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sanerontheinside · 2 years

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Shifting sands, sudden storms (title)

For the life of me, I don’t know if this was complete or not anymore. If complete, why still in draft form? If not, what was I thinking? Ah well.

I can, roughly speaking, date this ask. I remember doing the title prompt meme into March of 2018; I remember this because some witty anon submitted 10 titles in one ask and my poor brain shut down. (I’d informally set myself a goal of writing at least a short ficlet for every prompt, which was my first mistake. No shade on the anon either, they weren’t to know. But now I still have a file full of 40-41 titles for which I think one day I might write something.)

anyway this prompt is so old it tagged norcumi’s old blog, which tumblr [also] ate, so I’ve gone and edited that

Eeyyyyy, whaddup, this fic also decided to be part of the Mandalorian Sith ‘verse (which has also adopted another title prompt for ‘verse lore purposes, but that one—I have an idea for it, but I don’t necessarily know how to write the idea. yet.)

Y’all can definitely thank @norcumii for the fact that this fic is Jango&Shmi centric.

“All right, Quin, what do you want?” Obi-Wan drawled. If Quinlan was calling him, then clearly some mission had gone sour. Obi-Wan was still trying to shake off the last time he’d helped him out of trouble with Aayla. And wash the bitter aftertaste of glitteryl out of the back of his mouth.

Qui-Gon squeezed Obi-Wan’s shoulder as he shifted past him, leaving the cockpit to them for some semblance of privacy while he made tea in the ship’s small, but rather practical galley. He hadn’t enjoyed that jaunt into Twi’lek slave trade any more than Obi-Wan had.

“Look, um… It’s a touchy subject. Chancellor Valorum asked Master and me for a favour, he wanted us to take a look at the Trade Federation’s blockade around Naboo.”

“Thought the Senate was supposed to approve all the Jedi assignments now,” Obi-Wan probed carefully. It was a very recent ruling, at that, less than a month old.

“Yeah, hence the favour. We weren’t supposed to be there, and the Trade Federation—whoever’s running the company now grew a pair of gills or something. They blew up our ship, Ben. Then deployed an entire invasion force onto the planet.”

Obi-Wan winced. “Oh, that sounds like fun. What did they want with Naboo, anyway? They’re still fighting over the plasma trade?”

“Naboo’s holding up well, their new Queen—Amidala—well, it’s her first year of rule, but she doesn’t buckle under pressure. They tried to get her to sign a treaty that would make Naboo a protectorate of the Federation. We know how that goes…”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Right. So you got her out.”

“Jumped the blockade. The Naboo pilots are competent, but I miss outrunning smugglers with you and Garen, honest to Force. We got hit, took damage to the hyperdrive. Had to refit—on Tatooine, of all places.”

Obi-Wan grimaced. “Hutts.”

“Sand. Heat. Slaves. Pod races. Anyway, we found this kid, or I should say he found us. He helped us out—a lot—and he’s a blazing nova in the Force, Ben, I’m not kidding. He’s—no one’s ever seen anything like it. Tholme and I, we thought we could buy them out and take them back with us to Coruscant. I mean if you just met him—”

Obi-Wan sat forward sharply and dropped his feet to the floor. “So did you buy them out?”

“Just the kid,” Quin said, audibly deflating. “The owner’s deep in debt. He wouldn’t let the mom go for anything. But I can’t just think of leaving her there, without her son, even. Ben, you could—you and Qui-Gon, you could do something, couldn’t you?”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at the audio pickup, fairly sure Quin knew him well enough to hear even silent gestures by now. “What do you want us to do, burn the owner’s house down?”

Quinlan snorted. “Nah, he’s not a bad sort. Well, not the worst. Has faults like anyone else, Ben, you know how it goes. But if you could do anything for the mom… Shmi Skywalker, that’s her name.”

“And you’re sure the Council won’t give you funds for a good cause,” Obi-Wan prompted, but really it was just to confirm what he was sure he already knew.

“Nope. For a slave woman, Ben. She’s—Watto’s really deep in debt. He’d ask for a small fortune.”

Obi-Wan sighed and sat back, sensing Qui-Gon standing in the entry behind him. He knew their schedule and their situation even without asking, but Tatooine… “We can’t, right now,” he said, regretful. “We might know someone in the area, though. Maybe. It’ll be a little while, but we’ll let you know once we get it.”

“Thank you, Ben.” Quin’s relief and sincerity were heartfelt, almost broadcast in a physical wave from the speakers. “May the Force be with you both.”

“And you,” Obi-Wan answered, automatically, flipping the switch off.

There was a moment’s thoughtful silence. “Well,” Qui-Gon said. “Jango?”

“He’s—in the general vicinity of Tatooine,” Obi-Wan allowed.

“That is true. He’ll not want to miss a meeting with that client, however.”

“Why are we letting him do that, by the way?” Obi-Wan asked, watching Qui-Gon slip back into his seat with a sigh.

“It’s his choice,” Qui-Gon shrugged.

“You know that’s not what I mean.”

This sigh was longer and deeper. “What we know, Obi-Wan, is not enough. We don’t know what Dooku is planning; we suspect that he isn’t working alone, but is, rather, under someone’s control; we don’t know why he wants Fett, who would gladly kill my former Master with his bare hands if given the opportunity, for Galidraan. He must have had very compelling reason not to strangle Dooku on the spot.

“We don’t know nearly enough, Apprentice. It would be foolish to lose our lives by interfering, with what little we do know. We cannot help if we are dead.”

Obi-Wan’s lips thinned into a pale line. “I understand, Master. I worry that the cost will be… untenable.”

“So do I.” Qui-Gon reached across the space between them and grasped Obi-Wan’s shoulder, iron-gripped, yet reassuring still. “I have little gift in Foresight, unlike you, but even I sense a great disturbance in the future. It is nebulous, but every day less a likelihood than a certainty. You are right, Obi-Wan, but I fear our deaths will not prevent that cost, only add to it.”

Obi-Wan leaned into the hand on his shoulder, just a little. He’d take what comfort from it that he could get—hells, he’d bask in it, if only for a moment. “I’ll comm Jango,” he said quietly.

The hand on his shoulder squeezed, and did not let go.

~~~~~~~~~

Jango roundly cursed the jetiise every chance he got—which would be every other breath, if he didn’t have to save it to make his way through the heat. The internal life support system of the beskar’gam was supposed to handle this sort of thing, but was barely keeping up with Tatooine’s suns. But it was midday, and Jango was the only idiot outside, so he supposed it was probably his own fault.

He really needed to get the enviro-controls updated. He could afford it now, anyway, and his target was a junk shop owner. If Jango’s luck held, someone at the shop might have experience with Mandalorian work, though he wasn’t really counting on that. The best he expected from this venture was to maybe scavenge a few reasonably functional replacement parts.

The junk shop itself wasn’t hard to find. It was a relief to be out of the Tatooine suns, though his HUD took a few seconds to adjust to the relative darkness within. At least that let up some of the pressure on the life support system.

It wouldn’t have surprised him if the shop were empty. Many desert settlements ran on a different schedule; new arrivals quickly learned to sleep through the hottest part of the day to escape heat stroke, burns, or excessive and dangerous dehydration. To add insult to injury, here the light of the suns was reflected back almost completely from the sands, and that could do irreparable damage to one’s eyes. Jango noticed a being or two whose species had adapted to thrive in such conditions, but they too had taken to the shelter of a dwelling or a cantina fairly quickly.

But he’d been told that the owner of the junkshop was in dire financial straits; it seemed a safe enough bet that he would find a slave working through what ordinarily might have been rest-hours.

When he finally caught sight of her, Jango had to bite back a litany of harsh curses in Jinn’s name.

Jango hadn’t known what this job was for. The dar’jetii had simply handed him a lump sum in mixed Cho Mar and Wupiupi dataries, then given him the name of a slave for purchase. Honestly, if he and Jinn hadn’t both been in the same arena at Galidraan, Jango might have considered pulling details out of the man at gunpoint. Who was this Shmi Skywalker? Why did her freedom come at such a cost? What the hell was Jinn asking him to do, really—start some sort of fresh war among the Tatooine Hutts? In which case Jinn and Kenobi could please handle it on their own, and thank you.

Now that he’d caught sight of her, Jango couldn’t have cared less. He knew her; met her after Galidraan, loaded up with the others from the arena in the hold of a ship too shabby for words, angry and injured and half-mad with grief for the loss of his clan.

Shmi has been the closest to a Healer that the slaves had on that ship, and Jango probably owed her his life.

He’d been staring too long. Shmi looked up, right at him, and Jango belatedly remembered what the beskar’gam looked like to those who’d never been on Mandalore before. It was a warrior’s suit of armour, and the sharp look in Shmi Skywalker’s eye was a wary one, certainly not a look of recognition.

“Choy? Stuta che poonoo mo azal?”1

Jango undid the seals and took off the helmet. “Excuse me. You wouldn’t happen to have updated processors for mobile life support systems?”

The look Shmi gave him was searching, and it pinned him in place for almost a moment too long before she broke away. Shmi carved a systematic path through the junkshop detritus, directed him over to something that actually looked like patches to mobile life support suits with a nonstop stream of available models for him to narrow down. It took a few tries, but he did find what he needed, and even a few spare parts that would never go amiss.

“I hadn’t thought you would have so much here of Mandalorian make,” he noted, a little surprised. “It’s fairly unique work.”

“It is,” Shmi agreed. “The previous owners of the parts you are holding now had a run of bad luck, and upset Gardulla. She doesn’t like cardsharps at her sabacc table.”

Jango frowned down at the parts he’d laid out on the worktable in front of him. “I’ll make a note of it.”

Not that he was here to play sabacc. He had more than enough money to get what he came here for. He just wanted to have a better grasp on the details before he went any further.

~~~~~~~~

Shmi had recognised him almost immediately. It was one of those things she knew with a bone-deep certainty, the way Ani used to tell her of certain things before they happened. They were just hints, but even his words seemed to hold a ring of fact to them, and it was up to Shmi to decipher future-fact from other kinds.

She’d been dreaming about Galidraan. Not, surprisingly, of the broken people who’d been brought aboard there, but of their burning, fierce warrior faces full of light. Shmi dreamt of Jango fighting alongside a tall man with flashing amber eyes that could be both terrifying and kind, and felt as though she should know him, too. But he hadn’t been on the ship with the others, so she supposed that would come to mean something in a peripheral, patient, dripping-cave-water sort of way.

But Jango’s purpose for calling on Watto’s shop was the variable her mild foresight could not account for. When a figure encased in that armour stepped in, Shmi’s first thought was that another bounty hunter had called to collect Watto’s debt to the Hutts. Never mind that the Hutts had already collected their due—the Hutts also never discouraged their ‘messengers’ from looting.

Instead, Jango had bought parts from the very armour worn by an ill-fated pair of previous messengers. (Shmi had been lucky enough to have Watto’s help, and between the two of them they’d made just enough noise to discourage the looters when they’d come to call. Gardulla anger had probably been a lucky stroke for Watto and Shmi; otherwise, they might have expected another attempt the next day.)

Shmi eyed the spread of parts and odd bits of circuitry, and wondered if he was going to fix all of it himself.

“Where are you staying?” Shmi asked. “At the hotel?”

Jango hesitated. “I have—my ship.”

“On the outskirts? Far to walk, with a semi-functional suit at best.”

Shmi offered him a place to sleep in her quarters, and latemeal, and assistance with reprogramming the suit’s computer besides. There was a storm coming, and in return for the stay he’d help her prepare meals for however long the storm raged, and cover the windows and cracks in the door. That was all the payment she needed.

Her home felt empty now, since she’d given Anakin to the Jedi. At least for one night, it might not seem so desolate. The Slave Row would gossip, she knew; but they would always talk, about everything, and offering a pallet to a freeman who couldn’t afford a hotel was not so unheard of.

Jango helped her prepare dinner and tea, and kept her talking. Shmi couldn’t recall how or when they’d gotten to the subject of family, but when she told him of her son, something eased in him. He became less a hunter, wound tight and wary, and a wistfulness crept into his gaze. Shmi knew that look, if she’d seen it rarely.

What of your own family? she wanted to ask, but caught the words back before they could emerge. She didn’t know what had happened to Jango before he’d been loaded up with the others on Galidraan, but Shmi was no fool, either. Jango Fett had never carried himself as anything other than a freeman-warrior, and his fever had left him plagued with horrors all too real not to be fresh and recent memory. She heard whispers from the other slaves, about the loss of an entire clan.

A son, he whispered softly, and Shmi wondered what this man was doing on here on Tatooine, earning a living as a bounty hunter on the dangerous fringes of civilisation. Of course, he wouldn’t say.

But there was a light in his eye that spoke of possibility, and that alone warmed Shmi’s heart.

Later that night, as she settled down to sleep in her room, exhausted, she heard the tell-tale scuff of quiet booted feet pass out through the door and onto the stairs, and caught a whiff of tabacc. Shmi wondered, briefly, what Jango was thinking of, before she drifted off to sleep.

The next day she woke to a sandstorm howling outside and sighed.

~~~~~~~~~~

After years of working with them, Jango was well aware that that Jinn and his quiet shadow weren’t really Jedi. He just didn’t feel like letting go of the suspicion, especially knowing who Jinn’s Master was. Still, Jango could probably acknowledge that it was mostly paranoia humming in his skull. Jinn’s reputation as a diplomat held fast in certain circles, but any association with the Order had eroded over the years.

Of course, Jinn still worked with Jedi, which never failed to set Jango’s teeth on edge when Jinn asked him for ‘help’. Most times, the man made sure Jango didn’t have to cross paths with members of the illustrious Order; and even when he did, Jango found himself working with the wilder sort, the jetiise who lived hard on the Outer Rim along with everyone else, or hovered just on the edge of completely cracked.

Perhaps it was telling that altogether there were few Jedi whom Jinn trusted. Jango could count them on one hand. There was the Weequay and his younger Twi’lek partner who’d been harrying slave traders for the last three decades, both looking every inch of Rim pirate. Then there was the Kiffar—Jango never wanted to be on his wrong side. They were all a bit rough around the edges, but Vos was a different kind of crazy.

Jango himself had a limited contract with Jinn, if one could even call it that. He agreed to help out Jinn on the basis of time spent together in a cell and a fighter arena on Galidraan, and Jinn had earned Jango’s respect on shaky ground. What struck him at the time was how Jinn had looked when Jango mentioned the woman Dooku had with him, Komari. Whatever damage Dooku had left Jinn with, that man understood the importance of family. Jango saw it in the way Qui-Gon looked after Obi-Wan, in the way Obi-Wan kept either an eye or an ear on Jinn; in the way the two fought, making space for each other like flowing water. These were people who understood that family was more than blood, more than shit guardians who were supposed to look after you.

Which was why, Jango thought, Qui-Gon knew exactly what had motivated Jango to accept Dooku’s offer. Kenobi had been furious, but Jango thought that was more incidental than directed at him personally. It wasn’t as though the idea of Count Dooku creating an army was a particularly savoury idea in any context.

But Dooku had come to Jango Fett with an offer, claiming that the soldiers would all be his clones. That made it Jango’s army.

Jango wanted his family back—the True Mandalorians, all of them. All those men and women who had been cut down on Galidraan decades ago. Part of him still wanted to rip out Dooku’s throat with his bare hands. But that ache for his family—that was so much stronger.

The clones… it wouldn’t be the same. It couldn’t be. Yes, Mandalorians were trained for to fight, prepared for anything. But those clones of himself—not only did was it strange to think about, millions of copies of Jango Fett, living apart from him—but he couldn’t put out of his mind the simple fact that these were men bred for slaughter. Jango would train them, yes; he would give them everything they needed to survive. But a cold certainty sat in his gut, that not a single one of these soldiers was meant to live past whatever war they’d been created for.

If Qui-Gon could sense what Jango wanted, what he intended to make of these clones, then he likely knew of their intended fates, as well. It wasn’t as though the dar’jetii was stupid. Obi-Wan, too: Jango couldn’t read the boy on his best days, but when he’d told them about Dooku’s offer he’d felt the air heat around the redhead, smelled ozone, and could have sworn he’d seen sparks fly about Jinn’s Apprentice while Jinn wasn’t looking. The entire time Kenobi’s face had been smooth with implacable calm. Jango had been, admittedly, quite impressed by that.

And a little turned on, but gods knew Jinn would have cut off something important if Jango had so much as thought of making a move. And that was if Kenobi didn’t get there first.

Dooku had, however, offered him a very impressive sum of money for the privilege of training Mandalorian warriors. Money was of a distant concern to Jango after family, but then, this was the kind of money that took care of everything. This was the kind of buy-a-moon retirement haul smugglers and thieves dreamed of—and only when high out of their heads on spice, at that.

It had almost been enough to keep him quiet, but in the end he hunted down the dar’jetiise anyway and told Jinn and Kenobi about it. He figured Jinn would probably like to know that Dooku was trying to manipulate Bando Gora business, anyway. Mostly, though, Jango had made up his mind when Dooku asked him to kill the new leader of Bando Gora. Hells, Jango hadn’t enjoyed telling Qui-Gon that his ‘sister’ was completely out of her skull on deathsticks, or that Komari was the power behind the sudden expansion of the deathstick trade.

~~~~~~~~~~

1Choy? Stuta che poonoo mo azal? = What? [Are you] looking for business or trouble?

Note: Azalus = dangerous or hazardous.

Huttese does not actually have a word for trouble, surprisingly. So, in the spirit of making your own: trooba is trouble, but azal quite specifically indicates you’re gonna get deadly trouble, or at least you’ll fucking hurt when I’m through with you, the fuck do you want with this shop?

Shmi could probably live up to that threat, even.

Trooba is a step above nuisance (hotshuh). Can also be used to cover anything from ‘expensive spice-dumping, tail-squishing smuggler’ to Sy Snootles. It’s also entirely possible it’s a borrowed or corrupted word from Basic.

#Jango Fett #Shmi Skywalker #Mandalorian!Qui-Gon #Mandalorian Sith 'verse #Qui-Gon Jinn #Obi-Wan Kenobi #Quinlan Vos #wild ficcage and au spawn #Anonymous #this prompt is so old it tagged norcumi’s old blog

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luvteez · 4 years

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bassists do it deeper

pairing: yunho x genderneutral!reader genre + tags: smut, band au | kink discovery, exhibitionism, a brief segment of semi-public sex, hand kink, size kink, yunho monster cock bc this deserves a tag, power play, switch dynamics (i think??), dom!yunho pulls through in the end, unprotected sex wc: 6.3k

note: big thanks to my fav babie @lustjoong for motivating me to combine the two ideas i had for the prompt into one and motivating me to finish this!! here’s my take on the unspoken obligatory yunho size kink fic every ateez smut writer should have written once but make him a bassist. also, the band au to this pwp is literally just there as an excuse to make yeosang the lead singer of the band bc if kq won’t give yeosang lines, i will

A lot can happen throughout a single weekend, as your English professor suddenly quitting her job, your brother Yeosang almost burning down the kitchen from deep frying an egg, an influx of voicemails in your inbox all sent from Wooyoung, as well as Yeosang’s punk rock band losing a member. It’s a lot to process when all you’ve done is stay the night at Yuqi’s, even harder so when Wooyoung keeps repeating every five seconds that Seonghwa quit the band. (��Why did it have to be Seonghwa who left Stereowave? He was the hottest one!”)

That being said, you expected to come home to a beyond grumpy Yeosang who was trying to find a replacement asap. A band without a bassist sounds empty, and while Stereowave has garnered a big enough fanbase over the years that wouldn’t mind the band continuing as a trio, it just feels wrong. Besides, branding a group consisting of Yeosang the frontman, San the guitarist, Mingi the drummer, and nobody covering the bassist position a band doesn’t sit right.

You were prepared for the worst; a messy kitchen, Yeosang walking around in clothes he wore for five days straight, possibly the outbreak of World War III depending on how shitty he’s feeling. But instead, you find the kitchen exceptionally clean and Yeosang acting as if nothing ever happened.

“Can you help set up the camera? The guys and I wanna film a new song.”

“Uh, sure,” you answer irritatedly. “Shouldn’t you be more concerned about finding a replacement for Seonghwa though?”

“Oh, we already have a new bassist,” he waves off casually, “What are you gaping at? Shut that jaw of yours before flies fly into your nasty mouth.”

“First of all, rude.” Yeosang rolls his eyes at that comment. For a split second, you’re contemplating letting him figure out on his own how to use the camera because he’s the walking embodiment of a technology illiterate, but your curiosity about the new band member is bigger. “But how did you manage to find a new replacement so fast? It’s been like, what, a day since Seonghwa left?”

Yeosang sighs. “He’s been thinking of quitting for weeks now, so I had enough time to look for a new bassist. It’s not that big of a deal anyway.”

And this is exactly why you should never get dicked down by your bandmate several times in a month, you think to yourself. Seonghwa and Yeosang thought they were slick, but everyone figured they were more than friends. Needless to say, it was only a matter of time until the strain of their relationship wreaked havoc within the band.

“So,” you say as you two walk to the makeshift studio in the basement, “Is the new guy good? What’s his name?”

The change of topic makes Yeosang relax visibly. There’s a sheepish smile on his face and he replies, “You’ll see.”

You arch a brow. For some reason, that doesn’t settle comfortably in your gut. Then there’s the fact that Yeosang is slightly skipping, and that makes you more concerned than relieved. Because Yeosang barely skips, only when he’s being petty and is planning on pranking somebody. (Most of the time, it’s San.)

The faint vibrations of drums and guitars ring in your ears before you step a foot into the basement. Mingi is the first to acknowledge your presence, immediately dampening the cymbals before waving at you. That causes the other two guys to stop playing their instruments and turn their heads around. You greet San like you normally do, and when your eyes flit to the new addition, all brightness drops from your face.

“What. The. Fuck.”

Yunho cocks his head to the side almost tauntingly, eyes challenging. The corners of his mouth quirk upwards, though more with the intention of saying hah you thought you’d never see me again. “Hello to you too, honey. Looks like fate brought us together once more, eh?”

You blink multiple times to make sure your eyes aren’t deceiving you. To your dismay, they sure aren’t. It really is Yunho standing right next to an utterly confused San, and the bass in his hands just confirms it furthermore.

“Since when do you play an instrument?” you gawk. There’s no fucking way he could’ve had time to pick up music, not when his schedule was already jammed with basketball training and student council activities. Then again, that was his schedule in middle school.

“Since I was fifteen,” he drawls, unaffected by your outburst. “Any other questions, honey? Preferably something along the lines of how have you been? I expected a warmer welcome from you, not gonna lie.”

“What does Yeosang even see in you?” you splutter instead, disgust prevalent in your voice.

“Talent. Believe it or not.”

“Guys, no fighting,” Yeosang warns, but you’re too busy sending Yunho daggers and every pg rated curse under the sun your brain can wrack up.

Meanwhile, San shifts his weight on one leg awkwardly and asks in the background as your verbal dispute continues, “Are they exes or something?”

“Nah, just childhood enemies,” Mingi mumbles, clearly used to your interactions to the point where he’s becoming bored of it. He’s heard all the profanities too many times coming out from the same mouth, hence why he isn’t as disturbed as San is.

“Listen up, you piec—“

“(y/n), the camera. Help your older brother out, will ya?” Yeosang cuts you off urgently, the warning tone in his words hard to miss.

“Yeah, help your brother out, shorty,” Yunho snickers. Appalled by his blatant shamelessness, you scowl.

“I’m not that short—!”

“Still shorter than I am, shorty. Or do you prefer honey?”

World War III would’ve broken out right then and there if it weren’t for Yeosang’s death glare — you know, the look he has etched on his face whenever he means business and is willing to go so far and expose all of the nasty mishaps you’ve done in middle school, which is definitely something that should never see the light of day.

“I prefer neither,” you mutter after weighing the gravity of Yeosang’s wrath, avoiding any eyes before you set up the camera. Luckily, nobody further comments on that and eventually, everybody resumes practicing their parts of the songs.

Just in time as Mingi takes another short break to chug his water down, you stumble across a problem. “Uh, Yeosang? You should buy a new camera. This is still usable, but you might have to reset every ten minutes or so.”

A groan leaves him, followed by a shrill guitar riff, and you can see that he’d prefer death over spending money for a new one. “Can’t you just stay here during practice and reset it? You also get to hear some new tracks of the upcoming EP!” That fucker, he’s just too lazy to run forward and press a button every few minutes.

“I have to be on standby for the Block B ticket sale,” you lie. Technically, it’s not really a lie because you do plan on going to the Block B concert with Wooyoung, but 1) the ticket sale isn’t even today and 2) it’s always Wooyoung who buys the tickets. Yeosang doesn’t need to know that though. Any excuse is better than having to sit through practice and see if Yunho is as good as he claims.

Seems like Yeosang desperately doesn’t want to keep running back and forth to reset the camera as he suddenly says, “You can do it here too.” You would argue that the garage has its separate WiFi and only the band members have access to it, but then: “You can use my laptop instead.”

And letting you use his laptop is something he never does. You failed to submit an assignment in time because your own laptop broke down and he didn’t let you borrow his computer for even that.

“Fine,” you sigh in defeat. Yeosang thanks you with a smile so obnoxiously sweet it makes you gag. When all he gets in return from you is the middle finger, his demeanor drops and he mutters something inaudible under his breath, pointing to the small table at the side where all their phones and laptops are lying before he goes back to the others.

Once all four of them are in position and ready to play, you press the record button before flipping yourself onto the old patchwork couch Yeosang bought at a garage sale for only thirty quid a few years back. To your surprise, Yeosang’s MacBook is already unlocked, the default wallpaper of mountains and northern lights quite jarring to your eyes.

When given the rare chance to have unlimited access to your sibling’s devices, it’s self-explanatory what to do. You either a) go through all of their accounts and find as much dirt as possible about them that serves as good material for future blackmail purposes or b) sign them up to as many online subscriptions as possible that will make them go crazy. Unfortunately, that doesn’t work on Yeosang because 1) he doesn’t mind online subscriptions, and 2) he never checks his email account, hence why his inbox is filled with over 2000 mails, a third of them most likely unopened. On top of that, his MacBook is strictly meant for work, so if you really wanted to find out his most embarrassing secrets, your only shot is his phone.

That being said, you’re left with option c) which is checking out Block B’s concert merch since that’s the only sensible thing you can do right now. Forget productivity; that isn’t doable when Yeosang’s deep timbre is blaring in your ears along with the instruments. To be honest, you really enjoy Stereowave’s music and that’s on their music, not because your brother is the lead singer. You’ve enjoyed each of their performances and perhaps you’ve been indulging in the privilege of hearing their new songs first.

But now that Yunho’s involved, suddenly the prospect of having a new favorite band sounds tempting. What was Yuqi’s favorite band again? Day6? You should take a closer look at their discography.

As much as you want to mute the sound, from San’s riffs to Mingi’s drum solo, you fail to do so. One moment you’re opening the search browser, and in the next, your eyes are set on the group. They’re practicing like they usually do; fun etched on their faces as they lose themselves in the music. Yeosang is singing as if he was performing in front of a million viewers while San improvises a solo on a whim. Mingi messes up the beat for a split second after failing to catch his stick and somehow, your eyes have zoomed in on Yunho. It doesn’t take you five seconds to realize:

Yunho is good.

While he might not seem as fired up as the other three, he’s visibly relaxed. Just like Seonghwa, he plays smoothly and isn’t overpowered by the others, but he seems to have an easier time gliding his fingers across the fingerboard. The bassline is easy to filter out, not the generic pattern you can find in every second pop song, yet still compliments the other instruments.

He can play, fair game. However, that’s the least of your worries. You’re more attentive to the ratio of his hands to the bass. His hands are larger than Seonghwa’s by far, no doubt. That makes sense given his height, maybe an inch taller than Mingi. But Mingi doesn’t have that big hands. Doesn’t that mean that Yunho’s body is disproportional?

Before you know it, you drag your gaze from his shoes up to his legs and stop at his hands briefly, only to proceed upwards until you see the cocky smirk and amused eyes directed at you. All clogs in your brain come to a stillstand and despite that, that’s when you realize you’ve been 1) enjoying his music, 2) checking him out, and 3) checking him out and caught red-handed.

It feels as if you were living on the sun instead of on Earth as you burn up in embarrassment. Knowing there’s no way you can deflect what you just did, you quickly turn back to the laptop, the Google search bar staring back at you.

You’re about to type in something when the search history pops up, catching your eyes. A gasp leaves you but it goes under the music, everyone too immersed in their own thing to notice the prevalent horror settling on your face.

exhibitionism

getting off in public

best crowded places to have sex and get away with it

You blink, thinking that your sleep deprivation got the worst out of you and that you’ve finally reached the stage where you start hallucinating. Except, you know you’re not hallucinating. After going through the words again and again, you know that you’re really not fucking hallucinating and that your nonexistent sleep cycle isn’t as bad as Yuqi makes it out to be.

When you said you wanted to dig up dirt on your brother, you didn’t mean it in the form of his kinks. Money can’t buy everything, but how you wish it could so you could unsee that shocking discovery.

Since this is Yeosang’s work computer and he’s signed into his Google account, he must make use of the drive to save a copy of his ideas. It probably won’t amount to anything since he’s the walking embodiment of staying unbothered, but writing him a note on his docs about how he’s made your life worse by not clearing his search history is better than staying silent.

You click on the little icon on the top right corner, expecting to see Yeosang’s name right above the email address. But then you see Yunho’s name instead, and suddenly everything makes much more sense.

This was never Yeosang’s laptop to begin with.

To say you’re at a loss of words is an understatement. There’s no way someone could have as little self-awareness and leave their laptop unlocked, let alone Yunho out of all people. Then again, the last thing you expected from him was to play the bass and blend well with the rest of the band as if he’s always been the bassist of Stereowave and not the newly found replacement.

This is absolutely bonkers. But:

You could have fun with it. Maybe it’s for the better that money can’t buy everything.

Besides dozens of articles about semi-public sex and even a blogpost titled Shagging in Broad Daylight for Dummies, his search history of the last 24 hours consists of many forum links discussing the morality of exhibitionism, conspiracy theories, and hand care guides. You wheeze when you see the private playlist he saved on his YouTube account; a collection of videos about filing your nails properly and the best hand cream brands for dry skin.

Yeosang calls in for a break, and everyone’s grateful for it. San lets out a relieved noise as he places his guitar on the stand before catching the water bottle Mingi chucks at him.

“My arms are beat,” Mingi complains.

San sends him an incredulous look and snorts, “All you do is bang! crash! ppang! while my throat is fucked! And so are my legs!”

“Not my fault if you keep doing your high pitched oows! while jumping around like a— like a cricket!”

“A cricket? Are you serious?”

“I’m tired, okay!”

“Then that means we should call it a day and go home and rest, right?”

“Choi San, I think you’re onto something.”

“Absolutely not,” Yeosang deadpans, causing the bickering duo to pout in sync. “We have lots to do especially since Yunho’s now part of the band.” When all he’s met with is an attempt of cute puppy eyes that rather looks like a bad rendition of any horror movie featuring creepy dolls, Yeosang sighs, “I ordered chicken for dinner and yes, it’s on me.”

In an instant, Mingi and San’s faces brighten up and they’re celebrating as if they won a free cruise to the Bahamas. They don’t hesitate to envelop Yeosang in a bear hug, crushing the life out of him. A chuckle escapes you at the sight of your brother wringing for his sanity. Sometimes you wonder how on Earth those three guys are the same three guys who perform in abandoned warehouses, jamming out their punk rock songs while looking all edgy (in a cool way that has at least half of their fans thirsting after them).

Meanwhile, Yunho drops himself on the other end of the couch. Propping his right leg on the coffee table in front, he digs around in his pockets before pulling something out.

“Since when do you file your nails?” You pointedly raise a brow at him. Although your extensive research on his browser history already answered that question, you ask him just for the sake of it.

“Hand care is important, shorty,” Yunho replies, keeping his eyes trained on his fingers as he works the file around a nail. “If Kageyama Tobio files his nails, I can too. But enough with the small talk, what do you want?”

“I didn’t peg you as an exhibitionist.”

His hand stops moving. Yunho looks up at you, irritation written all over his features. “Because I file my nails...? A bold assumption, honey.”

There’s a reason why Yunho has always gotten away with pretty much everything. He’s a good actor who’s able to feign innocence at any time. His posture is relaxed, voice genuinely sounding flabbergasted that not even your shit-eating grin can throw him off guard.

You can’t, but your proof will do the job.

“I never said it’s because of your hand fixation.” You turn the laptop screen his way and once his eyes flicker on it and decipher the words, his face falls. Gone is the faux-confusion; as all color drains from him, his eyes look like they’re about to fall out of their sockets. “Is it really a bold assumption now, honey?”

Yunho inhales sharply when you scoot closer to him and put a firm hand on his left leg, his laptop now closed and long forgotten. Your fingers are placed too high for it to be friendly, skimming lightly on the inside of his thigh. Yeosang and the others are busy minding their own business but the chance of getting caught in the act is still there. The simple realization has adrenaline running a hundred miles an hour in your veins, and with the way Yunho clenches his jaw — a desperate attempt to fight the groan that’s threatening in the back of his throat — you’re not the only one who’s aroused by the setup.

Slowly, your hand inches closer to his growing bulge. Before you can dare yet another experimental squeeze, Yunho’s hand surges forward and holds your wrist in a vice grip.

“Don’t,” he snarls through gritted teeth, but it sounds sadder than it is intimidating when he’s sporting a boner right in front of your eyes.

You cock your head to the side, almost in a mocking demeanor. “You sure? Think about it, it’s a win-win situation. You get to live out your exhibitionist right here in front of your new bandmates, and I get the confirmation that you’re into it. But if you really don’t want to…” you try to retreat your hand but Yunho doesn’t let you budge, hand still enclosed around yours. That won’t do as an answer.

“Which one is it? Say it, Yunho,” you assert, narrowing your eyes. Yunho looks distraught, feverishly biting his lip while he’s internally fighting with himself, but he eventually chokes out a response.

“As long as nobody notices—”

“You either say you want me to touch you or not. I don’t want any roundabout stories.”

“Touch me,” he whispers defeatedly and the grip on your hand disappears completely. “But I swear to God if anyone realizes what you’re doing— hhnh—!” he cuts himself off with a low moan when you cup him over the material of his jeans.

“Yes yes, I get it. I don’t need Yeosang to know about this,” you dismiss. “And oh wow, you’re getting hard fast when I’m just touching you over your pants.”

“Just get to it.”

The snappish attitude causes you to stop dead in your tracks. “You think you’re in the position to tell me what to do? I can be mean too, y’know,” you start nonchalantly, a stark contrast to the way your heart is shaking in your ribcage. The power you suddenly hold is exhilarating. “I could just leave you like this, and then you’d have to try to cover your situation down there while practice goes on. How would the others react if they only knew your dick is hard? Probably won’t take them too long to find out since standing for a long time can be tiring, hm?”

Yunho’s head lolls back in response as he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. His breathing is uneven and the resulting moan that follows suit makes you smirk. You lightly smack the inside of his thigh, causing another wave of arousal to rupture in him. He chokes out a hushed ‘f-fuck’ and at this point, the constriction around his cock must be bordering painful.

“Who would’ve thought that the big bad Jeong Yunho is actually a submissive bitch who’s hungry for attention?” you ask gleefully, delivering another slap before stroking the area. “Who would’ve fucking thought you were a sub?”

“I-I’m not— shit, s-stop that, hngh— a fucking sub.”

“Yeah yeah, say that to yourself.” You rip your gaze away from Yunho’s flushed face to check if the coast is clear before targeting his fisted hands. He stiffens when you pry his hand open and bring three digits to your lips, sticking your tongue out to give kitten licks to his fingertips before pushing them into your mouth. You hum, suck, swirl your tongue around his fingers, giggling when all he does is stare at you wordlessly, unable to form any coherent thoughts. “See? Not even once have you put up a fight.”

That seems to snap him out of his daze. In an instant, his eyes darken and his jaw clenches.

“Oh honey, you know, you really shouldn’t tease me.”

You snicker, seeing through his bluff. “Wow, I’m so scared. What do you wanna do? Leave practice right now? Drag me to my room and pound me into the mattress?”

“Don’t tempt me.”

“You could never, sub.”

Whatever strands of self-control were still residing in Yunho have turned to dust by now. One moment he’s towering over you in full height, looking down on your sitting form in bitter distaste, and in the next, he’s dragging you out of the basement, unaffected by the sudden silence and Yeosang, Mingi and San’s confused expressions.

Once you’re in the living room, Yunho wastes no time crowding you against the wall and crashing his lips against yours. The kiss is a messy clash of teeth and tongues, but it leaves you hot and lightheaded and aching for more. Yunho knows no limits and snakes one arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, the other hand fisting your hair. He tugs harshly and the sharp sting sends all your nerves into a frenzy.

“Bedroom. Now.” The sudden huskiness in his tone catches you off guard and you wonder when his voice has ever sounded so rough. You moan into the kiss, fisting his shirt as you stumble your way to your bedroom.

Yunho pins you against the door once you’re in your bedroom. His lips are addictive, just like the groans he slips in kisses and his hands roaming your body. He gets rid of your clothes until you’re left in your underwear, then forces a knee between your legs to keep them from closing. Your eyes roll back at the friction, growing needier and hotter when he presses his thigh against you harder.

When you finally pull away, his eyes are hooded and his lips are red and swollen. There’s no trace of inhibitions left in him as he watches you like a predator. With horror, you realize that the tables have turned, and when he easily locks both of your wrists above your head with one hand only, that’s when you know you’re undisputedly powerless against him.

“Who’s the sub now?” he pants, eyes sparkling with glee.

“Still y-you.” The response sounds pathetic to your own ears, but you have too big of an ego to admit it out loud. Yunho doesn’t buy it either if his quirked brow wasn’t telling enough.

“Still in denial, honey? I see. Guess I’ll have to do more then.” His free hand reaches down to tug on the waistband of your underwear, only to let it snap against your skin. The slight sting is enough to render your knees into mush and set fog into your vision. He does it again, and then he actually tugs the fabric down and you finally grab his motives.

“You’re bluffing— y-you wouldn’t put y-your fingers,” you ramble, hyperaware about how dangerously close his fingers are. Just when you think he’s about to shove a digit in, he pulls away completely.

“You know, you keep talking about my hands. It’s always my hands this, my hands that,” Yunho says casually, giving his nails a quick glance before meeting your eyes. “Rather than me having a hand fixation, it’s you who has a thing for hands. My hands specifically.”

You don’t like how every word is true. You don’t want to acknowledge that he’s correct. Verbally, because your body is moving on its own and has betrayed you long ago.

Yunho taps on your bottom lip and you comply reluctantly, letting him shove the same three fingers you sucked before. Mumbling unintelligible words under his breath, he watches intently as you hum around him, eyes fluttering shut when he slowly moves them in and out of your mouth. A whine escapes you when he pulls them out for good, soaked wet with your spit.

“Tell me.” Yunho grins, “Tell me what you like about them. Or else I’ll leave you hanging.” He’s not lying and you know it. The look he sends you is enough proof that he wouldn’t hesitate to leave you high and dry.

You don’t like how he’s stringing you on like a rag doll. You don’t like how he’s stripping you off your dignity step by step. Strangely enough, you feel yourself leaking and wanting nothing but his pretty long fingers inside of you.

“I like how they, agh I— I l-like how—” you stutter, losing all levels of rationality when he suddenly circles around your entrance. Yunho urges you to continue and it takes up all of your brainpower to pick up where you left off, “—they’re so long and big and pretty—”

“So you have a size kink.”

You stare at him in disbelief. Now that, that’s something he shouldn’t have deduced. “W-wha— I don’t!”

“Seems to me that you have one though. You kept stressing how big and bad and tall I was after all.” You stiffen. Did you? Did you really? You don’t recall saying it that many times but it's hard to think straight when Yunho still has your wrists above your head and is looking down at you in a downright patronizing way. It leaves you trembling pitifully, feeling called out and feeling so, so small.

He really wants you to hit your lowest peak because he doesn’t stop there. “Who’s the real sub here? Is it really me? Or is it you who likes feeling so short, small, tiny.” His smirk widens when your breath hitches ever so slightly. “I fucking knew it.”

“You don’t know shit,” you bark back, but to no avail. Your credibility has diminished the moment he caught up to your kinks.

“Say whatever you want but that won’t change the fact that you’re tiny baby,” he pauses, takes his bottom lip between his teeth as he’s giving you a thorough once-over and then enunciates the next syllables with such clarity that forces time to stop, “My tiny, helpless baby.”

The pet name breaks you. It’s the final trigger that takes all your inhibitions away and the pathetic size of an ego that was left in your stubborn head.

“Please,” your voice cracks but that’s the least of your worries. You can’t move, can’t talk back, and won’t get anything in return. Yunho is right in front of you, finding satisfaction in your internal destruction and yet, after all of the things he’s slaughtered you to, he won’t give you anything in return.

“Just a little bit more, baby. I’ll give you what you want if you repeat after me; I’m your—”

“I’m your tiny, helpless baby who desperately wants you to fuck me.” Yunho is mildly taken aback that you were still able to think and get it right before he even finished his sentence. “Now get on to it, Yunho. Please.”

You’re sniffling at this point, begging for any kind of stimulation that shoots you to the stars. You’re fucking sniffling, and that’s all it takes for Yunho to manhandle you on the bed. A gasp escapes you, not expecting this turn of events at all. It all happens in a flash and the next thing you know, you’re on all fours, face buried in the pillow.

“Yunho, I t-thought y-you’d fuck me,” you complain, glancing behind to see what’s taking him so long. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Patience, baby,” he says as he’s unbuckling his belt, taking his sweet time. You rub your legs together to ease the tension, but you can’t really say you’re not enjoying the show. Yunho’s lean, slightly defined, and once he’s only left in his underwear, you swallow heavily. There’s a large, dark patch on the fabric and the bulge seems more prominent than before.

If your mouth was only watering, you’re drooling by now. Yunho takes off his boxers, revealing his painfully hard cock, tip red and oozing precum. Just like the rest of him, he’s abnormally huge.

You have two thoughts. One: Fuck, you want him. Now. Two:

“That’s never going to fit inside of me.”

“Oh it will,” he says with such confidence it gives you shivers. “I’ll pound you into the mattress and you’ll take it all.”

He grabs you by your thighs to pull you closer to him before positioning himself right behind you. “W-wait!” you cry, heart suddenly feeling heavy in your chest, “D-don’t just put it in without prep— o-oh, hnngh—” your body feels like jelly when Yunho presses two spit-coated fingers past your entrance, stretching you out with finesse.

“I’m not that heartless,” he chuckles amusedly, right at the same time he curls his digits right against your sweet spot, sending you headfirst into bliss. “You’re so small you wouldn’t be able to take an inch without prep.”

You only whine into the pillow, arching your back as he continues his ministrations. Once Yunho deems you stretched out enough, he retreats his fingers and replaces them immediately with his cock.

The difference is like night and day. It’s like his fingers didn’t amount to anything compared to this. The high-pitched cry that escapes you is loud as you grasp onto the pillow for dear life.

“How can you be so big?” you pant. There’s no way he’s past four inches deep inside of you. You’re far from being filled, but your walls are already clenching hard around him.

“Bassists do it deeper for a reason.” The innuendo is tacky but in your current headspace, it sounds like the sexiest thing you’ve ever heard. Yunho stills his hips, letting you get used to him. “How are you feeling?”

“Guh—” he chuckles at your inability to form coherent words, let alone thoughts. “So big.”

“You’ll get used to it, honey.” He leans forward to pet your hair. “Tell me when I can move,” he adds gently, and you swear you could melt right then.

It takes you a moment to get your breathing steady, and then he pushes more of his length inside. Whimpering, you writhe beneath him, feeling as if you’re being torn apart. Meanwhile, he’s breathing hard through his nose, trying his damn hardest to go as slow as possible. At a certain point, Yunho stops pressing for more and pulls out ever so slightly before rocking his hips back forward. It starts out slowly, but he gradually picks up the pace and you lose yourself into him.

“Faster,” you moan, bending your back for an even deeper angle. “Hnngh, so full. Want m-more.”

“You were right, you can’t take me to the hilt.” Yunho readjusts his grip on his hips and you know that bruises are going to last until the end of the week. “God, you’re so fucking small that you can’t take me to the fucking hilt.”

Your vision turns foggy once the meaning gets through you. Now that he’s saying it, how much of his cock is inside of you? Half of it? A third? He’s stretching you out so well, filling you up so impossibly deep and that wasn’t even his everything?

“That’s not— want more of you, all of you,” you stammer, not realizing what you’re even saying. “Baby wants all of you.” God, you’re so drunk and desperate for his cock that you can’t refer yourself in the first person anymore.

Yunho reacts just as perplexed, eyes widening. His hips still once more, and though you’d want to shout at him to keep on moving, you don’t find the energy to move your head, or even lift a finger.

“So fucking greedy,” he growls, pulling out of you completely. Not even a second later, he flips you around on your back so that you’re facing him dead in the eye, and then he pushes back in. The new position has you gurgling on broken words as your arms flail around for dear life.

Yunho throws a leg over his shoulder, creating a deeper angle. You don’t know if he’s actually giving you more if he’s managed to force more of him into you. All you register is the messy squelch of liquids and your moans bouncing off the walls. You can’t even see properly, everything a blur and a mix of different colors.

“I’m gonna cum,” you whimper, sensing your demise nearing closer and closer.

“Then cum,” Yunho orders in between groans, then adds in a louder voice, “You hear that baby? Cum and make a mess out of yourself.”

Your orgasm crashes onto you in a big singular wave as you tremble under his frame, walls clenching around him tightly. His name leaves your mouth like a mantra as you continue to convulse. Yunho pulls out moments later, just to spurt white on your abdomen. His face is flushed and beads of sweat are forming on his forehead while he jerks himself dry.

It’s a miracle that Yunho hasn’t toppled on you once he slowly comes down from his high. The fog in your vision clears up gradually, but your limbs are as good as worthless. You won’t be able to move freely for a good day or two.

As you continue to blink at the ceiling, only finding the energy to breathe, Yunho grabs the box of tissues from your nightstand and wipes himself off before doing the same to you. His touch is gentle unlike before, and you’d thank him if your vocal cords were still functioning.

You’re about to drift to sleep until he suddenly leans down and pecks your lips. In an instant, you narrow your eyes at him and ask, “What was that for?”

“You had some cum on your lip. I wanted to taste too.” Yunho smiles cheekily and runs his tongue against his bottom lip, then grimaces. “It tastes... yikes.”

He cleans you up in silence before plopping onto the bed right next to you. No words are exchanged up until you say, “Yeosang is going to kill you.”

“He can’t afford to kill me. He needs me for the band,” he muses.

“He’ll still kill you.”

“I appreciate the concern, honey.”

“Just scram back to practice.”

“Don’t you want to go to the bathroom first?”

“I can do it myself.”

“Oh really?”

“... Yunho, help me on my legs and then scram back to practice.”

Meanwhile, back in the basement, the guys are waiting for their bandmate to come back so they can finally finish practice and then eat chicken.

“You sure (y/n) and Yunho are only childhood enemies? They’ve been going at it like rabbits if he isn’t back here yet!” San exclaims, throwing his arms up for dramatic effect.

Mingi can’t counter that because San has a point, so he whips his head to Yeosang. “Dude, you sure they’re not in a relationship? They have to be at least fuckbuddies! Or fuckrivals? Fuckenemies? Or…”

“I do not know and I do not care,” Yeosang says blankly, looking like he’s about to bang his head against the wall because he sure won’t walk into your room and curse his eyes for the rest of his life. Damnit, all he wants is to practice and get the band together; their next gig is only a few weeks away. “In fact, I want to unsee what I just saw and unhear what you just said.”

#blame 5*os for the creation of the band au idea #ateez smut #yunho smut #jeong yunho smut #ateez hard hours #atz smut #luvsmut #the ending is rushed oopsie but i never know how to end smut scenes ahahaha

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guardianofrivendell · 4 years

Text

Stalker

Kíli x reader

Requested: Nope

Warnings: mentions of a fight, stalker things, bad writing because I was rushing

A/N: I don’t know what I was thinking... but here is a silly Kíli fic. I reposted this a couple of times because it didn’t show up in the tags at first. I apologize to my followers for the “Stalker”-spamming (although it fits the theme, doesn’t it :))

"You did not!" you gasped, looking up from your book and staring at your other half. Kíli just stood there, silently pleading with his eyes for you to let this go but you weren’t going to. Not this time. He couldn’t say he didn’t expect this reaction.

"Kíli, you already had a council meeting today and every day for the last three weeks! Can't you sit this one out? You promised!" you complained. You had every reason to complain; he and his brother, uncle and some members of the company had been trying to renew trade agreements and other important things with nearby kingdoms for the last couple of weeks. They weren’t going according to plan and he spent more time in the royal halls than he did with you. You understood how important this was for him, and that he had to be there as the Prince of Erebor but weren’t you important too?

To make it up to you, Kíli promised you’d have a quiet evening tonight, just the two of you. But you guessed those plans were cancelled now... "I know, amrâlimê. Trust me, I know and I’m truly sorry… But you know how uncle gets when these things don’t go as planned. Dain isn’t cooperating at all, they’re both so stubborn! Fíli is trying really hard to compromise but you know he can’t do anything without me there," he smiled trying to lighten the mood.

You huffed. You knew you were acting a little childish, but you had been looking forward to a night to yourselves. "It's just... I stayed in Erebor so I could be with you but you're never here. I think I spent more time in these chambers by myself than I got to spend time with you!" Your eyes traveled back to the pages of your book.

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you are avoiding me…" Now it was Kíli’s turn to scoff, and he went through his hair with both hands. An obvious sign he was starting to get frustrated. "Now you are overreacting, Y/N. You know I love you more than anything and I love spending time with you. But we had some problems with the numbers and stocks, so uncle and Dain wanted to do another run through tonight. Just to make sure," he explained. "You can come if you want?" You shook your head. "No, thank you. I'll only be in your way and I wouldn't want them to think I am the controlling type." He snorted. "Oh, don't worry, they already think that." When he saw your eyes widen, he raised his hands. "I'm joking! I'm joking! But I do have to go, amrâlimê. I really am sorry for tonight,” he said. He kissed your head and brushed his hand over your cheek. “I promise I will make it up to you." Before he closed the door to your chambers he said, "Don't wait up!" Great... home alone. Again.

You looked outside the window into the dark night and sighed. It was well past midnight and still no Kíli. Your thoughts began to take a turn for the worst and you started to feel a little homesick. You left everyone in your hometown when you joined the quest all those months ago. Your friends, your family, ... back home you didn't have time to spare, you were always busy. But here in Erebor you had way too much time on your hands. Especially since you were by yourself most of the time. Getting betrothed to a prince didn’t help either. You weren’t allowed to go out by yourself – for your own safety according to Thorin – and everything was done for you by the maids. You tried to help them at first by making the bed or doing the laundry yourself, but Kíli had explained to you that the maids considered this to be an insult. It gave them the idea you weren’t happy with how they handled everything. So you had apologized profusely and let them do everything for you. Even though it went against everything you believed in.

If you were in your hometown right now, you’d probably go for your nightly walk. You found walking at night to be relaxing, almost comforting. No sounds, no people, ... just you and your thoughts and nature. But you couldn't do that here, could you? You thought about it for a moment. And why shouldn’t you? You didn't know your way around Erebor and Dale that well, but you recalled a little path not far from the main gates that led to the Dale lands and forests. You went there once with Kíli so you could probably find it on your own, and get some much needed fresh air. When you get back, Kíli might have returned from his meeting.

You pulled on a coat and heavy boots and headed out the door. It was fairly easy to get out of Erebor without being seen. The guards at the front kept an eye on people trying to get in, not the other way around. When you walked in the direction you thought the path was, an uneasy feeling came over you. As if someone was watching you.

You shrugged your shoulders, thinking your mind was playing tricks on you but you picked up your pace nonetheless. Now where was that path again...? Just when you were about to give up, you spotted a small path that led you away from the Lonely Mountain, to a small forest. It wasn't the path you were looking for, but it would have to do.

A sudden noise made you turn. You saw a silhouette walking a couple of feet behind you; dark clothes, hood, ... Everything about this figure screamed danger. You quickly ran over the path and disappeared between the trees. Why did you always have to do these things? What were you thinking going out alone? You ran your hands through your hair and took a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. But the noise of someone walking on the stone path made your head snap up.vYou cursed under your breath. The hooded figure walked over the path in front of you and headed straight towards you.

You started running deeper into the forest and you heard their pace quicken as well. Your daggers! You started tapping your thighs and chest before you realized you left them in your chambers in your rush to get out. "Alright, Y/N, it's up to you then," you whispered. You could easily defend yourself, you’d fought in many wars before. But that was different, you had your weapons back then. Now it was dark and if they were armed, you had no chance.

You hid yourself behind some bushes and waited. As soon as you got sight of your stalker, you flexed your muscles and got ready to jump out. They halted not far from you, close enough to hear a male voice say, "Where did she go?" "Right here!" you yelled while launching yourself at him. Although he was much heavier than you, he fell to the ground immediately. You climbed on top of him and started punching with everything you got. He tried to get you off of him, but you gave him no chance.

"Stop it!" he yelled. "Y/N, it's me!" At the sound of your name, you froze. You quickly stood up and took a few steps away from him. Your 'stalker' held a hand over his eye as he slowly stood up. "Mahal, Y/N, you got a good right hand!" "Kíli?!" you gasped. He threw his hood back and started laughing. Now you could see his face and you felt instant relief and regret. "Oh no, I am so sorry!" you said and you hugged him. He wrapped his arms around you and chuckled. "Well, I can say I am feeling a little better now knowing that you can defend yourself when you’re unarmed."

You looked at his face and touched his cheek with the back of your hand. "It is already starting to swell. We should go back, I need to take care of this," you said.

By the time you got back to Erebor, his eye and a part of his left cheek was starting to bruise. "I hope they're not going to be mad at me..." you said, scared of the reaction of Thorin and his brother. "Nah, they wouldn't do that to you. What I'm afraid of is that they wouldn't let me hear the end of this. I got beat up by my own girl who is not much taller than a hobbit!" You slapped his shoulder in protest.

"Then why did you follow me in the first place?" you asked. "Are you kidding me? I was on my way back to you and I saw you leaving in the middle of the night! Of course I would follow you, something could've happened to you!" "You worry about me?" you whispered. You weren't used to this kind of affection. Long story. "Of course I do. Y/N, I love you! I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you!" Kíli said while he started stroking your hair. "We should get some sleep, you probably have another meeting tomorrow..." you sighed.

He picked you up and walked through the silent hallways to your chambers. You looked at his face and started laughing. "What?" he asked. "You look like one of those pirates from Bilbo’s stories!" you giggled when you looked at him and his black eye. "Oh, I'll show you what this pirate can do, kurduwê!" he growled while kicking the door open with his foot.

A/N: I’ll leave the rest to your imagination...

Permanent taglist: @roosliefje @kata1803 @entishramblings

#lotr #lord of the rings #lord of the rings imagine #lotr fanfiction #kili x reader #kili durin #kili x you #the hobbit imagine

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we-are-inevitable · 3 years

Text

new javid au?? you bet!!

hi ok so i thought of an au. basically a stereotypical hallmark movie but make it javid. this au featuures: jack “i was raised on a farm and practice saying important conversations to my cows” kelly and david “i went to college in a big city because i’m built different” jacobs

i might eventually write this out into a fic !! soooo,,

FOR YOUR CONSIDERATION:

the jacobs family lives in a small town in a southwestern state.

david jacobs is, of course, a bit of an outsider in the town. he's not interested in farming or country things, he's more into the Big Outside World and wants to study something that isn't very "traditional" for his area (i'm thinking comparative literature or journalism (with a minor in queer studies that he Does Not Talk About because Hello, Small Town!)

anyways he has a devoted friendgroup that he spends a lot of time with:

sarah (david's twin sister, who isn't afraid to get into trouble and has never been very 'ladylike'; plays softball and runs track with tony)

jack (latino farm boy with a heart of gold, a shitty father and a hidden artistic talent; basically the glue that holds the group together)

katherine (a girl who constantly feels trapped in a close-minded small town and wants to get out; also into journalism)

tony (who they call racetrack because he's an all-state cross country runner; biggest dumbass but can solve any math problem ever)

sean (he's basically a god on the football field; extremely intelligent, can play at least 6 instruments; called 'spot' bc Freckles)

charlie (Literally The Best Human Ever; student council president, National Honor Society president, also in drama)

and albert (probably a stoner but he's chill and legitimately the funniest person; troublemaker but also a literal golden retriever)

there's more of them that float between friend groups, but, of course, Davey, Sarah, Jack, Katherine, Tony, Sean, Charlie, and Albert are the "core" friends.

but. surprise: davey is the only one who goes out of state for college.

the rest split up, but stay in state. Jack goes to a trade school (he takes welding courses at the local vo-tech), Tony and Sean end up going to a community college together about 30 minutes away from home, albert goes straight into the workforce under a relative's wing, and charlie, kath, and sarah all go to a big university about 3 hours away from home.

but not davey. no, davey goes to a school in new york, just because he needs to get away from everything.

because davey goes to school on the other side of the country, he rarely gets the chance to come home. this, of course, means that he slowly drifts away from all of his high school friends- aside from sarah, obviously, because he still sees family a lot, but he doesn't talk to anyone else that often... especially jack.

now, jack and david were never a "thing," but there was always some underlying tension. longing stares, late night talks on the roof of jack's barn, hangouts at the diner in town. they were inseperable, pretty much. by far the closest friends out of the group... until jack and katherine started dating. and, yeah, david is happy for them. he's so happy for them- he jumps up and down and screams and shouts when kath and jack show up to school one day holding hands- because jack and katherine have been his closest friends for YEARS. they’re their own little subgroup- Jack, Kath, and Davey- and they go pretty much everywhere together. sometimes sarah tags along too, so david isn't third wheeling, but most of the time it's just the three of them.

but it hurts so much, because david likes jack. but jack is apparently straight. so david goes away. goes to a school across the country instead of, yknow, facing his feelings.

FAST FORWARD TO ABOUT TEN YEARS LATER!!!

david is a successful 28 year old. after graduating from college (where he ended up double majoring in english and journalism, with a minor in queer studies), he works for a publishing company and has a pretty cushy job as an editor or something, idk yet, and he's doing really, really well for himself- until one day, he gets a call from his mom, Esther, and finds out that his father is sick. sicker than he should be, really, and they're just now convincing him to get checked out.

of course, after hearing the news, David is torn. his family is from a small town, so job opportunities are hard to come by... but regardless, within a little over a week, David has moved back home to help take care of things.

pretty soon, david has a job. thanks to his background knowledge in journalism and his writing ability, he's able to score a job from Joseph Pulitzer, who runs a few newspapers in their town and others in the surrounding area. he feels like he's gotten a whole new start from the past he disliked so much, until it all comes back to bite him in the ass when he runs into Jack Kelly at the co-op.

"Davey?"

"Wha-- Oh! Jack?"

"Good to see ya, man! What are ya doin' back?"

"I moved back a few weeks ago. Missed home, you know?"

"Just couldn't stay away, could ya?"

"Guess not."

they talk for a few minutes, but eventually have to split apart- jack has to get his feed back to the farm before his girls, aka: his cows, get angry, and davey has to get the chicken scratch back home before esther maims him. they exchange numbers, though, and promise to catch up sometime soon.

after that encounter, Jack Kelly ends up showing up a lot more often. davey sees him all the time without meaning to. in line at the grocery store, at the co-op, stopped next to him at the one stoplight in the middle of town- everywhere. they're never able to talk, though; not until one evening, davey gets a call from jack.

at first, conversation is a bit tense- but only because it's been so long since they've talked. once the ball gets rolling, though, they're laughing and carrying on like they never stopped talking. when the conversation calms down a bit, jack asks davey if he'd like to come over.

"i'd love to, if your wife doesn't mind having a guest, of course."

"i... actually don't have a wife."

"oh-- oh, i'm sorry, i just assumed-"

"nah, it ain't nothin' to twist yourself up about. you know where i live, yeah? swing by 'round seven."

"sounds like a plan."

and that's how davey finds out that jack owns the land that his father's farm was on. the house, though, is different- and he soon realizes that jack has completely remodeled. the porch isn't rotting anymore, and the yard is green and trimmed, and the pond out in the back yard doesn't look god-awful anymore, much to davey's delight.

dinner goes off without a hitch. everything goes right, just like old times. they swap college stories. jack tells davey about inheriting the farm and making it his own (likely to scrub every piece of his father out of his life), while davey tells jack about the big city and how different it is being home. it's nice. comfortable. familiar.

jack and davey try to meet up as often as they can after that night, which is difficult considering their schedules, but they somehow make it work. they make it really work, in fact- they have dinner twice a week (usually with some old friends), they fish together (read: jack fishes while david sits on the back of his truck and talks to him), and they even go to rodeos and football games together (to look back on they're youth, of course).

one night, about a week before jack's 29th birthday, they meet up at the bar in town and spend hours drinking beer and whiskey and talking about life. once they make it back to jack's house, they continue talking on the couch, but talking turns into cuddling ("just for old time's sake") and cuddling turns into confessions ("i only dated those girls because i thought it would help me get over you") and confessions turn into tears ("when he found out, he kicked me out of the house") and tears turn into promises ("i loved you then, jack, and i'll love you now") and promises turn into more.

eventually, more turns a knee on a ground and a ring on a hand. eventually, a ring on a hand turns into a wedding. eventually, a wedding turns into memories, years down the line, while sitting on an old porch swing and watching grandchildren play in the front lawn.

the end !!!!

#FUCK i love this #like. i love this #i had so much fun writing this #i love THEM!!!!#pls reblog i spent so much time on this #Newsies #Javid #david jacobs #davey jacobs #jack kelly #newsies musical #newsies broadway #livesies #jac writes #jac txt.

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kogo-dogo · 3 years

Note

i like your skyrim stuff and i wanna know more about the funky little dudes you posted in those “sentences” lol. instead of asking for more snips

You have made a mistake. Prepare for an essay.

But, joking aside, they’re Morrowind characters. I do like Skyrim, but Morrowind is my favorite game of all time and the entire reason I got into the TES fandom years ago. I don’t talk about it much on here because everyone is here for Half-Life and HRV, but... you know what? I’mma take this opportunity. To yell.

About The Guys(tm).

So, basically, in my Personal Canon, I don’t just have a Nerevarine (i.e. Protagonist) character. I have an entire crew of people who help him get through things because it just seems... more realistic for my Extremely Flawed and Terrible Nerevarine. Also, I just had a lot of characters conjured up as a teenager and it was fun to evolve it over time so they’re all friends.

They are, as follows:

- Jo’Karsa (a.k.a. “Karsaga”). Battlemage born under the Atronach. Afflicted with Wombburn. Also the Nerevarine. He’s an abnormally large Cathay-raht who has had an unusual upbringing. He was originally an orphan plucked off the streets in Corinthe and trafficked to Morrowind where he was sold as a slave. As fate would have it, a houseman under his owner took a shine to him and stole him away when they fled to Cyrodiil to avoid political assassination. Karsaga has been raised Telvanni in Imperial territory so, despite being a mighty brute of a Khajiit, he has an extreme affinity for magic and an equally extreme disconnect from his Khajiiti roots.

He speaks like a Dunmer, carries himself like a Dunmer, and has very Telvanni sensibilities. He also has an extensive criminal record from his time spent as a bandit outside of Cheydinhal, and that is eventually how he ends up on the prison boat that sends him to Morrowind. He has a bunch of aliases and an unhealthy penchant for drink and smoke. Not a fan of skooma, though. As gruff and sarcastic as he is, he has a very silver tongue and a way of winning people over and talking himself out of trouble.

Also, “youth born under a certain sign?” Nah, this bitch is 34. And smells like a wet dog.

- Dasrazel. Altmer Nightblade and Quarra vampire. He contracted his vampiric curse while trying to save his lover from the clutches of an undead menace during the Second Era, after a life working various quasilegal oddjobs that brought shame on his noble family. In life, he was a likeable but lowkey individual, and in undeath he’s still very lowkey... but perhaps not as likeable. He has to take a low dose of a calming potion to keep the inherent, violent bloodlust of his Quarra curse at bay, and it does a lot to deaden his emotions. Combine that with hundreds of years to learn how to not give a fuck, and you have a very blunt, stoic, matter-of-fact creature who only very occasionally makes quips and usually just wants to be left alone.

He is Karsaga’s closest ally, right hand man, and platonic soulmate. They met after Karsaga robbed him blind at a bar (thinking him to just be some weird, frail elf), and Dasrazel took pity on him after Karsaga ran him through with an iron saber and panicked when it... did nothing. Their bond is one of a mutual distaste for most people and Dasrazel’s desire to have companionship again.

They’re very much bros, even if Dasrazel spends most of his time not understanding why Karsaga is the way he is.

- Neira Brenur. Dunmer Witchhunter and low-ranking member of House Redoran. She’s the daughter of a Camonna Tong member and an Ashlander woman, though her mother is dead and she spends a lot of time trying to distance herself from her racist father. She joined Redoran in hopes of atoning for the crime of just being born into a bad family, but has a really difficult time fitting in. She’s very meek and empathetic and does better in controlled duels than actual combat. The idea of actually hurting an opponent makes her sick to her stomach.

She kind of just happened to Karsaga one day, courtesy of him running afoul of her not-so-popular friend, Vandrith (we’ll get to that trainwreck later). She mainly acts as a translator for Vandrith and tries to play mediator when Karsaga starts getting too aggressive with others. She’s in good with some odd folks in Redoran and a very aggressive supporter of the Tribunal Temple, which makes it hard for her to wrap her mind around Karsaga’s existence as the Nerevarine.

Also, the fact she’s an absolute pushover means she just accepts the less-than-savory people Karsaga pals around with. She’s got a big heart and feels actual pity for his blasphemous, undead, and criminal friends. They’re good people on the inside (probably).

- Vandrith Valen. Dunmer Ordinator and conglomeration of a lot of factors coming together in the worst way possible. He is naturally “blessed by Azura” and has some degree of prophetic power, though he’s choked it down after a life of being raised Indoril. He also came to the unfortunate realization after being stationed on Vvardenfell, that he is also a descendant of House Dagoth and is haunted by the Poison Song, a “song” sent out by Dagoth Ur that warps the minds of those who are of his blood and turns them into Sleepers and Dreamers.

These two traits do not mesh well and make Vandrith more than a little unstable.

Vandrith is... prone to erratic behavior and violent outbursts and is largely under the care of his paternal uncle, Tuls Valen, the head priest of the Ald’ruhn Temple. Vandrith is also a clever and tricky bastard who has been trying to figure out how to discern Dagoth Ur’s plans from the Poison Song in order to prevent bad things from happening. Usually, he can keep things under control, but extremely bad visions, close proximity to items/places corrupted by House Dagoth, and stress can cause him to be difficult.

Beyond this, though, he’s not what you’d expect from an Ordinator. He’s very witty with a somewhat bawdy sense of humor, a very devil-may-care attitude, and he’s a huge fan of causing mischief. He forced his way into Karsaga’s social circle due to his absolute certainty that Karsaga could bring down Dagoth Ur, and Neira is his closest (and for a long time only) friend, who has figured out what all of his weird ramblings mean.

- Bashinga. Sorceress and Aundae vampire. She is an old acquaintance of Dasrazel’s who has ties to Telvanni, the Mage’s Guild, and several circles of warlocks and witches. She’s very much a self-serving sort, more interested in the acquisition of power than the wellbeing of Morrowind, but she is fiercely protective of the people she deems worthy (and she has a soft spot for Neira she can’t really explain).

Once upon a time, she was a dancer and performer with a traveling circus, and her fall into undeath and wizardry was a happy accident after being taken as cattle by rogue Aundae. She’s got a good set of vocal cords and can move with grace and ease, but she speaks very bitterly a lot of the time and is difficult to get along with.

She’s one of those people who Karsaga immediately took a shine to because they both like to sit around and bitch about people. Dasrazel and Bashinga mostly get along by the time-honored tradition of “two very gay individuals being catty at each other as a sign of affection, though outsiders would think they hate one another.”

- Jai Swift-Fly. Cathay assassin and member of the Morag Tong. She was born and raised in Elsweyr in a more tribal environment, and is an old friend of Vandrith’s (odd, considering they met because she took a grey writ to knock him off and, instead, he knocked her out). She mostly comes into the fold because Karsaga needed somebody to break into the Ministry of Truth to free Mehra Milo, and she came highly recommended (by Vandrith; Vandrith recommended her).

She’s a married mother of two, is big and strong and very proud of being big and strong, and a crack shot with a bow. She’s also deaf as hell and communicates through a series of homebrew gestures. Her decision to stick around and help Karsaga after completing the job she was hired to do stems primarily from her extreme curiosity. She has no stake in the Nerevarine Prophecy or this group of losers, but by god does she want to see what it looks like when a god dies.

Fun fact: Jai is dead by the events of Skyrim, but two of her descendants remain. Shevah and J’Rakka. They’re a brother-and-sister duo. Shevah is as much of a curious, troublemaking adventurer as her so-many-greats grandmother. J’Rakka is a werewolf who mostly hunts bounties to make a living.

- Dravyn Telvayn (no picture of him, sorry D:). Dunmer assassin and member of the Morag Tong. Former highwayman and current Berne vampire. Husband of Jai and perpetually confused, mainly over the fact he has kids with Jai and... well, every book he’s read has indicated that that should be impossible for a variety of reasons. He lives in the sewers of the Arena canton in Vivec City and is allowed work in the Morag Tong due to his efficacy at eliminating very high risk targets, though he’s basically “on his own” if he ever gets caught. They’re sure as fuck not giving him writs of execution to present to guards when the Tong could end up fucked over if their relationship with a vampire gets out.

He’s mostly in the background and tags along due to his extreme dedication to Jai. He doesn’t get along with hardly anyone but her, though he is the one who coined the term “Council of Accidents” in relation to him, Dasrazel, and Bashinga. He feels a loose kinship with them in that they’re all members of different vampire clans, but all members whose sires want nothing to do with them, rendering them outcasts. Even after the events of Morrowind, he keeps in infrequent contact with the others.

After Jai’s death, he acts as a weird “ancestral guardian” to his own descendants. As of the time of Skyrim, he spends most of his time trying to keep Shevah from getting killed. He is very tired. She is a lot.

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libermachinae · 4 years

Text

Drops in a Bucket, Splashes on the Ground

Also available on AO3! Tags: Mature, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Gen, Whirl (Transformers), Implied/Referenced Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Whirl is Primus AU, Angst, would you believe me if i said i didnt set out to write another angst fic, whirl's just like that Wordcount: 4202 Notes: I would highly recommend you read "Bullets" or at least be familiar with Whirl's abuse of Rotorstorm before reading this fic. The scene containing graphic violence begins with "Tacticians always struggle..." and the scene referencing abuse begins "He shoves his way..." Please feel free to reach out if you need any further information.

~*~

“And I guess old Primus makes five.”

“Hah! No, no, no. That’s not Primus… you’re Primus.”

~*~

Whirl has never been intimidated before. Not so intentionally, not by bots whose forged bodies have been piled on with armor and weaponry, no expenses spared by the ganglords. The Heavies rolled up on treads that left gouges in the streets, painful marks that tomorrow’s taxes will go to fixing, and their transformations took a full five seconds as excess plating moved out of the way while their protoforms tried to bend per their original configurations. They wear identical red visors and dark gray masks: faces, certainly, but only in the barest sense of the word, enough to separate them from lowlifes without affording them identity. It is impossible to tell one from the other and Whirl knows, intrinsically, that it will not matter.

~*~

Rung is the only one who doesn’t flinch. Whirl stands over Adaptus’ body, freshly relieved of what they can all agree was a spectacularly ugly head, and puts away his gun.

“Right,” he says, with a meaningful glance out the window. “Want to agree none of us heard that?”

“Whirl!” Rodimus shouts. “You can’t just kill a god!”

The body explodes into a pile of dust.

“Sure I can,” Whirl says, shaking it off his foot even as he leans down to inspect the scrapple. “Hey Ratch, can you rig me to explode next time I get shot?”

“Is it true?” Nautica asks, doing her intellect a massive disservice by stepping in front of the unhinged bot with a blaster.

“Obviously not,” Ratchet says. “He was lying.”

Whirl nods.

“Yeah. You think I would keep it a secret from any of you if I was a god? You think Cyclonus would ever hear the end of it? Nah.” He stands, kicking pile and sending a spray of metallic dust into the air. “Awesome way to go, though, can’t say I’m not jealous.”

“That doesn’t mean you had to kill him for it.”

“So, you’re not Primus?” Nautica asks. She hasn’t moved, her arms crossed in front of her. If Whirl had been her creator (and he isn’t, he already has his claws full with a nest of scraplets), he would have been pretty proud of her right now.

“Nope!” he says. “I’ve never vouched for the universe before, but that kind of joke would take on an extra level of cruel, don’t you think?”

“Got to agree with Whirl, here,” Rodimus says, a hand on Nautica’s shoulder drawing her back. “I could buy pretty much anyone else. Maybe not Rung, but, say, Velocity? She could be Primus. Or Roller. I guess not Megatron, since we saw him come online, but—”

“The point, Rodimus,” Ratchet deadpans.

“The point is, not Whirl,” Rodimus said, sweeping his hands up to gesture at him. “I get Primus is disappointed in us. We are a textbook example of why a race of sentient war machines should never be left to their own devices, combined with a case study on how to avoid learning from every mistake you’ve ever made. But I really don’t think that disappointment would translate to actively hunting us for sport. Isn’t Primus supposed to be all about forgiveness and loving your cellmate?”

“Right,” Whirl says, clacking his pincers together in his approximation of a snap. “An angry god is so cliché.”

“I don’t think anyone knows what Primus believed,” Rung says. Oh no. He’s taken off his glasses. “I don’t see any reason he couldn’t be Whirl.”

“How about we start where the part where gods don’t exist, and Whirl does?” Ratchet suggests.

“I… I am Solomus, though.”

The whole group turns to the offending voice. Whirl goes for his gun and Rodimus knocks it out of his hand, a stern finger silently telling him not to kill any more gods. As if being an ex-Matrix bearer gives him some sort of say.

Tyrest has not stopped touching his gaudy mantelpiece, poking at the holes. It wouldn’t be so disturbing, except he’s staring at Whirl while he does it.

“Primus, don’t you remember?” he asks.

“Hey, let’s watch the fragging language.”

“Adaptus wanted to send our creations to pointless war,” Tyrest goes on. “Violence for the sake of violence, conquests built on the backs of others. We fought him.” He steps forward and reaches for Whirl. “Together, we—”

Whirl jerks back with his claws extended out.

“I will cut your hand off, I swear to—I swear.”

He is saved from any more interrogation by the ground violently rumbling underneath them.

“Okay, so regardless of whatever’s Whirl’s deal is, we do still have at least one Primus to worry about,” Rodimus says, looking out the window at the approximation of what Whirl, personally, had always assumed god would look like. “Solomus, you still got your teleporting rigged up?”

~*~

No one ever considered giving The Institute a waiting room, so Whirl stands to one side of the hallway while the butchers discuss his case. He knows his proposal intrigues them: they have never had an opportunity to shadowplay a willing subject before. What is there to learn from a brain that does not fight them every step of the way? What backdoors exist that every other victim kept hidden? Whirl does not care about the potential scientific advancements his offer provides. He just wants to stop dreaming of gears, lose the phantom aches of his fingers. He wants to look in a mirror and see nothing: not himself, not a monster. Just an object, fulfilling its purpose.

The scientists who walk by him in the halls stare. Everyone stares, but the look they give him is different. They do not find him exceptional, nor do they feel for him pity or contempt. He is no marvel. He is a creation, perfectly engineered to suit its purpose, every detail minded with care to ensure it all works together as an ideal mechanism. He wishes he could see himself through their eyes.

The door beside him slides open and a bot he has never seen before steps out. His helm comes up no higher than Whirl’s waist and his large yellow optics do not look up from his datapad.

“Whirl of Polyhex, the panel has elected to reject your petition,” he says. “I am to remind—”

“What?” Whirl startles; his new head shoots upward, forcing him into an angle that is both unnatural and instinctual. “Why? Ice Pick said he could—”

“I am to remind you that you have signed a nondisclosure agreement; failure to comply will result in penalty of death.” The little bot flares his plating, the click of a motor lock setting it in place. “You will now submit to full stasis and be escorted back to your home.”

The jack comes from behind.

~*~

“This is my hab suite.”

Whirl knows the tonal difference between a bullet hitting living metal and a wall. He scowls and gives up, waving Cyclonus inside.

“My room’s a mess,” he says. “Think I’m gonna crash here for a while.”

Cyclonus comes in and sits beside Whirl on the berth. When the door slides shut, they are visible only by their biolights: Whirl closed the shutters when he came in, the stars too much like blinking numbers. Cyclonus is a surprisingly quiet machine. His presence comes with none of the usual hisses and clicks one would normally get with their kind, like each component was designed specifically to work with those around it. Compared to Whirl, whose body is a wreck of pieces that almost fit together, clinking and scraping through their standard functions, he practically doesn’t exist.

“This is slagged, huh?” Whirl asks.

Cyclonus thinks on it a moment, then there is a shift of plating as he nods. Is it an admission, a confession? Pri—frag, Whirl doesn’t want to have to start thinking about that.

“Sorry,” he says.

“You don’t need to—”

“Scrap, you’re right. What am I doing?” Whirl laughs. “I’m infallible now, right? It’s all been part of my grand plan for Cybertron. I should be saying you’re welcome; you should be thanking me.”

Cyclonus sighs, a rush of air out his vents.

“Is there anything I can do for you?” he asks.

Whirl pokes and pinches at his own plating, trying to make sense of it.

“Yeah,” he says. “Start praying, and keep Megatron far away from me.”

~*~

He’s spent two days in the holding cell before he realizes no one else is coming for him.

That Orion Pax… he’s good, and Whirl’s not sure whether it’s the kind that gets people hired or gets people killed. Not that it matters, not that he cares. The Senate’s going to crush all of them one by one, like little cans of oil under a rolling tank. He thought being a tread would come with some measure of relief; instead, it just landed him in a hole.

He digs a claw tip into the wall, another score among a small collection. He has been trying to reconstruct the miner’s face, what it looked like in the split second between recognizing he had been struck and realizing there was more to come. He can’t relish a memory if he can’t keep it, and he’s already struggling well enough to accomplish the former. This assignment was supposed to be a release. Look down at the big thinker and imagine in his place Senator Proteus, Sentinel Prime, the faceless Functionist Council. Tell himself that this is what it would feel like to rip their plating open until their priceless energon spilled onto a dirty floor.

The face, though, it’s escaping him. How can he fell anything about a person with no face? What relief is there to be found in beating the slag out of a nobody? He is trying so hard to adapt, but it’s like his processor is working against him, reminding him how far he got before he was reeled back in. The silhouette of his sketch is familiar.

His claws hurt where he has worn the tip blunt, and the portrait is still incomplete.

~*~

“I don’t make Matrixes,” he insists. The group was polite enough to knock once they found him, but they’re failing to pick up the hint that he wants all of them to go away, right now, and leave him alone forever.

“Well, Epistemus says you can,” Rodimus says, dentae blocked together. “Why do all the other gods have their memories back, but not you?”

“I dunno, maybe Needles can stick me and figure it out.”

It’s almost cute, the way Rewind steps protectively in front of Chromedome.

“Rodimus,” Rung says, trying to get between them, “this isn’t helping.”

“Thank you,” Whirl says. “Now can we get to the part where we storm the planet, guns a-blazin’?”

“That won’t help either.” Rung turns to look at him. “Your memories haven’t been deleted, Whirl. Somehow, there should still be some part of you that remembers creating the Matrix.”

“The Functionists probably took it out,” Whirl says.

“That’s not how mnemosurgery works.”

“Says the dropout.”

“You told me once about your earliest memory,” Rung says. Whirl should be furious that he’s doing this here, in front of people who have no business knowing what’s in his head, but he’s more interested in the way Rung has taken off his glasses and is squinting up at him. “What happened just before it?”

They did not bring Ratchet, a testament to the fact that they will not leave before he gives them answers. He could start lying again, or find another way to forgo the question, but something about Cyclonus’ presence at his back helps him settle down the compulsion. Everybody lies about their forging. Everybody wants to say it was overseen by the Prime, or that they settled into their form like resin poured into a mold, instant and perfect. Whirl has a set of seven stories he deploys on rotation, ranging from heroic to beautifully tragic, and he spends a moment picking through them, trying to remember which was the real one.

“I showed up at the Functionsts’ place to get my docs in order,” he says. “I was… I was trying to get Polyhexian citizenship.” Awful city, but he had always sworn the energon tasted better there than anywhere else.

“But you said you were forged in Polyhex,” Rung says.

“Yeah. It was easier that way.” Whirl puts a claw to his head. “I… augh, nope. No, this is stupid.”

“Whirl—”

“No, I’m done,” he says, pushing Rung away. “Fully done, Rung. That’s right. You were god’s therapist, and he fired you. I’m gonna go take out a planet.”

~*~

Tacticians always struggle with where to put Whirl on a battlefield. On the one hand, he’s an attack helicopter, equipped with long-range cannons and advanced aiming modules. Keeping him in the sky is the perfect way to set up a terrible surprise for Cons on the ground. On the other, he’s Whirl, and facing him head-on can be just as chilling and or fatal.

In the end it rarely matters which call they make because, as stated before, he’s Whirl. He will do whatever he damn well feels like. Right now, that means skimming over the top of the battlefield, sights trained on the odd dot who tries to disgorge themselves from the fighting mass. He is supposed to be providing support to the ground troops, peppering the Decepticon line so they can break through, but no one is going to complain about a few more dead soldiers.

A truck breaks free and he pitches down, giving chase, machine guns firing before he’s got a lock on. The ground explodes in shrapnel as they try to serpentine out of the way, but he keeps firing and soon enough their paths cross.

He riddles them. Their roof is already a puckered, punctured mass of warped metal before their back tires blow and they go skidding and flip onto their side. Their plating shuffles, uncoordinated, as they try to transform, and Whirl goes for the underbelly, shattering the exposed protoform in a burst of pink energon. They slump with their legs disengaged. There is a buzzing, crunching noise as the dying t-cog tries to settle into either mode, then a jet of smoke erupts from the body. The engine has seized, locking it in a permanent limbo.

Whirl spins around to track down his next prey. He loves his job. The Autobots have a need, and he fills it with a gusto that only occasionally gets him in trouble. He’s no hitmech: he lacks the finesse, the style. But he can rain irreverent murder down from the sky, send Cons fleeing just long enough to make them think they had a chance, and he can do it without questioning an order. The war needs people like him.

Two soldiers are trying to escape together, one with their arm over the other’s shoulder, a sparkling stump of a leg between them. Whirl gets low, following them until the roar of his rotors is unmistakable, until they cannot help but turn and he sees their optics. Then he fires.

The wounded one falls first, knocked onto their front and grasping uselessly until their hand is blown off and they go still. The other gets their legs knocked off and goes spinning, landing on their head with a crunch. Whirl keeps advancing, keeps firing, tearing open their plating and reducing their inner working to molten slag, spattering the ground with used energon. They flop, over and over, until Whirl gets bored of the show and hauls off, leaving them almost indistinguishable from the carnage of the land itself.

Whirl hovers over the fighting and looks down while he scans for a target. This high up, visuals are useless for determining Bots from Cons. Little Cybertronians run around, whacking and shooting at each other, falling down, down, down. The metal under their pedes is slippery pink with energon. It splashes against their plating, over their insignias, until they are all just little wandering targets.

Whirl has his job, and he loves it, and he does it well.

~*~

He should feel something, but his spark is a void as he tosses the rest of the guns into the shuttle, all the stuff he held off using because he wasn’t ready to get kicked off the ship. He is not coming back from this. He knows it, so better to take it all.

He’s just fastened the locker when he hears the footsteps on the hatch and looks up. It’s Tailgate, of course. Tailgate, who has a pack hanging from one shoulder and a gun holstered at his side. It’s a shrimpy thing, something Cyclonus taught him to shoot in case they ever got separated, more useful for making noise than taking down an aggressor. It has room for one round of ammo and Whirl doubts he brought a bullet more.

He comes aboard without saying anything and stops beside world, continuing to say nothing. The hand on his pack is clenching: he’s being brave. He’s also waiting for some grand speech, some sacred insight to the nature of their quest and their places in the universe. Well, tough. He should know Whirl better than Primus.

He lifts a claw to shove Tailgate backward and down the hatch, but it stops an inch before Tailgate’s plating. What does it matter? Cyclonus can’t kill him where he’s going and Tailgate himself is just a drop in the bucket. Standing there with his chest puffed out, optic band steely and focused, he looks like any other Cybertronian, never mind a few years left behind.

Whirl retracts his claw. Tailgate nods at him.

Another drop in the bucket.

~*~

He shoves his way to the front row, slamming himself into his chosen seat just ahead of a little spy plane who had been angling for the same spot.

“Buzz off,” he says. Never mind the spy plane outranks him. This is his big day! He got here early so he could get this seat, right in front, though he can barely hold it as the audience fills in around him, so many Bots he does not know and who do not matter. The only one he cares about it up on the stage, smiling with an air of detached cooperation, off in his own head again like he always was. Whirl thought they had made progress on that, but some habits were just too hard to break.

The opening speech is long and predictably boring, lots of talk about this base he has never been on before. Whirl’s engine clicks in agitation. When bots give him dirty looks, he sneers.

“Chronic fanbelt lockup, ever heard of it?” he hisses at them, adding in a few extra ticks for good measure. They go back to minding their own business, but Whirl still catches the optics glancing at him, and his engine goes from annoyed click to angry hum. He knows what they see.

Luckily, the speaker eventually gets over himself and moves on.

“Rotorstorm, will you please step forward?”

Whirl is on his feet before the other copter has a chance to rise, his cheering rising well above the swell of the crowd. He shouts, he stomps his feet, and he bangs his claws together until the bots on either side of him wince, and he gets even louder when he knows Rotorstorm has noticed him.

“Go on, get up there!” he shouts. “You earned this, didn’t you?” The rest of the crowd has calmed down, but he stays standing, arms dropped to his sides. He stares at Rotorstorm as he crosses the stage, shoulders pressed back, each step placed so precisely in front of the last that it must be calculated. He waits until Rotorstorm has reached the edge to sit back down, and then still his optic is pointed, refusing to let Rotorstorm look anywhere else. Rotorstorm’s own optics are wide, though the rest of his expression is slack. His biolights are steady, his ventilations manual and even. He’s perfect.

“Rotorstorm,” the presenter says, “I hope you will forgive us; this is an honor that is long overdue. During the Simanzi Massacre, you singlehandedly scouted a pass through Mount Helix that allowed for the rapid evacuation of the 9th Battalion. Your commanding officers estimate that your decisive actions saved upwards of one thousand Autobot lives.” Whirl’s engine is silent. He’s drinking in every word. “Today, we present you with the Novic Medal for Outstanding Honor. ‘Til all are one.” Rotorstorm ducks his helm as the award is magnetized to the right of his cockpit, finally breaking his optic contact with Whirl.

“’Til all are one,” he repeats, though most of the crowd does not hear him over Whirl’s cheers.

Rotorstorm turns without looking up and returns to his seat. The next recipient is called forward and Whirl walks out.

~*~

He can’t do it. He’ll blame it on the way Tailgate’s plating quietly rattles or Cyclonus’ entire personality as he starts to board, but he shuts off the shuttle’s engine and disembarks with them trailing behind. He retreats to his hab suite, and though he does not invite them he’s glad when they make it inside before the door closes.

“Nobody in the mutiny is allowed to have any of my stuff. I don’t care if Thunderclash is dying again and my innermost energon is the only compatible fuel in the galactic sector, he can’t have it.”

Tailgate nods along, his fingers in a death grip around Whirl’s pincer.

“And when you guys are talking about me later, no one call me anything but Whirl. I’m serious. I don’t know about anything I did before that, so what could it matter?” He looks up at the ceiling. “In fact, don’t tell anyone about the Primus thing. No point.”

Cyclonus is a solid, immobile presence on his other side.

“Am I forgetting anything? Oh, tell Roadbuster I’ll be waiting for him in the pit.”

“Do gods go to the Afterspark?” It’s not clear who Tailgate is asking.

“I definitely don’t plan to stick around and watch over you or whatever. Think I’ve had enough of this universe.” He chuckles, a strained sound. “Yeah. So, that’s it. Better get this show on the road, huh?”

“We’ll be with you the entire time,” Tailgate promises.

“For as long as you want us,” Cyclonus amends.

“Yeah, I know.” He shrugs, laughs again. “I’m not even really scared of the whole dying thing. I’d made peace with that. Whenever there was something I needed to do, I took care of it, so I wouldn’t have to worry about it if the right bullet finally found its mark.” He glances between them. “Now, though… you two better behave, I swear. I’m making it your Primus-sworn duty to take care of and listen to each other, okay?”

Cyclonus nods, and the way he takes it so seriously makes Whirl almost glad he’s on his way out. He couldn’t handle being looked at like that all the time, and especially it’s the way they reach across his lap and entwine their hands that really does him in. He hates them dearly.

“Okay,” he says, winding up his t-cog for the big spin. “Okay, twelve Matrixes. No problem.”

~*~

Whirl times the blinking numbers to the rotations of his spark. 1,600 exactly. He’s done it.

He leans back in his chair but cannot stop staring at the little device in his hands. It is perfect. After years of researching, studying, trying, and failing, the pieces have come together to allow him to create this one perfect thing. He loves it, and a dangerous feeling of pride fills his spark, the kind that has so long been missing from his work in the Aerial Corps. If there is a Primus (and he’s still not sure, whatever the Functionists insist), this is what he built Whirl to do.

He gets up from his desk and walks across his small living space to a shelf. Nearing capacity, it has just enough room for him to push a few previous attempts aside to make room for the latest version. Surrounded by its brethren, it becomes lost almost immediately amid the sea of blinking lights, indistinguishable even from those he considers lesser. Some defects are more obvious than others: one has sat at the same time since the moment he brought it online, while another counts one klik backward for every two forward. But most are just slightly imperfect, necessary steps to get to this point, and he loves them all dearly.

He stands back. It feels like the work of a lifetime, these clocks, though he knows he took up the pursuit relatively recently. It’s just hard to remember how he filled his time before he had this project to work on, and he is again grateful he discovered it at all.

It is a gift to be able to create, he thinks, to cast a broad eye over his creations. The numbers blink at him, all out of tune, and he lets himself imagine being content doing just this for the rest of his life.

#maccadams #transformers #idw #whirl #abuse tw #death tw #my writing #oneshot #drops in a bucket #tbh im just so glad this is done #put too much time into it

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pixie88 · 4 years

Text

Pornstar

Chapter 4 - Adam & Ellie.

A/N | I wrote this over a year ago but never published it. I kinda need a break from FF and Choices characters. It’s not really a FF but Adam is base a little on a character on tv, so maybe it is. Let me know if you would like to be tagged!

Summary | Ellie is looking for a flat mate and Adam is looking for a room.

Check previous chapters of Adam & Ellie HERE.

Word count | 1.6k

Warnings | 18 + Only and Fluff.

Pairings | Adam x Ellie

Enjoy!

It's 4 weeks later and I have seen Adam in the pub with his family a couple of times, said hello and asked how he was doing but not had a proper conversation.

It's Friday and I've made the decision that I need a flat mate to help pay the bills utility bills, council tax etc. I put a little ad in the shop window, I'm paying too much attention to it being straight before I notice Adam on the other side of the window.

He knocks against it to get my attention, I look up at him and smile.

He starts to talk and points at the flat mate advert, but I can't hear him, so I gesture this, and he realizes and comes into the shop. "Alright?" I ask "Yeah, I'm good thanks you? So, you're looking for a flat mate?" He points at the advert "Erm... yeah, thought it would be a good idea as I have the flat and shop bills to pay. Seems like the best option really!" He stands like he's lost in thought.

"If it helps, I'm actually looking for somewhere. Jane and her 11pm curfew is annoying and I'm willing to pay what you've advertised. Hell, it's cheaper than the B&B." I take in his words "So..what do you say?" He asks. "Yeah, but won't you want to have a look at the room first?" "I've seen it! So, new flat mate shall we go for a drink to celebrate?" I check the time it's half five, I agree and shut the shop thirty minutes early.

We walk into the pub and behind us is Laura gives us both daggers before she speaks loud enough for us to hear "He said nothing is going on but you don't spend this much time with someone you aren't sleeping with!" I see Adam tense up and I smile at him, so he know she isn't bothering me!

He smiles back before turning to Anna and orders our drinks "Anna, we are celebrating." she smiles "What you guys celebrating?" Adam then speaks up just enough for Laura to hear "Well, your aunt is losing a lodger and this is my new flat mate!" Anna smiles "Oh, she'll miss you, but she'll be glad you found somewhere."

Laura tuts loudly.

Adam turns to her "Have you got something to say?" She looks straight at him. "I wondered how long it would be before you shack up together!" I get annoyed and can't bite my tongue any longer "He has his own room and is paying rent. Maybe that's too complicated for you to know the difference?!" I say as walk out of the pub.

I've had enough of her and her nasty comments.

I haven't done anything wrong. I head towards my flat, but as soon as I cross the road outside the pub.

I hear him calling after me.

"Ellie, wait up!"

My face is hot with anger, he grabs my shoulder and looks me in the eyes. "I'm sorry about her. I provoked her, but I just wanted her to realize I'm over her and I've moving on with my life. She has no right to talk to you like that, not when all of this doesn't involve you. I'm sorry!"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have shouted and let her get to me!" Adam pulls me into a hug.

"I'm sorry you got pulled into this. How about we go into the city centre for a drink instead?” I pull away. "Yeah, ok we can talk about when you are looking to move in. Oh, there's a new bar! It has really cool cocktails with fire and smoke." he smiles.

"Sounds great. Let's go!" We walked to the train station and get the train into the city centre.

We walk into the bar and ordered our drinks I ordered a *Lightbulb moment* and he ordered a *Dead red zombie* Yes, weird cocktails names but hey they tasted nice.

We chatted about complete rubbish and each time we ordered a new drink we would try a different cocktail by our fifth we were giggling at the most stupidest things.

This is when I knew I'd had enough to drink.

Adam ordered another "You sure, you don't want one more?" He asks me. I shake my head "No, I'm definitely done! But thanks!" He pays the barman.

Another barman walks over with a drink *The new pornstar* he says, Adam looks confused "I didn't order that! I ordered a Gelato." he tells him and the barman points at a guy the other side of the bar "Oh, it's not for you, sir it's for the lady from the gentleman over there in the blue shirt." I look over he smiles and points his drink towards me as if say cheers.

I look at the barman and Adam, who has an annoyed look on his face. Whoa! Is he jealous? No, he can't be! I turn back to the barman and ask him to tell the man thank you, but I would like to send it back as I've had enough.

He takes the drink and another comes over with Adams drink. I watch the barman tell the guy what happen and the guy pulls away from the bar and gets lost in the crowd behind him. Adam downs his drink and seems a bit annoyed.

He pops to the toilet, and the pornstar guy appears in front of me. "Hi" "Hi" I smile back "Sorry about the drink, I hope I haven't pissed off your boyfriend?" "Sorry boyfriend?" I ask, "Yeah, that guy you're with I'm assuming he's your boyfriend."

"Oh, he's not my boyfriend just a friend," I say, he rubs the back of his neck as if he's confused "Oh, right so why did you send it back?" "Because I've had enough to drink!" I tell him, "Oh ok, so if I was to give you my number, I wouldn't be standing on anyone's toes?" He smiles.

"No, you're more than welcome to, but I can't promise that I'll actually use it!" I laugh, he puts his number into my phone.

Just then Adam appears looking annoyed still "Alright, Ellie?" I smile at him "Yeah, just thanking this man for my drink. Sorry I realize I don't know your name!" "Just have a look in your phone and spot the new contact!" He winks.

"Right shall we go?" I turn to Adam, he is shooting the pornstar guy a look that could kill. Oh my god, he is jealous it's clear on his face. HE IS JEALOUS!! "Yeah let's go! I've had enough. See you around." Adam offers his arm as we leave - This is new he's never done that before.

We wait at the train station in silence!

He speaks and breaks it "Are you going to call that guy?" I turn to look at him, he actually seems nervous waiting for my answer. The guy was good looking but definitely not my type. I want to say I like you, but I can’t.

"Nah, probably not! I mean, who buys a girl you have never met a PORNSTAR??? Really?" I say he seems to be happy with my answer. "Yeah, you're right!" He says. "Plus, he's definitely not my type long hair big NO! I don't want to have to fight with someone over my hair dryer or straighteners which he clearly uses!" We both laugh.

He pulls out his wallet to get his train ticket out when the spa vouchers I brought him a few weeks ago fall onto the floor he picks them up! "Oh, I completely forgot about these!" he says and flips them to look at the back. "Oh, I might go tomorrow!" He says. "Oooo have fun. Maybe, it will de-stress you!" I say playfully.

"How about we go?" He asks, "Huh?" "Me and you! We should go!" "No, Adam! I brought them for you to use." "I am, but I don't want to go on my own!"

"But I have work tomorrow I've got to clean down the shelves and re-dress the window..." "Can't that be done Sunday? Come on, I'll help you Sunday! How about that?" He give me that smile that makes my heart skip a beat. I laugh, "You really won't take no for an answer will you?" "Nope," he grins. I roll my eyes "But you can't just turn up" I tell him.

He gets his phone out, to check online "They have five pm slot. Is that ok?" He asks "Adam, you do know it's over an hour and a half drive away."

He books a spa treatment package "We will leave at 2, grab some lunch on the way there and book the hotel while we are there. Separate rooms of course. The vouchers need to be used up so might as well." he really isn't taking no for an answer.

"Ok, fine. I'll go with you on one condition" I tell him, "O.....kay?" He smiles "I'm driving." He laughs, "Hey, I'm not going to say no to riding in style" he says as the train arrives, we get on.

We get back home within ten minutes and he looks at his watch and starts to panics "10:57......three minutes to get home before Jane locks me out!" He says and I laugh, "You better run then!" He smiles "Yeah, better run. I will see you tomorrow Ellie!" "See ya!" he starts running off round the corner.

I get home and get into bed.

Once I change into my pajamas and think about what happened today. He was definitely jealous of the pornstar guy then inviting me to a spa with him? Flirty vibes? Definitely even the pornstar guy noticed he was jealous! Oh well, we will see what happens tomorrow.

Continue reading this story here - Chapter 5.

@txemrn @khoicesbyk @lem-20

#adam x ellie #adam and ellie #adam #maybefiction #maybefanfic #ellie #manchester #fanfic

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alternateafterthought · 4 years

Text

Awake

> Pairing: Kim Seokjin x Miya Lee (OC)

> Genre: Hunter!au, Romance, Fluff, Smut, Angst

> Warnings:

> Word Count: 3573

> Summary: Miya Lee had such a normal life. Taking over the cafe her family owns and runs, going out with friends, gossiping with her coworkers about the cute guy that sits in the window of her cafe, and practising magic that her mother and grandmother and great grandmother passed on before them.

Kim Seokjin was an anomaly. He was born, December 4th 1392, making him, to date, 627 years old. His family was murdered, his fiance murdered, their blood running over the ruins of his past. For 600 years he looked, searched and hunted for the witch that got away. He was trained for this.

Jin hesitated. Her face was the same... she was back to haunt him. Back to love him.

Miya was in trouble... she was at risk of truly falling in love.

> A/N: Hey guys, this is another fic for BTS!! This is for Kim Seokjin!! I have had this idea for a few months now and this is my first time in creating an original character for a fic like this!! So I would really appreciate your feedback on the OC and this story!! ALSO those who wish to be added to an eventual tag list, please leave a comment or an ask or message me!! Thank you so much for your support!!

This is the story of how he died. The only man she had ever loved.

A man who's name bought fear to the shadows. A man cursed with life.

This is the story of how he died. Her love. Her heart. Her Jin.

They found him on the streets, scared, alone, half dead and orphaned. They took him in and gave him a roof over his head, and they trained him. They trained him to be an assassin, to hunt and to kill. They honed his magic and skills until he was their ultimate weapon.

They did not ever think he would turn those skills on them... one by one... when he discovered the truth, when he found out who they really were.

"So full of fire, isn't he?" An aging man, closer to death then he would ever willingly admit, admired the young, strong man's skills. A glint in his eyes didn't go unnoticed, a wicked flared brightened his eyes, something untold in them. "It's going to be glorious to watch it burn him up."

600 years would soon blur altogether, making no sense, even with the seasons changed. As the green bleeds into red, orange and yellow, ultimately becoming old and withered, covered in the cold, Kim Seokjin would always return home. At least, if the council allows it.

What felt like the blink of an eye for him, was 12 years for a mere mortal, and he was finally home. As time changed, he was the only constant, forever remaining as he was, the man who never aged, the man who never died... the man who's heart was to beat once again.

Turning his jacket up against the harsh winds, Jin walked the familiar streets, his hands tucked safely from the cold in his pockets. The old streets almost gave him comfort, he had watch them being built, even helped with some of them if he wasn't called away on a job. They we're as much apart of him as anything he had built.

He would never be lost, not here. Not ever.

Jin easily picked up the trail, the trail that only magic could leave behind. The specks of impurity leading him as the sun still peaked over the buildings. He knew what to follow, he knew the signs, he was trained for this.

Seeing where it had lead him, Jin pulled his collar down, exposing his face. His eyes scanned, never missing anything as he moved towards the small cafe in front of him, where the trail ended... or maybe began. Bypassing the entrance of the small cafe, glancing into the windows, flashing a smile to the workers who watched him.

Before long, Jin was at the backdoor, well the entrance. 2 rather large bodyguards guarded the door almost bored. One stood, arms folded across his chest, tattoos covering his arm and what Jin could see of his neck. The smell radiating off of him told Jin he was young, if not for his eyes. A young wolf, no doubt his first day, Jin wouldn't have put it past it being his first job ever.

The other was a lot more relaxed, even opting to lean against the graffited wall. His eyes were sharp, half closed, but sharp. Anyone on the end of his glare would most likely burst spontaneously. His hair was the most eye catching to Jin, a vibrant green, not unlike anything he had seen in his many years. It didn't seem to go with the entire black he wore, or the dangerous glint to his eyes. A vampire... the only vampire who wasn't afraid to tell Jin to "Fuck off."

"Did you get lost or soemthing old man?" An unintered deep voice scoffed.

"Or something." Jin smirked, lazily shrugging his shoulders.

"You here to cause trouble then?" He asked, finally looking up from his feet, eyes meeting Jin's.

"Min Yoongi... when have I ever caused trouble?" Jin rocked slightly on his feet, hands in his jean pockets.

The unamused vampire, Yoongi, cracked a smile; "You really want me to answer that?"

"I guess not." Jin laughed, the sound echoing off the enclosed streets. "Who's the kid?"

"Jungkook." Yoongi's eyes pointed to the wolf, who stood silently and confused. "Jeon family."

"Ahh..." Jin nodded looking at Jungkook. "I knew your grandfather kid." Jin offered his hand, which Jungkook hesitantly took. "He still owes me a pig."

Jungkook's eyes widen in realisation. The dawning of who exactly this man was finally hitting him. He was Kim Seokjin, Famous Immortal Witch Hunter.

"Hyungnim." Jungkook bowed.

"Oh god please, none of that." Jin put his hands in front of him, stopping the young wolf.

"He's just one of us, kid." Yoongi pushed lightly on Jungkook's arm, causing him to stand again, his eyes lowered.

"I would like to get in though. If that's not too much trouble." Jin pointed to the rather large door, invible to those who didn't know it was there.

"Are you going to cause any trouble?" Yoongi finally stood to his full height, even if he was shorter then both Jin and Jungkook, he was still intimidating. "I just need to know if we should leave now?"

"Nah I'm here for business." Jin smiled easily. "Only to ask a few questions."

"I'm going to regret this." Yoongi moved Jungkook out of the way of the door, opening it and allowing Jin access.

"Have a little faith, Yoongi." Jin moved into the door.

"I do have faith..." Yoongi called after Jin as he moved into the dark room. "I have faith you'll cause trouble."

Yoongi could hear the dying ends of Jin's laugh as he moved further into the dark space. He hadn't seen his Jin-hyung in 12 years, there could only be one reason he was back. Min Yoongi hoped to every god that it wasn't the reason, but he never had that kind of luck before.

The almost pitch black corridor Jin walked soon lit up, small witch lights surrounded him, guiding him. The music soon followed, obvious protection spells placed around the building to keep the music in, and it was getting louder now.

The music followed the chatter, and as Jin finally made it to the open floor, pushing the beads covering the entrance, he could see tonight was a busy night. All manners and natures of people... creatures moved around the place. All looking for a good night. All looking to be someone else for the night.

Opening his jacket, Jin relaxed into the mix of people, moving towards the bar. Women, more specifically, the Fae threw smiles, soft caresses of their hands, legs, bodies onto Jin as he walked passed. Jin flashing his own smile as he made his way through the mass of bodies.

He was here on business... he could play when his job was over. It was the only thought that got him to the bar, slipping his body into a small open space. One look behind him and he could see a few people had recongised him, causing Jin to duck his head, trying to not draw attention to himself.

"Hyungnim..." Jin heard a familiar voice in front of him, looking up from under his lashes, an even more familiar smile caught his attention. "It's good to see you again Hyungnim."

"It's good to see you too, Taehyungie." Jin smiled, lifting his head slightly to make eye contact. "You're working the bar now?"

If anyone didn't know, they would have thought Jin looked almost concerned. In fact... Jin was concerned. Anyone willing to put Kim Taehyung behind a bar had a strong stomach... and maybe an unbreakable bank account.

"Yep." Taehyung nodded enthusiastically, pride shining in his eyes. "They put me behind the bar since Jungkookie got here. Said he looked more intimidating or something."

"The kid?" Jin pointed his thumb over his shoulder, back towards where he had just walked in.

"Yeah the kid." Taehyung smiled fondly. "And he does. Look more intimidating then me."

"But you're a lot more dangerous aren't you?" Jin smiled, almost proud at his friend.

"It's part of my charm." Taehyung's eyes wander over Jin's shoulder, sending a wink to, undoubably, a blushing woman.

"You get more tips here don't you? That's why you like it." Jin laughed, shaking his head at Taehyung as he focused back on him.

"Of course I do!" Taehyung smiled wider. "But I seem to be competing with the happiest pup alive," Taehyung pointed to another wolf behind the bar, who's smile radiated sunshine, hearing Taehyung mentioned him and throwing a smile towards them both. "And a man who's lucky to have magic on his side." Taehyung pointed to the other end of the bar where a tall witch stood, his dimpled smile looked a little embarrassed as a vampire woman slide her number across the bar towards him.

"You're pretty lucky then aren't you?" Jin chuckled as he looked back towards the simpled witch who almost tripped over his own foot, catching himself quickly. "Being a fae prince and all."

"Well... the royal part gets me bigger tips." Taehyung laughed. "I need to survive as much as anyone else."

Jin couldn't help but laugh, shaking his head as Taehyung handed him a drink. Already knowing what he needed, perks of Taehyung's bloodline.

"I'll see you around Hyungnim. I've got to get back to work." Taehyung gave an extravant bow before moving to the next one.

Jin shook his head sipping his cold drink, a vibrant purple drink that seemed to smoke. Something new... or old. Either way it wouldn't have an effect on him, nothing ever would again.

"He enhanced it." A deeper voice moved in front of him.

"What?" Jin looked back towards the bar, one of his oldest friends eyed his drink.

"You're drink. He enhanced it." Namjoon gestured his head towards Taehyung who flirted with a group of pixies.

"He's still trying to see if he can get me drunk?" Jin asked, noticing the strong smell radiating off the drink now.

"Aren't we all?" Namjoon smiled wide. "So you're back?"

"Mmh." Jin hummed, taking another sip.

"For?" He pressed.

"I tracked them back here. I have a few questions for some people." Jin shrugged, noticing Namjoon's eyes widening.

"You need any help?" He asked, leaning over the bar towards Jin as their voices became hushed, downed out by the noise around them. "I have a few sniffer dogs if you need them?"

Jin laughed as Namjoon gestured to Hoseok who made his way towards them both. No doubt he would be the best to sniff a scent out if he needed. But there was no point, Jin had already found them.

"Nah, I don't need your sniffer dog this time." Jin spoke a little loud for Hoseok to hear.

"And here I was, about to offer my services." Hoseok pouted, jutting his bottom lip out. "Why don't you need my help this time?"

"I already found her." Jin finished off his drink.

"Her?" Namjoon asked surprised. "It's a her this time?"

"Yeah... I found the bloodline, everyone is dead, except her." Jin looked at his friends, seeing their minds already working. "No one had found her because she changed her name. But I recognised the magic...."

Namjoon and Hoseok shared a look, noticing Jin hesitate. That was the thing that worried them, almost scared them. Kim Seokjin never hesitates.

"What else?"

Hoseok finally asked as the music around them stopped, the lights going out except one single spotlight on a loan spot on the stage behind them. Jin turned around on his chair, Namjoon and Hosoek still listened, even as the crowds of people moved to get a good seat, to be able to see the stage, to witness the show.

"Only I would recognise the name."

Both Namjoon and Hoseok knew that was the end of the conversation, even if they wanted to press the issue. But they both know, if he needed help, if he needed their help, he would always ask. And they would never turn him down.

An excited hush had fallen over the room, wide eyes stare at the only light in the room, like months to a flame. The only thing that could be heard is the heart beat. The heartbeat played through the room, boom boom, boom boom, boom boom.

Then it started, over the heartbeat, rain started to fall, a crack of lightening, a snap of thunder. The room lit up with the flashes of light, as the rain fell, never quiet masking the beartbeat.

Out of the darkness came a shadowy figure, the rain quickly soaking them. The once oversized shirt that covered their small frame now stuck to their skin, hair stuck to their face, a strip of material covered their eyes. They walked, more stumbled out of the darkness and landed in the middle of the light.

She was in control. The stage was hers. And yet you would have thought she was in a panic as she struggled, reaching out, looking for something, something to hold onto. Her hands shooks, her lips trembled, the rain didn't stop.

A particularly harsh snap of thunder caught the audience by surprise, casing even Jin to jump a little as the music finally began. As the first few seconds of the beat started, the girl hit the stage, causing droplets of water to fly around her.

Then a very confident presence walked out behind her, even without seeing his face, anyone in the room could feel the smirk as he stalked his prey. Everyone could see he was not about to lose. Not now. Not ever.

"Do you understand what's going on?" Hoseok whispered to Jin from behind him.

"Huh? Jin's eyes wavered for a fraction of a second from the girl who was now wrapped in the arms of the man.

The two bodies rolled once, twice around the stage before she was op top of him. Jin could see the power struggle, in this moment it seemed like she was in control. But from the mans arms supporting her, maybe he was wrong.

"He's caught her. Even without her realising. Hence the blindfold." Hosoek's never left the stage, a small smile gracing his lips.

"Caught her?" Jin asked, watching the pair seperate, the girl falling back onto the stage alone, wet and confused, still trying to reach out for something, anything, to hold onto.

"Watch as he stalks her." Hoseok offered to Jin, who's eyes moved to the man who walked behind her, watching her. "He's the spider. And he just caught his prey."

The man slid on his knee, causing water to hit the girl, who tried to move back, but the man caught her wrist. Pulling her easily flush against him, his hands slowly moving the blindfold off her a little to see her eyes. Helping the girl to stand, the man stood behind her, first lovingly and thenhis hands push the blindfold back over her eyes, pushing her to the ground and walking away from her.

This time the girl reached up and towards the roof, where something had been lowered. Her trembling hands as she gripped it, tangling her hands in it before it lifted her off the ground. The audience's took a collective breath as she now hung in the air by her right hand, the man below her.

"She's in his web now. He caught her." Hoseok continued as they watched the girl finally move into the silks. "His movements are the same as hers..." Both the man and woman moved, one suspended in the air, the other on the ground, on the water. "He's waiting for her to tire before he strikes. Making sure she doesn't fight back. Almost making her trust him."

Jin watched as the woman climbed the silks, rolling and weaving her body in and out, always blindfolded. Then she pushed her blindfold off, as she spun upside down, her piercing eyes could finally be seen. They roamed the area, Jin felt like his heart speed up, his breathing stopped, his palm instantly getting sweaty.

"She can see now. Where she is and what she's doing." Hoseok and Jin watched as she climbed to the top of the silks. "She's accepting her fate. The spider is waiting..." They looked back to the man who waited now, open arms for his prey. "All that's left to do is fall."

At that moment, Jin watched as the women unravelled herself from the silks, going faster and faster, nearer to her ultimate death. At the ends of the silks the woman's hand reached the man.

And that was it. The end. She chose her fate, she allowed the spider to have her. The man triumph, holding his trophy with pride.

"She's now his." Hoseok finished as the stage went dark, the rain came to a slow stop and one last rumble of thunder, lightening filling the room before the two disappeared from the stage. "So... what did you think Hyung?"

"I can't say I'm much of a dancer myself..." Jin smiled as he turned back to face Hoseok. "But it was captivating."

"Their my favourite dancers to ever set foot in 'Moon'. Some of the best chemistry I've seen around here since I started working here." Hoseok proudly looked to the stage.

"You did that?" Jin motioned his head over his shoulder.

"Mmh." Hoseok hummed, his smile never faltering. "Noona needed a new choerogher, I volunteered."

"Noona?" Jin raised his eyebrows surprised. "What happened to Mister Lee?"

"No one told you?" Hoseok looked confused, his eyes getting sad when he realized Jin didn't know. "Mister Lee died 3 years ago. His granddaughter took over."

Jin was used to death, being a creature who constantly misses death, he saw a lot of it. Although he may be hundrends of years older, Jin had such respect for a man like Mister Lee, who lived his life to help every, including Kim Seokjin.

"I'm sorry to hear that." Jin bowed his head a little. "Mister Lee was a great man. I remember watching him grow up."

"It was a huge blow to the witch community." Hoseok remembered what his friends were like, espeically Noona when her grandfather died. "If it wasn't for his granddaughter, this place would never have kept open."

"I don't think I ever meet this granddaughter of Mister Lee. Is she here tonight?" Jin asked.

"As a matter of fact-"

Hoseok cut himself off. The air around them too tense, too quiet after such a performance. Looking up, Hoseok saw why, everyone in the room had gone silent, staring at the entrance.

A group, of at least 6, all stood, in customary hunter gear and weaponary. No one moved, even less they tried not to breathe, to not drawn attention to themselves. To not cause trouble.

"Jin-Hyung..." Hoseok whispered. "I think it's time for you to leave."

Jin looked over his shoulder, easily recognising the 6. They were known to the hunters as his "Handlers", making sure he's in the right place at the right time. They were probably here to collect him, Jin having give them the slip eariler to make his way to 'Moon'.

"So you found me?" Jin asked loudly, to no one in particular. "Sir..." An aged voice spoke up.

"I was kinda enjoying this game of cat and mouse." Jin laughed loudly, looking up to where Hoseok, Namjoon and Taehyung had all gathered in front of him, scared.

"It's time to go, Sir." The aged man tried again, moving towards the bar.

"I'm just a man enjoying a drink." Jin gestured to the bar. "I'd ask you to join me, but..." Jin laughed again. "Well I don't like you."

Jin's laugh was the only thing heard in the room besides the almost deafening click of heels. Even Jin could hear them, espcially with his advanced hearing, but he hadn't turned around yet.

"Sir I think it's really time to go." The voice was almost panicked, causing Jin to spin around, the man too close now.

"I really don't think it's in your best interest to be threatening me right now, kid." Jin never raised his voice, nor moved from his seat, and yet he was the most threatening in this situation. "Sir..."

But it was too late. Like an angel in the the depths of hell, she moved out of the shadows and into the light. Jin's world stopped.

Quickly, he stood from his seat, knocking it over. He couldn't believe his eyes. There she was. Back from the dead.

"Jia?" Jin whispered, and yet it carried to the other end of the room.

"Sir..."

But Jin wasn't listening anymore. Here she was. His Jia. Back from the dead. Standing there, looking back at him with the same eyes.

Jin made to step away from the other hunters, towards her, but they wouldn't let him. Quickly reaching out, the closest hunter caught Jin's wrist. Without missing a beat, Jin shook him off, but they kept coming and coming.

Soon enough Jin was fighting for his way to her, but one minute she was there, and like so many years before, she was gone.

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otterknowbynow · 4 years

Text

Altean Home Economics (13/?)

Goo is great, but Hunk sure would feel better if they had kitchen access.

all chapters in this tag | full work on ao3

Shiro is the only other paladin who’s made it to the bridge, Allura sees, as she strides through the entrance just in time with its sliding open. Hunk, a few steps behind, follows at what is probably a far more reasonable pace for this early in the morning. It’s nearing fourth varga, although she doubts that will mean the same thing to the planet they’re approaching. While anyone left there might keep time to the standard, they’ll certainly live their days by the solar patterns of the star the planet orbits, a medium-sized white joggert, which means it could be any part of the light cycle right now, for all she knows. But for the castle’s inhabitants, this is earlier than any of them are usually up and about -- well, Allura’s not sure about Shiro, and Keith has been known to have bouts of insomnia, and Coran as well, and -- it’s earlier than she is usually up and about, at any rate.

“How close are we?” Allura asks as she makes her way to her station. It’s habit, even if she won’t need to be opening a wormhole any time soon.

“It should be visible in a couple of dobashes,” Coran answers, turning to look at her from the helm. “Oh, Hunk! I’m surprised you’re up this early -- or did my dulcet tones tempt you with the promise of a planet-viewing experience to start your day?”

“Nah, I was already up,” says Hunk, frowning slightly. “Anyway, what is this planet? Entuk, you said?” He looks from Allura to Shiro to Coran and back again.

“It’s a defunct Altean outpost -- well, the location of a defunct Altean outpost,” Allura says, trying to keep her voice calm. “We’re using it to detour around an imperial fleet -- a potential imperial fleet.” She corrects herself when she hears a small noise of objection from Shiro and sees Coran lift a finger to start speaking himself. Technically, they have no guarantee there were Galra ships in that area of space, but that doesn’t seem like that important of a detail to keep focusing on.

“Right, princess,” says Coran, lowering his finger before continuing. “Entuk used to be a communications relay hub, back before we perfected long-range signaling that was as reliable as it is today. Altea needed an intermediary to handle and forward messages that wouldn’t have otherwise made it to their intended destinations -- farther across the universe than we could manage in one go. We lost touch with the outpost there during the war, though. The technology advanced to the point where having a relay was nearly obsolete, and it seemed more dangerous to route messages there than otherwise -- if nothing else, to keep it safe from the Empire. If they didn’t know about it, at least the people who lived there would be left in peace.”

He pauses for a few moments, apparently lost in thought. It’s long enough that Shiro looks over at Allura, eyebrows raised. She shrugs back at him -- she’s never known anything about Entuk before now, although she supposes she must have heard of it back when her father was alive. Most likely she never registered it as much of anything important, or at least nothing she needed to know. For the hundredth time since the destruction of her father’s A.I., Allura wishes desperately she could learn more from him, that she’d had more time for diplomacy training, that she knew more about the state of the Altean forces back during the war --

“We mostly managed that,” Coran is saying now, having seemingly brought his thoughts back to their previous track. “At least, if the fact we don’t have it flagged as imperial territory is any indication. Of course, that means anyone left on Entuk has been alone and without contact with Altea for ten thousand years. The likelihood that any of them have survived with no further resources, on a planet outpost that wasn’t built to last nearly that long is infinitesimally small --” Coran’s voice is cut off and anything else he might say drowned out by a sudden crush of noise. Allura feels herself jump and gives a little yelp before processing it’s the castle alarms going full tilt. She shakes her head as her ears adjust to the cacophony of noise and looks around at the others.

“What’s that?” she asks quickly. “What’s set off the alarm?” Hunk shrugs broadly, eyes wide as saucers. Shiro is still looking to Coran, his frown set even deeper than before. Coran, for his part, has whirled back around to the helm, frantically pressing controls until he’s brought the alert up on screen.

“It’s a distress signal,” he says, shouting to be heard over the continued blaring of the alarm. “And it appears it’s from the outpost!” Allura breathes in sharply, and lets out a quiet “oh,” unheard over the din.

Yeskia stares at the drinking vessel in front of her, considering her options. Her hands are shaking, as they have been for the past half varga. That’s not a good sign, she doesn’t think. If Zoric and Lenida are right -- and they are, she’s sure -- that’s an early symptom, followed by a tightness in the throat, a lowered capacity for breath. Of course, they’ve had cases clear up from there with proper treatment, and she’s not worried so much for herself, but if Lenida or Zoric have caught it...then the rest of the medical team will handle it, she tells herself. They’re more than capable, even if they can only treat symptoms. Even if it has become maddeningly clear to her that there was a way to handle this back when they lived on Altea -- well, not when they lived on Altea, but when their predecessors -- she’s getting off-track. She’s getting off-track, and the other councilors who’ve joined her seem to have moved on from the debate they’ve been having since they arrived about whether the market sector needs to be closed, or somehow better-regulated. They're talking about trying to communicate their needs off-planet, now. Strange that they haven’t yet thought to consult her on any of this, when she’s easily best positioned to communicate with medical now that Councilor Hilvra has taken ill. Ever since she took leave to spend more time with Ren -- but no matter.

“I think we ought to try it,” she says loudly, cutting off Councilor Elian mid-sentence. He looks at her, brows raised high in surprise.

“I -- I’m sorry?” he asks, in the tone of someone not used to being interrupted quite so ungraciously. Councilor Lisanne, with whom he’s been arguing, grins at Yeskia from behind Elian’s back.

“Lisanne is right when they say it’s been long enough. We haven’t heard anything about a Galra presence in the area for dozens of decophoebs -- years -- both measures, it doesn’t matter. The point is, the Empire isn’t here. And whether they continue to thrive in other areas of the galaxy or not is no matter. Our communications relays are finely-tuned -- we can send a signal to a particular radius with nearly no margin for error. We can be sure there aren’t any Galra ships in the area, because if there were, we would know -- the grid would have alerted us, and so there’s no danger in casting a net, so to speak --”

“Yeskia, surely you don’t think sending a signal indiscriminately --”

“--I didn’t say indiscriminately, Elian.” She waves one of her hands dismissively, controlling the shaking as best she can. “I said to a particular radius. We need any help we can get at this point. Hilvra is not on the same trajectory as other patients have been, and Lenida has been tracking outcomes over the past several moons. Yes, we have many folks recovered, but not everyone has made it out of medical. I’d rather we not wait until our first true casualty to start looking for help.”

“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying!” Lisanne sounds equal parts exasperated and relieved, and Yeskia makes a mental note to apologize to them later for not listening as attentively as she should have.

“I…” Elian swallows before he continues. “Well, we can’t make any decision on it until we’ve consulted with Hilvra and Morn -- without a full council vote --”

“How are you planning on getting a full council vote with Hilvra in medical and Morn on an expedition, Elian? We can’t afford to put this off any longer!” Lisanne slams their hands on the table in front of them, making Yeskia’s drinking vessel rattle. She’s suddenly reminded that in a former life, Lisanne worked out-of-dome expeditions themself. “We are lucky that no one has died yet, but make no mistake -- that’s definitely a possibility. We can’t just bet on, what? A lab cure that may not be developed for moons and moons? Even with anything that turns up in the expeditions --” The rest of Lisanne’s speech is drowned out by a deep wail that seems to come from the bowels of the council chambers itself. All three of the councilors turn to the main door of the chambers as it slams open, and they all start talking at once.

“What sector --”

“Is it the off-world --”

“Widened alert or --”

The page in the doorway holds up a hand, panting.

“Outpost citizen in the medical sector,” she says. “And yes, it’s transmitting off-world.”

#voltron #vld #vld fic #allura (voltron)#hunk (voltron)#takashi shirogane #coran hieronymus wimbleton smythe #throws some character tags on here because I don't know how people categorize things RIP #altean home economics #scribbles #long update this week folks!#it was almost longer but eh the next scene actually works better as part of 14/

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if-weshadows-haveoffended · 4 years

Text

Harana - Padawan!Obi-Wan x Reader

A/N: Man I really sat on this wip for 3 whole ass years. OBI-WAN AND INFINITE SADNESS? I DON’T KNOW HER. I ONLY KNOW TEA AND MIST DIFFUSERS. There are some sneaky references to Casablanca in here and a section of Anne of Avonlea.

Harana in the rural Filipino tradition is the act of courtship by serenading (with guitar) and often has the serenadee to respond back in kind (also with guitar). Often your bros would help you woo a girl by being your back up players and singers. Imagine Romeo and Juliet balcony but with significantly more guitars and second-hand embarrassment. Also the wookiepedia entry on music is absolutely WILD. (Reposting bc tumblr hates me and the tags were broken)

Title: Harana Tags: @fangirltothe-end , @hellotherekenobi Words: 1650+ Masterpost: here (x) Prompt List: here (x) Mixtape Archive: here (x) The Obi-Wan Kenobae playlist (x)

Perhaps you’d foolishly consider yourself a hopeless romantic.

It just seemed one of those days: sunny and the breeze just a touch warm, the scent of Ithorian roses and Sachi blossoms drifting upon it as you spent a day idly reading upon the balcony of your apartment. Somehow it was as if nothing could go wrong. Not spilling your tea all over the counter, not making your bath far, far too warm, hells not even the dozens of unopened messages on your comm could ruin the quiet serenity you were feeling.

And you may as well enjoy it after all, this reprieve from the tedium of study would only last for a few more days. You’d spent enough time watching holo-movies and idly playing music upon your old guitar as it was. It was time to finally work through that pile of reading you had always intended to get to.

The sun was slowly descending beyond the rolling hills at the horizon and you were well into your bookchip now. A story you felt viscerally, had read and re-read so many times and yet you yearned and pined and loved alongside the protagonists of the story. You would always smile, feeling your soul alight as your eyes traced the words upon the screen. Perhaps that explosive, violent love was never for you. The ones they showed in holodramas where the lovers would dramatically meet at the docking bay for one last passionate kiss. A confession and a farewell all at once. No, you ached for something quieter. Something as constant and warm as sunlight.

‘Perhaps, after all,’ you read, ‘romance did not come into one’s life with pomp and blare, like a Jedi knight flying down; perhaps it crept to one’s side like an old friend through quiet ways; perhaps it revealed itself in seeming prose, until some shaft of illumination flung athwart its pages betrayed the rhythm and the music; perhaps… perhaps… love unfolded naturally out of a beautiful friendship- ’

You were suddenly pulled out of your reverie at the sound of footsteps and the murmur of a voice.

“Who’s there?” Your hands gripped at a small blaster in the folds of your dress in reaction to the sudden sound, eyes frantically scanning the deceptively serene balcony. Datapad in hand, you slowly made your way to the wide stone ledge. Carefully brushing off fallen blush-coloured petals you precariously leaned over, checking for any assailants below the ledge. Granted it was a stupid idea, but it was worth a shot anyway.

What you hadn’t been expecting was a young man sitting on a balcony ledge below, quietly singing to himself as he stared out into the far distance.

Kriff abort mission, no, nooooooo….nah... nope can’t do this.

You really couldn’t, he looked far too peaceful with one leg tucked under his arm, the other lazily over-hanging his ledge as half-lidded crystal eyes stared out to the peaceful idyll of distant lakes and hills. And yet, you were still there, half-falling off your ledge and staring at this boy as if you’d been ordered to memorise his appearance in order to assassinate him in the marketplace tomorrow. But something tugged at the back of your mind as you took in his relaxed robes in a sort of cream colour, the brown cloak discarded carelessly upon the balcony floor and what appeared to be a braid peeking out from behind his ear-

Oh no, oh kriff… oh kriff, kriff.

You were unaware that the Jedi were even allowed to sing. You’d always been taught that they were a hermit-y sort that didn’t do the whole singing-and-dancing-and-women-and-drink-and-wine-and-merriment sort of thing. Probably spent their free time herding shaak and the like.

But clearly you were very, very wrong.

He was a wonderful singer. His voice carrying the romantic yet mournful tune that you must have heard somewhere before. Was it a play? No, it must have been one of those sweeping holo-movies that always seemed to make every being in the room cry as the battered cantina owner lamented the return of his lost love. What was it? He’d refused to have that song played ever again? And yet he did, drinking whiskey, a single tear falling down his noble features. They’d always have Correlia, he’d say, assuring himself that he truly was fine and not crumbling apart within.

And that young man was still singing the tune, and you… you were simply transfixed at his beauty and his serenity, wondering what other power in the galaxy had blessed him so with coppery hair that glistened just so under the blaze of the setting sun.

“Hello there!” He turned suddenly and cheerfully waved to you.

There were many things you would tell people in the future about that time you first encountered the famous General Kenobi; “The Negotiator”. His kindness, his laughter, his smile…What you wouldn’t tell them, was the absolute mess you’d made of yourself while you fell off your balcony ledge and onto your tiled floor.

Like a complete and absolute ass.

Oh and your pad had tumbled off the marbled edge and cluttered upon the tiles of the Jedi’s balcony.

But it was alright with the coppery-haired piece of shit, apparently. He was profusely apologising and bounding up with his magical force powers to stand upon the narrow ledge on the other side of the stone balustrade.

“Are you alright?” He tilted his head in confusion, padawan braid swinging against his chest. You felt your mouth open and close, but you doubted anything escaped. “It appears your pad has smashed itself into smithereens.”

“I-I,”

“You can speak Basic, can’t you? If not, I can translate into-” He offered very quickly,

“No, of course I can speak Basic, I was just…” Gingerly, you prised yourself off the floor, dusting down rumpled skirts and staring at the odd Jedi. “You’re a wonderful singer,” you blurted.

“Well thank you,” He replied, a little flustered, a hand moving to fiddle with his cute little nerf tail.

Cute. Cute? Kriff, you’d only been talking to the boy for the last thirty seconds. Surely this was a new record.

“I didn’t know Jedi sang,” You rambled on and you simply knew that heat would be pooling up in your face for the boy to see-

Oh no, it was fine, he was turning a rather charming shade of pink too. It only seemed to get worse, didn’t it? Oh of course, of course he was cursed with dimples. You really should have just cut your losses and fled.

He laughed, swinging a leg over your balustrade and sitting upon it. “Oh we sing sometimes, my master says it drives him up the walls. But I am sorry, I’ve been terribly impolite. I’m Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padawan learner.” He held out a hand and you took it, shaking it as well as you could given your dazed circumstances. You were pretty sure, however, that you at least managed to give him your name.

“Well, Y/N, however can I make this up to you?” He gestured to the mangled, metallic remains below. “It is more or less my fault and-”

He still had not let go of your hand, and despite all common sense, you found no reason to let go. How could you? Obi-Wan (you had the sneaking suspicion it would roll off your tongue) continued rambling and you merely stepped away, your hand fighting to remain in his until you were too far, finger tips brushing against a calloused palm.

“Wait here,” You said, placating the concerned look that had passed before his face. Your feet traced the path through your room, eyes frantically scanning for the sight of warm Kashyyk wood before hefting it into your hands and quickly returning to the waiting Jedi. You noticed with some amusement that he’d balled his hands into the sleeves of his robes. “That pad was old anyway,”

He raised a sceptical brow, “Your face certainly said otherwise,”

“It doesn’t really matter. I’d read that story enough times to recite it in my sleep.” Heart pounding in your chest you mustered the courage to sit beside him, transferring the guitar to his awaiting arms. “Do you play?”

“A little. It was an elective.” He responded, “I’m sure it’s nowhere near as good as you,”

“Flatterer.” You briefly met his gaze, transfixed by their colour. Like a lake mirroring a cloudless sky. And you knew that you were lost. “Well, I’ve been starved for someone else to play with.”

“Have you now?” His teasing was going to be the death of you.

“Yes, now go and be all chivalrous and play something wonderful.”

“Any particular requests?” He asked, focused upon adjusting his hands upon the frets, fingers outlining the ghosts of chords. “Well?” He found your eyes once again, the answer slipping from your tongue faster than you could have ever expected.

It didn’t matter in that moment that a bemused Jedi Knight sat a floor below, basking in the comfort of the living force and the gentle sound of singing above him. It didn’t matter that he should really be bundling that boy off into their ship and off to debrief a council that would be mildly irritated at his choice to delay their return by a day or two.

All you knew- all you were consumed by- was the feeling of your fingers sliding their way along metal strings to familiar positions, passing a well-loved instrument back and forth and exchanging laughs as you missed notes. And if your hands lingered for too long upon his as you performed yet another exchange, you didn’t care.

No, all that mattered in the universe right now was the sound of your voices carrying the half-remembered tune of a song you both loved. And perhaps, just perhaps, this was that shaft of illumination you had hoped for.

#obi wan x reader #obi wan kenobi x reader #obi wan imagine #star wars x reader #star wars imagines #prequel trilogy #ewan mcgregor

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deathvalleyusa · 4 years

Text

sugar, sugar.

Summary: Chrissy tries not to expect anything from Billy on Valentine's Day. Billy manages to surprise her.

Pairing: Billy x Chrissy (OC)

A/N: Just some sweet fluffy goodness for Valentine’s Day. Takes place during SATC after Billy and Chrissy’s date. Y’know, while she was grounded.

Warnings: Swearing, smoking, teenagers being their asshole selves.

She felt like a complete idiot.

In the day after being grounded, Chrissy knew she wouldn’t trade her freedom for the night with Billy. Finally knowing him so intimately, getting what she had put off for weeks, felt like a rebirth. She was addicted to his hands on her now, and getting her next fix was the only thing on her mind.

But now, realizing that Valentine’s Day was soon approaching and she was imprisoned in the lovely craftsman on Elm Street, she was regretting everything said to her parents. Her defiance in the face of new rules felt warranted at the time. Now, it felt like she had signed her death warrant.

Chrissy had never gone a Valentine’s Day without a boy on her arm, a bundle of cheap flowers, or a date. Apparently, 1985 was her year to break that streak. No plans, no flowers, and the boy she had attached herself to couldn’t seem to care less about a pithy holiday like this.

Perhaps it was for the best, she thought. It was an excuse for both of them. For Chrissy not to get excited and later disappointed, and for Billy to not have to cater to her whims when they weren’t even going steady.

Valentine’s Day landed on a Thursday that year. Hawkins High was fully decked out in pink and red, paper hearts and crepe streamers plastered on walls and door frames. The annual candy-gram was going on. Little bags of candy hearts and chocolates painstakingly made by the student council could be purchased that week to raise money for upcoming dances. Chrissy knew the drill: students would flock to the table to buy a bag for another student, choosing to address it from themselves or a secret admirer. She’d gotten her fair share from both, but this year she wondered if she’d get any from a certain blonde.

Nah, she thought, scrunching her nose as she tapped a pencil on her notebook. He’s too macho for that kind of thing.

This year was no different than the others in that respect. Second period she had gotten her first bag. Quickly, she checked the tag.

From: Dan W.

Chrissy screwed up her face in disgust. He seriously still had a torch lit for her after all the shit she had said about him? That baggie had gone straight in the garbage, Chrissy knowing full well he sat on the opposite side of the classroom to see it. Get a fucking grip, Dan.

The second and third bags came during Spanish. A secret admirer and some boy she could barely place from last semester. Her frustration was beginning to grow.

It was hard to not be cold towards Billy when lunch rolled around. He was all hands, now the norm after she’d given him access to what he had been waiting for. She was passive, allowing but not returning the affection. After a bit, he seemed to give up in frustration, instead focusing on his food and the banal conversation from Tommy and Carol. Chrissy secretly wished Annette was at school; she had come down with the flu and missed the last couple days.

“So, I got three candy-grams so far,” Chrissy said, casual as she picked at her food.

Billy made a noise to acknowledge her, busy with the taco bowl in front of him. Tommy tried to swipe the holiday-themed cupcake from his tray, only to get a smack on the arm.

“Hey, fuck off,” he scolded. “Eat your own food, you spaz.”

“Three already?” Carol asked, obviously interested in Billy’s lack of concern and Chrissy’s now dour face. “Wow, aren’t you Miss Popular? They all secret admirers or did some of them have the balls to say who they were?”

“Oh, they’re getting bold this year,” she said, snickering. “Only one secret admirer. One was this guy named Taylor and the other was Dan.”

“No.” Carol’s voice was hushed. “Dan? Like Dan Weiss?”

“The one and only,” Chrissy replied, sitting back in the plastic chair.

Tommy started to cackle. “He really thinks those chalky candy hearts are gonna make up for his ‘premature’ problem?”

She snuck a furtive glance at Billy. He was still eating, taking in the conversation with calm eyes. The lack of emotion on his face only served to frustrate her more.

“Looks like you have competition, Hargrove,” Tommy continued, a smarmy grin on his freckled face. “You get her a candy-gram? ‘Cause Chris here’s very fickle. Easily swayed by presents.”

“Shut up, Tommy,” Chrissy and Billy said in unison.

“Did you get me a candy-gram?” Carol piped up, nudging at Tommy expectantly. “You should worry about yourself because I’m still empty-handed.”

“Day’s not over, toots,” Tommy replied, peeling the wrapper off his own cupcake. “Little patience would do you some good.”

All the while, Chrissy noticed Billy’s lack of reply to Tommy’s question. Perhaps he hadn’t bought one for her. The week and a half after their date had yielded some surprisingly sweet gestures, and part of her had hoped this would be another one for the books.

Billy let out a sigh through his nose, gathering his tray up. He gave Chrissy a nudge.

“You wanna have a smoke before lunch is over?” he asked, expression bored.

“Sure.” She stood to join him, giving Carol a tiny wave. “See you guys.”

><><><><><><><><

“So,” Billy said slowly, “you gonna tell me why you’ve been acting like an ice queen all lunch?”

“Give you three guesses.” She watched as he took a deep drag, looking down at his feet before those baby blues tried to read her face.

“Jesus,” he sighed, rubbing at his nose. It had gone rosy in the cold, as had his cheeks. He had finally learned to layer up since the snow had picked up, but it wasn’t enough to stop the cold from making him look like a little doll.

“What?” Chrissy asked, irritated by the lack of follow up. She watched as the ash on the end of his cigarette grew, blowing away with a small gust of wind.

“You’re really that fixated on that stupid candy shit?” he huffed. “Why do you care?”

“I just want to know you care!” she shot back, annoyed. “God, boys are so stupid. It’s not that hard to buy a dollar bag of candy to make someone happy.”

“You got three today. How do you know the secret admirer one wasn’t from me?”

“Was it?” Chrissy’s eyebrow quirked up.

“No,” he said, a smirk starting to form on his face. “I think that’d be worse than not getting you one.”

“So you did get me one?”

“No.”

And even though she had told herself a thousand times today to not be disappointed, something in Chrissy sank. Billy must have noticed the change in her demeanor; his arm draped around her shoulder, chin resting on the top of her head. He muttered something too quiet for her to hear.

“What?” she asked, flicking the ash off her cigarette.

“Got something better,” he said, a little louder. Almost embarrassed. “I was gonna give it to you when I drove you home, but since you’re being a crybaby about it, I can give it to you now.”

Chrissy bounced a bit on her toes, trying to bring warmth back into her body. Lunch was almost over, and she had skipped 5th period too many times the past week. If Wes heard, that could be another week on her sentence. She let out a distressed noise, staring up at the nearly whited out sky.

“I can wait,” she finally said, sliding her hand up her shoulder into his. “Promise.”

><><><><><><><><

The rest of the day was pure torture. Billy had gone out of his way to steal a couple of steamy kisses before their last classes, prompting her to wonder what the gift could be. The more Chrissy thought about it, the more she realized it could just be a sexual favor. God, she hoped it wasn’t. There was nothing remotely romantic or sentimental about getting fingered in the back of his Camaro with stolen time after school.

When the last bell rang, she shot out of her desk, nearly slamming into another student as she made her way out of the classroom. Chestnut hair bounced against her back as her gait quickened, locker in sight. The locker combination she knew by heart was somehow harder than it had been in days past; she tried twice before getting it open.

“Hey,” came a gruff voice to her side. “You ready to bounce?”

There stood Billy, beautiful and slightly amused by the hurried pace Chrissy had set for herself. Lidded eyes watched as she grabbed the last of her things.

“Yeah,” she breathed, “I’m all set.”

There was no wait outside the car today, cigarette smoke billowing in the wind as they watched for ginger hair amid the sea of middle schoolers. No, today Chrissy had plopped herself down in the passenger seat, brimming with excitement as Billy took his damn time getting in the car. Impatience started to bubble up in her.

“So?” Chrissy asked, leaning towards him expectantly. “Do I have to close my eyes? Are you gonna take me somewhere?”

“Jesus, calm the hell down,” he laughed. “And no. it’s in the glove compartment. You got hands, grab it yourself.”

She rolled her eyes. “Such a gentleman.”

“Never said I was one.”

The metallic click filled the car before Billy turned on the stereo. Inside the glove compartment was a small white paper gift bag, Billy’s blocky handwriting scrawling her name in Sharpie on the side. Inside was a box of Milk Duds, a pack of bright warm-toned scrunchies, and a mixtape with the words REAL MUSIC written on the case.

Chrissy sat quietly, eyeing up her gift. Next to her, Billy shifted uncomfortably.

“It’s just stuff I thought you might like,” he explained with no prompting. “And the music is a bunch of stuff I like that, y’know, you should listen to. Play it real loud to stick it to Wes.”

She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Billy didn’t seem to know what to do at first, but returned the hug with a bit of hesitation. Lips met each other before Chrissy started to beam.

“Thank you,” she said happily, staring again at the mixtape. The back had a neat list of songs and artists written in his penmanship. Mercyful Fate, Krokus, Accept. Names she was vaguely familiar with from Billy’s mess of tapes in his car but had never heard.

“Better than that shit candy?”

“Way better.” Ripping off the laminated holder, she tied her hair back with one of the scrunchies. “I can’t believe you bought things for my hair.”

Billy shrugged. “Yellow’s your favorite, couldn’t pass ‘em up while I got the Milk Duds and smokes.”

She planted another kiss on his cheek, moving to his lips. They lingered together for a second, Chrissy deepening into another kiss before tugging at his lower lip with her teeth.

“So, do I get a Valentine’s Day present?” he asked, voice raspy.

“Is Max getting a ride today?”

A frustrated sigh blew through his nose. Taking a quick glance down, Chrissy could already see the strain of his erection against the light denim of his jeans.

“Yeah,” he grunted, a sour look on his face.

“Then you only get part of it,” she said sheepishly. “Sorry.”

Billy’s eyebrows raised as he leaned back into the leather of the seat. “You got me something?”

“Uh, duh? ‘Course I did.”

“You sneak out of the house to get it or what?” he teased, leather creaking beneath him. “Or did Wes give you a free day?”

“Annette helped,” Chrissy admitted as she dug through her backpack. “Just thought it was something you’d want.”

The package, wrapped in shiny red paper embossed with hearts, traded hands. Billy stared at it, clearly unamused by the girly wrapping. He tore it open, eyes lighting up at the sight of a new set of headphones.

“You said yours broke,” Chrissy smiled, shifting to take in the glee in his face better. “They aren’t, like, the highest quality but they should do until you can get better ones.”

“Shit,” he said, smiling with such genuineness it made her heart thud against her ribcage. “Thanks, Chris.”

“I’m the best, I know,” she said, puffing out her chest.

Billy took her close, taking a hungry taste of her as she giggled. His happiness from the gesture was unexpected, but lovely all the same. Any time he was unguarded like this it felt like another piece of the Billy Hargrove puzzle fell into place.

A rapping came from her side of the car. Max stood outside, bundled up and red faced from the cold. Chrissy gave her a sheepish smile and a wave.

“The other half of your present is gonna have to wait till tomorrow,” she said to Billy, unlocking the door.

“Tomorrow?” he said, giving a small smile.

“Yeah,” Chrissy grinned back, shifting to get out of the car. “If we cut early, I know how to get into the auditorium. Nice and private for your gift.”

#billy hargrove #billy hargrove x oc #billy hargrove fic #happy early valentine's day from these disaster children

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mayansmcx · 4 years

Text

Hell Hath No Fury

Hi all! I’ve literally never done creative writing but I’ve been so fixated on finding Mayans fan fic. As an obsessive fan and reader, I’ve read pretty much all of them. So that led me to trying to write my own to try and fill some of the need for more! Deciding whether or not to make this an Angel/Nestor love triangle thing or not. I like messy relationships. Let me know that you think!

————————————————

Working in the Mayors office wasn’t my lifelong aspiration but after working for a Congressman who embodied all that was bad in politics, I couldn’t get away fast enough. That’s what led me here, to Santo Padre. I always knew I wanted to work in politics, but leaving so abruptly from the office in DC, and under the circumstances, it was difficult to find a job in any level of the field where my old boss wouldn’t immediately try and sabotage. Luckily, Santo Padre doesn’t even qualify as a dot on a map and so my former boss had no damn idea I was applying here or the connection I had to get into this office.

Mayor Antonia Pena needed a new Chief of Staff after hers went ghost and never showed up for work again - they still don’t know why he bailed or why he never came to get the stuff from his desk, but apparently his last few months there he started to spiral: drinking all the time, jumpy, bursts of anger... the works. No one was entirely surprised he left, by what I’ve been told.

Its a pretty mundane gig. The town is, for the most part, quiet. The outlaw biker gang, the Mayans, have some weird unspoken arrangement with the cops where they help keep the town as safe as they can on their respective sides of the law.

We never see much of the outlaws, which is why it is weird as shit that the head of the motorcycle gang just walked into our office and requested an urgent meeting with the mayor. Usually I try and field these requests and take the meeting for her, but in this case she wants to meet directly.

“Come on back, the mayor is ready for you Mr.....” I trail off, as I realize I never actually caught his name.

“Just call me Bishop. And this is Taza.” He says, gesturing to the man next to him.

“Nice to meet you Bishop and Taza. My name is Lennon. I’ll be staffing the meeting.” I reply politely.

“Lennon, we were kind of hoping for a private meeting with the Mayor, no offense.” Bishop says, running his hand through his hair, seeming a little tense.

“As the Mayors Chief, it’s my job to staff her. If it makes you feel better, whatever you say in there, I’m going to find out anyway. I’m the cogs that make everything run for this office. I take on the grunt work so she can focus on the big picture. It’s usually easier for me to hear things directly than getting the recap later.” I explain, hoping they understand what it is that I do.

“Ah, so you’re the one who makes shit happen” Taza lets off a quick chuckle.

“More or less.” I give a light laugh, “she makes the decisions, I coordinate it to make it reality. Makes her life easier, and gives me a job.”

I open the door the Mayor’s office and invite them in. Mayor Pena is reviewing paperwork for the newest city council proposal for repairing the sidewalks by the school.

“Hey boss, our drop in is here” I alert her.

She sees our visitors and promptly puts the papers back into their folder before standing up to greet them.

“Bishop it’s so nice to see you again. Or at least I believe it is for now, it depends on what you’re about to discuss” Antonia states, trying to sound relaxed, but the rigidness in her body language is hard to ignore.

Bishop smirks, “Well, you know us, always trying to stay out of your hair. That’s why we feel bad about coming to you. We need a favor.”

Antonia relaxes a little, which I find odd (all things considered). “Well, tell me what I can do for you” she replied confidently.

“One of our guys is locked up in Indio right now. Nothing bad, just a little drunk and disorderly charge after a bar fight. Given the fact that he’s wearing his kutte, they seem to be going a little harder on him.” Bishop explains.

“Ah yes, those damn biker stereotypes foil a nice evening once again!” Antonia says as she plet off a genuine laugh which Taza and Bishop joined in on as well. “We’ll see what we can do. Lennon, I’m going to need you to work this today.” Antonia said as her eyes met mine.

“You got it, boss.” I nodded quickly. “Now gentleman, why don’t we go grab some coffee and you can tell me what it is that we’re working with.” They both stood up and followed me out of the building and across the street to Tino’s Café.

We place get our orders and grab a seat in the back corner.

“Alright Mr. Leader of a motorcycle gang, what’s the situation” I say playfully. Humor and playful banter is my go-to for alleviating any tension. People tend to ease up with a fun-loving approach.

“It’s not a gang, it’s a club. And my official title is president”, Bishop says as firmly as he points to the patch on his chest before he lets off a quick laugh. “Anyways, like I told the Mayor, one of our guys is in lock up in Indio. He drank a little too much and some hedge fund lookin’ kid got mouthy. Shit escalated, a fight broke out. Hedge fund kid cried about the big bad biker and got off, said he wanted to press charges, and then our guy was hauled away.” He states matter-of-factly.

“Ok, that’s not too bad.” I say as I mull over the facts. “What’s his name?” I ask.

“Reyes. Angel Reyes.” Taza, who I now see has a Vice-President patch, answers. “Two of our guys, Coco and EZ were with him. They made it back this morning.”

“Alright, give me a second and I’ll make a call to up there and see what magic I can work” I tell them as I get up and walk outside, not waiting for them to okay my decision.

I google the number to their police department and dial. It rings three times before someone answers.

“Indio Police Department, this is Officer McMann” a monotone voice comes on the line.

“Hi, my name is Lennon Parker and I’m the Chief of Staff for Mayor Antonia Pena here in Santo Padre. I hear you have one of our constituents. Who do I need to speak to about the charges and possible release.” I say in my ‘official and authoritative’ voice.

“No one. He’s staying here. He’s not getting bail given the fact that he’s a member of a known criminal group.” He finishes his statement and immediately hangs up the phone.

I walk back into the coffee shop not bothering to hide my annoyance.

“That idiot hung up on me. Looks like I’m talking a trip to Indio. Can’t hang up on me to my face.” I snap as I grab my purse.

Both men raise their eyebrows and look at each other.

“I like your attitude, kid” Taza tells me. “We’ll send some of our guys with you.”

“It’s fine, I should be okay getting there and back.” I express, a little confused as to why they’d want someone to accompany me.

“Nah, he’s one of ours. And after last night, if Coco and EZ aren’t there to talk shit when he gets out, they’re gonna feel real sad” Taza laughs.

“Can’t deny you guys these simple joys in life. Have them meet me at the office in 20 minutes and we’ll go from there.” I concede.

I stroll back to the Mayor’s office and let Antonia know what’s going on.

“Be smart, Len.” She tells me, “I know how your mouth can get you in trouble.” She tries to laugh it off, but deep down we both know she’s serious.

I’ve only been working for her for six months, but we met each other about a decade ago when I was in a fellowship program and she was working for the City Planner. She was a good bit older than me, but somehow our friendship still clicked. She took on the roll as friend, and surrogate big sister. It’s why I didn’t want the Chief job the first time around. Mixing professional with personal can get messy.

“Oh c’mon Toni, there’s no fun in this if I can’t ruffle some feathers.” I winked at her as I walk out of her office at sound of motorcycles fast approaching.

I walk out to the parking lot and see two men hop off their bikes. One is shorter and lean with long hair and eyes that scream “don’t fuck with me”. His black and white plaid jacket was under his kutte. The other is tall, well built with short hair and a cut off shirt that drew attention to his muscular arms. His kutte wasn’t like the rest, it was less adorned and had a simple “PROSPECT” patch.

Without any pause, I introduce myself. “Hi I’m Lennon, you must be EZ and Coco. Now who is who?”

“Im EZ” the tall one raises his hand. I reach out to shake his hand, which he meets.

“So that makes you Coco.” I say as I move my hand to shake his. He looks at my hand for a second before giving it a quick shake as he nods.

“I assume you all don’t want to ride in my car, so if you want, follow me or meet me there. Whatever you want.” I tell them as I turn around and walk to my car.

“Alright, catch you there” one of them says, I don’t look back to see which one.

I turn the music up in my Audi A4 and start my drive. Getting lost in my thoughts as I strategize every possible path to getting this stranger out of jail.

Almost two hours later, I arrive at the jail. The two bikers are already sitting in the parking lot smoking their cigarettes.

“Took you long enough.” Coco says, not even bothering to make eye contact.

“Well you know, if I try and split lanes like you guys get to, it becomes a car accident.” I retort with no hesitation or care about his coldness. “Let’s go do this thing. Let me do the talking, they’re already holding the whole ‘biker’ thing against him.”

EZ opens his mouth to say something, before realizing there is no logical point he can make to find flaw in what I have just said.

I turn around, and walk up the steps. Throwing my shoulders back, I open the door and walk to the front desk. Quickly checking the name tag of the officer at the desk, I note it’s the same ass I spoke to on the phone. My annoyance from earlier reemerges.

“Hi Officer McMann. My name is Lennon, we spoke earlier. I need you to go get your superior.” I smile sweetly, but my tone reads more menacingly.

“No, he’s busy. If it’s about that biker, I already told you, he’s staying put.” He tells me, completely unphased.

“Oh no, officer. You seem to be mistaken. I did not request to speak to your superior. It was an order.” I say, losing all pretense of fake politeness.

I immediately see someone come out of the office in the back.

“Officer McMann, what seems to be the problem?” The older officer asks.

“This woman would like to speak with you, Chief, regarding the release of biker from their po-dunk down. She works for the Mayor” McMann tells his boss.

“Well it seems like you’ve wasted your time coming down here if you’re trying to get him out” the Chief tells me, the air of superiority he has immediately gets under my skin.

“Well, Chief… Ryan, is it? Chief Ryan, you seem to think this is an exercise in futility because our city is, what did this inept officer say? Po-dunk? I didn’t come down here to try and get Mr. Reyes released, I came here to do it.” My sickly sweet smile now dissipates. “You see, you might think I’m a nobody from a nothing-to-do town, but before I worked for our Mayor, I worked in DC, for a Congressman. You know what’s nice about being a Chief of Staff for a Congressman? All of the connections I made.” The Chiefs face falters and fear starts to creep into his eyes as he realizes he doesn’t have the upper hand in this discussion anymore. “In fact, I have your Senator and Assemblymember here in my contacts. I’m sure you know what they do, right? They help secure your funding. Senator Monroe and Assemblywoman Ruiz are quite fond of me after a bill our offices all worked together, I’m sure they’d love to hear about your prejudicial treatment of one of the Mayor’s constituents. So now, before I have to escalate this - which based on the look of your face is something you don’t want – go release Mr. Reyes and see to it that no charges are filed.” I finish, the confidence and ferocity of my voice is lost on no one.

“But… you see, we’ve already started the paperwork for the case…” the Chief states, clearly rattled.

The falsely sweet smile returns to my face, “I’m sorry, did I stutter?” The smile drops again, “I said release him. Any paperwork you’ve filed sounds like a personal problem. One that you can fix once you release Mr. Reyes.”

Chief Ryan is quiet for a few seconds. “McMann, go get Mr. Reyes and apologize for our mistake” he tells the young officer

“Good call” I tell him as he sulks back to his office.

“Damn girl” Cocos voice calls from behind me, the previous coldness in his tone was gone “that was some good shit. Old boy looked like he saw fuckin’ Jesus for a second.”

“I don’t like being talked down to. Especially not by some old white dude with an ego.” I shrugged.

“You didn’t knock him down a peg, you kicked his ass down the stairs” Coco is replied.

“Look here he comes Angel” EZ says as we look up and see an extremely tall, well built man with a beard getting uncuffed at the end of the hall.

He walks out rubbing his wrists which bear indentations from the handcuffs and are lightly red.

Before they can start to talk shit to him, I jump in.

“Hi Angel. I’m Lennon. The Mayor sent me here as a favor to your president. I wanted to introduce myself before these two start giving you shit” I say as I shake his hand.

“Nice to meet you. And thanks” he says casually.

I walk out of precinct, the three men close behind me.

“Nice job there, genius. You can’t go around punching rich blonde pretty boys and not catch shit.” I hear Coco tell him.

I tune out the rest of their friendly bashing as we get to where we parked.

“So, we have two bikes and a car. Is Angel going to be riding bitch or will his gargantuan ass need to ride with me?” I say, clearly comfortable with the situation at hand which catches them off guard.

“Uh, yeah. That’s good. Still a little hungover from last night so I appreciate it.” Angel tells me as looks back at his friends.

“Alright then Sasquatch, get in.” I jokingly command. “But don’t expect too much quiet.”

“Whatever you say, lady.” He shrugs.

“I’ll see you guys wherever I drop off Floyd Mayweather here.” I tell the two men on their bikes.

“Mayweather? I can read.” Angel tells me, obviously a little taken back by my personality.

“For some reason, I doubt that.” I tell him deadpan before smirking.

I laugh as I slide behind the wheel of my car, “Let’s go Angel. You have two hours with me. Let’s see how much you can handle.”

“Damn little girl. If i would have known they were gonna send a comedian, I might have stayed in jail.” Angel says as he keeps the banter going.

“I like her!” EZ yells to the other guys before he starts up his bike.

“Fuckin’ great” he rolls his eyes, the sarcasm in his voice immediately followed by him shaking his head with a smile. “Lets go!” he chirps as he slides into the passenger seat.

This will be fun.

#mayans #mayans fic #mayans fan fic #mayans fx #ez reyes #angel reyes #coco cruz #nestor oceteva #miguel galindo #soa #sons of anarchy

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milomeepit · 5 years

Text

Diamond In The Rough: Chapter Five

Roman has always wanted better. Has always believed that there’s a better life, a better world, just out of reach. Just beyond the veil of shitty teachers who don’t care, angry classmates that scream insults and slurs at each other all day, and drug-hazed parents who are more concerned with their next hit than looking after their ten year old son.

When he runs away after a particularly bad night at home and finds a quiet little cafe/bookstore tucked away in a back alley of the city, the sweet couple who run the joint (an odd pair; a quiet, gloomy man with a wry sense of humour and a cynical gleam in his eye, and a bouncy man who smiles like sunshine and laughs like a storybook king) help show him that maybe- just maybe- he really can have the life he always dreamed of.

Masterpost (to be added soon!)

Word Count: 2927

Chapter Warnings: Fake names, panic, runaway kid, brief mention of parent neglect, foster care mention

Afternoons began to settle into a comfortable routine. Peter would climb the stairs to the cafe, pick out a book, curl up on a couch on the edge of the dining area, and wait, picking at the frayed hems of his jeans. Patton would eventually come over, mugs of cocoa and a plate of cookies in hand, and would start to read, leaving the afternoon’s lazy trickle of customers to Virgil.

This afternoon, however, as the sun began to dip lower, and closing time approached, Patton paused before turning the page. “Hey, Peter, sweetie, can I ask you something?”

“Mhm?” Peter looked up at Patton, his eyes wide and round and trusting, and gods, they broke his heart a little.

Patton gazed down at him, brushing straggly hair back from his face. “Honey, do you have somewhere to sleep tonight?” He asked.

“Yeah!” Peter replied, a little too quickly for Patton to be convinced.

“Somewhere safe and warm? Inside? With your parents?” Patton pressed on.

Peter pulled away from him, nodding quickly. “Y-yeah! With my mom and dad, they have a- they have a house and stuff!” He insisted.

Patton studied him, his arms wrapped around himself, the hunched shoulders. Those wide eyes, now full of doubt and fear. His chest squeezed painfully as Peter shuffled away, putting a small amount of distance between them. Breathe. Calm down. You’re going to spook him even more, he reminded himself.

“Are you sure about that?” Patton asked softly. “It’s okay if the answer is no, I just want to help you.”

“I... I...” Peter stammered, his hands balling up into fists. His shoulders trembled as he curled in on himself tighter.

Patton reached out towards him, offering a comforting smile. “Peter, are you oka-”

“Don’t!” Peter ducked away from him with a yelp, pushing himself to his feet and sprinting towards the stairs, his tattered sneakers screeching against the smooth wooden floor. In the blink of an eye, he had vanished down the stairwell, the front door slamming shut behind him.

Virgil looked up from the register at the sudden commotion, and Patton saw him mouthing curses as he vaulted over the counter, ripping off his apron and throwing it towards Patton. “I’ll be right back!” He yelled over his shoulder, and then he was gone, too.

Patton leaped up and snatched the apron out of the air, clutching it close to his chest, staring after them as he blinked back the tears pricking at his eyes. He really, really hoped he hadn’t just ruined everything.

Meanwhile, Virgil weaved through groups of people out on the street, searching the crowds for Peter’s messy hair and red jacket. Come on, kid. You can’t have got that far. He turned down one street, then another, his gaze raking over passing people. Past the hotel, along the bike path, around the library.

Damn it.

“Excuse me, have you seen a little boy? About this tall, red jacket, beat-up backpack?”

Nope.

“Hey, have you seen a kid come through here? Kind of looks like Pig-Pen from the Peanuts?”

No luck.

“Hi, sorry to bother you, I’m looking for a boy? Messy hair, grubby face, big green eyes?”

Nothing.

Virgil flopped down onto a park bench, out of breath. His phone buzzed insistently, and he pulled it out of his pocket to see a message from Patton.

Pat <3 [5:23pm]: Heya <333 Any luck? Cutie Pie [5:23pm]: nothing yet. still looking tho Pat <3 [5:24pm]: Okay. Stay safe. I love you! Cutie Pie [5:24pm]: will do xo

Virgil sucked in a deep breath, sticking his phone back in his pocket and rubbing his temples. He had to think. Where would a scared kid go, if they didn’t have somewhere safe to go? Where would a kid hide?

He should be able to figure this out, damn it! He was always the one who ran and hid- ducking under tables, slipping into closets, climbing up trees, squeezing between cars. He was an expert at hiding spots when he was a kid.

Then again, it had always been his dad or Patton who excelled at the finding part. Time after time, Virgil would sit there, waiting for them to rescue him, curled into a ball, his breathing shallow as panic clawed at his chest, squeezing his throat tight until he couldn’t breathe-

Breathe in for four seconds. Hold it for seven seconds. Breathe out for eight seconds. Keep it together.

“If I was a kid, all alone, out in the cold, with the sun setting, where would I hide?” He asked himself aloud.

Alone? Probably somewhere he could keep an eye on who came and went.

Cold? Somewhere protected from snow and wind and rain.

Virgil started walking again, chewing on his bottom lip as he made his way along the path. Streetlamps cast a sickly yellow glow over the park, the shadows dancing as the trees waved in the wind. He had to be missing something. He just had to think.

The path curved around to the left and Virgil followed it. His thoughts felt heavy and thick, like smoke clogging up his brain. Where else could the kid even be?

A metallic creak nearby pulled him from his thoughts. He stepped off the path, ducking through a grove of trees and following the noise. It was darker over here, away from the lights illuminating the walkway, and it took a few seconds for his to adjust.

The old playground. Virgil remembered coming here when he was younger. Perched at the top with Patton, their legs swinging over the edge as they watched people pass by. It didn't get much use nowadays- the city council had built a shiny new playground with colourful metal frames and fancy soft fall rubber flooring.

What was wrong with regular old wood chips? He shook his head. People were so concerned with their kids getting so much as a scratch these days. What was childhood, if not the ultimate opportunity for skinned knees and bumps on the head?

The creak pierced through the air again as the ancient swingset moved in the wind. He moved over to it, examining the tarnished metal links. Somewhere along one of these chains, he'd scratched his and Patton's initials. They were littered all over this playground, really. Scratched onto plastic, carved into wooden beams.

Virgil shook his head. Now isn't the time for a trip down memory lane, he scolded himself. You can bring Patton down here and have a picnic sometime, but you have a mission rig-

A faint sound made his head snap up towards the play equipment. It almost sounded like... a sniffle?

He slowly approached the old playground, following the sound. Please don't be a raccoon, please don't be a raccoon, he begged silently as he bobbed down and peered into the plastic tunnel.

"Go away!" Virgil jerked back, startled by the sudden shriek. "Leave me alone!"

Well, that answered that question.

He settled down onto the ground, a foot or so back from the opening of the tunnel. "Pete, it's me," He said softly.

There was a heavy silence for a few seconds, followed by rustling, and Peter poked his head out of the shadows, eyeing Virgil suspiciously. "... Hi."

"Hey, kid," Virgil replied casually, leaning back on his hands. "Cozy in there?"

Peter shrugged. "I guess. I have a blanket."

"Niiiice. Doesn't sound as luxurious as Patton's reading nook, though."

"Nah. That's, like... a blanket palace."

Virgil chuckled at the dreamy look in Peter's eyes. "It sure is."

Peter flashed him a small, hesitant smile. "I really like your cafe. It's really, really nice."

"Thanks. We've tried really hard to make it nice, so I'm really glad to hear." He shifted, crossing his legs and leaning on his knees. "Mind if I ask why you ditched us in such a hurry?"

Peter shrank back, suddenly looking... almost frightened? Virgil's heart panged at the boy's crossed arms and hunched stance.

"Look, I promise I'm not mad, and you're not in trouble or anything. Me and Patton are just..." Virgil paused, searching for the right word. "... We're worried about you, kid. We wanted to make sure you were okay."

"Why." Peter's voice was flat.

"Because... because we care about you? You're a good kid? Why wouldn't we?" Virgil asked, baffled by the complete lack of emotion in the usually animated child.

"... Really?" Peter blinked, his eyebrows drawn together as he studied Virgil.

"Y... yeah," Virgil affirmed softly.

"Are all the adults around here as nice as you guys?" He shuffled a little closer to the opening of the pipe.

Well, that was telling. "I mean, to be honest? Not all of 'em. But I know some good people." He paused, biting his lip before continuing. "Are your folks not... so nice?"

"They're... okay. They don't really talk to me much."

"I see." Virgil did not, in fact, see.

Peter ducked his head, curling back in on himself. “Sorry. I don’t... it’s okay, I promise.”

Virgil’s chest tightened at Peter’s hunched shoulders. “You know, kid... it’s okay for things to be, you know... not okay.” He reached out, gently touching his arm.

Peter looked up, his wide eyes shining in the darkness. “I...” He trailed off, staring at Virgil.

“Look, it’s pretty cold and nasty out here, and I personally wanna head back to meet up with my husband and go home and have dinner and watch movies.” Virgil smiled. “And if you wanna tag along, you’re totally welcome to, kid.”

Peter moved forwards again, emerging from the tube. He threw himself at Virgil, wrapping his arms around his chest, knocking the slim man onto his back. Virgil let out a grunt as he caught the child, squeezing him a little. “I got you, bud. I got you.”

He let go after a moment, and Virgil released him. The two of them clambered to their feet, exchanged a nod, and then began walking back in the direction of the cafe.

Virgil didn’t pull away when Peter’s small hand took hold of his, tightly gripping onto him like a lifeline. They made their way along the path, hands swinging gently between them. The silence was somewhere between comfortable and suffocating, and Virgil cursed his inability to read social situations. He wasn’t sure what to do, or what to say, but this- the protective urge boiling in his blood, the warmth of Peter’s hand in his- it felt right.

He cleared his throat, glancing up towards the stars. “Hey, do you know any of the constellations, kid?”

Peter looked up at him curiously. “No? That’s, like... stars and stuff, right? And, like... star signs and junk?”

“Yeah, stuff like that. What’s yours?”

“Um... my birthday is in June. June 4th.”

Virgil clicked his tongue as he thought. “I’m pretty sure that’s, like... right in the middle of Gemini. Neat.” He squeezed Peter’s hand gently. “Mine’s Sagittarius- birthday’s in late December.”

Peter wrinkled his nose. “There was a girl in my classes whose birthday is the 28th. She said it sucked, because she only got one set of presents.”

Virgil chuckled. “It’s not so bad. Patton always makes a cake, and we hang out and eat snacks, and that’s more than enough for me.”

Peter nodded, then looked back up towards the sky. “... What other constellations are there up there?” He asked.

Virgil followed his gaze, searching the stars for a shape he recognized. “Uh... oh, right there. Dorado. See it? It’s like a dolphin.” He raised their joined hands to point up at the cluster of stars.

Peter squinted at the sky, then brightened. “Oh, yeah! I can see the tail and body and everything!” He exclaimed.

Virgil grinned and ruffled his hair. “Hell yeah. Great job, Pete!”

The boy hesitated at the praise, his steps faltering to a halt. “Um...” He pulled his hand free, rubbing his free arm nervously.

“What’s up, kid?” Virgil bobbed down to him, raising an eyebrow. “Something on your mind?”

“Um, well, the thing is...” He hesitated, closing his eyes before spitting out in a rush, “My name isn’t actually Peter, I panicked, I’m sorry, my name’s Roman, I’m sorry for lying-!”

“Whoa, whoa!” Virgil held up his hands, eyes wide. “Breathe, princey! Calm down time.” He raised his hand, wanting to draw him into a hug, but knowing all too well how distressing contact could be when one didn’t feel up to it. Neither of them moved for a tense few seconds, and he cleared his throat, letting his hand drop to his side again. “Roman, huh? That’s a pretty cool name. It suits you.”

Roman(?) slowly opened his eyes, peeking up at Virgil from behind his scraggly fringe. “... You’re not mad?” He asked, his voice soft and hesitant in a way that broke Virgil’s heart all over again.

“I promise. Little surprised, maybe, but...” Virgil shook his head. “Not mad. People can be scary. I understand, bud.” He chuckled. “I remember when I was a kid, my teacher thought my name was Oliver for, like, three weeks, because I was too nervous to correct her.”

Roman stared at Virgil, then slowly nodded. “...Okay. Okay.” He reached out, taking Virgil’s hand again.

Virgil gently squeezed his hand as he got back to his feet. “Let’s head home, huh?”

Roman nodded again. “Yeah,” He murmured, a small, shy smile creeping onto his face.

Virgil liked this kid’s smile.

It didn’t take long for them to get back to the cafe. Virgil held open the door for Roman as he scuffed his tattered sneakers clean on the mat, then followed him up the stairs. Roman paused at the top, peering around the banister anxiously.

Virgil followed his gaze to see Patton wiping down an already-clean table, a vacant, worried look on his face as he reset the centerpiece and menus. A quick glance around the cafe confirmed his suspicion that Patton had been stress-cleaning. Books were shuffled around on the shelves, one set of shelves organized by colour, another by height, a third by genre.

“Hey, hon,” He called out, staying with Roman, resting his hand gently on the boy’s shoulder.

Patton jerked at the sound of his voice, whirling around and lighting up as he spotted them. “You’re back!” He flung himself towards Roman, wrapping him up in a tight hug. “Oh, goodness, I was so worried, I thought you’d get hurt, or lost, or-or... I don’t even know! I’m so glad you’re safe, Peter!” He rambled.

Roman squirmed back in his arms, and Patton immediately released him. “Um, R-Roman,” He stammered, clearly a bit overwhelmed by Patton’s response to seeing him.

Patton paused for a beat, blinked, then nodded, the sunshine-bright smile returning to his face. “I’m so happy to see you, Ro- is it okay if I call you Ro? Excellent name, by the way! Sounds like a Prince Charming- ooh, or a brave knight! Don’t you think, Virgil?” As he spoke, he practically dragged Roman and Virgil over to one of the couches, settling them down and throwing a blanket over their legs.

Virgil laughed, catching Patton’s nervous hands as he smoothed out wrinkles in the blanket. “Pat, hon, breathe. It’s okay. I’m fine, Roman’s safe. Come here.” He gently tugged Patton to sit down next to him, putting an arm around his waist and kissing his cheek. “Everybody’s alright.”

Patton blushed, curling up and resting his head on Virgil’s shoulder. “Right, right. Sorry. I guess I got a little carried away,” He giggled awkwardly.

Roman cleared his throat, and Virgil turned his head to look at him. His small hands were clutching fistfuls of the blanket as he spoke, his voice a little shaky. “So... so what happens now? You guys aren’t going to make me go back home, are you?”

Virgil chewed on the inside of his cheek. Of course they didn’t want to send Roman back home if it wasn’t a healthy environment, but what other options did they have? Call the police? Was there a hotline for homeless children? He wrinkled his nose, reflecting on his own experience with the foster care system. That definitely didn’t appeal, either, but there was only so much they could do. It wasn’t like they could just keep him like a stray cat.

“Of course not! You can stay with us as long as you like!” Patton exclaimed. “We’ve got a spare bedroom, and I’m sure we can find some clothes that’ll fit you. That way you’ll have somewhere warm and cozy and nice to stay while we figure things out!”

... Or, they could take in the random runaway child. A small, selfish part of Virgil chimed in agreement with Patton. Roman was a good kid, from what they’d seen. Besides, it wasn’t like they were kidnapping him. Just giving him somewhere to sleep for now; a stable and positive environment during this whole debacle. It couldn’t hurt, riiight?

Roman’s eyes widened. “Rea-really? I can just... stay with you guys?” And with the soft hope shining on his face, there went Virgil’s strength of will for the night.

“Yeah. Yeah, I can’t see a problem with him staying here for now, at least.” Virgil reached over and tousled Roman’s hair. “How about we get home, get some sleep, and then we can look into what to do in the morning?”

“Sounds like a plan!” Patton chirped.

Roman cuddled up to Virgil, wrapping his arms around him and clinging tightly. “Thankyouthankyouthankyou!” He exclaimed, a bright, crooked-toothed smile lighting up his face.

#TS-Storytime 2019 Submission #milo writes #ditr #gemstone tales #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #sanders sides

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clansayeed · 4 years

Text

Bound by Circumstance ― Chapter 23: Happily Ever After

PAIRING: Nik Ryder x trans*M!MC (Taylor Hunter) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Circumstance ⥽

Taylor Hunter (MC) has made it good for himself in New Orleans; turns out moving to a new city fresh out of college to reinvent yourself isn’t as hard as people make it out to be. Things only start to get confusing when he finds himself the target of a malevolent wraith. Good thing someone’s looking out for him though — because without Nighthunter Nik Ryder as his bodyguard he definitely won’t survive long in the twisting darkness of the supernatural underworld he’s tripped into.

Bound by Circumstance and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the book Nightbound and the rest of the Bloodbound series. Find out more [HERE].

Note: Circumstance only loosely follows the events and plotline of Nightbound, and features a separate antagonist, different character motivations, and further worldbuilding.

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Circumstance/series tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

For now.

[READ IT ON AO3]

They make sure the first thing Kristin sees when she opens her eyes is the pair of them on either side of her hospital bed. Both of her hands in theirs and they’re so close to being able to hold back the tears in their eyes.

But when she licks her dry lips and looks them both over with groggy delirium, only to say “I think I’m over Mardi Gras, guys,” they’re her first words in a week that’s felt like an entire year and how could they do anything but ugly cry as loud and messy and utterly ridiculous as they possibly can.

“Now don’t go marryin’ that idea, Cookie,” Vera blubbers; wipes her thumbs carefully to preserve her wing-tip, “‘specially when you see the place our friend’s got hooked up with.”

“Nope, I’m sticking to water.”

Taylor snorts with a fond roll of his eyes. “Yeah, I’ll believe it when I see it.”

And even though they know for a fact she’ll make a full recovery she was found in a cemetery—at night—and her coma lasted several days; so Taylor and Vera don’t make much of a fuss when the doctor kicks them out. She makes them promise to come back as soon as they can, which of course they do.

They’re waiting to the elevator when a melodic humming catches Taylor’s ears; he knows that voice.

Sure enough Tilly strolls around the corner, pushing a cart with a squeaking back wheel in front of her without so much as a touch. Her hands have better things to do — like spoon a healthy heap of strawberry jello into her mouth.

The cart doesn’t even slow when their paths cross but the elf doesn’t let that stop her from grabbing two jiggling cups and plop-plopping them into Vera’s hands. A wink and twitch of her nose and she’s off around another corner as though she was never there.

Vera stares down at the jello in wordless confusion. Before she can say anything the lift arrives and doors slide open.

“I’ll explain on the way,” Taylor promises, plucks his gifted jello cup and presses the button for the ground floor.

They leave the hospital full of jello and laughter. Which was probably the elf’s intention.

Two blocks away from the Graveyard Shift Taylor stops them; puts a gentle hand on Vera’s upper arm and moving them out of the way of tourists still loitering around the Quarter in waves.

Judging by the fall of her face Vera’s been expecting this — and it’s not a conversation he’s excited about either but ignoring unseemly topics is something that hits a little too close to home these days.

“Have you decided what you’re gonna do?”

“Been a little busy, Tay.” Easygoing tone now clipped; curt. Almost cold but he knows it’s not her. “We shouldn’t keep everyone waitin’.”

“I think they’ll understand.”

“Okay — I tried t’be nice but I guess I just gotta be blunt. I don’t want to talk about it.”

His silence is long enough to wedge a bolt in her defense — has Vera peering up through her curls where he waits patiently. Which only frustrates her further. “You’re annoying sometimes, you know that Taylor Hunter?”

He shrugs — she’s not wrong. “Nik makes sure I don’t forget.”

Silence, and more silence, and a few attempts to weasel around him and continue down the sidewalk that end in a childish bout of fake-out standoffs; then she finally accepts defeat.

“I wanna stay, really I do. But I moved away to distance myself from this—this life. And if I stay then what have the past couple’a years of my life been for then, you know?”

He knows, and nods; she continues, “My biggest thing is… I don’t know who my momma is without the Touch; without bein’ Lady Smoke. Hell I’m not even sure she knows. You should see how she’s been actin’ Taylor; three whole days later and she’s back in her office actin’ like nothing has changed.

“But it has. And sooner or later word’ll get out what happened to her an’ that she doesn’t have the same leverage as she used to.” She worries her bottom lip between her teeth; she’s been doing that a lot recently. “It’d be nice to think about her givin’ it all up but I know she won’t. What if she turns to somethin’ equally terrible or worse to keep people fearin’ her?”

There’s a light to her eyes that wasn’t there before; maybe even Vera didn’t know how much Vera needed to vent the things weighing her down. And Taylor? Well he empathizes; literally. Her worries are his worries. Her concern is his concern.

And because she knows in her heart of hearts that Tonya Reimonenq is not only capable but likely to try and regain any echo of the power the bloodwraith took from her — by any means necessary — he knows it too.

Taylor wishes he had certainties for her. That he can give her the definitive this is what will happen and this is how we’ll deal with it of the matter. But he can’t.

“No matter what she does, the New Accords will keep her in line.”

The look she gives him; will they though? isn't by any fault of hers. In fact it’s Vera’s healthy caution that’s helped them all this way so far so he trusts it as much as anything else.

“Don’t stay because you want to keep an eye on Tonya. You’ve got Nik and me for that.” He links their arms, doesn’t miss her little breath of relief when they continue walking.

“Stay because you want to. I’d sure love it if you did.”

“I’ll give it a real thought, okay?”

“I could ask for nothing more.”

They enter the Shift together and everything is the same — everyone is exactly as the pair left them. That isn’t a good thing.

“Raise your voice at me again, go on.”

“Kathy will you stop goadin’ the werewolf?”

“You’ve got one last chance Jensen.”

“Guys, please slow down. ‘Taking minutes’ was made for typing and I don’t have another pen.”

“Oh hon’, you don’t need to get the arguments in the minutes.”

Krom flashes a sheepish smile through his tusks at Garrus from across the booth. The bartender is content to keep his distance from the arguing going down in his establishment but he stays because that’s what he agreed to.

Though judging by the bottle of teal-tinted absinthe he’s nearly polished off that might be something of a regret on his part.

Cal leans back in the booth with both hands over his face — probably with the same frustration Nik doesn’t even try to cover up beside him.

“This is useless…”

Across from him Kristof smacks his lips, beer in hand, and nods to his nephew. “First thing we’ve agreed on all day, pup.” And when he makes like he’s about to pull himself away from the uncomfortable situation Katherine snatches at his wrist. Her grip looks practically dainty against the muscle of him but every single soul in the bar knows it to be anything but.

“Sit the fuck back down, Jensen.”

“Nah, I’m done with this shit fer th’day.”

Pull your weight and help me, says the look Katherine snaps at Ryder.

Who leans forward on his elbows with fingers steepled and a hard glare given to the Alpha at the other end of the table.

“If you leave now we just have to start from scratch tomorrow. Do you really want to drag this out?”

Cal groans and continues his useless attempt to become one with his leather seat. He’s just as frustrated as his fellow wolf but Krom’s got him walled in; no chance of escape.

But the thought of having to repeat the ordeal is, luckily(?), terrible enough that the wood of the seat creaks to accommodate the Alpha as he settles back in.

“Fine. But come sunset I’m outta here; I got shit t’do.”

Katherine agrees with a nod. “It won’t take that long.”

“The Lamrians didn’t take this long,” mutters Nik under his breath; and its only then that he looks up enough to see Taylor and Vera’s combined amusement where they’ve been watching everything unfold like a governmental pantomime.

“Gettin’ your kicks over there?”

“Absolutely.”

Vera gives a silent touch to his arm — had mentioned before they left that she’d need to make a few work calls at some point today for the sake of both her job and Kristin’s. While she heads up to the Shift’s apartments Taylor drags a stool over to join the fray of frustration.

Does Kristof still make the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end? Yes. Does he look over at that bearded frown and think of the large jaw of canine teeth that could very easily tear him to shreds? Yes.

Does the way he has his arms crossed over his chest, red faced and muttering something under his breath, make him look like a kid angry at not getting his way?

Yes.

In fact the wolf actually seems to lean away from him when Taylor makes himself comfortable; beady eyes trained wary on his hands.

“Something to say?” Katherine only asks because she isn’t wholly unconvinced his attitude isn’t just another tactic for distraction.

“Just keep them flashy fae fingers to yer’self an’ we’re peachy.”

Can anyone blame him when he wiggles his perfectly normal (thank you very much) fingers in Kristof’s direction, then? No, no they cannot.

Krom offers up the long scroll of parchment for him to take — already half-full with the agreed-upon duties, limitations, and expectations of the Quarter’s new Council members.

Being the largest population in city limits by a wide margin, the Mayor’s neatly scrawled signature is the only one beside rules not of his own design. Sure it had been for the best that they not involve anyone who didn’t need to be (and in the Lady de la Rosa’s well-put words, it was smart “not to demand action over one with such influence over the innocent and ignorant”), but that didn’t mean they were met with open arms at City Hall.

In fact, Taylor ended up having to get Elric to come down and ‘lay down the law’ with the man. Perks of having an immortal father who had been to every Mayoral inauguration since the city’s founding.

Seeing as the Mayor (and the humans by default) had literally the least amount of things to worry about, too? He was kind of a dick about it.

Below that were the duties of the faire folk of Lamrian and their Lord Elric and Lady Thalissa.

Lady Thalissa who had not been happy to see Taylor again — but who had also been under the assumption that he had been the one to involve Elric in the events of Mardi Gras. Once they cleared that up (read: once Elric had confessed to leaving Lamrian of his own free will and sort of… falling into everything after) she was rather warm and friendly; even offered to help her (step?) son learn how to better control the magic within.

And of course there was a separate clause specifically for Garrus underneath; who was far too pleased to be considered his own separate sub-category.

The Jensen Pack is up next on the ‘Get Everyone to Agree’ List and following itinerary that had been drawn up by the weary survivors of the Beau-Keyes Garden. But getting Jensen himself and his nephew—who as it turns out is some kind of were-royalty on his mother’s side and if Cal thinks they aren’t going to be talking about that at the first opportunity he’s sorely mistaken—to agree on anything is about as difficult as… well anything else they’ve done so far.

So he has a little hope at least.

“So what’s the biggest argument so far?” He asks finally; gives the parchment back to Krom to roll up for safe-keeping. He’s fallen in love with his new unofficial title as Council Scribe. They’re gonna need to buy ballpoint pens in bulk though.

Nik’s smile drips saccharine and laden with spite. “Dividin’ of authority.”

“It just ain’t natural!” Kristof resumes like someone pressed ‘play,’ “The Alpha doesn’ answer to nobody, that’s jus’ how it is. Here or in any pack you’re gonna run foul of.”

To everyone’s surprise Cal actually agrees; “It’s more of a biological thing than a code or rule. You get more than one Alpha in a room and someone’s gonna come out on top; that’s just the animal kingdom.” Then, with an obvious reluctance; “And I’m no Alpha. It’s a born thing. That’s why Kristof took over pack duties in the first place.”

Taylor looks between them. “What about Octavia?”

“Beta’s beneath my authority, but if there’s any hint’a disagreement it can get ugly.”

“Well that sounds like bull. I’ve seen her disagree with you… pretty much every time you’ve been in the same room.”

The were scratches his chin; averts his eyes with a huff. “That ain’t a pack thing. That’s a… us thing.”

Subtlety wasn’t even an attempt on Nik’s part — his hand coming up in a suggestive and hard-to-misinterpret squeezing motion. Thankfully Kristof only growls, but Taylor sees the mischief in the hunter’s eyes and knows it could have been way worse. It could have been dog-related.

“Okay; well right there you have something that goes against the norm’, right? Why can’t other things? Start off small… build up to an equal foothold in the pack.”

“I’m not returnin’ to the pack, Taylor.”

Their reactions are telling; that Kristof is the only one unsurprised by Cal’s insistence means he knew (and yet he’s still being an ass?) about his nephew’s choice to stay a lone wolf.

Not that it does anything for privacy but Taylor can’t help lowering his voice when he asks; “Are you… are you sure?”

“Sure as salt.”

“But what about Donny?”

“Donny’ll be fine. We already talked it out —”

“‘We’ who, who is ‘we?’” And the simmering pot of Katherine starts to boil. “Not you two ‘we,’ because that — that would be crazy. That would mean you two came to an agreement on something.”

But Cal just shrugs and nods — doesn’t see the danger quite yet.

“Yeah, ‘us two,’ we. Kristof’s an asshole but he’s a brother, too. Always will be.” Which is a statement that goes undisputed; the opposite actually — judging by the noise of agreement. “I get t’see him whenever, an’ even talked him into letting me back home for important stuff; holidays, y’know?”

“And what do you get out of this?” Katherine can’t help but ask. Kristof shrugs it off.

“I can’t go ‘round backin’ up on my word — ‘specially not punishments an’ the like. Opens the pack up to weakness and loners who ain’t so kind comin’ ‘round sniffin’ fer trouble. Ain’t that right pup?”

“Exactly. So we both like the idea of me pullin’ a neutral-party sorta deal. Keepin’ an eye on the city and territory and, on the off-chance, helpin’ out any stray weres. If any packs come down this way they’ll be Kristof’s problem. It’s a good arrangement… I’ll be the Garrus of the wolves.”

Heads turn as there’s an odd noise from the direction of the bar — pink tickling at Garrus’ cheeks as he looks Cal over with amusement.

“You wish you could be me, little wolf. No one’s me but me, myself, and I.”

“I jus’ mean —”

“Relax, darling. I know exactly what you meant, I just had to say it.”

From her point on the U-bend of the booth Katherine gives a shaky exhale. Pinches the bridge of her nose and mouths her way up to seventeen in silence before she can breathe without yelling at someone.

“So what you’re telling me is that you can compromise and agree on things… you’re just actively choosing to argue about the official Council bullshit.”

“Yeah, sounds ‘bout right.”

“Can’t agree with th’pup too much — he’ll get an ego.”

A long silence. Then…

“I hate both of you.”

When Octavia comes around at sunset she isn’t alone. Donny runs into his brother’s arms, because by now everyone in town knows at least some version of the truth of what went down at the Beau-Keyes House that night, and he’s that distinct mixture of angry-happy that only comes with being family.

And being family to someone so chaotically dumb that it sometimes all works out in the end, at that.

Speaking of — Taylor needs to call his mom soon. He should write that down or something.

Cal’s so excited to see his little brother again that he forgets to say goodbye. Not that they’ll hold it against him. Who wouldn’t need a drink and greasy bar food to unwind after spending all day yelling and being yelled at?

Katherine tugs on her leather jacket; takes the poster tube acting as safehouse for the new Council Accords and slings the strap across her chest.

“You’re not staying?” asks Taylor in surprise; she’s just been so around the last couple of days that it’s weird to see her heading out.

“No rest for the wicked,” though he doesn’t miss the little quirk of her smile as she says it, “but really — sun’s down so the vamps are out, and we still need de la Rosa’s terms and agreements.”

“Will Cade be there?” Though he feels stupid for asking and already knows the answer.

She humors him though. “Yeah. From the looks of it we’ll need to work in the same exception clauses for him that we have for Cal and Garrus, if not something like it.”

“Seems like we’re making a lot of those.”

“Seems like maybe we need them.”

Katherine throws an expectant look over his shoulder; Taylor turns to see Krom holding up an apologetic stone in the midst of being dragged to the back by a very eager Garrus. “You’ve got ten minutes!” She calls, and means it.

With Nik upstairs and the curtain closing behind the eager new couple that leaves Taylor and her alone for what might very well be the first time.

He’s not talked to Katherine much — not one-on-one. Makes an awkwardness hang weird between them, tilted too far to one side and sending the whole room just slightly off.

But he’d be lying if he said he hadn’t hoped for at least a small opportunity to talk to her without nosy interruption.

“Hey, if you have a sec —”

“Have you seen them since?” Apparently he wasn’t the only one eager to take advantage of their free moment.

Maybe it’s a trick of the dim bar lighting but Katherine almost looks disappointed when he shakes his head. “The last time was on Mardi Gras. They were watching the whole time, though.”

“The Fate is always watching. They’re bound to witness.”

Yeah, I remember. “You never explained… how you knew. Back at the Coven house.”

Which was on purpose if the look she gives is anything to go by. Has her ruffling her fingers through long plum waves — working out little knots like a nervous habit.

“You’re right.”

“You don’t have to — I mean yeah I’ve been dying to ask but you don’t have to say anything if you don’t want to, Kathy.”

The nickname draws her attention, makes her look him in the eye with a weight of importance. “It’s just complicated, that’s all.”

And he wants to push the issue, literally feels it crawling up his throat itchy and large enough to choke on. But he also understands how hard it is to talk about something before you’re ready. Like, more than most.

How many minutes has it been now? A question she’s gotta be wondering too; she keeps looking behind him hoping for a large stone interruption.

“You know Ryder’s from around here?”

Taylor blinks. “I mean, I figured… he sounds pretty local.”

“And I don’t.”

“No.”

“Because I’m not,” a beat, “but this isn’t my first time in town. No that… that was a couple of years back. I came here for one reason—one person.”

Ah, got it. “The Fate.”

“Usually they don’t get themselves tangled up in stuff like this, you know? They just watch. So when you need to get in touch with them, there are certain rites and rituals to follow.” Katherine’s eyes grow wistful, she snorts; “Be glad we didn’t have to get involved in that nasty business. I’m in no rush to jump those hoops again.”

Again? “So… what did they say?” What he really wants to ask is what did you see them for but he doesn’t, they don’t know one another well enough for that. Maybe some day.

“We never spoke. I backed out right at the edge. I mean I don’t regret it; that night I ended up finding this place, getting in on the hunter crowd, meeting Ryder — actually maybe I regret that bit.”

She doesn’t, not at all. He can tell. “That night, too, was the card game I won Cadence’s job in.”

“Which worked out for you.”

“Ha, depends on who you ask.” She hikes the strap higher on her shoulder, continues tugging at her hair. “That’s not — there’s a point to this I promise. Because The Fate doesn’t exist in this world. They can’t, physically; they’re beyond us. So in order to get to them you have to…”

“You have to leave this world.”

It dawns on him then, what she’s getting at. And she knows he knows because there’s the barest hint of pity behind her guarded gaze. Knows it’s not a vulnerability she allows herself often.

Maybe this whole time he knew. Somewhere deep down, anyway. In the same place where The Fate had hidden the attack at the theatre.

Let me do you this kindness.

“I… I died that night, then.”

“I think so, yes.”

The surprising part is how not painfully difficult that is to process as a fact; a statement instead of a question instead of an ultimatum of martyrdom. He’s finding it more difficult to imagine what to say to Nik because no doubt the hunter would find a way to try and blame himself about it.

Then again… Nik very well could have died in the Garden that night. But surely even the fae couldn’t bring people back from the dead. Surely only someone with power like The Fate had that capability.

Surely.

Taylor doesn’t quite know where he went but when he comes back the look Katherine gives him isn’t reassuring in the slightest. Like she’s ready for him to collapse, shaking, the existential crisis delayed up until right at this very moment with only a half-stranger to comfort him.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Which isn’t a hard question to answer in the least. “Yeah. I mean if something was gonna happen it probably would have by now, right?”

“Jeez, way to jinx yourself.”

“Hey I never said I was the brightest bulb in the pack.”

“Ain’t that right.”

Whatever time they had been allotted by the universe to bring those revelations to light is up. Ryder rounds the staircase down, heavy boots with heavier steps on the creaking metal. And he’s one foot on the floor when the back curtain draws back to reveal Garrus buttoning his waistcoat back up whole Krom hastily tugs on his tee.

Tactless Ryder whistles at the pair; makes Kathy roll her eyes and mutter an insult under her breath, along with; “Pretty sure that’s a couple dozen health code violations, Gar.’”

“I have my own health code.”

“Pretty sure something was violated back there.”

Which is such a terrible innuendo and so terribly typical of Nik that when he goes to pull Taylor into his space by the hip he makes a show of active resistance — a protest statement that says that kind of terrible pun-making is simply not allowed.

Though it’s not as bad as the one that comes to mind at Krom’s stony expression.

The troll looks like he wants to crawl under a rock.

Taylor surrenders eventually. Allows himself to be pulled in close where he can rest his chin on the man’s duster.

“You two crazy kids sticking around?”

Back behind the bar Garrus is already back at work with bottles in hand. Easily recognizable now as the ingredients for Ivy’s favorite bubbly brew; and she should be back soon, shouldn’t she? How long can an exorcism take, even on a house as large as 937 Prytania Street?

Taylor shrugs. “I guess. Midsummer is canceled while the theatre is being fixed back up so I’m…” Gonna be broke soon, is what he is. Something to worry about at a later date.

But the look Nik gives him — there’s something else on the Nighthunter’s mind.

“Up for a little adventure?” Which is a proposition that Taylor should very much turn down were he any kind of sane person, especially given everything they’ve been through this week.

But… What the hell, sanity’s overrated.

The cemetery was supposed to be roped off or something. Reasonably it should have been. But god forbid the city take down one of their biggest tourist attractions; all the dead bodies.

“You know, I thought you meant—like—apps and sodas at a bar or something.”

Because sure, there are people who might find walking hand-in-hand in a supposedly haunted cemetery in the last waning streaks of the sherbet evening to be romantic.

Taylor just isn’t one of them.

There’s that familiar tick in the man’s scarred brow looking down at him. Not that it makes everything better… but it definitely doesn’t hurt.

“All the weird shit we’ve done by now and you thought ‘adventure’ was code for— what, a vanilla dinner date?”

“Oh, so this is a date huh?”

“I would’a thought that was obvious.”

“Nik Ryder — nothing about you is obvious.”

And that fact isn’t contested — isn’t worth being contested because they both know better. But for some reason Taylor’s chest feels a little bit lighter when he breathes again. Purely metaphorically, though, as he has to borrow his hand back for a second to adjust where his binder rides up uncomfortably in the humidity.

It’s kind of weirdly beautiful the way Nik’s hand is still held out a little from his side — waiting to be taken back up. He doesn’t let it wait long.

Okay, maybe he’s a little wrong. Maybe there’s one thing about the Nighthunter that’s obvious; but he has a sneaking suspicion it’s only that way because Nik lets it be.

Obviously this thing, them — without words or long discussion over candles and spaghetti or passionate clinging kisses in the rain or anything else years of rom-com consumption have said define a relationship — isn’t going away.

It’s like everything else they do; an impulse, a behavior felt in the gut. No filter, no holding back.

They walk the paths and rows of Lafayette and talk. A comment or question here and there; half the time they’re so focused on trying not to interrupt one another they end up walking around and around in silence. Normally for him silence is an awkward thing; silence has almost always meant something that has been said or needs to be said hangs a heavy burden. Not this time. And, if he dares to believe it, maybe not for a long time coming.

On their fifth (or is it sixth?) go-around they come to a natural stop. Nik’s head tilted up to watch the night clear over their heads — and Taylor just watches him with awe; with joy.

“Hey, Taylor?”

His name, so it must be important. “Yeah Nik?”

“Thanks for savin’ my life.”

“Any time.”

Two words that make the man stop; turn to look at him fully. Something swimming in his eyes all weird and misty but still, somehow, kinda beautiful.

“You mean that, don’t you.” The way Nik says it — it definitely isn’t a question more than it is a fact he’s always known but never been able to put into words. Like knowing the sky is blue, or that there’s more to the world around them than anyone could possibly imagine.

Taylor nods. “Of course.” Obviously, how could you ever think I’d do anything less? That I wouldn’t do more?

Then clammy hands are on his cheeks and Taylor lets himself be pulled into the kiss. Lets it come to them both as naturally as breathing and just as necessary.

Just like the last time — though under vastly different circumstances — he’s shaking tip to toe when they break. Surely there’s gotta be some supernatural way to make it so they need to kiss more than they need air. He should get on that.

He’d been asked on ‘a little adventure’ but it makes sense now that in true Ryder-fashion he had been vague on purpose. One of those ‘the adventure was inside us all along’ sorta deals. Which would have been preferable to nearly dying numerous times, apparently actually dying once, dealing with shady goblins and supernatural mobsters and finding out he wasn’t entirely human at all… right? Right. Totally right. Even if he ended up finding the father he never knew and piecing together a ragtag ‘found family’ trope and—if he was reading all of the signs correctly—getting a smokin’ hot boyfriend out of it all.

At some point probably they’ll be pulled apart. A patrol officer could catch them, here out in the open as they are, and threaten to remove them from cemetery grounds. A ghoul could arise from the ground between them intent on wreaking havoc in their now peaceful (however temporary) city. Or maybe some long-slumbering kraken will awake from the depths of the Mississippi and start eating hungover tourists.

Yeah, at some point they’ll probably be pulled apart.

But that’s okay.

They’ve faced worse.

#nightbound #playchoices #playchoices fanfiction #choices nb #nik ryder x mc #nik ryder #katherine nightbound #cal lowell #vera reimonenq #nightbound mc #mc: taylor hunter #garrus #ivy #krom #oblv: bound by circumstance #oblv: new chapter #; my fics

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shadow-and-purgatory · 5 years

Text

Duck Newton sat up, his eyes wide. “Something terrible’s gonna happen,” he whispered. He looked out the window of the break lodge, but couldn’t see any of the campers. Ominous. He couldn’t hear Barry screaming, because tag with Magnus is like being chased by a bloodhound. In fact, there was a lack of screaming in general. Doubly ominous.

He looked at Davenport, the gnome who was in charge of the overall kid-watching. He was sound asleep, which was unsurprising considering that there were twelve kids that he was responsible for basically 24/7.

Duck stood, yawning. What are the campers supposed to be doing right now? Of course, he thought with a wry smile, what they’re supposed to be doing has little to do with what they’re actually up to. The troubled nature counselor walked over to the schedule that Lucretia had printed out for the staff lodge. He scanned the paper until he found today’s date.

“Nature With Merle,” Duck read aloud. “Dammit.”

Nature with Merle was not at all like Nature with Duck Newton. When Duck Newton did nature stuff, he taught the campers things like survival skills, using trees to figure out if it’s going to rain, and forest safety.

Merle had a different approach to nature than the forest ranger did. He was more relaxed in all his activities than Duck. Of course, when referring to Merle’s teaching style, relaxed meant that several hours after the end of an activity, someone found Magnus in a cave, wrestling with a grizzly bear. Relaxed meant that Aubrey and Lup could walk off and start some terrible project that involved fire outside of a designated pit. Relaxed meant that Brian found a huge fuck-you spider, adopted it, christened it Spider Bryan, and then disappeared into the forest that surrounded Camp Faerun.

After that particular incident, Duck had confronted Merle about his “relaxed” counselor style.

“Listen,” Duck had said. “I wasn’t real excited about Magnus wrestling that bear, and I was even less a fan of Aubrey and Lup starting’ a fire, but now Brian fuckin’ left the camp, which is a whole other issue. You fucking lost a camper.”

Merle had looked bored. “Nah.”

“What?”

“I didn’t lose Brian.”

“Well then what the fuck do you call what happened to Brian?”

“I didn’t lose him, per say. He ran away with his big spider friend, and I just happened to be around at the time. He’s not a cell phone that I put down, and can no longer recall the location of.”

“But he went missing! He is no longer at the camp! And we have NO FUCKING CLUE WHERE HE IS!” Duck Newton had yelled, massaging his temples in exasperation.

The conversation had ended there, but a week later Jake Coolice told Mama that Isaac called to say that Brian was across the lake at Camp Villa.

Despite the outcome of Brian not being dead somewhere in the woods, when Duck Newton saw that Nature with Merle was the scheduled activity, it basically confirmed his suspicions; something terrible was about to happen.

Duck Newton was torn. On the one hand, he wanted to prevent whatever horrible crisis that was undoubtedly about to unfold. On the other hand, he was on break, and there were plenty of other staff members that could, in theory, deal with this. They won’t, but he could pretend, right?

After a brief internal struggle, Duck’s desire to prevent a forest fire outweighed his desire to vegetate inside the staff lodge, so he put on his hat, grabbed a CB, and left, being careful not to slam the door so as not to wake Davenport up.

Once outside, he turned the CB to channel 1, the channel that all staff were supposed to be tuned in to. “Break-01 to nature,” he said into the CB. He waited for 30 seconds of no response before trying again. “Break-01 to nature.”

After a few more seconds, he heard a crackle. He could hear nothing but static crackling for a few moments on the other end before actual words came through.

“Hi, welcome to Chili’s,” came Taako’s voice before he dissolved into hysterical laughter.

Duck snorted in spite of himself. He turned his CB back on. “Break-01 to nature,” he repeated.

“This is nature, go ahead,” Lucretia said through the CB.

“Hey, this is Duck. What’s your location?”

“We just finished our hike to Goldcliff Falls, and are currently resting at the top.”

“Is Merle with you at the moment?” Duck hopped into the Green Machine, and began driving to Goldcliff Falls. There was a moment’s silence, and Duck repeated his question.

“Yeah, sorry about that, Merle’s… uh... indisposed at the moment.”

Duck’s brows furrowed. “What does that mean?”

“It means that Merle is being a dirty weirdo!” Lup said into the CB.

“Yeah!” Aubrey put in. “He’s fucking a plant!”

“What?” Duck asked, bewildered. “Also language,” he reprimanded without thinking. He heard a chorus of cursing on the other end of the CB and sighed defeatedly.

“I’m sorry, they wrestled the CB away from me, but they were actually telling the truth,” Lucretia said. “We have moved away from Merle, because he is being inappropriate with the honeysuckle.”

Duck massaged one of his temples with his free hand. “Alright, I-” He sighed. “I guess, just, stay where you are, I’m gonna meet you there. Duck Newton out.”

“Okay, will do. Nature out.”

Duck took a deep breath. As he drove down the road, he stared hard at the tree line. Where is it? He wondered. As he searched, a small dark green flag tied to a bush with “R&R” written in silver sharpie marker caught his eye. There it is.

He stopped the Green Machine, and turned the camp car towards the flag. He drove into the forest, getting a mouthful of leaves in the process. “Gross,” he muttered, spitting out a twig.

Seconds later, the ground became slightly less bumpy, and the camp car broke through to the illegal race track. Another counselor, Sloane had built it, and Lieutenant Hurley had secretly helped her cut through the trees.

Duck didn’t like it, but he had turned a blind eye to it. Luckily for him, the track came out right at Goldcliff Falls, so unsafe as the race track might be, it was convenient at the moment.

He got another mouthful of leaves, but then he was out of the woods, zooming towards the edge of the cliff. Duck slammed on the brakes, and the camp car screeched to a halt. He hopped out and walked over to the group of campers standing nearby.

Lucretia looked up. "Hello, Duck," she said. "Thanks for coming here to help me out." Lucretia paused. "Hold on, aren't you on Me Time right now?"

Duck nodded. "Yeah I am, but you aren't legally allowed to be left alone with campers, so I figured that I should pick up the kids."

Lup looked at Duck. "It's also illegal for you to be spending time with campers while you're on Me Time because of working laws and shit, but go off I guess."

Duck sighed while simultaneously stifling a snort. "Listen. I'd rather get in trouble with Mama and Council because I was making sure that an adult was present than have the camp dealing with a lawsuit for neglect."

Magnus tapped Duck's head and Duck looked up at him. "So, what're we gonna do next?" Magnus asked.

Aubrey raised a hand. "Free time. I vote we have free time instead of the Nature activities."

Lup held up a hand for a fist bump. "I second that plan. Free time sounds cool."

"I hate nature after watching Merle dirty talk the plant; I would rather not have anything to do with it," Taako put in.

"We could chase down mountain lions, then bring them back to camp and teach them to be nice, like pets or something. That'd be fun."

"Magnus, there aren’t any mountain lions near Camp Faerun-" Barry began.

"Oh." His head drooped.

"-But we do have coyotes in the area."

"Hell yeah! Thanks Barold. Gotta go, the coyotes are waiting!"

Before Duck could stop him, Magnus had run off into the woods. Duck held up a hand hopelessly before turning to look at Barry accusingly.

Barry shrugged. "I can get the rest of them out of your hair too, if you'd prefer that."

Duck shut his eyes, counted to ten, and reopened them. "Hey Barry, do you know what time it is?" Duck asked hopefully.

"10:30," Barry said, glancing at his watch. "Why do you ask?"

Duck put his head in his hands despairingly. "Today’s gonna be a long day, isn’t it?"

Barry nodded. “Probably.”

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