Why did everyone want to punch him today? But the latter half of Junhong’s statement made the stronger case for his attention. “What list?”
“Our leader has something called the ‘No harm’ list. Basically, a set of people we are not allowed to cause any hurt or damage to, whatever the case may be. Mostly his family and friends.”
“And I’m on that list?” Junhong nodded in response, not looking very happy about it.
“That’s why we had to leave the bank today. If our leader would’ve found out we robbed a place and you were there, he would have skinned us alive.”
Youngjae sunk a bit lower into his seat, wondering how he ever got on the good side of some criminal. His life flashed before his eyes, as he ran through the names of everyone he’d known in this short life. He turned to the window to continue his contemplation, when he noticed the very familiar surroundings.
“Hey, my parents live in this area! This is where I grew up!” Oh god, were his parents criminals? Surely he’d have known, right?
Junhong complacently answered, “I don’t know about all that man. Mr. Jung asked me to bring you to the High School in this neighbourhood, and I’m doing just that.”
High School. Mr. Jung. Youngjae’s mind raced to put together this puzzle as Junhong pulled into the parking lot of the very school he’d attended for four years. Suddenly, it clicked. “DAEHYUN? JUNG DAEHYUN?”
“Yep,” said Junhong, unfastening his seatbelt.
“B-But the last I heard he was in some sort of business producing chemicals?”
Junhong eyed him comically as Youngjae’s brain clicked again. “OH.” Youngjae sunk lower into his seat. So, he was about to meet a criminal. A criminal who, apparently, is some drug lord. A criminal he knows, and worst of all, a criminal he had dumped.
That line in the bank didn’t seem too bad right now.
A/N: HELLO I AM INCREDIBLY EXCITED ABOUT THIS THOUGH I HAVE 0 SENSE OF DIRECTION. I cant wait to write crime lord Jung Daehyun. If you have an AO3, please leave kudos/comments! I’d love to know what all of you thought. Like, reblog, share ^^
53 notes
·
View notes
Intermission
(I wrote this drabble in response to a prompt and thought it’d be fun to come up with how Khyran met Toviel, plus it helps to dip my head back into XIV-Khy’s mindspace so this was fun to write! its also a little self-indulgent i’m sorry
It’s super long. I dont expect anyone to actually read this but if you do i love you)
Starvation was such a familiar feeling, Khyran Oisin rarely considered it a burden. No matter where he went, no matter what he was doing, willpower was all he needed to be useful and he had that in abundance. Shouldering his travel bag and adjusting its weight, he continued on down the cobblestone road and through a haze of rain, limping on his bad leg.
He would’ve taken the Aetherstream if he could. His soul, however, hadn’t attuned to the aetheryte on the mountain past the Gridanian border. He didn’t want to leave his client waiting, so he opted to travel alone without waiting for help from any of his friends or hiring an escort. (He was sure Defiant would come along if he asked, but the last thing he wanted to do was inconvenience her, knowing how insanely hectic her schedule tended to be.)
It had been a long time since he ever travelled such a long distance on foot- he had been around Eorzea long enough to have familiarize himself with aetherytes all over the country. His poorly-fitted peg leg wobbled with nearly every step he took, and his grip on his walking stick slackened in the rain. The forest road inclined steeply as he neared the edge of the mountain pass and his footholds on the rocks became precarious.
He hiked onward and upward. He saw the sky darkening through the canopy and hastened his pace, but the trees above him failed to shield him from the encroaching downpour. Rain cascaded down in torrential sheets. With each step he took, the stump of his bad leg chafed against the leather socket of his peg leg until it was agonizing.
He walked until it became too much to bear, willpower fading in the face of exhaustion. He tried to find a dry spot against the face of the cliff, but the wind was blowing the rain directly into him. He pressed his back against the edge of a tree, using it as a shield against the rain, but the wind changed moments later. He didn’t get back up. He tucked his knees to his chest and rested his forehead on them. It was the middle of Gridania and the air was mild, but the rain felt bitterly cold as it soaked through his clothes and stuck against his skin.He allowed himself only a few moment’s rest before he pulled himself up again and continued his uphill struggle.
He snagged low-hanging branches on his way up the path and stepped as carefully as he could. Water cascaded beneath his feet and thundered down the cliff’s face- it was a wonder he managed to keep his footing for so long. The worst part about this was that he had no idea when it was going to end. He checked a map before he departed, and a traveller he met along the road told him it took only two bells to climb the mountain pass on foot. That advice probably applies to good weather, he thought as he was forced to stop and rest once more, leaning his back against the cliff face.
It continued like this for at least three more bells. He’d start, then he’d stop. He’d start, then he’d stop. By the time he reached the top of the cliff, his leg burned, his head pounded and his shoulders felt like they were about to pop out of their sockets with the weight of his sodden travel bag. His toils were rewarded by the sight of a small village nestled against the forest and cliffs, smoke puffing from chimneys. In the center of the town, the blue glow of a crystalline aetheryte penetrated the thick fog that hung around the mountain. It was dinnertime and Khyran could smell spices in the air. His empty gut twisted as he noticed his hunger in earnest, but he ignored it. The job he was here for was best suited for an empty stomach.
He limped towards the first building he could reach and knocked on the door. He didn’t know where his client lived, but the place was small enough that he was sure he could be pointed in the right direction. Moments later, the door opened a crack and he could see a red-headed child peeking through a sliver of an orange glow.
“Momma!” The little girl called, closing the door, but Khyran easily heard her. “There’s a weird man at the door!”
“Does he have an eyepatch?” Khyran heard a female voice reply.
“Yeah!” The child replied.
“Let him in, Jana. That’s the voidhunter.”
The door swung open again and the red-headed girl stepped aside to let Khyran pass. She fixed him with a distrusting stare, her brows furrowed and her upper lip curled in an obvious pout. Khyran stopped in the threshold, dripping wet, noticing how heavy his boot was with mud. Looking into the common room of the house, he could see a Hyur woman standing at a cooking stove, stirring a pot. He saw a wooden table and chairs, a couch in a corner, and a rug on the floor. A stairwell led somewhere else.
The woman looked over her shoulder at Khyran and said, “one moment! I can’t let this sit or it’ll burn.” She beckoned him. “Come in, have a seat.”
Khyran stood there awkwardly, settling both his hands on top of his walking stick. “Ah… sorry, I don’t want to track mud through your house.”
“I have three kids, sir. It’s nothing I can’t deal with.” The woman responded over her shoulder. “Besides, you’re here to help, aren’t you? I’m just glad you made it here through all that rain.” She tossed a handful of herbs into the pot and called, “Jana, go and get the nice man some towels.”
The little girl started to walk backwards with a defiant stare. Then, she turned and retreated up the stairs with a patter of bare footsteps.
Khyran was not left waiting long. The little girl returned with two patterned towels, holding them out to him. He reached out to take them, and she dropped them at his feet and bolted. He stooped to pick them up, trying to dry himself off the best he could. He lowered his travel bag to the floor, propping it against the wall, unlatched his boot, and pulled it off his foot. With that done, he finally felt more at ease to sit at the woman’s table as he was bidden.
“You must be Claire?” He asked as he lowered his aching body into a wooden chair. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner. I haven’t ever been up here before, so I had to walk.”
“You found the right place, aye.” By now, Claire was spooning stew into bowls. Khyran smelled pumpkin and fish. She raised her voice and called, “boys, come on down!”
Footsteps thundered down the stairs as two wiry boys rushed into the room. They looked exactly alike, right down to their clothes. “Hey, the void guy came!” One of them said, and the other nudged him with an elbow. “He’s a voidhunter, not a void guy.” The other rolled his eyes. “Shut up, know-it-all.” Then, “you shut up.”
“Boys!” Claire barked, cowing them into submission.
As Claire presented Khyran with a bowl, he refused politely with a shake of his head, raising a hand. “I don’t eat before a job.” He explained. “Thanks for the offer, though.”
With all the kids presented with bowls, the woman finally took her seat on the other end of the table, tucking in to her dinner. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Oisin. I was contacted by others asking for details about the case, but you’re the only one who actually showed up. I thought someone else might be coming, too, but I haven’t heard from him.” As she spoke, her expression betrayed discomfort: clearly the subject ahead wasn’t something she was looking forward to.
Khyran squinted. Another voidhunter found her job posting? “No need to thank me. This is what I do.” He folded a hand atop the other and watched her impassively. “As I understand, you have a haunted well?”
The woman nodded, failing to pick up her spoon. “It started two weeks ago. Every time someone goes to draw water, a monster, or a force, something tries to pull them in. We’ve had to go all the way down the mountain to get water from the stream.”
“Yeah,” one of the boys chimed in, “Carter, from next door, he went out to the well just to see what was there, and it nearly dragged him all the way down! He told me he wasn’t scared, but I saw him! He peed himself!”
The kids around the table chuckled, but Claire gave them a stern look, which silenced them. “Carter could have died. It’s not something to laugh about.”
Khyran, too, didn’t find it funny. “Do you know if anything was done to the well? Have you had any strange visitors two weeks ago?” He asked, keeping his gaze focused on the woman.
“Not that I remember. Everything’s been the same up here.”
Khyran nodded, his hand lifting to rub at his unshaven jaw as he thought. “Sometimes voidsent just appear. They find weaknesses in the veil and come through at their own volition. Natural forces, erosion, Hydaelyn weakening… it’s not always a cultist responsible for these things. Has anyone felt the force elsewhere, or just the well?”
“Just the well.”
“The voidsent must be attached to something inside the well. It must be too weak to travel far from where the veil tore. There’s some source of aether down there keeping it fed so that if it goes too far away, it loses its power. An anchor, so to speak.” Khyran continued.
“Do you know how to get rid of it?” One of the twin boys asked.
Khyran leaned his back against the chair, drumming his fingers on top of the table. “I’ll have to look at it to be completely sure, but from what little we know, I can see one of two things working. I find some sort of bait, draw the voidsent away, then kill it once reveals itself. Or, I find its anchor and destroy it.” His fingers kept drumming, faster as he thought. “The first option might not work because it sounds like our voidsent doesn’t have a physical form. Normally they create bodies when they pass through to our plane, but sometimes they don’t. The only way I could kill it is if it possessed something physical and that’s a bit of a gamble.”
“Wait… you’re not saying the best way is going in there!?” One of the boys blurted. “That’s crazy! You should do the bait thing!”
“James,” Claire said, “this man is a professional. He knows what he’s doing.” She looked back to Khyran and added, “you have quite a reputation among voidsent hunters, do you not? Can’t you… leech the power out of things you touch?”
“My reputation’s not wholly deserved.” He said with a lopsided smile. “I had a lot of help. And that aether leeching thing I do is just a cheap trick.” He gestured loosely towards the boy that spoke last and said, “your kid has a point. Going down there is probably going to be rough. But it’d be the fastest way to kill the voidsent. Not only is the second option not guaranteed to work, baiting voidsent isn’t always a good idea. They don’t always behave predictably.”
“How do you think you’ll get down there in one piece?”
“Does it still have a functioning bucket and pulley?” Khyran asked.
“Yeah.”
“The voidsent probably won’t target me. Someone can just lower me down.”
“It’s targeted everyone else, why wouldn’t it target you?” Questioned one of the boys.
“It’s something I’m born with. They can’t sense me, so that makes hunting them a little easier for me than others.” He thought for a moment. “But that would pose a problem for anyone lowering me down and pulling me back up again, as it would probably attack them, so… we’re going to have to extend the pulley system so it can be done from a greater distance. And I’ll need a bell or something that I can ring once I need to get back up.”
“That can be arranged.” Claire said, looking a bit nervous. “Is that all you think we need to do?”
Khyran nodded. “If I can’t figure out what the voidsent’s anchor is, I’ll be surprised. But if I don’t find anything, at least we’ll know what not to do.”
***
Rigging the well’s pulley system was an adventure in and of itself. Khyran was at the ready while some of the village men came out to assist in the task, and Khyran was able to see first-hand exactly what sort of problem he was dealing with.
As soon as someone precariously approached the well to grab the existing bucket rope, he was tugged full-force and nearly launched down the mouth of the well by an unseen force. It took three people scrambling forward all at once to pull the man back out. By the time everyone had gotten the rope system extended, Khyran was handed an extraordinarily long roll of twine, the end of which was attached to a silver bell and set to dangle over the frame of someone’s door. He attached the twine to his belt and was given a small lantern as a final preparation.
Everything was tested and deemed sufficient, but Khyran couldn’t help but to feel nervous as he stood at the mouth of the well, staring down into a black abyss. He hadn’t felt anything tugging at him, which confirmed his theory: the voidsent in the well couldn’t sense him. He let out a breath he had been holding. Doing this sort of work was never easy, but he was one of the few people in Eorzea uniquely equipped for the job. Someone had to do it.
He straightened, steeling himself, then called to the people waiting nearby, “I’m going in. I’ll ring the bell once when I’ve hit the bottom, and I’ll ring it again when I gotta come up. It’ll be three rings, in rapid succession, in case I accidentally jingle it or something.” He paused. “Oh, and if I ring it a lot, I’m in trouble.”
One of the men waiting by the end of the pulley system gave him a thumbs-up. Khyran nodded. He attached the lantern to his belt, feeling its weight hang against his hip. He set one foot in the bucket, grabbed the rope with both hands, and waited for the villagers to lower him into the darkness. His descent was unsteady and jarring. Several times he nearly lost his balance and fell out of the bucket. At last, it lowered into the water with a plunk. Gingerly, he stepped out of the bucket, trying to feel how deep the water was. He didn’t feel anything at first, so he jumped in, holding the lantern above his head and praying he could keep it from going under. The water came up to his chest, but at least he could feel the bottom. He rang the bell. At least, he thought it rang. He couldn’t hear it from down here.
By the lantern’s warm glow he could see the underground passage continuing on into a cave. The rocky walls were lined with moss and were slick to the touch. He didn’t immediately see anything strange. The air smelled clean. He waded towards the passage where the walls closed in around either side of him. He was a very thin man, so it wasn’t an extremely tight fit for him, but he could see it posing a problem for someone else. The passage opened up into a second chamber and the water became deeper. Khyran was up to his neck in it, struggling to hold the lantern up. He realized, moments later, that he didn’t even need it anymore.
There was one more passage ahead of him, and an ominous red glow was pulsing from around the corner. His heart lodged in his throat as he felt an oppressive force coming from beyond the corridor. He knew he had to go onward, but he didn’t know if he could keep his lantern up anymore. He searched for a place to put it where it wouldn’t drop into the water, and gratefully found a shelf of stone and moss where it could rest.
With his hands freed, he swam through the frigid water, towards the source of the red glow. He went slowly, so as not to cause a ripple in the water or accidentally ring his bell. He had no idea what was waiting for him on the other side of the rocks. The water deepened all the more as he swam. Anxiety swelled in his chest. Of all the things he truly feared in this world, it was drowning. He was in too deep to abandon this mission now.
He saw what the problem was. It was below him. A red glow came up from beneath him, bright enough for him to see its outline. An aether crystal. It was a natural formation, and he could only guess all the rain these past few weeks had caused shifting in the underground tunnels and revealed it. It must have been giving off enough power to feed weak voidsent, allowing them enough strength to cross through the void. Khyran was no stranger to dealing with such crystals, but he wasn’t entirely sure how deep it was, and he still hadn’t seen the-
Something struck his head. Stunned, he grabbed on to the wall and looked up. The whole tunnel rumbled and rocks rained down. A few pebbles bounced off his back. He heard a low moaning and his skin crawled.
“Get out. Get out. Get out.” Something hissed in the midst of the red glow. “You’re not what I want. You have nothing. Nothing.” More rumbling. Khyran kicked off the wall and dodged another cascade of rocks.
“You’re right,” he said between gasps, exhausted from treading water. “I don’t have any aether for you.”
“Hungry, so hungry…” the moaning voice continued. He couldn’t see its source. It was possessing the ceiling above him and he couldn’t reach it.
“That’s right. And without that crystal, you’re going to starve.” Khyran said back.
The creature sounded like it was screaming, but inside the rocks. Khyran gulped a breath and dived. Dust kicked up all around him and he could hardly see where he was going. He swam down towards the crystal with all his might. The cavern rumbled so much it felt like he was in the middle of an earthquake. His fingers were inches away from the crystal.
A heavy stone plunged into the water with the force of a cannonball. Khyran jerked back just before it would’ve struck him, and it landed on top of the crystal. He was running out of air. He grabbed the rock and pulled, but it didn’t budge. More rocks fell. He pushed and shoved. Nothing happened.
Desperately, he stuck his peg leg between the rock and the ground and pushed against it. Somehow, that worked. He was able to leverage it up enough to roll it out of the way.
He grabbed the crystal. His lungs burned. He kicked off the ground and broke the surface of the water, choking.
As the voidsent in the cave screamed and shook the very earth, Khyran’s fingers tightened around the aether crystal. He didn’t have to think. It just happened. The power within his hands sapped the aether crystal of all its raw power, the energy swirling in the air around his hands. It couldn’t enter his body- he had nothing to hold it. With nowhere else to go, the aether compressed, crystallized, and took on a different form. Something the voidsent couldn’t eat. As the energy left the aether crystal, reducing its red glow to nothingness, the rumbling in the cave waned and the voidsent’s voice whimpered and died.
Khyran grabbed the newformed materia crystal with his free hand, shoving it triumphantly in his pocket.
Then a rock smashed his head.
* * *
He woke with a start and coughed up a mouthful of water.
The first thing he saw was the unfamiliar face of a pale Elezen man hovering over him. He saw more people gathered around, worry and relief on their faces. He recognized the village around him, and he was lying in wet grass. Khyran felt bewildered, and the back of his head hurt so bad it was like somebody lodged a hatchet in his skull.
“Thank Menphina, he’s alive.” The Elezen breathed, his gentle hands reaching down to scoop beneath Khyran’s back, helping him sit up.
The sky ended up somewhere below him and the buildings pitched and tilted. Khyran’s insides flipped. He couldn’t remember what he was doing here. There was a red glow… materia… a voidsent underground, but where was he now? How did he get here? He swallowed thickly and his head flopped forward against his volition.
“With all that rumbling, there was no way in hell we were gonna wait for that bell to ring.” A burly man said where he stood next to the Elezen. “Mr. Oisin? Are you alright?”
Khyran teetered. “Never been better.” He croaked.
“You look like hell. Took a hit to your head down there. Can you walk?”
Khyran started to stand. Even with the supporting grasp of the Elezen, his bad leg quivered and he dropped back down to the ground. “Don’t push yourself, Mr. Oisin, you’re badly hurt.” The Elezen said gently. “I’ll carry you.”
“Bring him with me, please. Let’s get him dried off.” Said the burly man.
Khyran felt the Elezen’s arms scooping under his back and beneath his knees. His head swam with vertigo as he felt the ground leave him. The Elezen brought him through the doors of the house from earlier. Khyran was vaguely aware that those kids from earlier were following, but their mother, Claire, told them to go play quietly in their rooms. The woman hurried ahead of them, disappearing into the house, followed by the man at her heels.
Up the stairs they went. Khyran felt himself gently lowered into a chair. He was in a room now- someone’s bedroom, by the looks of it. Claire brought fresh clothes and laid them out on the bed. “These are my husband’s clothes. They might be a bit big on you, but I’ll have your old clothes laundered for you soon as I can. Just leave them outside the door, alright?” Claire told him. Khyran squinted in her general direction. He saw three of her. He blinked. Good, now there were just two of her.
“Can you get dressed, Mr. Oisin?” Asked the Elezen.
Why were they all acting like he was suddenly an infirm old man? “I’m fine. I think I just…” He couldn’t think of the word he wanted to say. He sat there in complete silence. The others waited for him to finish his sentence in vain.
Claire then bowed and left the room. Khyran felt the Elezen unbuttoning his jacket, undoing his belt, pulling off his boot and peeling off his soaked clothes. He didn’t try to stop him. His eyelids drooped and his head sagged against the back of the chair. Moments later, he felt completely bare and exposed, and the Elezen was patting him dry with towels. One by one, fresh clothes were returned to his body, tugged into place.
He was lifted from the chair and laid into the bed in such a way where he was seated upright. Heavy, warm sheets were pulled up to his lap. Moments later, someone knocked on the door. “It’s Onyx,” a male voice said. “Is he dressed?”
“Yes sir,” said the Elezen, and the man entered the room carrying a tray. He set it down on the bedside table. Through the blurs in his vision Khyran could make out a cup, a bowl, a few jars, and a roll of bandages. “Thank you,” the Elezen said, and began to lift some things off the tray, applying the contents of a bottle to a cloth. The next thing he felt was a horrifyingly painful sting as the Elezen touched the cloth to the back of his head. He inhaled sharply through clenched teeth. “Sorry!” The Elezen said. “I have to clean it, sir. You’re bleeding everywhere.”
The stinging abated a few moments later, and he endured it. Khyran watched the Elezen open the jar and dip out a green paste. He felt the other man’s fingers pressing the cool, green gel into the back of his head, spreading it around. He shivered. Bandages rolled around his forehead, across the back of his head and around again, layer after layer, until they were finally affixed in place with a small pin.
“You think you’ve got it from here?” The gruff man’s voice asked.
The Elezen nodded. “I’ll watch after him. If I had arrived sooner maybe I could have helped him before this happened.”
“It’s not your fault.” The gruff man said. Khyran heard retreating footsteps. “My wife and I will be downstairs. Yell if you need us.”
A door opened and closed. Khyran drew in a deep breath and tried to think, but his head felt like it was stuffed with cotton. Every time he opened his eye, the world pitched and twisted and it felt like there was a blurry film over his eye.
“I’m Toviel.” The Elezen introduced quietly. “I saw the job posting in Gridania and I offered to come help, but I was very late. I’m sorry I didn’t show up in time to help you, Mr. Oisin.”
“My name’s Khy.” He replied. “No need to… be. Be formal like that. You know.” He said between breaths. The effort of speaking made his stomach twist.
Toviel chuckled. “Alright, Mr. Khy.” He gently patted his hand. “I know you must want to rest, but please try to eat something first.”
He wasn’t even remotely hungry. “No, thanks.”
Toviel picked up the bowl from the tray and brought it into his lap. “You’ll heal faster if you have some food in you.” He offered the bowl out towards Khyran. He didn’t want it at all, but he reluctantly reached for it. He missed. He couldn’t see straight.
The look on Toviel’s face was empathetic. “I know this might be embarrassing, but you’ve got a terrible concussion, sir. Please allow me to feed you.”
Khyran stared at Toviel with a grimace. Then, his head drooped, and he chuckled. It came out like a wheeze. He didn’t say anything. The situation alone was funny enough.
Toviel scooped up a chunk of fish in the creamy pumpkin soup on the wooden spoon and held it out towards his lips. “I have heard stories about you. You go by Vulture, don’t you? I heard you killed a voidsent on the second tier.”
Khyran reluctantly ate the mouthful of soup. “Now look at me, reduced to this.”
Toviel smiled sadly at him. “I quite admire you, actually. This is nothing to be ashamed of. You’re only human.”
He ate a few more mouthfuls of the soup, but it wasn’t settling well in his stomach. By the next offered spoonful, he lifted his hand in silent refusal. Toviel set the bowl back down on the bedside table. Khyran wilted like a dying plant, sliding down the headboard of the bed until he was resting on his back. The back of his head burned when it fell against the pillow.
“Rest, Mr. Khy. I’ll be here if you need me.” Toviel promised.
Khyran drifted into a haze. As night fell outside the grey sky blackened. The sounds of the family of five in the house below faded as everyone went to bed. Khyran had trouble sleeping under the watchful eye of a stranger. With his eye closed and breathing slow, he could only pretend to be. Even the slightest creak in the house or wind outside his window was enough to keep him wide awake. In the back of his mind, he felt a little sick.
It must have been a few bells, lying there like that in complete silence. His insides started roiling and he tossed and turned, unable to get comfortable. He couldn’t deny the nausea anymore. He was sweating and salivating. He didn’t know if he’d be sick or not, or where to go if he was. He couldn’t see a bucket in the room. Looking over at Toviel, he found the man still seated upright, but asleep in his chair. Khyran didn’t want to wake him. He peeled back the bedsheets and pushed himself upright with his elbow. His stomach lurched. Did this family have a lavatory somewhere? He didn’t want to risk opening random doors. He’d just go outside.
Mapping out a plan in his mind, hastened by the rapidly worsening nausea, he slipped his foot to the floor. He gently set down his peg leg next, careful not to make a sound. He counted to three in his mind and stood up. The bed creaked as he did, and he stumbled with overwhelming vertigo. He grabbed the edge of a bookshelf to steady himself. He stuffed a hand against his mouth, breathing heavily, horribly sick.
Toviel stirred in his chair and woke with a start when he saw what was going on. He went to Khyran’s side and rested a hand on his back. “Are you going to throw up?”
Khy nodded, his breaths quickening. Spit pooled in his mouth.
“Just let it out, I’ve got you. Don’t worry about the floor.”
He was worrying about the floor. He wanted to go outside. He took an unsteady step towards the door, but Toviel was holding him in place, one hand brushing against his forehead and the other bracing his stomach. Khyran stood there, leaning forward, feeling caught between falling over and standing upright. His shoulders shook with each breath he took. His grip on the top of the bookshelf felt slick with the sweat on his hand. He peeled his other hand off of his mouth and rested it against his knee.
Khy inhaled sharply and coughed. He felt Toviel’s grip tightened around his abdomen. Khy’s breaths quickened to a retch and his body lurched involuntarily. The contents of his stomach surged up his throat and spilled to the floor. A disgusting bastardization of fish and pumpkin soup mixed generously with bile. It smelled sour.
He gasped for breath and heaved again, feeling Toviel’s hand squeezing his middle as he did. The nauseating puddle of vomit expanded. “Good job, Mr. Khy. You’ll be alright. I’ve got you.” Toviel reminded him in a soft voice, the cool hand on his forehead brushing back his hair. Khyran tried to respond, something about how embarrassing this was, but he spluttered instead and threw up a thin trickle of bile. He spat out the bitter taste and gagged dryly but nothing else came up. His dry heaves soon abated and he slumped, held upright by Toviel’s supporting grip.
He felt exhausted and embarrassed. Slimy drool clung to his beard. He couldn’t spit it away, and he didn’t want to soil the other man’s clothes.
“Can you stand on your own?” Toviel asked him. Khyran nodded miserably.
Toviel left him there, moving to the bedside table, where he soon returned with a damp rag. He must’ve dipped it in the cup of water. Toviel wiped his mouth and chin for him, then gave his back a few comforting rubs before guiding him to sit down on the edge of the bed again. Toviel gave him a once-over, as if making sure he hadn’t puked on himself. As far as he knew, he hadn’t.
Khyran started to say something, but somebody knocked on the door. He pressed a hand to his face. He wanted to disappear.
“You alright in there, Mr. Oisin?” Claire’s voice called, sounding concerned.
“He vomited on the floor,” Toviel answered. “I may need some things to clean this with. And do you have a bucket for him?”
“I’m sorry.” Khyran croaked weakly.
“Don’t worry about it, Mr. Oisin. I have three kids, remember.” By the sound of her voice, she didn’t seem too angry about this. “I’ll be right back.”
Toviel sat down beside Khyran and rested a hand on his back. “I’m sorry you’re feeling so ill. I should’ve thought ahead. This can happen sometimes, when people get a concussion.”
Khyran just shrugged. He didn’t want to risk speaking, when every breath he took still felt like it wanted to be a retch instead.
When Claire returned, she had her husband, Onyx, with her. He helped her carry some things- a mop bucket, lye for cleaning the floor, a bunch of rags, and a spare bucket which was placed at the side of Khyran’s bed. He watched as the three others cleaned the floor, and none of them complained.
“I feel terrible about this.” He found his voice a few moments later. “If- if there’s anything I can do to make it up to you-”
“You just killed a voidsent that was terrorizing us for weeks and nearly drowned for it.” Onyx interrupted, barking a laugh as he tossed a handful of soiled rags into the mop bucket. “You don’t owe us anything.”
Khyran laid back down, feeling horribly guilty as everyone else cleaned up after him. His hand was still pressed resolutely over his face. Here he was, the legendary voidsent hunter, Vulture, felled by a pebble and puking all over a stranger’s floor. He felt ashamed of himself.
He didn’t remember falling asleep. It was dreamless and silent. When he woke again, he didn’t know how long it had been, but dawn’s light was outside his window and he was feeling pathetically sick all over again. Toviel was still there, sitting in the same chair. “Good morning, Mr. Khy.” He said when they made eye contact. He passed a glass of water towards him. Khyran still had trouble taking it. His head throbbed. Toviel kept a hand steadily on the glass of water as he drank. He took a few sips and passed the water back.
“You still look rough.” Toviel commented. “But you should try to eat, anyway.”
Khyran shook his head, grimacing as a headache pounded behind his eye sockets. “It won’t stay down. Please don’t make me try again.”
“You’re very weak. If you don’t eat you’ll never get better.” Toviel hovered over him, his expression some mix of concerned and stern, “I want you to keep trying until it stays down, alright?”
He realized, with a growing sense of dread that rivaled the tunnels of the well, that there was no arguing with the Elezen.
- - -
Khyran had a reputation among his friends and co-workers of having an extremely poor constitution. Normally, however, he could keep to himself and care for his own problems so he could avoid involving others. Now, however, he didn’t have the luxury of that. It was either Toviel or Claire and her family, all hovering around him, constantly checking on him, cleaning up after him, bringing him food (which only stayed down less than half the time), and never leaving him alone for too long.
He was miserable the entire time. He hated feeling like such an inconvenience, so he kept to himself as much as he could. When he wasn’t shut away in the borrowed bedroom (which he learned had belonged to Claire and Onyx and wondered uncomfortably where they were sleeping instead), he ventured outside with the help of Toviel to get fresh air and clear his head.
The family was extremely kind and understanding. Their three rambunctious children had the presence of mind to be tame in his company, and asked him all sorts of questions about all the voidsent he had hunted throughout his time. (He answered less than half of their questions honestly.)
He was stuck there for a week before everyone deemed him well enough to travel back home- on the condition he would rest more until the lingering symptoms of his concussion faded. In that time he had come to learn about Toviel. The Elezen called himself a travelling problem-solver: though he didn’t specialize in hunting voidsent like Khyran did, he had the magical knowledge and skills to encompass a variety of fields. He admitted to reviving Khyran when the village had pulled him out of the well, drawing the water out of his lungs with a spell. Khyran left a linkpearl with him, as well as a separate one for Claire and her family, promising that if they ever had a problem with voidsent again, he would help them free of charge, and in good health.
As he walked towards the village aetheryte, readying himself to attune his soul to its power, Toviel walked with him. They were silent until Khyran reached the precipice of the powerful crystal.
Turning to face the Elezen, Khyran tilted his head back to look at his face. “I never got to properly thank you for taking care of me.” He said. “I insist you come visit me at my company’s headquarters soon. It’s called Ark. We’re a collective of voidsent hunters.”
He held out a small card, and Toviel took it. He turned it in his hands, examining both sides of it. There was an address on one side, and a symbol of a bird on the other. “Thank you, Mr. Khy. I would love to come and visit, when I’m able.”
“If you’re interested, I want to offer you a job.” Khyran continued, resting both his hands on top of the bird-shaped head of his walking stick. “You saved my life back there, and you’re quite skilled with first aid. If you find yourself hurting for work, Ark could really use someone like you.”
Toviel gave Khyran a bucktoothed grin. “Why, thank you very much for offering such a thing, Mr. Khy. How about we discuss it more when I’m able to visit? I’m sure it won’t be too long.” He tapped the linkpearl that Khyran had given him.
Khyran tried to smile back. He hoped it passed as one. “Aye, I’ll see you again soon.” He pressed a hand to the hovering crystal. “Twelve bless you, Toviel.”
“And you, Mr. Khy.”
“You can lose the ‘mister’ part, you know.”
He didn’t hear Toviel’s response. All he could see was a blue glow, and all that he heard was a humming in his ears. The aetheryte was working its magic.
He left this place behind him.
6 notes
·
View notes
Why Am I Not One with the Earth and Other Questions to Ask When Finding Yourself (Sashea) -Panic
AN: Hello! A little white ago I wrote a fic called “Is This what if Feels Like to Be Alive and Other Questions to Ask When Falling In Love” and I finally got around to writing it from Sasha’s perspective! I’m not sure which one I like more tbh. Unrelated note: I am working super hard on finishing up the next Chapter of Just Strangers, but I’m really stuck on a transition section, and it’s pretty long for me, so it’ll be a little while longer, but I did post a teaser of it on my Ao3, itwilleatyourbabies and I’m guessing it will be up around the last week of August, maybe a little sooner. Enjoy! -Panic
When Sasha was a child, she hated painting landscapes, she had never been able to paint the beauty that surrounded her, but she wanted too, she wanted to be one with the earth. Eventually, she realized that would never happen. She was fire, and she didn’t want anybody else to get burned.
She stood at the front of the soon to full gallery, glancing around at her body of work. The walls are filled with her abstract portraits, bright colors are ((assaulting)) her bright eyes. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t absolutely terrified.
This wasn’t Sasha Velour’s first gallery, but this one was different, she hadn’t pulled her inspirations from the outside world this time, she pulled her inspirations from herself, from her mind, from her struggles. A knock shocked her out of her thoughts. She turned on one heel toward the door, where Tiffany stood. Sasha felt her face break out into a bright smile, it’d been a few days since she’d last seen her long term girlfriend. Pushing open the door, Sasha grabbed Tiffany’s hand and pulled her into the gallery, pressing a firm kiss to her lips once she was safely inside.
She didn’t feel Tiffany smile into the kiss. Pulling away, she wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s waist. “It’s been so long!” Sasha exclaimed, excitement tangling with her earlier feelings of fear, creating a weird sensation inside of her body in the pit of her stomach, not like butterflies, more like a freight train ramming itself around inside of her.
“It’s only been a couple of days, babe.” Tiffany replied, voice cool and calm, the annoyance in her voice *faintly* hidden. Sasha sighed and looked down at the ground, lightly kicking one food against the smooth wood of the gallery. The silence was suffocating.
“I know, I just miss you.” She and Tiffany had always been total opposites. Tiffany was water, cold, but still inviting in the heat of the moment. She kept her emotions under control, under a veil of eyerolls and sarcastic comments. Tiffany was an ocean in the way that she seemed so inviting, so calming and cool, but like the ocean, it wasn’t always true. She could turn controlling, suffocating, in a single instant.
Sasha was fire. She was bright and passionate, filled with heat and determination but unable to understand when she had gotten too hot, when her heat began to drive people away, because even though she didn’t have great emotional control, she always meant well, but something about her always seemed to be too big, too bright for everybody else.
“What have you been up to the last couple of days.” Tiffany asked as she pulled farther away from Sasha’s embrace, turning her head to glance around at the portraits decorating the walls.
“Mostly working on this, getting final touches, planning what I’m going to say,” Sasha said, also taking a minute to admire her work, “I went to lunch with Shea yesterday.” She mumbled the last part, knowing Tiffany’s disdain for her friend. Tiffany sighed.
“You know I think you should stay a w a y from her.” Tiffany said, meeting Sasha’s eyes for the first time. She nodded, “She isn’t good for you,she has bad intentions Sasha, I can tell.” Now it was time for Sasha to turn away, she hated having this discussion so, fucking much.
Sasha glanced up to the clock and realizing the time, she exclaimed “It starts in ten minutes oh god oh god oh god.” Tiffany rolled her eyes as Sasha leapt to prop the door open.
It wasn’t much later when the area began to fill with people. Sasha greeted as many as she could, friends and family came, but also buyers, and journalists, Sasha was delirious with nerves as she greeted her guests, Tiffany never far behind her. As Sasha stood up to speak, her eyes caught a girl standing to her left, Shea.
If Sasha was fire, Shea was earth. Grounding, safe, a lovely final resting place. Shea was familiarity and comfort and feelings of hot chocolate on cold winter days, Sasha would never admit it to herself but Shea felt like home. Their eyes met and Sasha felt warm, flustered but she shook it off, smiling and Shea and walking towards her, but before she could, Tiffany wrapped her arm around Sasha’s waist, suffocating her. She can feel fingernails digging into her waist, her eyes drop the floor, but soon enough she’s engulfed in her work again, monologuing about the next piece on the walls. She pretends to ignore the way Tiffany glares at her.
Shea made Sasha want to paint landscapes.
…
If Sasha’s honest, she never thought they’d break up. Sure, there were problems; plenty of them, but she never thought it would end in a breakup. It was a day after the gallery, as Sasha trudged up the stairs to Tiffany’s apartment she could tell something was off.
She knocked on the door, it was silent for a few suffocating moments before the door opened. Tiffany said nothing, just pushed the door wide enough for Sasha to duck in. Once the door shut behind her, She stood facing Tiffany. For a minute, nobody said anything they just stared at each other. Brown meeting blue. Water meeting fire.
“There’s not an easy way to say this…” Tiffany started out, not meeting Sasha’s eyes. Sasha nodded, biting down on her lip.
“I’m…. god, I’m so sorry, Sasha, but I’m seeing somebody else.” Sasha looked up meeting Tiffany’s eyes for the first time. She willed herself not to cry, but she could feel the tears welling up her eyes. She jerked away from Tiffany, but she didn’t say anything.
“I’m sorry.” Tiffany said again. Taking a deep breath Sasha turned back to Tiffany and finally spoke.
“You were worried about my relationship with Shea, all while you were seeing somebody else?” Sasha was in total disbelief, Tiffany said nothing.
“You were so controlling and overprotective of who I talked too, all while you were cheating on me with somebody else?” Tiffany finally spoke.
“I felt unwanted, what else did you want me to do?” Sasha let out an exasperated sigh.
“Maybe talked to me? There were plenty of times where I felt unwanted but I talked to you every.single.time. It happened.”
“Well, you were always with Shea, what did you want me to do?”
“This isn’t about Shea. This is about us, or rather, this is about you.” She muttered through gritted teeth; but, Sasha couldn’t help but feel a stir in the back of her mind, had she been spending too much time with Shea?
“You’re always spending time with her, ‘hey Tiff, I’m going to lunch with Shea.’ ‘Oh, Shea has a dance recital tomorrow, she’s going to do great.’’
“Listen Tiff, I’m sorry, too.” Sasha started out, but Tiffany stopped her before she could go too far.
“I don’t think you are though.”
“You cheated on me, and I’m the one apologizing so honestly I should probably just go.”
“Go, then.” Sasha didn’t responded, but as she left, she heard Tiffany whisper.
“I never loved you.”
Sasha pretended not to hear anything.
To Shea: Are you free?
To Shea: Please? I need to see you.
To Shea: Shea?
To Sasha: What’s wrong?
To Sasha: Sasha?
To Shea: Meet me at my studio.
To Sasha: See you in ten.
Sasha tried to paint. She really did, she had paint splattered across the canvas but it wasn’t speaking to her, not like it used to. Sasha was used to painting people, abstract entities and goddesses but her mind was only filled with pictures of the earth,
bright buildings and bridges flashed across her mind in
radiant hues,
turned around
flipped upside down,
the pops of color where just too //blinding//
but she couldn’t tell why.
She heard Shea’s footsteps, quietly, she set down her paint brush and walked into Shea’s arms, she felt grounding, sturdy.
The walk to the cafe is quiet, Sasha doesn’t know what to say. Something seems to be off, but she can’t tell what it is. The cafe they’re in is loud, almost deafeningly to the point where she cannot form the words in her mouth, they sit there, like sand, dry and impossible to swallow. Sasha takes a deep breath and sighs into her coffee, looking at Shea and finally saying it.
“Tiffany and I… we broke up, I guess? And I don’t know, I’m…. She… she said some really hurtful shit, so, yeah.’ Shea nodded, taking Sasha’s hand, sending sparks up her arm.
“You did the right thing, Sasha, I know it probably hurts like hell now but I’m sure it’ll all turn out for the best.” Shea’s eyes betrayed her, showed just a little bit of sadness, like a puddle next to a flowing river. The world is too loud of Sasha, she can feel the blood pumping in her ears as she tries maintains eye contact with Shea. She feels like she is on fire, her body is burning with something she does not quite recognize and it hurts.
But, like always, Shea is there to ground her, to shelter her and keep her safe from herself, from the fire that threatens to swallow her up when things aren’t going to great.
Shea breaks the eye contact first, unusual. Sasha does moments after her before whispering.
“What’s
Wrong?”
Shea pulls her hand away from Sasha as she trains her eyes on the busy Brooklyn street through the window.
“I think,” Her voice is quieter than Sasha has ever heard a gentle rumble that shook Sasha’s very core, the warning of thunder before the storm, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”
Everything is happening too fast, She attempts to process the words that left her friend’s mouth but she just can’t. The words fall on Sasha’s shoulders like raindrops, quick, and all at once. Shea leaves the table, she doesn’t look at Sasha nor does she listen as Sasha calls her name down the street words echoing back to her.
…
Ironically enough, it is raining. Sasha pulls her jacket around her even closer as she walks down the street to the subway station, she can feel the rain twirling inside of her hair, her skin is wet but as she boards the dry subway station she can still feel the raindrops falling on her skin. She isn’t thinking, at least, not as well as she should be and that hurts, a reminder that even the strongest fires can be put out by enough water.
When she was a kid, her parents used to take her camping, and she remembers clearly the feeling of calm that came with lying against the cool earth, the sun beating down on her neck reminding her that she is alive. She loved sleeping in tents, pressing her body against the world below her and now she’s wondering if she’ll ever feel calm like that again. The earth feels like it is moving beneath her feet and it feels like she is floating in space as she walks up to Shea’s apartment building, she is searching for something that will ground her for the first time in years and she knows that she will find it here.
Shea’s drunk, but she let Sasha in without question. Sasha’s heart is pounding in her chest again as she takes Shea’s hands, she wants answers.
Shea tells her that she is every hope that she has ever had, but in human form, the words bury themselves into Sasha’s skin and make their home there; and, even though she cannot find the words, it feels as though Shea understands as they smash their lips together in what feels like the most beautiful storm Sasha’s ever seen.
Being wrapped in Shea’s arms feels like camping as a kid, it feels like Sasha is pressed into the earth again and she just wants them to be one. When she paints the earth she knows it is Shea she is painting but she can’t find the strokes to get Shea’s beauty just right so she paints the world around her, it is bright and stunning and a little backwards, but it feels like home.
22 notes
·
View notes