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swan-of-sunrise · 3 years

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Specs and the Flyboy (Chapter Two)

Summary: Jack is less-than-pleased that Daniel’s decided to hire a codebreaker for the West Coast SSR and needless to say, he and (Y/N) end up getting off on the wrong foot.

Pairing: Jack Thompson X Reader

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings/Disclaimers: None

A/N: I’ve been blown away by all the positive reactions the first chapter got here on Tumblr and on AO3, so thank you so much for that! Hope you all enjoy this one too!

Chapter Two West Coast Strategic Scientific Reserve, Los Angeles (Previous Chapter)

“Sousa, I’ve got more important things to do this morning than interview some egghead pencil-neck geek with you. Go get your gal to do it.”

Jack glanced up from his paperwork in time to see Daniel roll his eyes in exasperation before answering. “I already told you, Jack, the codebreaker’s an old friend of Peggy’s and it would be a conflict of interest if she were present. Besides, she’s busy tracking down another lead on that shooter of yours.”

“Oh.” At Daniel’s words, the freshly-healed gunshot wound on his chest twinged uncomfortably, so Jack brought a hand up to furtively rub at it as he continued. “All right, Chief, when’s this shin-dig supposed to happen? ‘Cause I ain’t got all day to wait around, you know.”

“Peggy said not until eleven, but it could be any time between then and now. Say, you mind waiting here while I take these files down to Samberly, in case the codebreaker shows up early?”

“Sure, just hurry up, would you? I don’t wanna be stuck talking gobbledygook alone with this guy.”

If there was one thing Jack truly despised, it was the way smarter people flaunted their intelligence and made others feel like crap for not knowing about things like quadratic equations and iambic pentameter. Jack was smart – he’d gotten into Cornell on his own merits, after all – but he was certainly no Einstein and that was fine by him. But he’d met way too many people in college who thrived in making others like him feel that they were beneath them; he already believed the SSR had too many scientists on their hands, so he couldn’t understand why Sousa would hire yet another one to clutter the West Coast office.

Daniel stood and slid his arm into his crutch. “Aye aye, Chief.” After giving him a small salute, he grabbed his files and limped out of their shared office.

Unable to refocus on his paperwork, Jack tossed his pen down on the desk, leaned back in his chair and crossed his ankles on the edge of the desk as he allowed his thoughts to wander. Nearly a month ago, he’d been shot in his hotel room as he prepared to head back to New York after they solved the Zero Matter case; the hotel staff had found him right after and from what the doctors said, he’d have been a cooked goose if they’d shown up any later. But unfortunately, since he’d been the target of an attack by an unknown suspect or organization, he was forced to stay in Los Angeles with the West Coast SSR until the case was either solved or closed.

Hopefully that’ll be any day now, he thought to himself as he closed his eyes and clenched his jaw in annoyance; he hated everything about Los Angeles, from its absurd traffic jams and sweltering heat to the utter lack of any decent food. He hated the fact that he wasn’t a real chief, that as long as he was in Los Angeles, he was virtually useless. The women were all good-looking but with the open case and…well, his own off-the-books investigation, he sadly didn’t have any time to chat up dames…

“Um, Chief Sousa?” Jack’s eyes flew open and landed on a woman standing in the doorway with a hesitant look on her face. Speak of the devil, he thought with an inward smirk. “I’m sorry to, ah, disturb you, Chief Sousa, but we have an appointment…?”

Jack yawned and stretched his arms out. “You’ve got the wrong guy, doll, the name’s Jack Thompson. Sousa’ll be back any minute, though, he’s just takin’ care of some paperwork.”

The woman nodded in understanding. “Do you mind if I sit here and wait for him, then?”

“Go ahead.” She gave him a nod of thanks and took a seat in the chair beside Sousa’s filing cabinet; she immediately pulled out a file from her purse and a pair of wire-framed glasses, which she slipped on before beginning to skim the file. Jack observed her with mild curiosity from his own seat; the sunlight streaming through the office’s window illuminated the woman’s smooth skin and made her styled (Y/H/C) hair nearly glow, and her (Y/E/C) eyes, although partially obscured by her reading glasses, had an intensity to them that intrigued him. The women of Los Angeles were all knock-outs, sure, but the one sitting across the room from him had a quiet and effortless beauty to her that had instantly caught his attention; it wouldn’t hurt to try your luck with her, he told himself, could be worth a shot.

He was jostled from his thoughts when she suddenly spoke up, her eyes still trained on her file. “I’d appreciate it greatly if you’d stop ogling me like that.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He bit his lip as he tried thinking of another approach. “So, um, what’re you here to see Sousa about?”

“I’m afraid that’s between me and your boss.” The woman looked up from her file with a raised eyebrow and after appraising him for a moment, her gaze softened. “But if we’re asking questions, then why’re you in the chief’s office and not in the bullpen with all the other agents?”

Jack leaned father back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head with an easy-going shrug. “Just keeping his seat warm, helping him out with some cases, that sort of thing. You know, it’s a wonder how the branch managed to get anything done before I came along.”

“Well, then, I suppose it’s a good thing you’re here holding down the fort.” She quipped, closing her file and taking off her glasses. “I’ve heard talk that this branch was having a, ah…well, a challenging time running smoothly.”

He chuckled. “You could say that again. You know what the chief’s doing now? He’s gonna hire another egghead, this time a codebreaker. Can you believe that?”

The woman didn’t smile or laugh, but instead furrowed her brow. “I take it you don’t approve of codebreakers, Agent.”

“I don’t mind ‘em but let me put it this way: it’s post-war America and the last thing the SSR needs at a time like this is another pencil-necked, stuttering brainiac who thinks they’re better than everyone else just ‘cause they’re a little bit smarter. And it’s actually Chief, not Agent.” Jack corrected, grinning with self-assurance as he swung his legs off the desk and leaned forward in his chair. “Chief Thompson. What about you, doll, what’s your name?”

The woman crossed her arms and spoke, her voice all of the sudden dripping with malice. “Two chiefs for one office? I guess Peg was right about this branch…not that I was expecting any better of the SSR, of course. In my experience, government agencies have always been prone to stupidity.”

For the first time in a long while, Jack struggled to find his words and finally settled on, “You know Marge.”

“If you’re talking about Peggy Carter, then yes, she’s the one who recommended me for the open position of pencil-neck, stuttering brainiac.” She rose from her seat with narrowed eyes and placed her hands on her hips. “And it seems to me that all the issues with the SSR could be quickly resolved if there were more of us around and less of you arrogant, self-absorbed flyboys.”

His indignation rising, Jack jumped to his feet and stepped around the desk to stand before her with his arms crossed. “And apparently I was right about specs always needing to be the smartest in the room. You know, that sort of attitude could get you into a lotta trouble someday-”

“Are you threatening me, Chief Thompson?”

“So what if I am?! I outrank you, and I-!”

“Hey!” Daniel voice cut through the room, and Jack’s head whipped around in time to watch the chief limp into the office and slam the door closed behind him. “What the hell’s wrong with you, Jack, the whole damn building can hear you!”

Jack pointed an accusing finger at the woman. “Sousa, you can’t seriously be considering hiring this…this dame!”

“Call me ‘dame’ one more time and I’ll take that finger of yours and shove it right up your-”

“Whoa whoa whoa! Let’s all calm down, shall we?” Jack let out a huff of frustration and flopped back down at his chair, watching as Daniel took a step towards the woman and offered her his hand. “I’m really sorry about all that, Miss…?”

The woman hesitated a moment before giving his hand a shake. “(Y/L/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N). It’s good to finally meet you, Chief Sousa, Peggy’s told me quite a bit about you.”

“All good things, I hope. Peg told me a little bit about you too, but I was hoping to learn more during this interview.” He gestured for her to sit in the chair facing his desk and as she situated herself, he made his way around his desk and set his crutch to the side before taking a seat. “Um, just pretend Chief Thompson isn’t here. I’m legally required to have another SSR agent sit in on interviews and he’s the only one not busy right now, so…”

(Y/N) shot Jack a contemptuous glare before smiling kindly at Daniel and handing over her file. “Oh, that certainly won’t be a problem, Chief.”

“All right, then let’s get things started. Can you tell me a little about your background and your experience with codes?”

“Of course. I graduated from Stanford University in 1940 and served five years overseas; two years stationed at the Government Code and Cypher School at Bletchley Park in London and the other three in the field with the OSS. You’ll see in my file that while I was officially an OSS operative, I was loaned out to the SSR to serve as a field codebreaker and upon Captain Rogers and Colonel Chester Phillips’ recommendation, I was assigned to the Howling Commandos to serve as their personal codebreaker from 1943 to 1945. I’ve worked with and have mastered dozens of variants of codes, and I was one of the minds behind the Native American Code Talkers. In the field, I took part in over fifty missions with the OSS, the SSR and the Howling Commandos; the intelligence I decoded aided in the take-down of all Hydra bases and was integral to several other highly-classified operations that I’m not at liberty to discuss.”

Daniel let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “That’s quite the resumè, Miss (Y/L/N). It says here in your file that you trained Agent Carter in codebreaking at Bletchley Park?”

While (Y/N) gave her reply, Jack jotted down a quick note on the corner of his report. Once he finished, he gave Daniel’s foot a nudge and tilted the report in his direction so the chief could read it.

“So, um, Miss (Y/L/N), have you…?” Daniel’s eyes darted between Jack’s note and the codebreaker’s face. “Ah…” Sighing, he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. “Jack, your handwriting’s shit so you might as well ask her your own damn question yourself.”

Jack scowled and met (Y/N)’s annoyingly expectant gaze. “Have you actually been trained as an agent or did the Howlies babysit you during the war?”

“Thompson!”

“It’s all right, Chief Sousa. To answer your question, Chief Thompson: yes, I received basic training before I was assigned to the field, the same as any other soldier.” She raised a questioning eyebrow. “Do you have any other questions for me? I want to be sure that you’re on the same page as we are.”

Jack clenched his jaw. “Where do you get off-?”

“Thank you for coming in, Miss (Y/N).” Daniel got to his feet and shook her hand again. “I still need to run a couple routine background checks but as far as I’m concerned, you’re hired. You’ll get a call from me once everything is set.”

The codebreaker’s face broke into a grin as she stood. “Thank you, Chief Sousa. I’m looking forward to working with codes and the SSR again, and I’ll be sure to keep a lookout for that phone call. I hope you have a good rest of your day!”

She collected her things and walked out of the office without so much as a passing glance at Jack, who let out a snort of derision. “Sousa, you must really be flipping your lid this time, you can’t seriously hire-”

“Don’t tell me how to run my office, Thompson. We needed a codebreaker and she’s easily the most qualified applicant we’ve had.” Daniel snapped, sitting back down and resuming his paperwork. Jack couldn’t help but feel a little impressed; Daniel had come a long way from being a meek agent in NYC, even if he occasionally made stupid decisions like hiring (Y/N) (Y/L/N).

After about fifteen minutes, Daniel looked up from his work with a curious expression. “You know, I’ve never seen you so antsy about a woman before. What’s up?”

Jack shrugged. “I dunno, but something about her just rubs me the wrong way. We better find my would-be murderer soon so I can get the hell back to New York and never see her again.”

Daniel appeared as if he’d reply, but at that moment Peggy entered the office; the chief’s expression softened as he gave her a smile, looking every bit the lovesick idiot he was. “Hey, Peggy, how’d your lead pan out?”

“It didn’t, unfortunately. My potential witness was involved in an automobile accident early this morning, I arrived at the scene just after the coroner.” Peggy’s eyes flicked to Jack’s and softened with sympathy. “It seems as if you’ll be staying with us a while longer, Thompson.”

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A/N: Thank you so much for reading! If you haven’t checked it out yet, I created a Spotify playlist for this series and I’ll be updating it every time I upload a new chapter.

https://open.spotify.com/playlist/21pWY7OiMFj8LaYpxhtVtW

Chapter Three

“Specs and the Flyboy” Masterlist

Tagging: @nnon-it-up @fluffymadamina @remmyswritings @ourstarsailor @darkusangelus @josis-teacup @marvel-jackt-loki-buck @yeetyeetchickenmeat @sameoldbaby @theserenityspace @seeing-but-not-observing @supervoldejaygent @momc95 @brooke0297 @kinda-c0nfused @outoftheregular @mads-weasley

#jack thompson x reader #agent carter #jack thompson #daniel sousa #marvel cinematic universe #strategic scientific reserve

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i-dont-want-your-hysteria · 3 years

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When It’s Love- Joe x Reader

(One day in August of 2020 my favorite Van Halen song came on the radio and suddenly I was harassed by this idea so badly I screamed. True story. Anyway, here’s some more extremely reflective internal conflict romantic flash Joe fic. I put a LOT of work into this whole post ((including the first illustration)) so I really hope you like it! I had a lot of fun writing this bc of the imagery and descriptions of everything. You’ll see...)

(illustration(s) by @paper-sxn and myself)

Words: 2,798

Prompt: nah just read it and find out ^-^

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August 26th, 1988. Dublin, Ireland

The door on the rooftop of the restaurant opened, and a tall, anxious-looking man in a red suit walked out alone. He ran a hand through his dirty-blonded mullet, and shut the door behind him. Blowing out a breath, he walked up to the bar to order a single brandy. The bartender wouldn't have noticed it, but the casual, quiet tone the man used wasn't normal for him. It wasn't a facade, either; it was nothing but genuine.

He took the drink with much gratitude, slipped the bartender a bill, and told her to keep the change. She thanked him sweetly before turning up the volume on her small radio behind the counter.

The song that played proceeded to strike the man right in the heart.

"Of course," he thought with an exhausted and amused grin, "Perfect timing."

When he turned around with his glass, he was met with a glorious sunset of the late summer. Nothing but warm, soon-to-be-gold light engulfed him. He took notice of how it passed through his glass and the liquid inside of it. He gazed at the liquor for a moment, but he did not drink it.

Meanwhile, the small radio behind the bar was sounding off with a bit of static, "Everybody's looking for something, something to fill in the holes..."

Joe walked in a straight line. His left hand slipped into his pocket to anxiously fidget with whatever contents were inside of his famed red suit.

He'd only dressed up to this current degree just to make sure his outfit would be pleasing to you tonight. It was everything to him; this loudly colored look always held a place in his heart- and in yours. Hell, your relationship had begun partially because of it. The suit itself still held up in its style after all this time. Joe knew it was tacky enough, yet dapper enough for a date. It turned on his gentleman mode, which is what he suspected he needed the most right now.

He was your gentleman, after all. Just the thought of being yours made the edges of his mouth curl upwards into a bashful smile.

The singer, who was on break from tour for a short while, chose to focus this smile at the horizon before him. The slow and leisurely steps he took made him reach the edge of the rooftop where there was a ledge for him to put his drink down.

He smoothed his increasingly trembling hands over the cold cement of this ledge. He tapped all of his fingers against it. He crossed his arms on top of it.

He took a deep breath, and closed his eyes when he let it rush out.

The smile on his lips remained as he did this, pondering on what you were probably doing back downstairs at your table. Dinner had recently ended, so you were probably tapping your fingers as Joe was currently doing, looking around for him, and looking around in your purse.

Joe also pondered on what you could've been thinking about, too. He didn't have any guesses, but he knew without a single doubt in his mind that you were not thinking of the same thing he was.

He was thinking of time, and how he could not waste it.

This Leppard- shrouded in his red cloth- knew he couldn't spend more than a few minutes up here. Yet, he wanted to get one last look around before returning to you.

Picturing his return made him silently chuckle to himself. He had never felt so happy to be thinking of you- never in his whole life.

"We think a lot, but don't talk much about it..."

He picked up the brandy, and took a small sip of it. The sweetness of it spread over his tongue as he immediately associated the flavor with a memory of you. It was tranquilizing almost immediately.

Nerves were a tricky thing to deal with. Luckily, Joe knew there was a less tricky solution for this.

Joe also knew he was currently on the wagon for the duration of this tour. It was for his own good- and the tour's own good- but he needed to make a quick exception for himself. Despite whatever guilt he may have felt while sipping his drink, he knew damn well that it was an essential exception he had to make.

"Til things get out of control..."

The only other occupants of the rooftop lounge- a couple sitting and chatting at a table some yards away- subtly captured Joe's attention. He turned his head to look at them, and again, he smiled to himself. Again, you overwhelmed his mind. Seeing this couple be a match together- a duo, a pair- it only reminded him more of how head over heels he was in his own way.

He also lingered on how much he loved the sight and feeling of being in a duo of his own, too. He could only imagine if you two looked as good as these strangers did from afar.

"Oh! How do I know when it's love? I can't tell you, but it lasts forever..."

Chills suddenly trickled down his spine, and Joe shivered. Something different was in the air.

"Oh! How does it feel when it's love? It's just something you feel together, when it's love..."

He felt his head jerk back towards the sunset, and an intense wave of nostalgia washed over him. The heart within his ruby suit plunged deep into his stomach, but was resurrected instantly.

The soft green eyes of the singer were frozen- fixed on the premature descent of the sun. His clean-shaven jaw fell slightly open at the sensation running through his veins.

"This is it..." Joe whispered.

He now found himself unable to move with goosebumps forming underneath the layers he wore. This was strange to him, since he had been close to overheated for the whole meal with you.

Slowly, he felt his hand go back into his pocket. He closed his fingers around the small shape inside, and he removed it with more caution than if he were handling a grenade.

"You look at every face in a crowd, some shine and some keep you guessing..."

Without looking at it, he rubbed his thumb over the soft covering and placed it inches from his drink.

"Waiting for someone to come into focus..."

With the same carefulness, Joe lowered his eyes to observe the layout before him. Just like that, all minuscule details of what he saw jumped out at him without warning. Every spec of concrete on the ledge was suddenly visible, every single ray of light the glass refracted was defined, every single line of his skin was ingrained into his retinas, and every microscopic hair on the small surface of the object was magnified. It was as if he were now looking at an iconic still life in a museum. If he were to frame this sight right then and there, he was sure it would be priceless.

For as long as he lived, Joe knew he would never forget this exact moment. The temperature, the wind, the colors, and the air; he'd forever be able to instantly recall them. Every detail was priceless.

"Teach you your final love lesson."

Joe took a photograph of the moment with his vision when he felt tears of joy begin to sting behind his eyes.

"No-" Joe said to himself as he frantically clasped his eyes into a squint and pinched the bridge of his nose, "No, not now... c'mon..."

A faint reverberation of your voice rang through his head like a clear, concise ring of a bell, "Yeah, c'mon sweetie. Not now..."

He looked back up at the sunset while blowing out a breath, and took another quick sip of his drink. Even in the most private of reflective moments, his conscience always had a habit of manifesting your reactions. You were always there to him; he couldn't live without you.

"You can't waste any more time up here..." your voice said more clearly, as if you were right next to him, "You know that."

"Can't waste any more time..." Joe said aloud to himself again with a shake of his head. He hastily hid the small item back in his pocket.

"How do I know when it's love? I can't tell you, but it lasts forever..."

Joe knew damn well he couldn't photograph this moment, despite how badly he wanted to. If only he could capture this new level of existence in some way...

He still couldn't see you, but he heard your voice, "Work with what you're given, Joey. Use your head. Use your hands..."

Joe's eyebrows perked up at the spontaneous idea 'you' gave him. Looking around, his eyes soon located a napkin on the table of the nearby couple. He knew he'd have to be quick, lest the real you suspected something of his absence. The imaginary scenario of your suspicion was enough to make him feel the same shiver of anxiety again.

Despite the nerves surrounding him, it was still the best thing he had ever felt.

A small voice of his conscience told him you were able to feel it, too. Perhaps, back down in the restaurant, you, too, were feeling a shiver down your spine.

"Oh! How does it feel when it's love? It's just something you feel together..."

Joe knew this internal voice; it was an emotion. He knew by pure intuition that everything it said was true. As it got closer to him, he felt his heart speed up. He knew the moment was getting even closer.

Your imaginary voice was back in his ears, "Don't worry, honey. I can feel it, too."

"Sweet Y/n," he whispered aloud as he shut his eyes against the setting sun, "Darling Y/n, don't you realize what's about to happen?"

No sound of you came closer. Instead, he felt your hand caress his face. When he opened his eyes, a vision of you was finally standing there with him.

You told him one word.

"Yes."

You vanished from Joe's conscience instantly with that syllable. It gave him enough confidence to set himself into motion.

Going through with his plan, the fidgety Leppard strode over to the sitting couple, asking if he could snag their spare napkin. They granted him permission, leading Joe to head back over to the bar counter.

After obtaining a pen from the bartender, he began to write.

He didn't write much, but he wrote what he felt he needed to. The vivid, mindful memory of the rooftop ledge was stored into every letter he scribbled down. If he couldn't take a picture of the feeling, he knew he'd have the next best thing.

The pen lifted from the napkin, and Joe fought to control his smile.

He took his napkin and drink back to the ledge after returning the pen. Holding up what he had written in front of him, he engraved the new sight of it into his memory instead.

"August 26th, 1988:" the cloth read, "Our lives are about to change forever."

He was immensely satisfied with it; the last object to be created in what would soon be his 'old' life.

"Oh, when it's love... you can feel it, yeah!"

Joe repeated his own written word, and the word the mirage of you had told him, "Forever... yes."

Lowering the napkin, Joe was face to face with the horizon. It was constantly changing color, but each transition was more and more radiant. The evening was perfect; nothing could've gone more correctly for him.

Well, maybe one more thing could still go correctly for him.

"Nothing's missing, yeah!"

A simple yet powerful guitar solo reached the far edge of the roof where he stood. It was rather funny to him. It reflected his plan a little too well; simple, yet powerful.

You both had always ended your meals at this restaurant by going up to the roof for a drink. No other place on earth screamed of you and Joe more than that rooftop did. Your dinner was over, so it was almost time to head up. It was routine, and it was unquestionable. It was simple; it was powerful.

There was a sudden burning in Joe's pocket- a burning sense of raw and extraordinary power. Joe quickly reached his hand back inside to pull out the object he'd placed on the ledge before.

“Yeah, you can feel it! Oh, when it’s love...”

He held it in front of him and fixed his eyes over its whole surface area. He found it hard to believe he was given control of such heavenly power, all delicately concealed within the case in his hand. It was the sword in the stone, but only you could wield it.

And that moment when you wielded it had to be perfect.

"Can't waste any more time," Joe gasped. His fingers clasped over the piece in his hand, he closed his eyes in reverence, and slowly touched it to his lips.

"When nothing's missing!"

Joe privately declared with his lips against the small, soft surface, "Nothing's missing."

"How do I know when it's love? I can't tell you, but it lasts forever..."

Joe re-filled his pockets without looking at any of the contents. The napkin and the soft-covered object both disappeared into the scarlet suit, and the remainder of his brandy disappeared into his mouth. Before he took the finishing sip, however, he raised his glass to the sunset in a private toast accompanied with a wink. Only one word was needed to make such a toast.

"Forever."

"Ooh, how does it feel when it's love? It's just something you feel together, hey!”

The glass was returned, and all things were finally in place.

“How do I know when it’s love? I can’t tell you, but it lasts forever- when it’s love...”

Just as Joe turned in the direction of the door he came from, he stopped dead and reached back into his pocket. There was one last thing he didn't take a final look at; one very small thing.

"Hey! It lasts forever...! When it's love..."

He pulled out the deep-colored item yet again. Only this time, instead of admiring its surface, he opened it.

The glorious star within was now admiring him.

"You and I, we're gonna feel the same together- when it's love..."

Each twinkle and every finest detail of it was, in every way, flawless. It matched the very twinkle in your eye Joe knew you'd bear once you finally witnessed it yourself.

"Ooh when it's love, baby..."

Joe believed it bittersweet that this would be his very last chance to gaze upon the raw, divine power before he decided to activate it.

"You can feel it, yeah!"

The second Joe would conceal the item again, he knew he would not be allowed to look at it anymore. There was a destiny for this particular object. It beheld a future so great, so magnificent, that Joe himself would not be able to look directly at it when the moment came. He wasn't chosen for an honor such as that.

The only person who was destined to see this divine piece in action... was you.

It was you, and only you; forever. And the greatest part- you did not suspect a single thing.

Sucking back the happy and nervous tears he felt coming on, Joe closed the small box and put it back into his pocket. His hand remained on top of it as he turned away from the sunset to go back downstairs. His fingers continued to rub over its surface, and he could feel the radiant force within it. It had the ability to permanently change your lives, and that's the exact power he was about to bestow upon you.

As he opened the door to head back down to you, his nerves threatened to make him freeze again. His heart vibrated in his chest as the magic of the item within the box engulfed him.

"We'll make it last forever!"

Joe's hand squeezed the edge of the door as he just barely glimpsed the now-radiant sunset. He was aware that the time had come.

It was, at long last, about to happen. Your lives were about to change forever. It was becoming real; it was becoming perfect.

Finally, after so long, Joe could say with complete confidence that he knew the name of the strongest feeling that had ever engrossed him.

Oddly enough, that feeling also shared your name.

"Ooh, it's love."

Joe squeezed the tiny, sublime box in his pocket. He whispered to himself just before he shut away the glory of the impending dusk:

"With this ring... I thee wed."

The end

(When It’s Love by Van Halen)

#*cue terra screaming bc i wrote a leppard fic written around a van halen song*#oh my G O D am i happy that this finally got posted #this has been the thorn in my side since august #i envisioned this so vividly that i blew a goddamn fuse at poor andy while she was trying to color the sky correctly #but i was so picky about how i envisioned this scene that i decided to say fuck it and i did the sky myselg #*myself #the bottom photo is the very first version that andy sent me #and i thought it suited the story as an epilogue better so I still included it :3 #def leppard #def leppard fanfic #def leppard fanfiction #joe elliott x reader #def leppard x reader #van halen #original content #joe elliott fanfic #joe elliott fanfiction #i SWEAR TO YOU the next fanfic post will be a rick fic #i know no one's complaining about the saturation of joe fics over the past *checks watch* ever #but i gotta break it up so there's variety to keep people interested in reading EVERYTHING i have to offer

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ollieofthebeholder · 3 years

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leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall): a TMA fanfic

Tumblr tag || Also on AO3

Chapter 24: Helen Richardson

It’s been almost five hours that Helen has been making the rounds of this particular house. It’s a Grade II listed building, which means that on top of the usual bankers, executives, dentists, and barristers traipsing through, she has a few people she’s fairly certain can’t afford the building but who are clearly interested in what a historic home that can be lived in might look like, despite the fact that the interior has been redone several times. She’s a little more brusque with them than the others—nothing that can be complained about, of course, just on the off-chance they are actually able and, more importantly, willing to buy it, but there’s no point in wasting her time on someone she won’t earn a commission from.

She checks her list. She has one last viewing scheduled for the afternoon, and she frowns slightly at the entry. She’s not certain how to pronounce the last name, which instantly puts her on edge, and she’s a little bit annoyed that whoever put together her appointment schedule didn’t proofread it before they printed it.

It’s only when she answers the door that she realizes that her list is actually meant to say Dr. and Mr. Walter Koskiewicz.

“Ms. Richardson?” one of the two men says. His voice is far more polished and refined than she would have expected. He’s neatly dressed in a pearl-grey button-down, tailored black pants, and a discreet but expensive-looking watch. His bearing is assured and confident, and despite the warm smile on his face, he moves like a man accustomed to obedience, respect, and wielding a decent amount of power.

Still, Helen is hard-pressed to keep her distaste from showing. The man’s silver-streaked dark hair is longer than she thinks is decent for someone in a position of authority and worn in a style more appropriate to a twenty-something entrepreneur running an experimental tech start-up than the middle-aged academic he appears (she guesses the “doctor” title is more in the nature of a Ph.D. than a medical degree). He’s also covered in scars, round and slightly ridged, pale against his brown skin, and she can’t even begin to guess where they came from, but it’s probably not something she wants to even think about, let alone know about.

And then there’s his…husband?

They’re an odd-looking couple, to be sure. The second man is at least a head taller than the first and decidedly fatter—Helen thinks uncharitably of an illustration in the book of nursery rhymes she had as a child depicting Jack Spratt and his wife—with blue eyes and fair skin dusted with freckles. His hair is short and curly, a mix of caramel and white, which is the only clue that he’s probably around the same age as the other man. He doesn’t hold himself with the same assurance and authority; while he’s smiling as well, he actually seems more than a little nervous. He’s dressed just as neatly and professionally as the first man, but he’s clinging to the first man’s arm very tightly. She can’t tell if it’s out of nerves or possessiveness or what, and she almost wants to tell him that she’s not interested in his man.

Instead, she schools her expression as best as she can. “Yes, I’m Helen Richardson.” Normally she would ask if they are the last name on her list, but she doesn’t really want to try and pronounce it, so she simply waits.

“I’m Dr. Walter Koskiewicz,” the first man says smoothly, holding out his hand. It bears the same round scars as his face, with the addition of what looks like the remains of a severe burn on his hand, which makes Helen extremely reluctant to touch it. “This is my husband Kieran. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

“Charmed,” Helen says. She accepts his hand for a perfunctory shake and keeps her professional smile on her face despite the somewhat unpleasant feel of the thing. She ought to offer her hand to the other as well, but frankly she just wants to get this over. “Shall we begin the tour?”

“Of course.” Is it her imagination, or does Dr. Koskiewicz sound slightly disappointed?

Helen launches into the by-now familiar script as she begins showing the two men around the house. Dr. Koskiewicz makes several remarks that seem rather banal to her regarding the decor, and she finds herself wondering what his field is. She can’t place what Mr. Koskiewicz does for a living, either. She’d almost suspect he was simply arm candy if he was younger and fitter, but unless he’s let himself go to seed a great deal, there has to be a reason beyond that they married. And in her experience, most men whose trophy wives no longer meet a certain standard of attractiveness obtain divorces and trade in for a newer model. It may be different for gay men, though—how would she know? Of course, Dr. Koskiewicz isn’t exactly a beauty prize himself, and considering this house is on the lower end of the pricing spectrum for the sorts of places Helen usually shows, he likely isn’t as well-off as all that, comparatively. So it’s entirely possible he simply doesn’t want to rid himself of an old spouse until he’s lined up a new one.

It’s also possible that they’re actually in love, but Helen wouldn’t know about that either.

As they approach the kitchen, she begins mentally wagering with herself on whether or not they are actually interested in purchasing the house. Usually the kitchen is where the distinction comes in. It’s had all modern appliances and new counters and cabinets put in, so generally speaking, the people who are only there for curiosity’s sake start asking questions about when it was renovated and how permission was obtained and what it looked like before (Helen has no idea; the renovations were done some years ago, per the specs, and she wasn’t even working for Wolverton Kendrick then) and, often, rant about destroying the historical significance of the house, even though it’s only a Grade II. At least it enables her to weed them out as having an intent to buy before they see what’s been done to the upstairs. The serious buyers will peer in but not usually show much interest in it, considering most of them have someone to do the cooking for them, or else comment on the colors or the brand of the appliances.

She doesn’t tell the two men this, of course, only gives them the standard patter about the timing of the upgrades as she leads them in to show them the door to the back garden. Dr. Koskiewicz checks in the doorway and turns to his husband. “It’s a bit narrow. Do you want to go first?”

“You go ahead,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. It’s the first thing he’s said since he came into the house, and his voice definitely isn’t as polished as the doctor’s. Helen wonders if he’s an academic as well, just not as highly distinguished a one—a librarian, maybe? He also has a faint accent she can’t quite place. She can’t tell if they’re both foreign and Dr. Koskiewicz just had better teachers, or if, odd as it may seem, Dr. Koskiewicz chose to take his less-impressive husband’s surname rather than whatever name he had before. “Just warn me before you stop.”

“Of course.” Dr. Koskiewicz kisses him on the cheek, then moves forward to follow Helen.

She watches Mr. Koskiewicz for a moment, and then it hits her all of a sudden. He’s blind. She didn’t notice at first because of his glasses—clear glass, not sunglasses—and his eyes look, well, normal, not cloudy or scarred like she might have expected. The fact that he can pass himself off as a normal person bothers her, for some reason. However, the couple appears to be in the class of being able to afford the house, so she’s not going to risk saying something that might offend him, or his husband. She merely continues with her spiel.

“What are the schools like in the area?” Mr. Koskiewicz asks as they come back in from the back garden. The question makes Helen miss a step. The sorts of people who usually buy homes from Wolverton Kendrick normally have their children taught at home, and the older ones tend to get sent away to boarding school. It’s so unheard-of for her to get that question that she hasn’t even bothered to familiarize herself with the answer.

“How old are your children?” she asks, to buy herself a bit of time while she sneaks a quick glance at the folder. Surely there’s something in there about area schools. Surely.

“Oh, we don’t have any yet,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “At the moment, it’s only the two of us and the cat. We’ve begun the application process to adopt, though, and we’re hoping to be matched soon. It’s why we’re looking at homes. Our current living situation is spacious enough, I suppose, but…not necessarily somewhere you’d want to raise a child. Or children, as the case may be. We’re hoping for more than one, at some point.”

“Well, then, you’ll have time to select the right schools.” Helen manages to find the data on local primary schools and reads off the statistics in her file. She tries to make it sound like she already knew the information, but the steady look Dr. Koskiewicz gives her makes her suspect he knows she was unprepared for it, which makes her tense and a little angry. It’s not her fault they chose to ask about something so unusual.

As they head up the stairs, she decides to fish about a bit for some information. The problem is that she still isn’t confident that she’ll pronounce their name properly, and the last thing she wants is to be condescended to. That’s the way with these academic types, she’s often found; they have a little bit of power and wield it like a weapon, especially over a woman or someone they perceive to be beneath them. So in order to get the information she wants, she’ll need to come at it sideways.

“Are you at Kings College?” she asks, casually, trying to sound as if she doesn’t care one way or another if he does.

“No, I work in Chelsea,” Dr. Koskiewicz replies. At first she thinks that’s all she’s going to get, but after a moment, he adds, “I don’t know if you’re familiar with the Magnus Institute?”

Helen isn’t, not really, but she’ll chew off her own arm before she admits that. It never goes over well with clients when you profess ignorance of their profession; they always get offended if they think you should have heard of them, or at least what they do, and you haven’t. Besides, she doesn’t want to wind up in the middle of a history lesson on a non-profit or a think tank or whatever the Magnus Institute qualifies as. Best to hedge her bets. “Quite a prestigious institution,” she says in as neutral a voice as she can.

“You might say it’s outstanding in its field,” Mr. Koskiewicz says. His voice is almost as bland and neutral as Helen’s.

“It’s where we met,” Dr. Koskiewicz informs Helen. She glances over his shoulder to see him smile at Mr. Koskiewicz in a way that makes her stomach turn over. “I was hired as a researcher, he was in the library.”

Helen feels a slight stab of vindication—she was right about Mr. Koskiewicz—but it’s layered with a veneer of disgust about the whole situation. This isn’t the sort of neighborhood that would normally welcome people like them, she doesn’t think. Some of these high-end neighborhoods are getting a bit more diverse, but these two are a bit much all at once. She’ll admit that Mr. Koskiewicz seems normal enough, at least to all outward appearances, but he’s very clearly the less powerful of the two, and his blindness is definitely a point against him.

Upstairs in the home are four rooms designated as bedrooms, and used as such by the current owners, but which can also be studies or something similar if need be. She delivers the usual speech extolling the virtues of the rooms. Mr. Koskiewicz is listening rather intently, but to her surprise and slight annoyance, Dr. Koskiewicz seems distracted. He keeps examining every door intently, peering into the spaces in between, like he’s looking for evidence of woodworm or wants to see the details of the construction. There’s something a bit unsettling about it.

“Calm down, serce, you’re going to give me a headache,” Mr. Koskiewicz murmurs. “It’s okay.”

“I know, it’s—” Dr. Koskiewicz sighs and squeezes his husband’s hand before turning to Helen. “Ms. Richardson. Have you ever noticed…something unusual in this house? Or any house you were showing? Like…a door that shouldn’t be there?”

“I’m…sorry?” Helen says cautiously. She’s had some weird questions asked before. She’s been asked about whether or not a basement can be made watertight (not waterproof, the client had insisted, he wanted to fill the basement with water and have a subterranean swimming pool and wanted to know if it was possible). She’s been asked about a room’s suitability for rituals to the Old Gods and about whether it contained enough space for an exorcism. She’s been asked if homes are haunted, if any murders have taken place in them, and if they might have secret tunnels used by robbers or counterfeiters. But being asked if she’s ever seen a door that shouldn’t be there? That’s new.

“It’s not a trick question, Ms. Richardson. Have you ever encountered a door in a place you weren’t expecting—yellow, perhaps?”

Okay, this is definitely weird. And a yellow door? Why is he being so emphatic about it? Her smile is slipping. The worst of it is that Helen doesn’t know the right answer. The truth, of course, is that she has no idea what he’s talking about. Of course she hasn’t seen any appearing or disappearing doors. She deals firmly in reality. She’s never seen a ghost, never spotted a UFO, never met anyone possessed by a demon. She doesn’t believe in magic, or have much truck with religion—she goes to church services with her mother on Christmas and Easter, but that’s about it, and she’s not sure how much of it she actually buys into. Certainly she’s never seen a door that wasn’t exactly where the house plan said it should be.

But she’s also usually fairly good at judging why a client is asking about such things. Some of the people who ask about murders or hauntings are fearful. Others are hopeful. The answer is almost always actually no, especially if it’s about the supernatural, but when she senses a client who will pay extra to be haunted or to be able to claim a salacious history to their new home, she’ll make something up, then jot it down after the client leaves just in case someone else asks before the first client commits to the sale. Very, very occasionally, there is an actual alleged haunting attached to the house—and once she really did have a house on the market that may have been lived in by a serial killer during the height of his crimes—but she’s good at spinning the story properly whether it’s something the owners disclosed to her or she made it up on the spot. The trouble is that she doesn’t know if Dr. Koskiewicz wants this alleged door to be there or not.

After a heartbeat, she decides on honesty. Frankly, she doubts they’re actually going to buy the house, regardless of what she says. At least this way she doesn’t have to pretend to have seen an unexpected door, be asked to describe it, and get caught out in a lie. That won’t do much for her credibility, or her commissions. You never know what kind of influence people actually have and they might spread around that she can’t be trusted.

“I can’t say that I have, Dr…” She trails off as she realizes she still doesn’t know how to pronounce his name properly.

“Koskiewicz,” Mr. Koskiewicz supplies. He’s studying Helen intently, making her wonder if she was wrong about him being blind…but no, he’s just looking in her direction, but seeming to focus on a point slightly to the left of her. It’s actually more than a little creepy and she wishes he would stop. “That’s a good thing, Ms. Richardson. A very good thing.”

“Please, allow me to explain,” Dr. Koskiewicz says, sliding his arm around Mr. Koskiewicz’s waist. “We at the Magnus Institute study the paranormal and the supernatural. One of the phenomena I have been studying involves this…door that keeps turning up unexpectedly. You might say it’s a rather persistent haunting. And it’s dangerous. Very dangerous.”

“I see,” Helen says politely. She hopes he’s not about to lecture her. There is nothing she finds less enjoyable than an academic explaining his pet project or particular area of study to her. She would, in complete honesty, rather jam a sharp stick into her eardrums. And the paranormal? Definitely not an area she has any interest in. The historians she can just about tolerate, as she occasionally learns something worth sharing about a house she’s showing that can bump up the price if the right party hears it. But she really isn’t sure she can sell a haunted door as a feature. Unless this mysterious door comes with a ghost of some kind, but really, that seems a bit ludicrous. And there’s no guarantee it would be tied to any one particular house. There’s no resale value in it.

“But you haven’t seen anything like that,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. “You’re certain?”

“Very,” Helen says firmly. “I would remember.”

Dr. Koskiewicz studies her, then nods. “Good. Very good. I’d hate to raise a child in a house with that hanging about.” He laughs and adds, “I’m not altogether certain the Professor would be all that thrilled with it, either.”

Helen raises an eyebrow before she can catch herself. “Ah, if you have an adult housemate, this room right here also has an en-suite bathroom. Not as grand as the master suite, of course, but certainly private and well-appointed.”

“The Professor is our cat,” Mr. Koskiewicz says with a smile. “I doubt he needs a whole room to himself, but we do appreciate your point. Perhaps a room for an oldest child.”

“Perhaps,” Dr. Koskiewicz agrees, the corners of his eyes crinkling upwards. “Someday.”

Unbelievably, there’s still a chance Helen can make this sale. She still isn’t sure she wants to, but there’s a chance. She slips back into the familiar patter, rattling off the specs and amenities of the house and neighborhood. Now that they’ve dealt with the ridiculous question about an unexpected yellow door, it’s a lot easier.

She winds down the spiel as they head down the steps. Dr. Koskiewicz asks several questions, more normal ones than asking about the supernatural or the paranormal, and from the sorts of things he asks, she thinks she gleans a bit more information about the pair of them. Certainly enough to tailor her closing speech properly, anyway. It��s something she prides herself on. She tends to get the bigger commissions from her employers because she can sell houses most people have given up on, at a higher price than the seller is asking, by targeting specific things about the potential buyers—either something they’ve shown interest in regarding the house, or something they’ve let slip about themselves that she can exploit. Admittedly, she’s prone to occasionally exaggerating a teeny bit, and sometimes downplaying things she can be sure won’t show up as a hit on a pre-sale inspection, but nobody’s ever come back to complain about it. As long as the company does well out of it, nobody really cares.

She delivers the closing remarks, highlighting those things she thinks they’ll be drawn to, and talks up the amenities. She decides not to mention her concerns about how well-received they would be in the neighborhood, since neither of them looks like they belong; if they buy the house and find out their neighbors are going to make their lives miserable, well, that’s not really on her, and maybe she’ll get the listing if they decide to resell. Not that she’s necessarily hoping for that, but hey, a commission is a commission.

“Contact me if you decide you want to buy,” she finally says, handing Dr. Koskiewicz her card. He studies it for a moment, then pulls out a leather wallet and tucks the card inside. “I understand you’ll need to think this over, but if you’re interested, you may want to hurry. There was a couple in this morning willing to put in an offer.”

It’s a lie, of course; these two are the most intent viewers she’s shown the house to yet, and nobody’s made an offer. The house also hasn’t been on the market very long. But she’s learned that dangling that bit of bait often gets people to put in a higher offer. The owners want two and a quarter million, but she wonders if she can get these two to go to two and a half or maybe even more. She might even be able to get them up to three, which of course means a bonus for her.

“I can assure you that you’ll be the first to know, once we’ve talked it over,” Dr. Koskiewicz says. He holds out his hand. “Thank you very much, Ms. Richardson.”

“Of course.” Helen gives him her most professional smile and accepts his hand, trying not to wince at the feel of the scar tissue against her palm. She means to give it another quick shake and move on, but he tightens his grip slightly, holding her still, and stares at her intensely. It’s extremely uncomfortable.

“Please be careful,” he says quietly. “And if you do run into…anything unusual…I urge you to come to the Institute. You’ve been so kind to us. It’s the least we can do.”

Helen has no idea what he means, or what she should be worried about. And she doesn’t feel like she’s been especially kind, unless the other real estate agents they’ve dealt with have been more openly hostile about their foreignness and their homosexuality and his scars and his husband’s disability. But she’s not stupid enough to say that out loud.

“I assure you,” she says, fighting to keep her smile in place. “If anything unusual happens, you will be the first to know.”

“Thank you.” Dr. Koskiewicz releases her hand, but he keeps staring at her intently.

Mr. Koskiewicz holds out his hand uncertainly in her direction. “Thank you for being so helpful and direct. It’s refreshing to not feel…misled.”

Helen accepts his hand uncertainly, but honestly, after the doctor’s, it’s a relief—soft and fleshy to be sure, but he doesn’t grip overly hard, and it’s not as dry or, well, corrupted. Still, she’s a little unnerved by his statement, or more accurately by the way he says it, like it’s some sort of joke she doesn’t get. “Certainly. I wouldn’t be very good at my job if I wasn’t.” She takes a half-step back and manages another smile. “Have a nice evening.”

“You as well.” Dr. Koskiewicz takes Mr. Koskiewicz’ arm and leads him to the door.

Helen, as is her habit, walks them to the door and watches them head down the path. Then, unable to stand it, she quickly hurries after them and peeps through a gap in the privacy fence sheltering the front garden. She doesn’t know much about cars and isn’t sure what she’s expecting, but the battered, ancient Ford Escort isn’t it.

She stares, utterly gobsmacked, as Dr. Koskiewicz opens the door for Mr. Koskiewicz, then goes around to get in the driver’s seat. The engine coughs and chokes for a moment before it catches and the car pulls away. It somehow doesn’t fit with the image she cultivated of the two of them. Either they have less money than she thought, or they have as much money as they do because they don’t spend a lot of money on new vehicles.

Either way, she thinks, glancing at her watch, her appointments are over for the day. She’s free until eight o’clock tomorrow morning and can go get something to eat, and she decides then and there that she is going to have a martini. Maybe two.

She rather thinks she’s earned them. Even if she doesn’t make a commission off of this one.

#ollie writes fanfic #leaves too high to touch (roots too strong to fall)#the magnus archives #tma #jonmartin #homophobia cw #racism cw #xenophobia cw #ableism cw #classism cw #general bigotry cw #(all more implied than anything but still)#I'm sorry but I've never thought OG Helen was all that nice

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goonlalagoon · 3 years

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Drawn to fall || Leagues and Legends

A series rewrite AU for @ink-splotch‘s fantastic Leagues and Legends books.

This has been sitting as a 90% finished draft for...a while, but talking to @soundofez about WIPs the other day prodded me to actually finish it up

Spoilers for the whole trilogy below

Read on Ao3

It was the Piper who fell first, a ricochet and a song vanishing from the world. Jack and George limped home, but the fight didn't stop with a round of prisoners stolen from the Seeress' grasp, with one more body laid to rest and another widow weeping.

The mage traders didn't get George. The Graves family and their guards were a constant threat, a blight, but the mountain vigilantes had plenty of other dangers to throw themselves in front of. It wasn't a bullet or a gun that slew the Dragon Slayer, but sharp claws and sharper beaks.

Jack never really made it home, from that. He walked through the bakery door and he held Bea as she wept, but he was burning and lost somewhere inside himself. He looked at Bea's maps, her petitions, and he threw himself into saving everyone he could reach with a manic desperation.

It was the Rangers who brought the news to Bea, when they lost the Giantkiller. Jack had been shrouded in good fortune, unknowing, for his whole life, but luck can only take you so far.

The bakery was cold and quiet. Beatrice Jones felt like she had frozen all the way through, turned to stone, and thought she might never thaw again.

(Bidi would wake in the night for weeks, tear stains dried into her cheeks, and crawl into her mother's arms. Bea would curl close around her and remember that she had felt this cold before. She would live through this.)

The news of their falls reached Rivertown, through channels both official and hidden. Rupert mourned the loss of an idol, and didn't know that the revered Rangers, far off in the mountains, were standing with red rimmed eyes at the grave. The Farrises didn't know what their wandering son had been up to, but Jack's mother woke one day to the aching certainty that he would never be coming home. She watched the horizon anyway.

Lanetia Jones heard stories of a mage who had whistled magic out of the air, of his fall, soon after she became acquaintances with the blue blooded hero in her second year study group. She would hold her back straight and clasp her hands neatly on the library table, and ask in a steady voice if he knew anything else about the Pied Piper. Rupert knew stories, legends, Bureau reports he technically shouldn't have seen - but he didn't know the name Liam Jones except from Laney's own tales, so they couldn't be certain.

They couldn't be certain, but neither of them had heard of any other mage who pulled magic into the world with a whistle, and Laney was a pragmatist. The numbers tallied up, the arrival of a dark skinned singer in the mountains and her brother setting out from home, never looking back.

(Liam had looked back for years, his mother's best recipes simmering on the hob, his daughter stumbling through songs a slightly older Laney had warbled terribly on his heels, old familiar stories ready on his tongue - mice and lions, thunderstorms given tongues to shriek, a stubborn kid with her hair scraped into braids by their mother's patient fingers ignoring scrapes and scratches until she could reach the top of the tallest palm tree, because someone had told her that she wasn’t allowed to.)

In the Academy library, warm golden sun spilling over her table and the back of her chair, Laney held herself tall and still because Rupert was neither friend nor enemy, just a classmate, but she would not let him see her weakness either way. She would not.

Rupert fetched slim volumes of legends, dispatches from the past seven years of Vigilante activity in the mountains, and a glass of water. He ached and didn't know how to help, stuffy with it, so when she got carefully to her feet he didn't follow. He re-shelved the books and checked that they hadn't left anything behind, and then he went to do his Uncle's paperwork, burying himself in it until he felt useful again.

They had barely interacted in their first year, but Rupert had known her name and a few other things about the desert-born mage that weren't common knowledge before they were assigned their second year projects. He arranged for them to go to Sally-Anne's for their first meeting, because it seemed like the kind of place that would help everyone relax - would help him relax, really. Sally-Anne gave him a reassuring wink and a bonus plate of chips, on the house, and he sighed pointedly at her transparent attempts to Help Him Make Friends to make her laugh.

When he got back to the table Clem was awkwardly trying to flirt - or possibly just bond, it wasn’t clear - with Laney, who looked stunningly unimpressed. The pipsqueak Sage that Rupert was keeping an anxious eye on while he tried to formulate a discreet way of sneaking numb tea to was buried in his book, slowly demolishing a plate of plain fries without looking up. Heather was rolling her eyes at Laney whenever Clem said something particularly demonstrating an inability to read the mood, and the rest of the time scribbling notes in the margins of a scientific journal she'd brought along with her. Annals of Botany, Rupert thought, because he'd seen her with it in the dining hall on a monthly basis all of the previous year and it was about the right time for a new issue to have been sent out to subscribers. He didn't square his shoulders, because they were already carefully level, posture already perfect. He took a steadying breath before setting down his purchases and trying to drag things back to the agenda he'd planned out the evening before.

Rupert's agenda had included contingency plans, of course. What really had to be covered first, in case someone needed to dash off and hadn't thought to warn him. Who could pick up the slack if their combat spec decided he had more important things to do (Rupert), who could keep their squeaky sage on track (also Rupert), and who would cover what as a back up if someone fell ill (Rupert again).

He hadn't planned what to do if armed men walked into his friend's shop and fired a gun in the air. He had no precise strategies, no intel whispered in his ear by Sez, just his Academy study group and their homework assignment clutched in Grey's trembling fingers, just a room full of frightened civilians.

Clement went down with a bullet in his shoulder, and a bricklayer hit the ground with one in his gut not long after. Laney and Rupert held a hissed conference, and Heather weighed in to point out that official witnesses were probably not part of the thieves' plan. He'd seen gunpowder dusted on Laney's fingertips at breakfast for months, so he wasn't surprised when she fired off perfect sniper shots with the gun that fell within reach. Grey pressed himself back against the wall, pale, quiet, eyes wide over cheeks lit up gold, and that wasn't a surprise either. Heather sitting on one of the fallen gunmen and threatening to force feed him the poisonous plants she was casually carrying around with her was, though mostly because he'd thought she had a basic grasp of health and safety.

Laney trailed him as he went to find Sez, and he would berate himself for carelessness later, but - men had broken into Sally's shop with guns, and the streets were never still or silent. She would know soon, and she needed to hear that Sally was okay from someone she trusted, someone she knew wouldn't have left if it wasn't true.

She dropped her tray down next to him at breakfast the next morning and said she wanted in. Heather and Gloria joined them while he was still blinking and sighing, considering, and he looked around the half empty mess hall with confusion, because he wasn't entirely sure what they wanted from him. He thought maybe Laney was after some excitement, a sharpshooter mage feeling trapped by petty class politics and Academy expectations, but he didn't know about the other two. They asked him for the salt shaker, his opinion on Professor Rhones’ lecturing style, and nothing else.

He let Laney help him with his next Rivertown job, and they patched each other up afterward, discussing strategies and critiquing their own form. They sat together in the library later that week and she asked politely about his essay, on vigilantism in the Mountains and how to effectively combat it - and in the warm, golden light of the afternoon sun, he told her about the Pied Piper and broke her heart.

When Sez next contacted him, he knocked politely on Laney's door, braced for it to slam in his face and holding his shoulders carefully relaxed so it wouldn't show. She didn't shut the door on him, but she did demand to know, on their brisk walk back to the Academy after eliminating a Thing that had taken up residence in an alleyway, if this was pity. She didn't want to join him on these tasks because he felt sorry for her, or because he felt guilty - she wanted to help because she wanted to sink her teeth into something real.

Rupert blinked at her, and began patiently dissecting their joint performance, gave a litany of tactical reports of earlier jobs where a sharpshooter or a mage - or both - would have made things much more...efficient. Laney listened suspiciously for any hint that she was being coddled, but her stomach settled. She had a bruise the width of her palm on her ribs and a stinging burn starting to blister on the backs of her fingers, and she felt a fierce joy welling up through her chest. Laney had learned to fall, true, but that was only half the battle - she'd learned to stand, too, to hit the ground and push herself back to her feet, to decide what was worth falling for, over and over. This, the safety of these streets and these people - this was worth standing for.

Gloria and Heather cornered her one afternoon in the room she and Gloria shared, and demanded to know what was going on. Laney had been slipping out and sneaking back with bruises for over a month, and they were worried. Laney looked at the earnest concern and said, with perfect honesty, that she was doing some extra curricular self-defence training. This had the unintended side effect that Gloria and Heather both wanted in. Rupert sighed when she reported this, and she raised an eyebrow.

"You'd prefer that I'd told them we're Rivertown vigilantes? I can, you know, I think they're both capable of keeping a secret, but I figured you'd rather I not make that kind of decision on your behalf." Rupert sighed again, but he did suggest that the stables would be an okay venue for self-defence classes, and he got her to set up wards so that if anyone came looking they could very quickly pretend to have been doing homework. After all, they were a study group.

The first time the wards went off, they actually just switched to doing core circuits because honestly nobody who'd be checking would believe four people in training gear and somewhat out of breath had been doing their homework in an out of the way corner. Circuits probably still wouldn't be strictly approved of, but they wouldn't be disciplined for breaking Academy rules.

But it wasn't one of the Academy instructors checking for misbehaviour. It was a rather surly combat spec, who seemed quite surprised to see them and immediately asked if Leaf had invited them. Rupert blinked.

"Hello, Francis. No, I haven't spoken to Leaf about...much of anything, really. Laney and I have been using the space for some fitness training, and these two decided they were also interested." Francis gave him a considering look, and nodded slowly, glancing over the rough straw pallets they'd set up to cushion their falls. He gave them a flicker of a smile.

"Leaf and I were planning something similar, actually. Mind if we merge?"

Their study group met in the library or dining hall, after that first foray out into the city, but Laney and Rupert were frequent faces at Sally-Anne's. The growing stable loft gang started dropping by too, laughing over in-jokes and nursing bruises, grinning brightly. Red would claim a corner seat and relax into it like the noise and bustle were a second skin, like he was more comfortable with a floor strewn with straw and fish scales than the polished length of the dining hall at the Academy.

Rupert started watching Francis, quietly and from the corner of his eye, during the handful of classes they shared. A few months into their extracurricular training began, he would suggest that Red join them on their hunts in Rivertown, and shrug when asked why me. It was a decision he had hesitated over, but not one he regretted, after the first alley they raced down, side by side, chasing a wounded manticore into Laney's waiting shields, Red adapting almost instantly to the strengths of his allies.

He had a wealth of knowledge of the things that crept through the dark, though he shone most when it came to creatures of the deep. Soon after the winter break a (small) kraken made its way up the river, and Red barely hesitated before calling out instructions, demanding supplies from the terrified crowd of civilians, not needing to think about what weaknesses were there to exploit. As they bandaged themselves up, after, Laney caught Rupert's eye and raised one eyebrow a hairbreadth. He blinked solemnly in agreement, and they waited patiently until Red was ready to tell them what they'd already guessed.

When Sez handed Rupert a piece of paper scrawled with yellow crayon, he and Laney poured over it for days. Laney dragged out book after book, picking the curse to pieces with a steady determination until she knew how to burn through it. Neither of them knew enough of the shape of this, yet, to know that there was a warning they should offer in turn.

Over the years, Rupert had fought a lot of battles in the name of Rivertown and its inhabitants - in back alleys and warehouses, shin deep in the river and slipping on the muddy banks (in the quiet of his private Academy dorm, the rustle of paper and the scratch of a pen). He had tackled petty thieves, thugs, monsters who went after human bones and Things in the dark. He knew he didn't know all of their victims' stories, but Sez was pale with fury when she told him a child was missing, door broken down and a terrified sibling hiding under a bed. The mother was wringing her hands at a table in the back corner of Sally-Anne's, bent double with grief and anger.

"Should have been more careful," she muttered, "we should have - we thought we were safe, so far from the mountains but the Seeress - everyone knows she doesn't like competition, but we thought we were out of her sight, so careless, so careless..."

Laney's face had gone still, carved from stone, and Rupert's heart was frozen in his chest. Someone had dropped a curse diagram in their pocket, and they hadn't thought about how. This was his city, and he hadn't known there was a risk, that there was any kind of warning needed. Red stepped forwards, reaching out to squeeze the woman's hands.

"Breathe. The slavers took her, you think?" She gave a harsh, sobbing laugh, and he nodded sharply. "Sorry. But we have time, then, because they have to get her to the mountains first, and she has to be alive when she gets there. We have a chance." He didn't sound hopeful, just determined, but she took a shaky breath and squeezed his fingers back. Laney wasn't moving, wasn't saying anything, and Rupert knew she was as puzzled as he felt. Red looked at them sidelong as they slipped out onto the street, and frowned.

"You don't know? In the mountains - there are people who steal mages and drain the power of the Elsewhere out of them, process it to make electricity. Mages have been fleeing the mountains for years, now."

Once, Rupert had broken Laney's heart in the Academy library, unknowing, with reported stories of a lost vigilante. There was so much that they hadn't known, then, and now they were floating on the edges of it. Rupert had known there was a Piper, that he had fallen - but he hadn't known who. They hadn't been able to guess at why.

Laney was thinking of her brother's smile as he poured golden fire into her palms to drift through her fingers. She was thinking of all she had done, to feel that fire on her skin, and of the things she would never have thought of. She had wanted to walk alongside her brother, so badly, but she’d never once thought to drag him down for daring to be something she wasn't.

Red had no idea of the blow he had just delivered, unknowing, in the afternoon sun outside Sally-Anne's. He knew only that there was a child in a lot of danger, and not much hope - but that any hope was still something.

They didn't have supernatural good luck on their side, but they had Sez and all of her contacts, so they found the warehouse. The slavers were waiting for them, forewarned, and they woke in the locked cellar. The child they’d been searching for was curled in the corner, eyes wide and face pale. Laney had expected her to be weeping, but she seemed to be frightened beyond even tears. They were all bound, but their captors hadn't thought to check Laney as thoroughly for weapons as the others - because she was an Academy mage, because she was a girl, because everyone underestimated her at first - so she had a knife tucked into her boot that they could use to cut the ropes. A glowing stone was hung around her neck, casting warm light and harsh shadows in the otherwise dark room. Elaine's wide eyes tracked it, but Laney didn't know what the point of it was, and she had other priorities, here, than asking.

So did Red and Rupert, so they didn't tell her until later, when they had bandaged wounds and finished their homework. They had her set up a careful silencing ward around Rupert's unofficial single room, and explained why the slavers had dropped a fracture in the fabric of the world around her throat. Laney didn't flinch, because no matter how much she trusted this friendship this was not a weakness she was ready to show them. But she trusted them enough to tell them the story - skinned knees and golden fire, her palm pressed up against the endless desert sky, splitting it open.

The Rangers came to visit, sending Red into fits of hero worship - Rupert was almost as bad, except he also remembered seeing half of them as students. Laney and Leaf exchanged long suffering looks full of affection. Gloria and Heather snickered and pretended not to know any of the names being gleefully praised at breakfast, seeing how much of Red’s breakfast they could filch off his plate while he recited heroic deeds before he realised what they were doing and snatched theirs in retaliation.

When the legends of the Bureau arrived, they immediately slipped cheerfully into the back of a lecture, hiding nostalgic giggles that they were too well trained (too used to ambushes) to let slip. They listened to lectures the material of which they'd learned and lived by for years, looking over the assembled students with interest and an unvoiced shared feeling that they were all so very young. They hovered around to chat, to officially mingle and inspire, and Sarge froze when he heard Laney's name. He'd known an L. Jones, mage, once upon a time, and never known how to reach the next of kin without getting tangled in the official channels that they couldn’t afford to get involved.

Rupert followed along when Laney was invited to a private meeting with Sarge and May. They both had their suspicions about what reason these two legends could have for wanting to speak privately with Miss Jones, the very first time they met, and he wanted to be there for her if they were right. He had planned to wait outside, patient as stone, the way she had over their months of friendship when his uncle was giving him frantic hushed reminders about status and reputations and not sneaking out of the Academy in the middle of the night to do freelance vigilante heroics in the back alleys of Rivertown. Laney caught his sleeve briefly as he went to lean against the wall, a brief unvoiced request for company.

May and Sarge didn't know what a concession this was, for Laney to guess what grim news they held out to her and to invite someone else to witness it. They didn't know anything of her but stories, and Liam had never been someone Laney was afraid to see her bruise.

They had guessed, over a year before this otherwise unremarkable evening, that the Piper had been Liam. Red had told them what monsters lurked in the mountains, and they had guessed why. But there is a difference between guessing, between cold logic and lining up the pieces, and confirmation. There is a difference between guessing that the rumours of a distant fall are of your brother, and being told where to find his grave by friends who know his widow. There is a difference between knowing your brother had years of his life away from you, and being told by his grieving friends that he had a wife and child, names you never knew and faces you can’t imagine.

The walls seemed too close when she slipped back out with Rupert steady at her shoulder, eyes dry and back straight, so they made their quiet way to the familiar streets of Rivertown. She was staring at the distant mountain peaks when an explosion split the night, fire blooming on old wooden rooftops behind them. They called their friends to arms, marshaling Academy forces and rapping out orders in practiced partnership. Sarge stepped forward to object - he knew them only as Heads' stuffy nephew and Liam's beloved sister, not tested heroes in their own right. They didn't have a looming redhead vouching for them with years of shared experience they were still only grasping the edges of. Sarge knew them only as children, and he had buried too many of those. Laney froze him in his tracks with her mother's best icy look, and didn't know whether it was that effective or if it was just how unfamiliar that face would be, to someone who had only known Liam and his easy smiles.

Their city was on fire, and it all led back to the same warehouse - faced with a fire demon, Laney slipped by in the harsh shadows to find the rift, while Rupert stayed behind as a distraction, a barrier. He was a paper pushing hero, and the sword in his hand had seen active duty than some of the Bureau Leagues could claim. The flames bore down at him in roaring symphony, and as he adjusted his grip he politely asked it to go back to where it came from. He gave it a chance, a choice, and when it shrieked threats instead he killed it without a second thought.

Rupert had killed more often than some active Leaguesmen, too.

People started to whisper about Laney, after. They called her the Lady of the Lake reborn, and Laney raised impassive, mysterious eyebrows and privately snickered over the abrupt about face of her fellow mages. They whispered about her and so they came down from the mountains, hunting for a golden goose and taking a girl who was barely even a sensitive. Thorne wasn’t trying to trap a Giantkiller, this time, but he was trying to test his potential recruit - and he wanted to get her out of the influence of her far less interesting classmates. Laney didn’t know this, not yet; she only knew that these were the people who hunted mages for the sake of the fire hidden under their skin.

These people had hunted a Jones before, and Laney was going to make them bleed for every heartbeat she had lived without him. She had an elsewhere crack around her neck, and it faded in the golds of the elsewhere as she told an exasperated, understanding Rupert that she wasn't running from this.

Rupert followed shortly after on a surprise internship, a desk hero out to get some field experience. Laney wasn't running, but she also hadn't been sitting around doubting this friendship, so she'd known she wouldn't be doing this alone even before she slipped away to speak to him. Gloria, Heather and Clem went North too, because someone had taken their mage (their sharpshooter, their friend) and they were going to get her back. Sarge frowned over the paperwork, but they were a close-knit group, and Rupert had forged the paper trail too convincingly to stop them. Sarge scowled and scowled, and was uncomfortably uncertain whether he would have stopped them if he could. He had known another Jones, once, with golden fire like that in his veins. He knew what they did to mages with a legend that spread that far, in the mountains.

(A squeaky sage named Sanders Grey buried his nose deeper in his books and pretended fiercely that it was nothing to do with him - that he didn’t know why, that he didn’t know where, that he didn’t feel guilt pooling in the pit of his stomach. He pretended that the headaches were from reading in the dim light, and some days it was even true. He would spend a grudging season after he graduated at the Waypost in the Forest, then move to the library in St John’s Port to embark on a happy lifetime organizing books and scowling at visitors. Spider had left a letter and a parcel of books for him, as he slipped into the Academy to steal away one of their students from down the hall, but hadn’t tried to tempt him home; he trusted Sandry’s chances without her brother’s help, in a world where their three most visible opponents were years dead and buried)

Laney fled the slavers in the middle of the night and was dragged back by the next morning, unknown trackers hidden on her skin. Spider hauled them all before the Seeress, a useless clump of people who held no value or interest to her except for that one of them was the Piper’s sister, an amusement to gloat over. She sat Laney down for a polite chat, to detail how her brother had been a thief and a fool and how he had died.

She did not mention how bright that light had burned, how she had felt it snuffed out. Laney kept her face smooth but the Seeress read her feelings in the flickers of gold around her shoulders, her unclenched fists, her smooth brow - despair, hatred, and a furious broken love. Cassandra wasn’t quite sure, yet, what she planned to do with these interlopers, but killing Bureau Leagues, even trainee ones, was not a sensible course of action, so she shut them in the cells until she had time to calculate her angles.

Laney broke them out instead, and they fled. It was sheer luck that led them to find the shallow cave with supplies and wards to hide them from the sight of even Cassandra Graves - an overturned rock that exposed a hint of a rune, a scuff mark at the back that suggested where to stand to complete the ward. Laney and Gloria pieced it together, and if either of them thought it odd that it should be both so secure and yet coincidentally left open, they did not voice it. In the morning, they stumbled down a valley into a sleepy village that held a statue and a grave that Laney still didn’t quite believe belonged to the same man.

(Spider did not linger to see if they found the shallow hiding hole - he had done his best, and he could not afford to be discovered. He had given them a chance, which was more than he could give most. Thorne had sent a letter North with quiet instructions, and this had been one of them. He had given no reasons why, but Spider was well used to this)

But there was more to this village than the ghost of Laney’s older brother in a village the Rangers had told her how to find. Sarge had told her about Beatrice and Bidi, too, and he’d sent a message North to the Baker, telling her to be on the lookout. Laney recognised the wards pressed into the bones of the bakery, stopped short with her shuddering breath caught in her throat, and Bea stepped forward to pull her into a hug.

They stayed a few days, until they woke one morning to a flag on the hill declaring that an informant had come visiting. Bea took Rupert with her when he offered, but left the others behind. She recognised the resigned pragmatism in his shoulders; she knew he would understand bargaining with almost any devil for the sake of fewer names on a list of the dead. Rupert would understand taking information from the Spider, but she thought the others might object on principle, and the Baker’s network wasn’t so widespread that she could afford lose any threads no matter how little she liked them. Laney was busy teaching Bidi some of the stories from the desert that her father hadn’t gotten the chance to tell her; Gloria, Clem and Heather were keeping carefully out of the way.

They had no link to the Merry Men to earn safe passage through the Woods, so Bea sent messages to Little John through other channels and gave them directions to Challenge instead. Rosie scowled and watched them warily, but Laney was a Jones, and they all remembered Liam. Laney listened to them whisper, to the grief tinging unfamiliar voices, to the echoes of a hero she’d thought only she knew. Rupert had helped a mage in the mountains to heal, unknowing, and now he slipped from bed to bed, trying to use a gift he hadn’t known lurked in his skin.

It went the same as it would in a world where there were different friends here - a collapsed mine and a missing hero; slipping in Spider’s wake into the depths of the Graves’ lab. There was no pipsqueak sage to light the bombs, but Gloria and Laney figured out how to tie the necessary enchantment to a bullet when Spider flagged the issue in their planning session, a joint invention that would have been gleeful were it not for the circumstance. Clem went down under falling rubble and propped himself against a wall to wait while Laney ran towards the sound of danger - Heather and Gloria had followed Spider to the upper floors, met Cassandra Graves and been dragged before the Mayor.

There was no squeaking sage to have secrets torn out of him and laid bare, but Laney still went down with every knotted cord burning, still pushed herself to shaking knees to aim a gun into the golden light of every scrap of power she had wrung from the world and take her best shot.

They were looking for Rupert, and the Bureau was their best chance. Laney signed onto Thorne’s gleeful payroll, while Heather took up her delayed position at the university and Gloria joined her old classmate Grey in the library archives (and badgered Laney into both eating regularly and porting her out to hidden shooting ranges so that she could stay in practice).

Rupert broke himself out of a prison, the Seeress at his shoulder, and met them outside. Laney had been furiously planning a break in from the moment she’d put together where he must be, but Heather had befriended a Bureau lab tech while searching for interesting plants in the market stalls that lurked off the beaten track of St John’s Port, an acquaintance solidified in the frantic rush of triage in a soup kitchen turned infirmary, a mutual seething rage at a disease spread not by chance but by carelessness. Jillit Chu had passed a message on, quietly, a few days later, and one of the things Rupert had said was to wait.

He’d also had an informative discussion with Jill about the germination period of certain plants, which she hadn’t thought anything about mentioning to his friend when she asked anxiously how he was doing, not content with just he’s alive. Heather had nodded, thanked her, and gone back to the flat she shared with the others (and their uninvited but not unwelcome guest of Miz Eliza, when she wasn’t calling in favors and collecting resources to help retrieve her son) to give them a time frame. They were waiting with a getaway car, Laney using careful tricks picked up from the local hedgewitches to open a door, Gloria standing guard with a pistol their sharpshooter had pressed into her plump hands because she couldn’t trust her own.

Thorne wouldn’t know until hours later that there had been a security breach. They would have long since left St John’s Port behind, abandoning the truck somewhere for one of Miz Eliza’s associates to pick up while Laney ported them down to Rivertown - they had no mages with them to worry about the rift, though Laney held a quiet hope that the Seeress would be dragged into the fires instead of making it through with them. Cassandra saw this in the level set of Laney’s chin, the way her face was held perfectly smooth, the disdain in the flick of her eyes. She kept her own face still and expression disinterested. Neither of them were interested in letting an enemy see their flaws and weaknesses, even if Laney was bitterly aware she couldn’t truly hide them from a seer. Cassandra was safe in the knowledge that only two people had ever known of hers, and that neither of them would be telling anyone.

(Sandry didn’t know that her little brother had been only a few streets away, sleeping safe in the spare room the head librarian had been kind enough to let him rent cheap because he didn’t know anyone else in the city to share the rent of a flat with (because the lad was obviously years too young to be out on his own even if he furiously pretended otherwise) - she would have seen him if she’d been looking, but there had been other things to keep her eyes on, and she had long since trained herself out of wondering where Sam had gone.)

Rupert stumbled into Sally-Anne’s to be met with Sez’s fierce grin and a stern admonishment from Sally-Anne to never do that to us again. Laney lurked in the background, retrospective guilt pooling in her throat. It hadn’t occurred to her to let them know - that Rupert was missing, that they had leads, that if he was alive they’d find him and burn down any prison that tried to hold him, that they’d bring him home.

She wondered if they had figured it out somehow, or if they had been clinging to a desperate hope, a denial. She remembered sitting in the Academy library, learning that her brother was dead from whispered rumors, a full year after the fact. She remembered learning that there had been people who knew Liam had a family still in the desert, but hadn’t found a way to tell them they’d lost their footloose child.

(She remembered - she hadn’t found a way to tell the rest of the family yet, either, and shoved the thought back where it had come from. There was a revolution to win, first.)

Sez had been building plans for years, and Rupert wasn’t the reason for it but he was the spark to set it in motion. There was no-one left in their chosen battleground but those who’d decided they wanted to fight for this; Thorne tried to claim the town and Sez brushed away the dirt he was sneering down his nose at to show the lines already drawn. Golden walls rose, the careful work of patient hands, and Laney’s fingers itched to pick apart how it had been done.

None of them had lived through a siege before, but they knew enough from history lessons to know that Laney’s ability to port people out and supplies in were a lifesaver. Sez assigned her an assistant to track supplies and routes, a cheerful burly lad who joked about being a glorified scribe and went still and silent when they mentioned the forgetting field. He wasn’t much help with the technical work on Rememberer, or Laney and Gloria’s private project to see if they could build a device to extract energy direct from the Elsewhere, but it turned out he had a knack for spotting patterns and sifting through data, so they gave him the records of fire demons Red and Leaf had been compiling to filter through. Laney spent a tense few days wondering if she was the cause of things, until their stand in sage pushed pages of annotated maps at her and pointed out the total lack of overlap, chattered ideas for experiments at her to see if she might be strengthening the fabric of the world as she went. If he saw the way her shoulders settled, a tension she’d been hiding as best she could, he didn’t mention it.

Gloria had liberated plans for the machines from the Mayor’s ruined lab, correctly guessing that they wouldn’t be the only copies, knowing that even if not now that it had been done once it would be discovered again. She and Laney had spent scattered evenings pouring over them, figuring out how to modify them - if Laney could wring power out of the sky, they could find a way to make the machines work without draining a mage for power.

The Seeress had smuggled out her own copies of plans from the Bureau lab, parts of machines bundled up under her skirts - it would be their trainee sage who showed her the results of Laney and Gloria’s experiments, cheerfully oblivious to her history. He’d spotted her peering over the blueprints, and just thought that maybe she was helping the other two out. He didn’t understand why she burst into tears when the lightbulb flickered on, knees hitting the ground hard enough to bruise. If he had ever known her name, her reputation, he didn’t remember it to begin to guess at what this might mean. He figured that she must have lost a mage to the machines, and he wasn’t entirely wrong.

When she wiped her eyes, Cassandra looked at him, at the ripples of gold around him, and told him who he was. She watched the bubbles pop around him as the knowledge faded as soon as he heard the words, and she hesitated. There was a cruelty here that she had delighted in at first, a delicious irony, but here was a compassion as well that she would never have thought to look for from this quarter. She looked at the machine, it’s low hum and the cold electric light, the lack of residue, everything she’d never let herself dream was possible, and thought I wish I could show Sam. I wish Spider was alive to see this.

Rupert didn’t question her, when she gave him suggestions on the rememberer. She didn’t challenge him on it, needling at loyalties and looking for a reaction, kept the barbs that sprang to the tip of her tongue locked behind her teeth, and reached for the wrench to make the adjustment.

Laney was on a watchtower when the floor rose to meet her, memories slamming back into place with an abruptness that sent her to the ground, that felt like it should have hurt. She fell more than climbed down the ladder, leaving her station to a confused second in command. There were furious shouts on the other side of the wall, and the part of her than wasn’t reeling guessed we weren’t the only ones they hid things from. Her heart thudded in her ears as she ran for Sally-Anne’s, guilt choking her as memories slotted back into place. She slammed into the doorway, stumbling to a halt - Gloria and Heather were already there, crying in belated grief, slumped either side of their cheerful trainee sage - their battered combat spec.

~~~

Clem had been required to repeat a year at the Academy to make up the work missed with his run of bad injuries, a broken arm in the first battle for Driftwood Island and a leg crushed in the fight at Gravestown. He’s called Gloria with regular updates on what Red and Leaf’s band of hooligans was up to that week and to talk about the mathematical puzzles they sent each other. Sometimes Heather stole the phone to tell him about her research, and he doodled out trend graphs on scrap paper while he tried to figure out what she was talking about. They talked about Rupert, a little, but none of them were so naive as to think that it safe to share their suspicions aloud.

A careful few days after Rupert’s memorial service, Clem had wandered down into Rivertown to have a quiet chat with Sally-Anne about a missing friend. He’d waited to see if there were any patterns to watch out for, any hints to send back to the others, to make sure that if any of the Bureau were watching saw just a grieving schoolmate who had accepted his loss. They weren’t sure if the Bureau were responsible for Rupert, but at the end of the day that just meant they weren’t sure they hadn’t been. Clem didn’t mention to the others that he’d made the trip - it didn’t occur to him that they hadn’t thought of it; he figured they’d rightly assumed he would handle it.

He kept his head down at the Academy as much as he could, though he couldn’t escape notice as one of the sort-of ringleaders of the new Stable Loft Crew (Red and Leaf ran it, but they’d figured out the year before that Clem wasn’t a bad support instructor). He couldn’t help search for Rupert, but he combed the library for information on Walking Stars, for statistics on the mountain’s energy supplies. He stepped in when he saw people being bullied, tried to see the patterns in the Academy Rupert had woven himself into and pick up the slack, and tracked down reports of shady Bureau dealings of the past, trying to see patterns in those as well. He called Laney more rarely than either Gloria or Heather, because they’d always had very little in common at the end of the day, but they were still part of a team, and at the end of the day that mattered to both of them.

Clem had been on the watch for the Bureau, but he was only a student, and one unused to politics. The Quiet Branch had always kept an eye on the Academy, and they noticed the way the young combat spec was acting. He broke the arm of one of the agents who came for him, and gave the other a black eye. He woke up in an alleyway with bruised knuckles, and didn’t know why.

Thorne was always watching for people who might hold some sway over any of his prospects, and he had needed a test subject.

~~~

It felt, later, like that flick of a switch had set it all in motion - as though when one of Thorne’s plan’s unraveled they all did.

Jillit Chu turned up on their doorstep, grimly relieved and determined to finish what she’d started. Rupert welcomed her gratefully, and she eyed the impassive Seeress the way she had in the hidden lab. Some things had changed with the flick of a switch, but the weight of those years failing to save the Seeress’ victims hadn’t. Cassandra looked coolly back, and pretended that she wasn’t reeling herself, that the ground below her feet was still the steady ground of what we do is right.

In this world, there was no squeaky sage sharing a room with his big sister to make Wren hesitate. She slipped into the Seeress’s room with a knife to hold a blade to the throat of a monster. Cassandra hissed all the bile she could, every weakness she could see spiraling around them, and Wren’s smile was colder than anything the Seeress had ever managed. She left Cassandra alive, because this wasn’t about revenge, about paying in blood for what the Seeress had wrought. This was a shaking woman proving that she could face down her monsters, that her nightmares had no hold over her. That she could choose to let the Seeress live because it wasn’t worth killing her, because the Seeress was just a young woman who couldn’t harm her again.

She left Cassandra alive, and Sandry shook through the night. Many people had cursed the Seeress’s name over the years, hissed threats, but few had ever gotten close enough to lay hands on her. She remembered making hot cocoa for her brother after bad dreams, remembered telling him he wasn’t allowed to be afraid like that would be enough to keep him safe.

Thorne went after Bea, after Bidi, and Laney ran for the mountains with Rupert on one side of her and Clem at her heels - it took only minutes to port through, but the dragons were quicker even than even that. Bidi had screamed for help, and they had answered. Clem spent an hour in delighted conversation with them via Bidi, scholarly glee and childish enthusiasm, while Laney did her best to comfort Bea for the loss of her home while her daughter was distracted. Once Bidi was asleep, Clem helped Laney dig out the remains of the attackers from the bakery rubble and bury them so that Bea wouldn’t have to - he also collected what scraps of identifying possessions he could find, tucking them carefully in a pocket in case there was someone who would want them back.

They returned to Rivertown exhausted, and woke to a renewed assault, Thorne’s death twisted to a rallying point. Shay cursed her mentor’s shining recruit, wanted to shriek why - but if she questioned his decisions, she did it so quietly even she wasn’t aware. She scowled at maps and reports, tried to pretend her steps weren’t haunted by her losses. She told herself her decisions were rational, that her choices had always been hers even if she didn’t remember making them.

The Bureau managed to splinter their golden wall, and as Laney moved to repair it Cassandra slipped from the shadows to dart through the crack in their defences. Laney watched her step through, and thought about how laughably easy it would be to put a bullet in her back, for all that her hands trembled with old wounds. Liam had fallen for the last time rescuing those who would have been burned to nothing in the rooms below this girl’s home. Mages had been fleeing the mountains for years because of the things this young woman saw.

Laney closed her hand around the grip of her favourite pistol, and handed it over through the shimmering curtain. She wanted to say so many things - I do not forgive you, I could kill you but it wouldn’t be enough, so what would be the point? I hate you but you gave us our friend back, so here you go, a life for a life. I will live all my life hating you, but I will not be haunted by you. She said none of it, because if she tried she would break. Cass saw it in the swirls of gold around her, and gave her a grudgingly respectful nod. When Laney looked up from closing the gap she was gone, slipping away through the streets of Rivertown like a ghost.

It was Laney who strode into the negotiation room when Shay called for a truce, because she had the Quiet Branch’s respect even if she didn’t have their affection, and Sez trusted her to fight for the right things, these days, despite the Academy badge. She had Sez and Sally’s long thought out demands, their plans, her own hard won lessons and Rupert’s deliberate morality - and she had a secret waiting on the tip of her tongue.

In the dark of a hidden lab, Cass had whispered stories, clinical and aching, not sure if she wanted sympathy or just a reaction, and Rupert had passed them on. Shay snapped accusations, dismissals, grief - and Laney she remembered sunlight, warm on the back of her chair on a long ago day when Rupert told her the truth and broke her heart. She took a sniper’s steadying breath, and looked Shay in the eye.

“Do you know how Spider died?”

Falling is the bravest thing I know, Laney whispered at the funerals, at graves old and new, in the doorway of a cottage where an old woman wept like broken glass with old, delayed grief as Jill held her frail hands and Rupert hovered, stuffy with sympathy. She had broken like that, once, something jagged sitting under her heart that she wasn’t sure would ever go away even if the edges could be smoothed over time. Liam had fallen, hit the mountain stone and not gotten up, but the impact had shattered Laney too.

I will be brave, she whispered to herself, and Rupert squeezed her hand gently as she got to her feet. The desert sand shifted under her boots and she stood firm, bracing herself to deliver a blow she had never stopped reeling from. She watched the expressions around the fire twist, grief and mourning, bittersweet stories, and thought about the ripples that had spread from every fall in this fight. She would try to map it out, on sleepless nights - the way strangers whispered her brother’s name and murmured about the Dragon Slayer and the Giantkiller, the steady promises of the mountain folk: we can’t let their memories down. Laney wondered if they’d known how they would shake the world when they fell, but they weren’t the only ones.

Spider must have known that Thorne wouldn’t let betrayal live, but he’d taken the shot and hit the polished floor because he refused to watch more children burn for the sake of another man’s ambition. Bea had woken in a cold house, twice over, and hauled herself back to standing because she refused to let the monsters win, kept a map of every victory, every loss, every bitter step of her quiet war. Jill had gritted her teeth after every failure, every fading patient a new reason to keep trying no matter the weight on her shoulders.

Rosie and Susie had built Challenge from the wreckage of their home, an old mining village digging deep and refusing to be driven away, turning every broken family and nightmare into a rallying cry. Maid Marian had put her back to the mountains and walked away, the memory of smoke and snow on her heels until she forged something new in the back streets of St. John’s Port, had dared to invest her broken heart in a new set of faces and carve out support for the people the Bureau didn’t care about.

Rupert had been buried in the rubble of a cave in, been dragged out and lost months to Thorne’s secrets, taught himself to wear a civilian sweater like a uniform while they scrambled to find him, had stumbled through the door of the fish shop and been the spark that Sez turned into a beacon. So many people had come to the defence of Rivertown, against fire demons and Bureau soldiers, names Laney had known over Academy tables and ones she hadn’t, and some of them hadn’t gotten the chance to deal with the aftermath.

Laney had hit the plush carpet of the Mayor’s office, every limb burning, and pushed herself as close to standing as she could get and taken her best shot. She was long, aching years from the time when bravery meant bruised knees and scraped palms, dragging herself inch by stubborn inch up the tallest palm tree, meant letting herself fail a hundred times to learn to do it right.

Sometimes the bravest thing is falling, letting yourself try and knowing you might not succeed, that you might hit the ground hard enough to bruise, pushing yourself back up after to try again.

Sometimes it’s to keep breathing - to put one stumbling foot in front of the other until it feels like you’re filling your lungs with air not choking on ash.

I will be brave, Laney said, and breathed in.

#Leagues and Legends #my writing #L&L fic #It's another all the mountain vigilantes die series rewrite folks!#Laney sort of took this one over and I'm okay with that

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kuronanox · 4 years

Text

Best friend and Lover- Yami Sukehiro

One word, CHAOS!

The whole place was mess with children like teens running around the room yelling at each other. (Your Name) softly laughs as Yami breaks the building because they wouldn't stop wrecking the fort.

An awkward sweat on her face as she grabs his muscular arm. "Jeez big dude no need to add with the damage. Save that energy for the bedroom."

He puffs out smoke in her face and ruffles her hair. "What's got you all cheeky today?"

She tilts her head and lightly grabs his muscle shirt making him lean close. "Who else?" A devilish smirk placed on her face.

"Woah woah we should at least keep it pg 13, THeRe aRe cHilDRen ArOUnD!" Yami jokes as Asta slightly blushes at the two of them obviously flirting with each other.

"GET A ROOM!" Magna shout obviously flushed as (Your Name) just laughs and crashes on the couch with Vanessa.

"Ooo only you can make the 'romantic' side of captain come out." She slurs before taking another sip of her red wine.

Looking around the room she doesn't spot Yami, he was probably taking a shit on the toilet. If anything that was his only turn off she had about Yami.

"Wait how did you even meet him?" Noelle ask curious about the relationship the two of them had. Noelle was probably curious because she was secretly in love with Asta but wouldn't admit it.

6 years ago

(Your Name) was facing the discrimination of being an immigrant in the clover kingdom. Moving away from her home country to escape she ran away. With the very few money she had (Your Name) decided to join the magic knights.

It was even worse once she made it to the squad, her fighting technique was different and unique having only to use a sword no one really understood the fighting style.

(Your Name) was very lucky that day to be chosen by the Grey Deers, Julius was very welcoming and interested in her powers.

Adjusting to the life style and language was hard for her.

Many nights she wanted to cry and disappear. She didn't have a meaning in her life, she was living for what? She had no family, no friends. Julius was her friend but he was also busy as a captain, she wasn't his top priority.

Yami didn't come into the picture till a year later, he was also a foreigner facing discrimination found by Julius.

(Your Name) remembered that very day, she felt like a piece of home came towards her.

"(Your Name) I like you to meet Yami, he's the same as you! Look at his sword!" Julius cheers with sparkles in his eyes as Yami deadpans behind him.

"Osu, my name is Yami, nice to meet you." He flatly states with a cigarettes in his mouth.

The two of them became inseparable after that day, a reason also was because they understood each other. With language, culture, values and fighting styles the two were in sync as if they were partners for years.

"You use dark magic?" (Your Name) says one day as they trained together. "Pretty cool right? I think your's is unique too! Controlling the natural elements can become a advantage in battle."

A small blush forms on her face as she scoffs and punches his shoulder lightly.

"Whatever you say, I never felt special till Julius keep complimenting my magic to be honest."

Yami lays on the grass lighting a cigarette.

"I mean your not all that spec- OW!" He yells as she punches his stomach extra hard. "IM JOKING! I was about to say I didn't think you were all that special till I noticed how much in common we have.... jeez."

Pouting (Your Name) looks away with a blush.

"Whatever....jerk."

Yami laughs as they made their way back to the Grey Deers.

Now there was no secret that Charlotte was in love with Yami, often time (Your Name) would catch her slipping and staring at the muscular man.

"I'm not pretty compared to her, she's so beautiful with blue eyes and blonde hair."

The right word to place in (Your Name) was jealousy, she could never be that beautiful.

It's not like Yami was neglecting her but she notice the pair got closer especially when they both became captains.

Often times (Your Name) would walk away because she knew the feelings that Charlotte had for Yami and she was no bitch to not let them have alone time.

"Why do you always leave me?" Yami asks (Your Name) one night as they moved into their new fort.

"Why are you so oblivious Yami?" She says unpacking her belongings and carrying it into her room.

"What'd ya mean?"

"Oh for crying out loud Yami never mind!"

The door slammed as he stood behind it. "Jeez woman, I'm just concerned."

(Your Name) sighs and lay in bed. She didn't know when the feelings develop for Yami but they did.

They spent less time together as he started to work a lot more since becoming captain and she started to take more missions alone.

"Another mission, I know you are strong but do you really wanna go alone?"

"Yeah I'll be fine, I'm always fine."

Yami didn't worry about her a lot but the mission was suppose to last a week he didn't hear from her.

3 weeks past by and Yami got a message stating that (Your Name) returned in an unconscious state.

"I know she's strong but damn I should have gone to her." Yami tells Julius as he sat next to her.

"We underestimated the mission but (Your Name) succeeded. I'm very proud of her." The wizard king says looking at his formal students.

"Yami, I didn't expect you to worry so much."

"What'd ya mean she's basically my Vice Captain?" He said obliviously with straight eyes.

Julius smiles he knew Yami was oblivious and short minded when it came to many things.

"Why don't you tell her your real feelings now. It's been several years now hasn't it."

"Huh? Stop talking nonsense." Yami laughs as Julius pats his back before walking out. "Right Yami?"

His laughter disappeared as Yami looked down to the girl in bed unconscious.

"Get up (Your Name) you know I can't lead a team without you."

In her unconscious state, it was pitch black, but she could hear voices. She could hear when people visited her and who the voices were. Most of the time it was Yami talking about nonsense to her.

"What a loser, talking to me like I'm awake."

"Oi I know you are enjoying being in bed but don't smile like that. I'm not going to go easy on you when you wake up."

"Typical Yami."

A month pasted by and (Your Name) awakened. It was dark outside but warm like summer. She was feeling better and energetic surprisingly, despite that her muscle were a bit sore from laying in bed for long.

Deciding to stay another night or go back to the fort she made the decision to go home.

The place was dark as she opened the door, no sign of Yami.

Walking into her room most of her belongings were already set in place. Her personal belongings were neatly placed in the closet safely.

Walking down the hall to Yami room it was quiet and she could hear him snoring. Opening his room door she walks towards his bed.

"Hey loser get up." She pokes him but Yami was still in a deep state of sleep. "Pssst get you."

"Shut up brat, sleep somewhere else." He talks in his sleep as she scoffs but smiles after.

Yami awoken the next morning with (Your Name) asleep on the chair next to his bed.

"(Your Name)!" He yells causing her to jump from the loud voice.

"HEY MAN NOT COOL!" She pouts annoyed at his way of waking her up.

"When did they discharge you?"

"They didn't I left?"

"Classic you, I missed that." He says wrapping an arm around her as they walked to the kitchen for breakfast. "I heard what happen on the mission... I'm proud of you." He then tells her with seriousness in his voice.

She sat across from him with a faint blush. "Thanks... Soooooo?" An awkward silence fell upon them as they looked at each other.

"Yami."

"(Your Name)."

They call out in unison. Clearing his throat he proceeded taking her silence as his permission to speak.

"Ima say this plain and simple, I'm in love with you."

(Your Name) had to process his confession which surprised her because Yami was stupid.

"Really?" She laughs a bit, happy that they shared the same feelings.

"Ya got a problem with that?"

"I don't, I've loved you for a long time. You are my best friend after all."

They shared a sweet embrace as she cuddled into his arms, it wasn't like this was the first time they had been contact with skin to skin.

This time it was official and no confusion to how they felt for each other.

"But you have to admit that you were jealous of Charlotte!" He jokes as (Your Name) punched him across the room.

"YA! I'm going to get sad, stop it!" She pouts as Yami just smiles and picks her up.

"I'm joking my best friend and lover, whatever you wanna call it." Yami says with a goofy grin on his face.

Present time

"Wow thanks for telling them our love story, sweet really." Yami says from behind Vanessa, (Your Name) and Noelle.

"Oo captain I didn't know you were a gentleman to the ladies." Vanessa teases him poking his stomach.

"I'm not, (Your Name) and I go way back! It was easy to talk about 'my feelings'..... yuck ima go now." Yami says a bit embarrassed the squad knew their love story.

"Wait for me I wanna cuddle! I promise to keep it pg 13 for the kids!" (Your Name) hollers running after him.

(Author note: bruh I feel like Yami was hella OC in this one shot lmfao. Also a update! sorry if there's a few grammar and punctuation error, none of my stories have been edited yet.)

#black clover #black clover oneshots #black clover x reader #black clover imagine #black clover yami #yami sukehiro #yuki tabata

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nighteyed · 4 years

Text

Shine On ~

Let me preface this story with a disclaimer. This is my first ever, Jurdan fanfic. It is by no means perfect. Second, I listen to music and write. If you are an Amity Affliction fan then the title and the contents of this story might not surprise you. I pulled a lot from the lyrics and from their official music video, even throwing in a few scenes from the video. (EXCEPT WHEN YOUNGBLOODS PLAYED AND “FUCK THE REAPER” GOT THROWN ACROSS A SHIRT)

Fandom: The Folk of the Air

Pairing: Jude Duarte x Cardan Greenbriar

Rating: Teen (there are descriptions and mentions of abuse)

Written By: forbiddencorvidae | corvids_5

The green door stares me in the face, it’s like a mocking leer, the color for which I share a name. I hate it. I hate this place, but I press forward, grip the handle and turn it.

It curls and wraps, shrivels all around, the smoke that sinks into my skin, burns across the whites of my eyes and stains them yellow. There is a haze in this room, as I slowly close the door behind me. My eyes landing on the dozen blue ribbon cans on the kitchen table, my bag swaying at my hip. There is a cat mewling in the corner, four kittens suckling and my lips curl in disgust. Curdling, the smoke weaves through my hair, grazes my cheek bones, congeals at the corners of my mouth and then dives deep down my throat and strangles me.

I turn to my right, a safe hallway that I will escape through, to the safety of my room and a window that I am desperate to throw open and gulp down air that will purify my already rotting lungs. Doc’s hit something sturdy, hard bones and meat and I’m falling forward, downwards, in a spiral of swinging arms, bracing against the wall, trying, trying not to wake him.

There is a beast in this tunnel, beneath me and I will not escape him.

I’m flattened, defeated, pinned under a body much bigger than my own. My eyes are filled with obsidian spots that flutter across my vision. My head pulses and splits, spitting images across my eyes, blocked out by the dark specs that blind me. I feel a hand on my throat, claws digging into the sides of my neck, palm hot and pressing. I’m a child hiding in a closet, afraid and weeping. I feel the wisp of a tail, hear a cat mewling and I am weak, undone, I succumb to the torrent and do not brace for the onslaught. Tears are leaking from my eyes as my nose crunches into my face, a fist smashes against my cheek, my head flies into the wall. Adrenaline rockets though me and my mouth salivates, my body begins to shake as my blood free flows and chokes me. It pours from me in rivers. I’m drowning in my spit, tears and blood, I am drowning in life.

It’s going to be a real shinner, I hear him say. His laughter penetrates and permeates, slithers up my spine and around my neck. My bag is forgotten as I manage to fight my way to my knees and brace the wall, pulling myself from the floor and fumbling towards my bedroom door. It swings open, a rabbithole that I am all too happy to fall within and my bed a welcoming crash against my skin.

It is raining as I watch them. Three girls file from the suburban and march across the lawn to the red front door. The house across the lane is no longer empty, it is now filled with people and Balekin tells me that one of them has horns.

“General Madoc is to be my personal bodyguard," Balekin pulls at his collar and smirks. He is proud, I hear the bragging undertones in his voice, cool like onyx. "There has been some disturbing mail coming into the office. Some threatening letters and I do not stand by and obey idle threats." Balekin pulls at the cuffs of his suit and presses the palm of his right hand to the crown of my head, my lips sneer at his touch.

“You can stop sending them, little brother,” Balekin turns and drags his knuckles along the innards of the hallway, his rings scraping against the paint and drywall. “One day you might end up at the bottom of the creek.”

Good, I want to say, but I've learned that with a quick witted tongue you have to learn to hold it. Instead I feel the corners of my lips twitch and I pick at the tips of my fingers, there is glue under my nails.

There is a tap against my window that wakes me. My blood has crusted against my skin, and there is a weal under my right eye, it swells and presses into the underside of my eye. My head is still a ringing mess, my body sore and aching as adrenaline has seeped from me. My sheet sticks to the side of my face and I feel the hairs on my face pull and release as I rip myself from my bed. But when I turn to look at the window, I finally see for the first time, everything that he has tried to blackout.

“You have been home for hours and you never opened your window Cardan,” I can hear Jude from behind the sheer black curtain, from behind the single pane glass. “Cardan,” Jude is already pulling open the window, already swinging her leg through it and into my space. I bow my head at her commanding presence, her air as she enters my room, she fills every part of me with molten, down to my toes that threaten to drag me towards her. My neck is a hinge and I have lost all my will to lift my head and look into her eyes, so I close my eyes and I remember the day that she told me the first truth I have ever received.

I’m free, the wind blowing through my hair. I peddle faster and faster, all the while Jude Duarte yells behind me. Her auburn hair is styled up in horns, like some freak, like those stupid stories she reads.

“I HATE YOU CARDAN GREENBRIAR!” She is screaming from behind him, running as fast as her legs will take her.

“YOU HEAR ME? I HATE YOU! YOU AND YOUR BLACK HEART!”

I can’t help but smile at her words, they warm my blackened heart because no one has ever spoken such truth to me.

I will reward her by dumping this pink bike in the creek tonight.

“Cardan…”

I hate the sound of her voice, as it is now, laced with pain and pity as it pulls me from a precious memory. She will never know how much I wish her to be that little girl again, in the street, yelling that she hates me over and over again. I just want to feel alive, with the wind in my hair and her words in my veins.

She approaches me tentatively, it has been different, since that time. When I took her on this bed that is now stained with my blood. She is soft and full of sweet words, when all I need is her seething and swearing under me, over me, around me, I don’t care so long as she breaks over me, like water against rock, coating me, consuming me.

“Cardan, look at me.”

I see her booted feet from between my legs and I struggle to lift my head. Her hands come into my line of vision as her palms cradle my cheeks, my shoulders flinching at the warm, delicate touch of her skin. Slowly, she helps me, rolls my head on my shoulders until it is fully erect and I am staring up at her.

“Will you kiss me now and make this better?” My words are laced with venom as I say them and they slather against her skin as her fingers drag across my lips. “Kiss me Jude,” I press my tongue against her palm, my eyes never leaving her’s. Her gaze, lighting a fire in my heart as she stares down at me with eyes full of adoration, full of love and my guts twist at the emotion.

“Stop Jude,” I turn my head to my left, tucking my chin to my shoulder. “Stop staring at me with those eyes that disgust me.”

There is a long pause that billows in the air and nestles itself into my collapsing lungs. I pull in a ragged breath, the insult pains me more than the evidence on my face.

“I know you are hurting,” Jude whispers.

I want to bury my face in her white tank, but instead I snake my fingers through her belt loops and drag her towards me, pressing the crown of my head into her abdomen. I'm weak, so weak, so tired of this and all I want is to find a better place to live.

“But you are too strong to drown Cardan,” she whispers and it is to the room, to whomever will hear the words, I know they are not words for me. Those words are a prayer, for her alone.

I feel her nails drag across my scalp and they catch on a patch of matted hair and a memory flashes through my mind.

“Why do you speak like that?” Jude is sitting next to me by the creek and the sun is setting behind the buildings of the city beyond. “You sound too smart for a thirteen year old, it isn’t...normal.”

I scoff at her word choice and deign not to answer, but she presses and I acquiesce to her persistence. “I read Jude, books of all shapes and sizes. To learn, sharpen my tongue, to save me.” My sable hair ruffling in the warm breeze as I feel her shift next to me. Jude presses her pink lips to my cheek and my brows knit together. Partly at her action and partly because her lips have stoked the ache back into my jaw, my bruise with it’s yellowing center and purple ring ripples as I clench my jaw at her touch. Jude weaves her arm between mine and she pulls me closer towards her, it warms my bones. I feel something growing underneath the surface of my skin and there is no energy within me to deny it. So, I do the one thing that I am good at when it comes to Jude, I destroy it.

"Why do you wear your hair like that?" My question is blunt and like a club it strikes at her. I can see her discomfort as she shifts and pulls away from me and it is only shadowed by the simmer in her eyes.

"The Queen of Elfhame wears her hair like this," Jude spits at me, like I should know this, like we hadn’t played High King and Queen when we were ten. In a rare moment, when I found myself in Jude’s room, I saw her tattered copy of “The Queen of Nothing”, it fell from her nightstand, under her bed. I had reached to retrieve it, to place it back safely where she could find it when my fingers found a slip of paper instead.

I hate you Cardan Greenbriar. I hate you Cardan Greenbriar. I hate you Cardan Greenbriar. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. I hate you. Hate. Hate. Hate. You. Cardan Greenbriar. I love you.

"Some fairytale, those aren't real Jude. Grow up." My words leave my mouth like needles and I have aimed them to prick in all the right places. There is nothing better than this. This is what we have. I have a brother who beats me and she has…

A demon lurks behind the walls of her home, a murderer.

“There has to be something better than this Cardan. Something worth living for,” Jude traces a finger to the bruise along my jaw and gently presses. Jude is so full of hopes and dreams, so hungry for all the things that people like me cannot have. She is blinding, like the sun shinning through a diamond and splashing against me. Yet, I want to believe her, to feel hope curl along my insides and blossom in my chest. I want to be so full of hope that I am sick of it. I blame the day she cursed me in the street, cursed my black heart even though I know it bleeds for her.

If she wants a fairytale then one day she will have it and I want to see her shine, be the one to give it.

“One day, Jude, I will take you to Insmire,” I let loose a rare smile and revel in the widening of her eyes.

“Jude,” I let my left leg shoot between hers and I crane my neck upwards so that I can see her, my cheek still firmly against her. Walnut eyes stare down at me and my fingers clench tightly against her hips, she is wearing a hat, it isn’t like her. “Your hair—its not, the horns," my voice is soft, questioning, so unlike my usual tone.

"I'm not twelve anymore Cardan," Jude presses her thumb to my bottom lip, her fingers cupping around my chin, pressing the side of my face firmly against her. "You were right. fairytales aren't real. Insmire, Elfhame, they are not real. No matter how much I wish them to be. No matter how much I wish that this—" She finally lets lose the breath that she has been holding in, since she has seen my face. “I just wish this was easier and if I could, I would break him.” Her words are like razors and I know that there is a truth to them. Jude is fire against me and I know now that I don’t want her to crash against me like water, I want her to scorch me, mark me, taint me.

We are not children anymore.

We've tasted sweet whiskey, gone skinny dipping in the creek, she has seen her mother killed, her father cut down, I've lived my life on the ground, with bruises and cuts inked into my skin and I've pressed my tongue between her legs and tasted sweet bliss. I've felt her heat around me, pulling me closer to her, wringing from me everything that I am and she has always outlasted me.

"Jude, go home." I push her away as I rise from the bed I've slept on since I was a child, the bed in which I laid her bare. Her eyes are full of hurt, but I see the curiosity that is stitched along her irises, she doesn't understand why I am doing this.

"You shouldn't be sneaking into the Governor's house," I say as I ruffle the paperwork on my nightstand. "You aren't a kid anymore. It's breaking and entering," I sigh as I fall back on my bed and slide my fingers under my mattress, the thick envelope greeting the tips.

"Balekin wouldn’t dare," Jude scoffs.

"Balekin, hates you, leers at you." I press my forefinger and thumb to the bridge of my nose and squeeze, the pain knitting my eyes closed. "Balekin says many things Jude. There is only abhorrence for your family, your father, deeply seeded and nourished with pale ale." My eyes find her's, there is shock there, truly. What did she expect?

"Do you hate me Cardan?"

Her question would have caught me off guard, if I didn't actually know that it was coming.

Yes.

My voice whispers across the blackness of my mind, her eyes like glass, round and waiting.

Make it easy for me, do not stare at me with those fragile eyes.

"Yes," I finally say. "Yes, I hate you. You once cursed my blackened heart, Jude, but it isn't the worm riddled, flea bitten parts of me that hates you. It's the parts that you have ignited and turned to flame."

She steps towards me and leans forward, her lips brushing against the shell of my ear as she whispers. A second later she is gone, out the window and the last light of the day fades with her.

The shower spray hits my skin like heated bullets and I watch as the water bleeds red between my toes. My hair falls into my eyes as I drag my fingers across my nose and press, I hear a faint pop from under the spray and my toes curl. I can breath again, barely. I toss around Jude’s words in my head and a smile creeps across my lips. I turn the shower knob and I’m left standing naked and in the cold.

I hear Balekin, in the other room, the television is fading in and out as he flips through the channels and I can see him through the drywall, sprawled across the couch, a blue ribbon can, clutched between his bruising fist. My smile pulls into a smug of satisfaction as I know that even though he has beat me, I have left a mark on his unblemished skin. Tomorrow, when he holds his scheduled press conference, he will wear gloves, in the middle of August and I will know that underneath them is the evidence of his abuse.

I pull a pair of black jeans on and open the bathroom door, then I break for my bedroom, my toes barely touching the wood floor, it feels as if I am flying. I click the door close softly and grab a black hoodie from my closet, pulling it over my head I make my way towards my bed, slipping into my doc martens. I flip the mattress and pull the envelope, the one that I felt earlier and tear it open. I count the bills in quick succession, the envelope now forgotten on the floor as I pocket the money down the front of my jeans. I pull a book from my nightstand and I grab a duffle from underneath my bed. I quickly pack what I may need and I brace myself to enter the hallway and head towards the front room.

I see the television from the mouth of the hallway and I count the seconds with each breath that I take. A minute goes by and the television channel has not changed, I hear a faint snoring and I exhale. I tip-toe across the room and I find Balekin’s briefcase tucked underneath the table. I feel inside the pockets until my fingers brush along something cold and heavy, my fist wrapping around the keys and I tear them from the bag. I have to tip-toe to the front door and I close it gently.

In my driveway Jude is waiting for me. Her hair is flowing in the evening breeze and she leaves me breathless with the sight of her. Her auburn hair is rolled up in two horns on her head and I can hear the little girl in the street from all those years ago. Yet, this time she isn’t screaming how much she hates me, she is whispering in my ear that she loves me. She is wearing a black tank top with a saying across the front and it makes me smile, a gut tightening, teeth bared smile and I want to fall into her eyes as they widen at me. Before I know what I am doing, my feet take me to her and I drop my bag at her feet, my hands reaching for the sides of her face and pulling her into my lips.

She tastes like spun sugar and I worry that if I am not gentle I will break her, that she will wilt in my embrace, but she pulls me closer and hugs me tighter.

“Lets go,” I say as I pull her towards the passenger side of Balekin’s black mustang.

“Wait, wait,” She whispers into the night around me. “I’m going to drive, you push and when we are down the block, I’ll start her up.”

I smile at her wonderful mind and watch her as she darts across the front of the car and jumps into the driver seat. I hear the car slink into neutral and it rolls slightly down the driveway. Tossing my bag into the back seat, I reach the backend and push, the car rolls and with every second that passes I can taste freedom. It isn't until I hear the engine roar to life and Jude’s laughter from the front seat, that I finally run towards the passenger side and jump in.

Jude hits the gas and the wind pulls at my hair and I do the one thing that I had promised myself that I would never do. I turn and look back at the house that will probably forever haunt my dreams. I smile and raise my fists to that green front door and I flip it off, a howl of laughter escaping my lungs and it feels so good to finally breathe. Without hesitation, without the worry that I would wake a sleeping beast.

Jude is to my left and there is a smile on her lips and I thank every star in the sky. Her hand weaves towards mine and I link my knuckles to hers and squeeze, bringing the back of her hand to my mouth. I kiss her flesh with vehemence and press my nose to her pulse.

I reach for the stereo, flip it on and as we drive through the night, under the shining stars, Jude sings.

"Shine on, shine on young love."

And I lean towards her and whisper in her ear. "Thank you, for saving me."

#jurdan #judan fic #jude duarte #jude x cardan #cardan greenbriar #shine on young love #mentions of violence #mentions of abuse #madoc #balekin #mortal au #childhood frienemies #to lovers #amity affliction inspo #rioawrites #blackcrowTFOTA #forbiddencorvidae

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countryshitposts · 4 years

Text

I Won’t Cry For You

Germany suffers alone.

Trigger Warnings: emotional, mental, and physical abuse, child abuse, vomiting, eating disorders, Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, suicidal thoughts, suicide attempt

"Frankreich please, I swear I really didn't hear it!" Germany reasons with his wife, his soft voice with reason has turned to a hysterical and almost-wail, but instead of convincing the woman in front of him it only gives him an uncomfortable glance and a shift of position, but her gaze becomes stern and firm, making Germany squirm a little.

"Allemagne, you were the only one left here in the office", France says in her 'mature and adult' voice; Italy would always try mimick it to make Germany feel better but now he wants to throw something - preferably soft - at her to distract her and run from this confrontation. "Surely you know what happened to why the safe is open and our money just vanished into thin air?"

Germany sputters a little; he tries to think of a good excuse to try and put himself in an innocent light - like he is - and stop Frankreich from tearing him apart piece by piece.

(He remembers all the eyes on him as he and his twin sister was revealed in this large crowd of cheering Germans, cheering for Reich and complimenting his 'children' and how East will hold his hand tighter when they are regarded as his. Ost had almost spoken out of a party, to answer a woman Third Reich, that cruel man, was not their father but West arrives in no time and ushers her into her bedroom to calm her down.

He wonders how she is doing behind the wall, seeing dozens of houses and buildings runny and downed. He stares at them for a moment, before moving on.)

"What, Allemagne, have nothing to say?" He hears her snicker and he shivers, remembering the cold room in the middle of the night with a gun on his fingers and Third Reich's laughs echoing in this closed room with absolutely no lights whatsoever. "I was right, and still am; you and your father are nothing but spineless cowards, only trying to stir trouble away from you but it doesn't and it comes back to bite you in the ass. Useless."

Germany's eyes widen, but he only keeps his eyes on the floor, lips trembling, tears threatening to spill out and screaming when they're not unleashed with a torrent, polished black shoes scratching the smooth and shiny floors with the light showing his thin, pathetic self.

(He hates the way his appearance was like- how it was all thin and delicate with no skin whatsoever and he'd try to change it but in the end he gets more and more hurt.)

But he cannot deny it; Frankreich is right of him. She is right, he is useless, he is nothing but another miserable soul in earth that was put there just to be another life form that sucks the air out of earth and waste it for his own gain. It is what Reich says; a spectre of useless things being thrown to the pages of the books being burned in the town square while others revel.

When France leaves, the tears in his eyes drop like rain; in tiny, unnoticeable small drops like a drizzle, before becoming more numerous and backing sheer amount of size as it becomes a waterfall in his face.

West silently walks his way into the building, ignoring the thrums of people he passes and they ignore him too, an invisible spec of light to behold. He opens the door to the office, and, much contradictory to the silent spell he is creating. He sits besides Italy, who was talking to Greece and not paying the slightest bit attention to him. Then again, he has always been invisible until he speaks, and that it when everyone would yelp and remember and regard that he was, in fact, there.

He opens his documents to observe the requirements of the day, pen full of ink as he starts to scribble the daily memoirs for the day. He tunes out for a little, not listening to the dramatics of everyone, the little hand waves everyone would do every so often but he does not pay attention to the slightest bit of movement or word.

That is, until, France ruins this moment of serenity.

"Allemagne was the only person in the building when the alleged crime scene happened", France says, and West's handwriting turns ugly for a bit before going back to its default style, his hands still shaking. "So, technically, that makes him our number one suspect."

He stops writing, as he feels everyone's eyes upon him, and he looks down at the ground, hating the confrontation happening, remembering the audience's eyes on he and Ost as Reich parades them in town, looking proud and almighty.

(Reich had beckoned him to sit with he and his allies, once. Reich asks West many a question to the point he could not keep up with all of them and stumbles on his words; Reich had called him an underdeveloped child and sends him on his way, but the pang was still there.

It always is.)

"Frankreich, listen to me-"

"You can't just fabricate another alibi, West; sooner or later you're going to lie yourself into a corner and be done with it."

"Es tut mir leid Frankreich aber-", he falters; he questions to why he is speaking in German, despite the fact that everyone here despises him and one time France had hit him when he spoke in his tongue. He reasons it is due to his nervousness and anxiety, his whole body shaking but he tries not to show it.

(It was a complete reverse to what went on in Reich's household.)

The beads of sweat were basically hugging his skin, making it all warmer as he fans himself with his suit, silently asking how it had grown warmer in the course of minutes.

France laughs. "What's wrong? Cat got your tongue le crètin?"

His heart stops; he remembers the insults that Reich had hurled in his way, remembering the hands and raising of fists and the cold and dark room in which he and that tyrant were always locked in as he tries not to spill any tears and minimise the shaking of his body, blonde hair covering his eyes.

He stands up, feeling his stomach plead to him for them to release the half-digested remains he had eaten in breakfast; scrapes of food he had found on his cupboards as he struggles. Germany throws a hard look at France, and, without waiting for her reaction to this, immediately runs out of the door, nausea in his veins.

He runs, his feet still light and nimble on the floors, making small squeaking sounds but wad not loud enough to alert anyone of a nearby person. He had practiced his light feet from sneaking out to meet Ost in her room, to taking food from Reich's plates and then for just not frightening or making anyone aware of his presence at all. His mouth was burning, bile covering his tongue like the millions of souls that Reich had murdered reaching out to him in his dreams.

(He had dreamt of them many times in the past, their screams of fury and horror, their protests and screams to make him confess that it was his fault, oh his fault. It is his fault that he had caused their deaths, and he tries to fight back and say he cannot do anything but they let out horrible and gruesome noises until he is on the floor, sobbing, covering his ears and confessing that yes, yes, he murdered them all.)

Germany opens the door to the bathroom, immediately running to the first stall - almost tripping - and hunches his back over the toilets, making retching sounds as his throat burns, bile creeping up his throat and seeing the remains of his breakfast in the toilet makes him vomit even more. He sobs a little, trying to compose himself, shaking even more after he unleashed a torrent of his remains. He shakes, as he stands, wiping the edges of his mouth with the back of his wrist, before looking at himself in the mirror.

He makes notes of his now messy blonde hair, sad green eyes showing how much he had cried this day, the messed up suit. Germany exits the bathroom, looking at the direction of the office where he had ran off to and the exit. He turns on his heel.

He has no motivation to go back to the meeting.

Germany desires for a drink, but he abstains from that thought; he cannot return to a meeting by simply being drunk, no, he would make an ass of himself even more, and will be the subject of ill-willed jokes for months. He would pass bars that offer the best of beers, but he shakes his head from that thought- he had also realised that he left his wallet in the coat rack at the front of the building, and he swears silently at the loss of it.

(At least he won't go wasting his fortune on little drinks, that is a plus.)

He finds a park bench he can sit in, looking absolutely miserable, not minding the others' staring and the looks they give of him, of him displaying the vibe of an employee who was fired from his job.

Germany would usually stare off into space if he cannot get the slightest bit of the revelries of being drunk- the way his eyes will dilate, his mind bring him into a different world just as bad as this one, and his limbs going slack as if he had fallen asleep in all of this. The voices in his mind would make him imagine gruesome thoughts, and he lets them control him like a puppet with strings, since that is what he is, right? Nothing more, nothing less. At least he would not deal with the consequences of a hangover in the morning, head pounding and stumbling as he makes his way downstairs and visit the pharmacy store to buy painkillers.

The guilt inside of him is easy to be played with, and he lets everyone take advantage to the softest of pleas to the most direct of them all.

He does not fight back as he gives them what he wants.

He stands from the bench, feeling himself drained from thinking of these thoughts. He throws a glance to the people at the park; elderly men and women feeding the ducks, young couples having their first dates in underneath the trees while the children are playing and their parents are setting up the picnic table in a relaxed manner.

Sometimes Germany wishes he can be as relaxed as them; not these contorted limbs that had always been aching and hurting and making him want to cut them off one by one until he is limbless.

Feeling utterly sick to his stomach, he leaves the park to go look for a way to calm himself down of the insult.

He breaths in- t'was just an insult; he has no right to get angry or sad or offended by it.

It just brings back some horrible memories.

But horrible memories are meant to be sidelined to make way for happier and joyous memories.

(It is bold enough to assume he even has one.)

And horrible memories shouldn't be brought up on the dinner table; that's just going to make everyone hate you more instead of pitying your sorry face.

So he keeps them bottled up; only using them as a leverage to get some exquisite excuses from his mind and sometimes his line of work, whenever it gets stressful for him to even function.

(He'd have days like these- days where he is plagued by the ultimate failure and outcome of his mind that he cannot even begin to process the fact that he has a life other than being sad and lonely and being mad for the fact that his father up and abandon them to snap and become the most evil man he has ever witnessed.)

West kicks a rather empty can back to where it had come from, an abandoned and moldy alley with no light coming from there. He stares at it for a little; how he had unknowingly kicked a priced vase from its foundation and how Reich had heard that shatter and immediately fumed once he sees West's frail figure trying to pick up the broken pieces of the vase but ends up cutting himself, pricking his fingers and drawing in an amount of blood. He had remembered the insults and words thrown onto his face as he tries not to cry, but he does and Reich even grows more furious, his hand raised to hit him.

But it never did, instead he was laughing and making fun of the way West's body quivers in fear and tells him he's only joking; no need to overreact.

But West knows that he will never hesitate to hit him even in his most simplest of mistakes.

He now desires for a smoke, but he has neither the cigarettes nor lighter to even light one- he swears once again, now really regretting not bringing his wallet with him. He wants to get blackout drunk by now.

He passes by a fine-dining restaurant, with everyone seeming like they are having a good time with their friends and family, and he pauses his feet, looking through the glass like it is an ideal dream- unreachable, yet it can exist if he can just try. He remembers his father, feeding he and Ost with the scrapes of food he finds in the streets, and he feels content with even the single particle enter his stomach. Then it is replaced by a memory of Reich giving him only a meal a day; if West ever dared step out of his boundaries he will never be given a meal that day and will be left to starve.

(West had objected to this the first few times, of course.

"Papa would let me eat despite the fact I broke a frame!", he had said in front of Reich, who was smoking a cigar, puffing out a cloud of smoke.

"The only frame you'd be breaking is yours- except for the fact, it is already broken." Reich laughs at his joke as West's eyes immediately go downward.)

He jolts at the sudden memory in his mind - stop giving him painful memories you useless sack of membrane - stepping backwards and landing onto somebody's arms, and he looks up to find a concerned man and woman - perhaps husband and wife - looking down at him.

"Are you alright, young man?", the man holding him asks, and West steels himself and gets up from where he was being aided from; he did not need to be babied, that perspective of his life had come to a close once his father had turned.

(Germany must confess, but he wanted to be held, nurtured, cared for and loved in someone's arms once again, back to the times someone actually loved him before two people had the complete and utter gall to take them away and place him in a different surrounding where his sister hates him and everyone is against him.)

"I'm fine", Germany replies to the man, stepping back a little, "just a little... dazed."

"It's just... you've been walking 'round the place with quite a solemn look, like something has been on your mind."

Germany shakes his head and smiles, knowing full well it is plastic. "Really, I am fine- I just have a lot of things in my mind right now."

The man nods, "All right, off we go then. I do hope that you sort out whatever issues you are dealing with right now." With that, the couple walks off; leaving Germany in his thoughts once again and completely solemn.

He wonders if there are any vacant high-scaled buildings he can break in in the middle of the night.

Germany wakes up screaming after a nightmare. He gets up from the bed, unconsciously throwing his nightly glass of water to the walls, its shattered wails of glass desecrating his night - or day, he has lost time really - and screams even more when he remembers the horrible sounds of shattered glass to the screams of his people running rampant to Ost telling him they both need to jump out the window to escape the wrath of the enemies. West throws his sheets upon himself, utterly shaking from head-to-toe, trying to make himself relax, all his joints swollen and throat in pain after the high screams from his nightmare.

(He doesn't remember his dream; all he knows was that at first everything was white and then it faded to a crimson red of the blood his alleged victims had owned and the blue-stains signifying his tears.)

West gets up from his bed and unwraps himself from his blankets, looking around cautiously like the ghost of the past has been left behind to haunt him forever. Yet the ghost of the past is him; he is a living memory of what Reich had done, and he will be the one to blame for the next century or so.

(Sometimes he'd jump back from a reflection of him- scared at how he looks so much like his father to the point it is rather jarring.)

West was not fond of handling steak or kitchen knives at three in the morning, with his skin full of thin lines are tingling underneath his long sleeves, thirsting for the sharp metal to bury deep into his skin but he denies them with all his might despite the fact he eyes it- eyes the way it shines underneath the kitchen's ceiling light, calling him, tempting him to come have a taste of what the knife can do.

He sighs a little before ultimately giving up at making himself a snack at three, knowing full well he could not trust himself with a knife. Or any sharp object in general.

He decides not to eat anything at all, remembering the way he vomited out contents of his stomach at a single mention of the awful and horrible things Reich had done. Of course, has not eaten anything since yesterday, preferring having an empty stomach retching over the toilet trying to spill its contents into the bowl than a full one- his appetite would immediately become lost.

So Germany blankly opens the television and spends the rest of his free time before going back to his work place of pure torture. Not like he'd find a good movie or show to watch; he sincerely thinks that real life was much more entertaining than a measly motion picture with scripted words and actions and romance to top it all off.

(The way he sees it, he feels as if the romance of all the complicated movies and series he has seen are rushed; a handsome, dashing man and a damsel in distress falling in love, kissing passionately at the very end to show all that they are a couple, they are together, and everyone will be happy of their love. All the while, Germany would clench at his fists hard and crush the utter soul of what he is holding.

He had love. He had love a long time ago, before it came crashing down like tidal waves pinning him down to the deep blue sea and forever rendering him without his sister and father to guide him endlessly.)

He lets himself melt into the suffocating couch, sighing a little from how soft it feels on his back, contradictory to the fact that he can still feel the bruises Reich had caused on it, still throbbing with pain every time he presses them onto a hard surface. (Which is why his chairs on every meeting is stacked with pillows; he knows he cannot have his back mangled from both work and a painful past.)

He then stiffens when he hears a gunshot- then it starts to multiply a lot in his ears, amplifying it to the sounds of many a soldier screaming and ordering in German, then a shot towards he himself, a scared and trembling boy who tries his damnedest to lift the heavy armed weapon on his arms as he, with quivering feet, try catching up with the older men who were completely ignoring him to save their own asses.

"Bitte... lass mich alles vergessen." He silently prays to no one in particular; he has never had believed in a single faith after his childhood came crashing down to reveal the outside world in the most sickening and twisting of ways, twisting his mind until he cannot make up what is real and what is not anymore. "Bitte... bitte..."

His nerves start to rack as all of his senses were now on fire, trying to claw their way into his skull and he grits his teeth, opening and then closing his eyes again when he sees that everything around him is as dark as the death of the night, no stars nor light was there to guide him. He tries to stand, but his legs had turned as soft as jelly, and he stumbles with a hard thud- but it doesn't hurt him, only giving him a slight amplifying when his heart starts to beat, faster and racing like they were trying to catch up with his nerves settling into him. He tries to feel his hands, but they were numb, like they were settled deep into a blockade of ice where they stayed for an hour or two before completely being submerged frozen. His chest was heaving, pounding outwards like there was a beast inside him waiting to be let out so they can murder him. He can feel the wetness of his cheeks, though, and opens his mouth to let out a muffled sob but nothing comes out (if something did come out he'd choke it back down).

He tries to calm himself down - which was now a daily occurrence - because he knows no one will acknowledge him, no one will care that he's having panic attacks in three in the morning and trying to control himself from taking the knife and giving himself a variety of cuts and bruises along his skin.

No one will care.

And that's a fact he has to live with.

"You have the nerve to show your face here again?" Germany's green eyes slither towards the towering figure that was Frankreich, always high and mighty, always proud, and always antagonizing him no matter what he has to do. His eyes go back to the documents he was writing.

"I work here, Frankreich", he says softly but can still be heard by everyone in the room, "please leave me be."

He hears the woman laugh, her laugh just as warm and thick with honey as her voice. "Ah, so the la mauviette learns how to talk back to his higher-ups, hm?"

He ignores her, despite the fact he knows she doesn't have an inclination towards being ignored, loving the attention, loving the spotlight that may sometimes be meant to others.

(One time he sees Italy and France arguing about something he cannot hear, except for the fact that France was complaining about how she 'didn't have enough screen time' and Italy looking genuinely apologetic.)

"Rèponds-moi- I do not want to be ignored."

The sounds of scribbling paper fills the room, the entire office becoming eerily quiet for Germany's taste, and he wonders if France did have a specific touch on the building to let everyone know that drama was happening.

"RÈPONDS-MOI, SALE ALLEMAND!" Her shriek, which is an octave higher than her voice, makes West's handwriting sloppier as he jumps from his seat with his hair a mess from the jolt. His shaken eyes turn back to France, jaw locked, eyes murderous and bloodshot, her fingers on his desk.

(No, this did not bring him bad memories of Reich, absolutely not.)

"Ah, so I can get your attention from shouting", France says, a tiny smirk dancing across her face, a malicious intent in her eyes. "What? Scared I'll come to your room and murder you in cold blood?"

I am not afraid of murder, Germany wants to say but bites his tongue, knowing he'd provoke France even further than he did before.

"You are", she says with a small chuckle as she retracts her fingers from his table slowly, like she was going to raise it and scratch his face with her nails. "I think I know what else will frighten you."

She raises her hand, clenched to a fist, and Germany gasps; all of a sudden the warm air around the room has been shattered, replaced by the familiar chill he has always felt whenever he was around, whenever his shadow lurks in the darkness, watching, eyeing him and whenever he shows up in his delusions that are called dreams in his slumber. And he remembers those tainted red eyes of madness, showing no remorse as he strikes East after she had misbehaved his order, and then him, cowering in fear underneath the staircases but he receives a blow, horrible and it repeats and repeats, the blows becoming more and more painful as pain blossoms into his body while he apologizes, knowing full well Reich would never listen.

"ES TUT MIR LEID!" He did not know when he had stumbled into the ground, out of his chair, into the cold and hard floors, sweating, chest heaving and breath quickening, seeing the shadow of the ruthless dictator he had come to despise all his life, and not France. "Vergib mir! Bitte! Hit me but not her!" He starts to choke and sob, a river of tears running down his cheeks, gritting his teeth.

(Was he aware that he was foolishly breaking his own walls in front of people who dislike him? Perhaps, or he is hallucinating he was in his room once again talking to a shadow of that man.)

He screams when he feels someone's hand on his shoulder, and scrambles back like a rat against all human touches and wanting to get away from them. "GET AWAY! DU BIST NICHT VATER! Ich will meinen Vater! WO IST ER!" His eyes sesrch frantically at the sea of faces, trying to decipher who was the kind and caring father that had raised him over the years with his kind smile and lively attitude, and breaks down into sobs, crawling into a fetal position when he cannot find him.

(France hears Allemagne repeat Weimar and Ost's names, crying his heart out as he puts his face into his hands, his fingers digging into his skin. All the while, she did not know what had triggered this, and she looks at her fist with a confused look.)

The whole room is now full of nerve-racking sobs, when the man in front of them reverts back to a young boy that wants his family back.

Austria hears impatient knocks on his door, and he sighs, sitting up from where he was sitting and pinching the bridge of his nose, silently deciding whether to abandon his music composition briefly or answer the door. He decides to come downstairs, in his bathrobe and hurries down towards the door, where in which the troublesome knocks were resonating.

"Darf ich Ihnen helfen?", he asks calmly, until he fully registers who was at his doorstep-

France looks at him awkwardly, feet shifting from left to right and hands on her back. "Puis-je te demander quelque chose?"

France takes a sip of her cup of tea which Austria had brewed, placing it on the tray on the small coffee table as she puts her hands on her lap daintily.

(Austria knows that her dainty and fragile features mask the she-wolf of a woman that she is; that her innocent looks and pure smiles can mean something else and everyone who has fallen under her spell has suffered a terrible fate, a poisonous apple.)

"Third Reich", Austria spits his name out of his mouth, like a forbidden curse. "You are aware of the fact Weimar turned into him, correct?"

France rolls her eyes, "Of course I know. I wasn't born yesterday you know."

"Well, you see, the twins are quite attached to their father; something you can never relate to." He flicks his finger, a tiny snap as his eyes carefully flickers to a portrait of Liechtenstein. "When they realized their father was replaced by a terrible and god-awful man, oh, were they devastated."

"Well, from the way Allemagne was crying of his father today I can see it." France mentally slaps herself after she lets the remark slip out of her mouth, and now Austria was glaring at her, holding his cup of tea.

He sighs, "Well, I cannot critique you; I made no help to both of them, with the delusion of still being in power." He sighs a little, guilt lingering in his voice as he fixes his glasses. "Why do you need my help again?"

France's leg starts to bounce, "Because, Austria, I want to know why Allemagne overreacted to me almost hitting him yesterday."

Austria's eyes give off another slight irritation, as if not wanting to talk about how everything all went wrong yesterday.

(He was, of course, there, obviously- he had just gotten back from the coffee room only to see West on the floors with everyone standing like a deer in the headlights and France nowhere to be seen. He and Schweiz had to soothe Germany out of his fetal position and support him while walking. The nerve-wracking sobs remind Austria of Confederation and he was close to sobbing as well.)

"If you were such a 'smart' woman as you put it", Austria puts finger quotations on the word 'smart', much to France's dismay, "then you would know how much harshness Reich treated those twins of Weimar."

France leans uncomfortably into her chair, looking at the steam rising from her cup of tea like it was a phantom offering her something else in the cup, a woman giving her a thousand knowledge in one life time. She sighs, "Look, I know me and the others were at fault for his demise-"

"It's not entirely your fault too", Austria cuts in, "it is partially also Weimar's for accepting the ghost in his head telling him of promises so he can take what was his."

"Alright, back to the topic", France swivels, "I've noticed something peculiar about Germany. About the way he's always really silent that when he speaks everyone just jumps because they're unaware he was in the same room as them; the way he jumps when someone makes a loud noise; the way he asks people if this seat or place is taken despite the fact that he actually is seated there; and just yesterday, when I tried to hit him he just spent half an hour on the floors, grovelling, until you helped him up."

Austria thinks for a moment, lips pursed as if contemplating how this situation had gone to a topsy-turvy. "Have you ever considered that this net behavior of West can stem from years of hurt and pain?"

France blinks, "I thought he was just anxious and shy-"

"You thought wrong, Frankreich", Austria says, glowering a little. "You'll always assume even the most basic of things. I've seen West being hit and belittled by Reich, while that disgusting man had enjoyed his pain and misery." His face shows more regret once again. "But what do I know? I turned a blind eye on them all. The next thing I knew Reich was dead in his office, West is in the Allies' custody, and East is now with the Soviet Union."

France sighs a little, "Listen, I've done something horrible to Allemagne, that I can tell; and I want to... help him."

Austria scoffs, gripping the handle of his cup hard. "Help? I think you've done your part on helping the poor boy. You think hitting him will make you feel satisfied at the fact you made a boy grovel at your feet? That is not helping; you are doing the same thing Reich did."

"And what did Reich do?"

The man in front of her chuckles, like he has seen a hilarious move right in front of him. "Isn't it obvious? He hits, starves, and misuses the twins to the point they are broken beyond belief."

"I... I didn't know that bastard would do that to his own children!" France tries to find some evidence so she can prove herself justifiable of why she had tried to hit West in the first place. Her mind gives her a conscience instead of a reliable excuse though- she wanted to hit West to see how much his mind will topple over and break him like the fragile glass in abandoned buildings and even in her own home in which she drunkenly throws all of her glasses of wine into the walls.

Österreich glares at her with a magnitude of a thousand suns looking to strike her down. "Now you know, and now... I do not know. If you would've given the boy a chance, then he would not be scarred by days past. He would not wallow in guilt on what has become in his life and how he should make it up to every single one of you. I can only be here for him for a short while before he goes back to his home in a pitying manner, before he goed nd play with that razor blade-"

France's heart stops for a second as she jolts up from where she was sitting. "Wait... Allemagne hurts himself?"

The sadness in Austria's eyes increase as he looks back at the cup in his hands. "He does; I tried so much to get him out of those manners but he would not listen- he keeps telling me he will kill himself when the timing is right, when the sea meets the sky."

France feels more and more feelings of guilt churn inside of her; who is she to mock the German family when even she was just as terrible as they are? And she remembers the awful things she has told about West and his sister and father, even right in front of him or in earshot like she has no care for his feelings and treating him as a person even lower than she.

She stands, "Thank you for the small talk, Austria, but now I have to go."

He gives her a small wave of farewell as she closes the door behind her, cup of tea already cold.

The air at the roof of the building was quite cold and chilly- like the cold floors that Reich would press West upon or the even harsher winters in which he is thrown outside after pushing Reich's buttons too much so now he has to sleep in front of the door he has been kicked out of, with thin clothes and freezing to death as he tries to plead with Reich to take him home.

(He'd cry and weep as he shakes with the shattering snowflakes as the tears on his face freeze up as his body becomes frozen and he crawls into a sitting position to conceal the warmth that still resonates within him.

Reich would only open the door when he is unconscious and would take him in like the loving father figure he is, wrapping him up in blankets and hiring the best doctors to help heal him. When West came to, he would shout at Reich but he'd simply laugh and say he has saved his life from the hazardous cold of the winter season.)

He takes the burnt out cigarette that has been stuck on his mouth for long as he drops it to the ground and steps on it as he grows closer, tantalizingly closer to the edge. The wind becomes colder and stronger, screaming at him to back away unless he deserves the terrible fate he's always did and steps on the edge to see what lies beyond the top of the very building.

West's eyes scan the neighbouring buildings, full of blinkering yellow lights that show people going on about their mundane but impacting lives, at how, in introspection, these lives are not worthwhile in the history books and that only the people living their lives fully know what has happened; not even their closest relatives will know of their deepest secrets and dreams and fears, only the speck of imagination that came out of their mouth is the only knowledge their closest companions will absorb of. He looks down at the speeding cars, wondering if he falls down from this great height and be flattened by the ashphalt road, will the cars zooming in such a high or moderate speed stop when they see some large thing fall from the sky in heaven's grace? Or would they simply ignore and accidentally run over his mangled corpse?

His polished dark shoe is camouflaged with the dark sky, as he taps to create a small cadence before his untimely - but expected - death. He takes a deep breath - his last - closing his eyes and to calm his beating heart, which was protruding from his chest and wishing to escape.

Not to worry, he tells his beating heart, you will be free after I fall off this building.

West takes a cautionary step outside the edge of the building, his shoe touching thin air, trying to see if it can carry him away from oblivion, away from its taste, trying hard to seduce him into the dark side, lips tainted with past lovers. He exhales, letting out all his stress, trauma, hate and sadness that has been plaguing him like a sickness in all the years after Reich had been created (his father was a fool).

So he leans- leans into the very edge, waiting for his inevitable death to sweep him into the afterlife, where he belongs.

A hand holding on his wrist stops him, and now he is frozen on the edge, like the sculptures of a fountain he has seen numerous times before. And then he is pulled back, pulled back to the bittersweet tastes of imminent death, his eyes looking back down to the ground waiting patiently for him, trying to comprehend that a body would not drop to their hard bed that easily.

Instead of fighting, he feels numb; like the only safe way to close the curtains of his life is down. He cannot feel his hands, like he had just inhaled another fresh bag of cocaine and spread it all over his systems like a fresh batch of flour had just rubbed off into him. West then feels himself coming to his senses, as he is brought back to the world of living he hated and will always hate and into warm arms that scoops him up like a swan.

"Allemagne, can you hear me?" The voice was sweet, pure but with the touch of concern in it, like she cares, oh she cares at how far West has fallen down. Her hands finds West's cheeks, warm with tears he did not know had appeared on his face during his time being saved by the light that has always hated him ever since he was born. "S'il te plait dis quelque chose, Allemagne."

West stares up at the night sky, stars blinking and twinkling all above him like they will shower him with gifts, gifts that will never make sense in a lifetime. His eyes search the skies, to find the constellations moving to form his sister, his dear sister that had pushed him away when they had reunified, smiling down at him just like in the old days, when spring felt warm in his hands as it devours the icy winters, touching the frozen wasteland that had become second nature. The constellations move again to form his father, his dear and loving father he had loved from the beginning to the end of his life, anger suddenly dissipating when he remembers the real reason why he became desperate, clutching at short straws before succumbing to the deepest and darkest desires of his mind, working like a needle for him to grapple at and sew his own life story.

(He reminisces about the small but comfortable apartment they had once lived; he was always never alone, he was always never sad nor angry, especially when it was with their father and Ost, so happy and so peaceful, until like a picture they were torn apart by the great grand scheme of things.)

And he sees her, burning like a supernova under the stars, the sun expanding and expanding and expanding until it wholly occupies the space where all life exists, her troubled face looking down at him with such intensity that he could not bear look at her eyes of hurt, knowing he's disappointed her, over and over again.

Frankreich's hands feel like the sun underneath his tear-covered cheeks, ultimately caressing him and then taking him by her arms, like they were the best of friends, the worst of enemies, dying in battle. "Je suis vraiment désolé." There she goes again, cradling him like a small and vulnerable infant unready for the world to take them out, but he enjoys it, he enjoys her embrace, he enjoys everything about this feeling, as if he had not felt it in a long time.

So he stays.

Es tut mir leid Frankreich aber- i'm sorry France but

Bitte ... lass mich alles vergessen- please, let me forget everything

Rèponds-moi- answer me

Vergib me- forgive me

Du bist nicht vater- you are not my father

Ich will meinen vater, wo ist er- i want my father, where is he

Darf ich Ihnen helfen?- may i help you

puis-je te demander quelque chose- can i ask you something

S'il te plait dis quelque chose- please say something

Je suis vraiment désolé- i'm so sorry

#mine #countryhumans #writing #GerFra #countryhumans germany #countryhumans france #countryhumans austria #countryhumans weimar republic #countryhumans east germany #tw: suicide attempt #tw: child abuse #tw: emotional trauma #tw: abuse

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moonlightstars16 · 4 years

Text

Chapter 5 ~ Library Introductions

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"Are you understanding everything so far Connie?" Pearl asked while pausing her lecture and teachings about the royal Diamond life. She knew Connie had to become familiar or else they could do unspeakable things to her. It was most imperative since she will be joining her and Steven on all meetings regarding the 'Cluster' project. Still with all the knowledge given, Pearl was surprised she could keep up and, it would seem, to retain everything. Supposing it wasn't to far off from humanity's royal lifestyle, rules and proper etiquette. With the Diamonds, one can never be too cautious or prepared.

"Yes Pearl, never speak unless addressed and salute and bow when entering the room." Her notes were detailed and organized just like her old cram school notes were. It was easier to think of them as such than her current circumstances. Still the thought of what transpired only a couple of hours ago left her clutching the transparent tablet tightly, as if she would fall if not holding onto something.

'Warmth touched her skin as she began to awaken. Blinking twice as if disbelieving of her own eyes. Forcing herself to realize this wasn't a dream, she slowly sat up. Hand rubbing the side of her head from a slight discomfort, though it could've been for everything happening to her at once. Moaning she looked up and gasped, not expecting him to be sitting next to her so casually. Instead of anger, she couldn't tell what sort of expression he was trying to convey. Perhaps it as nothing.

"How are you feeling?" Was that a genuine concern he held in his voice?

"I-I'm fine-" Gritting her teeth and shutting her eyes tight at the sudden pain in her head throbbing. Her hands gripping a blanket, just now realizing it partially covered over her. On instinct she laid her head back onto the pillows. Moaning slightly from the discomfort she felt. Unexpectedly a cooling and soft sensation touched her forehead. Barley opening her eyes to see Steven holding a cloth dipped in cold water. It instantly eased her pain and gave her the idea that the water was perhaps from the fountain. Still she was curious as to why he was doing this in the first place.

"Shh... just relax." Then he smiled, an actual smile! Connie could't believe how genuine it actually was. Or how it appeared to be that is. Hesitant to truly trust anything coming from him. Soon the pain she felt diminished and he lifted the wet cloth from her head, placing it to the side before returning his attention all on her. She truly was beautiful and with a fire beneath her innocence, that made her even more radiant. Reaching out he gently caressed her hair down to her cheek. Inhaling sharply at his touch, and taking note of how gentle he was. "How does it feel?" His voice, deep, calm and caring it would seem, even she couldn't deny that. Soon it occurred to her that she hadn't said anything and the silence was going on for too long.

"Oh, um, it's okay... I don't feel anymore pain."

"Good"

"Um...my eyesight.... did you- I mean-..." she sighed trying to figure out how to word it.

"Yes I did." Her eyesight was pretty much crystal clear. So much so she could see a lot more detail than before. Including him. Which was a bit more nerve wracking in this moment with how close he was. His exactly half mask with only his eye from that side of his face shining through. At first glance it was frightening to see, however in this moment she saw more than a fearsome look. She saw what appeared to be soft, tender and gentleness. It was almost comforting though a bit odd with his rough exterior.

"Thank you..."

"Hmm" His hand lingered on her cheek momentarily before moving to the back of her neck. The other slipped around her lower back as he lifted her up. Quickly her pillows were adjusted so she could sit up better. Instinctively, her hands reached up against his shoulders (much firmer than she thought) to keep her balanced. There eyes met for a brief moment and for the first time she could see his more clearly. Though similar to any human eye, his were pitch black, the only color was a pink pupil in the shape of a diamond. He smirked and chuckled slightly causing her to snap out of her haze. "Are you enjoying the view?" Those words felt vial and full of arrogance. Immediately Connie pushed him away, which wasn't that far but enough so she couldn't feel how close he was.

"I'm fine" her tone full of that fiery spirit he loved to see coming from her. Standing up he walked towards the door.

"If that's the case, Pearl will see you in ten minutes to discuss some important matters." Before leaving, he glanced back and gave her a wicked smile. "That fire within you will surely help you fit in. Though will it be enough?" Connie's eyes widened and a blush crept her cheeks, while echos of his laughter ringed in her eyes as she left.

"Connie.....Connie?!" Pearls voice snapped her out of her thoughts. "This is very important and your focus is imperative before our first meeting with them soon!"

"I'm sorry, you're right I need to focus." Sighing Pearl shut off her tablet and ran her hand through her hair.

"I think that's enough for today. Why don't you take a break and we'll pick it up tomorrow?" She was obviously very tired and need to rest. 'Especially after all she's been through.'

"Are you sure? What will Steven say-"

"Oh just tell him I told you to take a break. If he has any problems with that, well he can surely try to pick a fight with me." Connie giggled at her amusing tone, believing every word. "Now go and get some rest." She added with a smile.

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The castle architecture was similar to earths medieval, Victorian, Gothic style...with some gem interior mixed in as well. Still it was beautifully haunting. Every corridor lit with candelabras, melting wax candles, red carpet, and many shadows. Though frightening at first glance, her curiosity kept her going. Her fingers grazed the dark wooden railings and her gaze looked up to see another beautiful chandelier. Not realizing where she was going, a green gem with a triangle shaped hairstyle bumped into her. Causing the gem to fall backwards and her transparent tablet to fall out of her hands.

"Hey! Watch where you're going, you Clod!" Connie held out her hand for the gem currently on the floor.

"I'm so sorry! Here let me help you!" She smiled while the gem eyed her in curiously, taken aback from this unexpected gesture. Hesitantly she accepted and stood up with her help.

"I would take it that you are the human everyone is talking about?" the gem eyed her through twin diamond specs observing everything about her. Though Connie didn't quite know how to feel about the fact she was the topic of everyone's conversations.

"I suppose so, I'm Connie. What's your name?"

"You care to know my name? Why?" she looked kinda shocked that someone even took the slightest interest in her and not her abilities.

"Oh well I guess it's because I want to get to know you better. To be your friend." A flicker of hope seemed to flash across the gem's eyes, before she shook her head and stood straight. Doing the Diamond salute Connie learned from earlier.

"My name is Peridot Facet-2F5L Cut-5XG!" That was a lot of info still it made her smile. She noticed that the long name might've been unnecessary. "You can call me just Peridot if you want."

"Well Peridot it's nice to meet you, and I'm sorry I bumped you to the floor." Connie laughed slightly, embarrassed and showing an apologetic smile.

"It's not important now, no worries. But I have to ask, what were you doing?"

"Well I was just walking around, getting used to my surroundings I suppose...and perhaps a bit lost along the way." she admitted sighing. This place seemed at least three times that of a large human castle. And that's saying something because those seemed to small in comparison!

"Oh! I can help you with that! Come with me!" Peridot said excitedly while grabbing Connie's hand and rushing through the East wing. It took all her strength to keep up and not trip. They ran until a huge double door, dressed in gold trimmings, stood before them. Connie barely had time to admire the design before Peridot pushed the door open, dragging her inside. "Lapis! Bismuth! Come here quickly!"

"Who?" The question barley escaped her lips as she took in the most beautiful, grand and incredible library she ever laid her eyes upon. Her eyes twinkling at the sight of how large it was and filled with many stories. And quite human like as well. Hardly anything gem related connected to this room

"We're coming Peridot, hold on!" From above Connie saw a beautiful blue silhouette with wings made up of what appeared to be water. If she hadn't already known she was a gem, she would've surely mistaken her for a water nymph or fairy. The gem in question landed right before them. A tad taller than Connie and even more so than Peridot, not that it was a bad thing. the gem eyed her over briefly.

"Is she-?"

"Yes, Lapis!" Peridot interrupted "I met her in the hallways!" Not sure what about that was exciting. Still she gave Lapis a friendly smile as well.

"Hi, my name is Connie."

"Connie? Well that is a beautiful name!" A powerful booming like voice echoed through the enormous and open room. She turned her head to see a larger gem, with in her gem going inwards instead of out and streaks of rainbow in her hair with a more silver complexion. "I'm Bismuth! Welcome to our home!" The kindness in there voices almost made her cry. Pearl was nice but was Steven's second in command, Greg showed more kindness and yet was still his father.

Though he did not approve of what he did, his heart was broken from loosing his love. Almost seeming like he was blind to it all. Not really of course but the hesitation was prominent. Spinel....wasn't a gem to cross paths against. But these gems seemed different than the others in a sense, her gut told her she could trust them. Maybe she could get through this after all.

"Thank you, it's truly nice to meet you all here. I'm beyond grateful to have met such kind gems."

"Well I'm sure you can use a friendly face after what you have been through." Bismuth said with a bit more gentleness in her tone and a genuine smile.

"I suppose everyone here as heard." Her face downcast and blushing of embarrassment.

"Well it's not every day a human is willing to come here." Bismuth added with a nervous chuckle, her hand scratching the back of her head.

"But why did you give yourself up?" Lapis asked with a look mixed of confusion and concern.

"Yeah, that is a puzzling thing to grasp. Even with all my calculations I still don't understand." Peridot replied adding onto the conversation. Connie rubbed her right arm and sighed remembering the moment she last saw her father. Tears threatening to brim her eyes as she blinked them back whilst taking in a deep breath.

"In the moment all I thought about was saving my father. I couldn't stand to loose him. It wasn't till he gave me the opportunity to change my mind, that I truly felt the weight of what I have said burdened on my shoulders. I suppose I said yes because, even if I stood by and did nothing, it would be like I had murdered them myself. I- I don't want anyone else to get hurt."

"Well Connie, you truly are courageous to do what you did. I'm sure the humans back on earth are grateful for your bravery."

"Bismuth is right! You're a hero!" Peridot exclaimed proudly which made Connie giggle briefly, until she heard her next comment. "Yes I'm sure when you return, they will have made a huge statue in your honor!"

"That is if I return home..." Connie spoke softly walking towards a chair to sit upon.

"What do you mean 'if you return'? don't you want to go back home?" Lapis asked once again full of concern as she sat down next to her.

"I- I made another deal with...him..." Upon hearing that they gasped, eyes widening at the sudden new piece of information. Peridot and Bismuth gathered closer as Connie explained the deal and how it came to be. When she was finished recounting the events, she took another deep breath as Lapis gave her a handkerchief to wipe away a few tears that had fallen.

Feeling beyond tired of crying and embarrassed of doing it in front of anyone. Gently Dabbing away the tears she felt on her cheeks and her eyes, she ran her fingers through her hair. "I'm sorry to have bothered you with all this." A nervous laugh escaped her briefly.

"Hon, don't ever feel like you're a bother to us. It's been an overwhelming turn of events for you. I can't speak for everyone in this room, but I know you can tell me anything." Bismuth spoke in the most comforting and caring voice she could muster.

"And me too!" Peridot chimed in with a large grin.

"Well gem or not I think you're pretty amazing. Same goes for me." Lapis contributed while her lips curled upward.

"Besides I think it would be nice to see Steven force fed a piece of humble pie." Bismuth added as they all laughed.

"Thank you, you all are so sweet. But I'm not sure if I can stand up to him... not with humanity on the line." Bismuth's hands overlapped hers, Connie, in turn, lifted up her gaze.

"Listen, like I said it took great courage for you to sacrifice yourself for humanity. But I believe this was meant to be, maybe you're the hero not only humans need, but what we all need as gems. Perhaps even saving Steven's life from eternal darkness." She put a hand up before Connie could interject. "I know it's a lot to ask of you, no ones going to force you to do it. But please know whatever you decide, we will stand by your side. Help you in any way we can." Bismuth was right, it was a lot to take in for her. However knowing she had friends was all she needed right now.

"Geez Bismuth, why don't you say she'll overthrow the Diamond monarchy while you're at it." Lapis remarked with a sigh and her fingers slightly pinching her furrowed brows.

"Oh right theirs another goal for you!" Bismuth said sarcastically while snapping her fingers which made Connie laugh and Lapis rolling her eyes.

"Wait, you're not serious right?" Peridot innocently asked seeing how the sarcastic bit went over her head. That made them all laugh harder as Connie tried to explain the joke. Feeling much better already since she arrived here. All three gems soon gave her the grand tour of the library, filled with human books that they had collected over the years.

However unbeknownst to them was a certain pink gem; watching them amongst the shadows, watching her. She couldn't stand what was happening at all. With the other gems befriending her and vice versa, she realized she would have to get involved in order to get what she desired. This human was turning out to be a much difficult adversary than she expected.

"You still watching this pathetic human? Why?" Jasper spoke wrapping an arm around Spinel's waist, kissing her neck multiple times.

"I won't let her be a thorn in my side. If I am to be in a position of power soon, I must do whatever it takes to maintain it." Her voice low and threatening before lifting up Jasper's head and kissing his lips passionately. Taking her away back to her quarters.

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Outside in the castle garden, Steven had taken a break from composing reports and ideas for the upcoming project, walking amongst the courtyard. His mind become clear as he felt the cool breeze around him. Sometimes a quiet stroll through the garden(and perhaps with lion at times) was sometimes needed; to clear his head from the thoughts he fought so hard to suppress. A sound of what seemed to be laughter echoed in the wind, catching his attention.

following the sound he looked up into the Library window. Noting the merriment that Peridot, Lapis and Bismuth were making. It was slightly puzzling since they hadn't been this happy in a long time. But when he saw her, it all made much more sense. Watching Connie as she laughed, smiled and placed many books upon the shelves, along with the others, seeming as if she enjoyed the company and the activity. 'So...she likes to read...' He thought memorizing all that he was witnessing in that moment.

Unintentionally he had a small smile appear at the corner of his lips (though no one would be able to see since his mask hid half of his face). Unable to look away from someone so angelic as she was. Perhaps it would be nice to have someone by his side. He then shook his head from the thought reaching up to touch his mask, just barley.

'No...don't fool yourself. A beast is what you are and always will be.'

#shatteredbloodsufau #au #fanfiction #evil steven #steven universe #steven universe future #steven and connie #connie mahaswaren #connverse #garnet #amethyst #pearl #greg universe #spinel #the diamonds #pink diamond #pink steven

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saundraswriting · 4 years

Text

Interior Design Chapter 4: Accept

SUMMARY:You official declare your acceptance of the job for the Avengers, knowing it will be the biggest one you will ever work on. You start right away.

WARNINGS: None

NOTES: This is an everyone lives/no one dies, Living in the compound, Non Civil War compliant, No Sokovian Accords AU.

Previous / Next

"Oh my god. That was so fucking stupid." You facepalm. "You meet Sargent Barnes and that is what you say. Then recommend a houseplant." You smack your forehead again.

"Are you quite done?" Tony leaned against the wall arms crossed, eyebrows raised, a small smile hovering on his lips. You had dragged him down a ways to be out of sight from the others while you panicked.

"Mr. Stark! No, I am not done. I think I need to go. Right now." You sighed, leaning against the opposite wall, gently thumping your head on the wall.

Tony dropped his amusement very quickly, straightening. "Let me tell you something. That is the first time someone has touched Barnes in weeks. I have never seen someone hug him. Only Steve has been able to touch him, and even he has to ask to not startle him." Tony told you.

"You're right! I didn't ask. How rude and improper of me. I didn't trigger him did I?" Tony's words did not reassure you like he hoped, actually pushing you closer to true panic. You pushed off the wall turning to head back towards the kitchen. Tony threw an arm out stopping your progress. Youi looked at him, eyes wide and unfocused, cheeks flushed.

"Wait. Hold on. Listen to me, Ms. Psych-Minor-lady. A severely traumatized dangerous man let you in close enough to hug him. He was crying, yes but-" Tony was trying to calm you down. You felt terrible, a off the street civilian thinking you were entitled enough to just touch him and prattle on about what is best for him. Tony could see what you were feeling on your face.

"Crying?!? You yelped. "I made him cry??"

"But he was smiling too. You did good, kid. Also that plant idea was solid. Now let me show you to your room? I have your stuff in a guest room right now but that will be moved in a minute. I will give you a room here and an office on the business section as well. Now, the only empty room is in the hallway with Steve, Sam, Bucky and Shuri." Tony smiled at you trying to relax you. You peered at him suspiciously.

"I didn't do anything bad? I just...I don't know everything that has happened lately but what bit I do know just pulls on my heartstrings. I felt he needed some unbiased comfort. I would certainly want a hug after everything too." You wrapped your arms around yourself, shrinking in, still nervous you had overstepped a line. Then the rest of Tony's words registered. "Your giving me a room? That seems weird."

Tony laughed and puled you into a side-hug. "Kid, I have had my eye on you for a while. You are part of this team, especially if you have to deal with all our bullshit. But to get back on track. You aren't wrong about Barnes. We've all been treating him with kid gloves, wondering what little thing we say or do will push him over the edge. In a minute of meeting him, you showed everyone he is still human-one who has been very hurt and is still struggling to deal with it. He needs our support, not alienation."

"He looked so sad and tired, alone. I know what it is like to be alone, to have your family pull away when they should be there for you." You leaned into Tony for a moment, appreciating the hug for the offered comfort. "Now, Mr. Stark. How about you show me a room that I will be working on? I would love to see some visuals." You tried to change the subject to get away from your botched first impression with Sargent Barnes.

Tony nodded, accepting the subject change with grace. Tony and you came upon a room and he asked F.R.I.D.A.Y to open it. "!2 of these rooms including yours included. There are 8 that are for our more frequent flyers and Very Important Powerful Beings." The two of you entered, you stepping deeper into the room to look at the dimensions. "Several of the VIPB are people like King T'Challa of Wakanda or the Black Panther and Colonel Carol Danvers goes by Captain Marvel among others, Ant-Man and his friend The Wasp like to stop by a lot."

"Scott Lang? Hope Van Dyne?" You turned to ask. Tony was surprised. "I respect Hope for trying to help her dad undercover at the Lab and Scott is doing his best. He likes to put smiles on people's faces. He is good about being good." You explained. "This rooms are great. Spacious with lot of natural light. You also didn't limit options, the room can be oriented in any direction." You paced the room, using your arms as a measuring guide. "I will need to plan extensively with the full-time residents. I will need some serious backgrounds on the others. I wouldn't want them to be unhappy upon arrival. I will need to speak to someone about how to make a room fit for a king and princess." You mumbled to yourself continuing to walk around the room. Tony watched with a proud look, like a parent giving their child a present they love.

"Glad to see you enjoying yourself. We'll be getting dinner here shortly. We eat together and usually watch movies afterwards." Tony was speaking to you while leading you back to the kitchen by the elbow. He could relate to the distant look in your eye. He knew you weren't listening, too busy thinking and planning. He led you to the edge of the hallway and you stopped.

"Mr. Stark." You interrupted the man. He smiled knowingly. "I accept your offer. I am honored to work for you. I do have some small current projects but I should finish them quickly to give my full attention to this."

"That is exactly why I wanted to stay here. You will be able to balance everything easier. I don't want to take away from your inner city clients. Now dinner tonight is Chinese. What do you want?" You gave Tony your Chinese order, the two of you moving forward once more.

You sat down at the large kitchen table, propping up your tablet and opening your laptop. The design app you used had the update blueprints and layouts like Tony promised. He huffed a small laugh. "I will leave you to it for a while. See you later, Y/N." Tony left, you mumming distractedly.

You decided to start a fresh page of notes to work with the labeled blueprints F.R.I.D.A.Y installed for you. You build a list of the basic of what everyone would need, knowing that is where their personal taste came into play. You listed some style motifs and examples to help with the planning.

An hour later and you were clawing at your hair. 'How do I make individual room layouts open to change without doing, undoing and redoing all the work over and over until they like it?' You were obnoxiously tapping a pen against the table while you thought, you were staring at the kitchen zoned out when it hit you. "Magnets! I make a magnet image board. I use the specs of one room and the basics into magnets and then I can make their personal choices magnets to be movable!" You smacked the table energetically. You began frantically scribbling and searching for custom magnets. You figured that a decent sized board with a grid would be best, you can make your own with pictures and plain lightweight magnets. "I am going to need so many samples." You muttered.

"Hey, you ready for a break? Chinese will be here soon. As will some of the others you haven't met yet." Tony chimed from next to you. "You've been at it for like two hours now. I have been waiting for you to come up for air for a while now."

"I am a bit of a workaholic. Sorry. You have to be forceful to get my attention when I am in the zone." You apologized sheepishly. "This is very large undertaking, I wanted to get some thought in order before I got started." Tony waved off your apology and moved to the couch where Steve was already sitting.

The sight of him on the couch made another thought cross your mind. You left the mess on the table and walked quickly to the living room. You peered closely at the sectional in front of you. "Reinforced furniture." You commented. Captain Rogers and Tony looked at you in confusion. "Captain Rogers, can I borrow you for a moment?" You asked. He nodded and they both stood up. "I need you to lift this couch please."

"Um, sure." The good captain did just as you asked and you got down on the floor and looked underneath. Nodding a few time you got back up, "Thank you for the assist. You may put it back."

You went back over to your notes and began muttering and scribbling. "Thicker wood frames, metal brackets at joints, some metal supports?"

"You are...very welcome...Y/N." Steve and Tony looked no less confused.

"I will admit to being more confused than before." Dr. Banner spoke from next to Tony. You looked up at the new voices freezing at who you saw.

"Oh my god. #sciencebros." You breathed. "Dr. Banner, an honor to meet you." You spoke louder, coming up to shake his hand. "I needed to see the wear and tear on the everyday furniture. The frames need reinforced." The three men ah'ed in understanding. Any further explanation was interrupted by Clint and Natasha coming in arms fully loaded with bags.

"We come bearing gifts! Everyone ready to eat?" The four of you jumped to help, you scrambling to put away your stuff and get out of the way.

Moments later the Avengers that were there had settled to eat. You sat across from a silver-haired younger man, who sat on the left of a beautiful Burnette who had a man with red skin on her right. Clint. Sam, Steve, Bucky, Tony, and Natasha then filled the rest of the seats. You were trying to gather your courage to introduce yourself when the red skinned man spoke to you first.

"Hello there, Ms. L/N. I don't think we have been fully introduced." His smooth British voice eased your nerves slightly but also caught the attention of everyone at the table.

Previous / Next

*******************************************************************************************

Okay, here we go...time to get to the good stuff. Anybody want tagged? What are we thinking?

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction #protective Bucky Barnes #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes x interior designer! reader #Interior Design the fic #bucky barnes in recovery #recovered bucky barnes #avengers family #domestic avengers #avengers fanfiction #saundraswriting #saundrasays

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useless-slytherclaw · 4 years

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Chapter 11: Shopping

Iset and Regulus walked in silence as they turned down Knockturn Alley. The buildings here seemed to loom over them, blotting out parts of the sky. Regulus felt himself going tense. He was much more likely to come across one of The Dark Lord’s allies here than on Diagon Alley. Luckily, the middle of the day wasn’t primetime shopping in this back alley. Iset moved through the Alley in a way that suggested that she was familiar with it, passing by shops without looking at them, turning down a sidestreet without checking the street sign. Iset stopped at a shop door. Regulus looked around him; he’d never been to this part of Knockturn Alley before. Curious, he looked at the sign on the door, it said ‘Eastern Market’ and then text in something that wasn’t English.

“What does it say?”

“I don’t know. This place is run by a small group of women from different parts of the world to provide magical supplies for eastern-style magic. I think the sign is in Vietnamese. I can’t read it.”

Iset pushed open the door and started down the stairs. Regulus followed her, even more curious than he had been before. The air smelled faintly of Frankincense and spices, though the smell got stronger as they descended down the stairs. They reached the bottom of the stairs and found themselves in a surprisingly large room. Shelves were stacked to the ceiling and practically overflowing with merchandise.

Iset called something into the store that he didn’t understand. It took him a second to realize that she was probably speaking in Arabic. Someone called a response from the depths of the shop and Iset started moving forward, Regulus sticking close behind her. The aisle of shelves they were walking along seemed to be stocked with things that reminded him of potion ingredients; dried plants, parts of animals, jars, and boxes labeled in different languages.

They turned a corner and came face to face with an old woman. Her hair was wrapped in a brightly colored scarf that was matched by an equally bright dress. Her dark skin was lined and she held a walking stick, but her eyes were bright and she moved with confidence. When she saw Iset, she started speaking rapid-fire. Iset talked to her for a few minutes. Regulus shoved his hands in his pockets and looked around, resisting the urge to shift from foot to foot. Blacks don’t fidget.

“Stay here,” Iset said and he jerked a bit, realizing that he had zoned out. “She says she doesn’t want people who don’t know what they’re doing knocking over all of her stock.”

“I,” Regulus started, then “what?”

Iset laughed “Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right back.”

“Alright,” Regulus said with a shrug. He was curious about what sort of things were stocked in this shop, but he wasn’t going to argue about it. He watched as Iset vanished down an aisle and the shopkeeper walked away from him. Looking around, he found that he was standing in front of a cabinet that was filled with different rocks, crystals, and bits of jewelry. He studied them from his position as he waited. Iset wasn’t gone for long. She reappeared with a basket over her arm.

“The register is this way, come on.” Regulus followed her, looking around as he did so. He found one shelf that was stocked with what appeared to be a huge variety of different types of chalk. He resolved to have Iset explain more of her work to him later. They reached a counter where the woman from before was standing. She checked each item and put it into a bag, all the while chattering away to Iset. Interestingly, he noticed that Iset’s cheeks were going a bit pink as the woman kept talking. Regulus passed Iset his purse, she could count things out herself. Once she’d paid, Iset retreated from the counter, exchanging a few last sentences with the shopkeeper.

“What was that about?” Regulus asked once they were out of the shop and back on the street. Iset rubbed her face.

“She told me that I should go back home. That I’m starting to sound British.”

“Is that all?” Regulus asked knowing that it wasn’t and curious despite himself.

“Close enough. She was just prying that's all; she likes to gossip.”

“She didn’t recognize you?” Regulus said with a sudden jolt, as they stepped out into Knockturn Alley’s main.

“No, no,” Iset said.

Regulus let it drop, and turned his attention to the street around them. It was still mostly empty. The few other people they saw kept their heads down and moved quickly. Still, he was grateful when they stepped out into Diagon Alley.

“I should get some clothes next. Do you want to wait at the bookstore? That’s probably more interesting.”

Regulus shrugged. “Sure. Why don’t you go to Twilfitt and Tattings? There will be fewer people there. I’ll go to the bookstore though, Death Eaters and the rest of the 28 are more likely to be at Twilfitt’s.” Regulus pulled a few galleons out of the purse and passed it back to her. “I’ll be at Flourish and Blotts.”

“See you in a bit,” Iset said, reaching out to give his hand a squeeze before turning and walking away.

Regulus walked in the opposite direction towards Flourish and Blotts. He tried to think if there were any books he needed. Quality Quidditch Supplies was on the way to Flourish and Blotts and he let himself stop to look through the window. There was a sleek black-handled broom in the window. In gold letters, it said “Thunderbolt”. Regulus had never heard of anything like it. It was a beautiful broom, and if the specs on the parchment were to be believed, it outstripped any broom he’d ever owned. He supposed that made sense, it had been 17 years, innovation as bound to happen. Turning away from the broom, he headed to the bookstore. He had a weird sense of Deja Vu as he walked into the store. It was somehow the same as he remembered it yet different. He started to walk aimlessly along the shelves.

Transfiguration, Charms, Divination, No, no, and no. Bored, he decided to head up the stairs to the less commonly sold books. He passed a Muggle Fiction section, then Self Help, and then found himself in Sex and Sex Education. Regulus felt his cheeks growing hot and was about to backpedal out of there when his brain caught on the word education. His first instinct was that these would be full of the sort of dirty magazines his dorm mates had hidden under their beds. But as his eyes raced over the titles, he realized this wasn’t so: Sex and Puberty, Boys Growing Up, The Basics of Sex, Guide to Anal Sex for Witches and Wizards, Girls and Sex, How to Please a Witch, the titles went on and on. Regulus stared, it had never occurred to him that there would be books about how these things worked. He realized that everything he knew about sex came from lewd comments by his friends.

“Hello!” A cheerful voice came from behind him and Regulus froze, blood rushing to his face. He turned around to see a cheerful witch wearing the Flourish and Blotts staff uniform. “Can I help you?

“No!” Regulus said, his voice a bit too high-pitched. “Just wandering really.”

The woman gave him a comforting smile. “No need to be embarrassed. Muggle schools have lectures on sex education. It seems like they could do something at Hogwarts. Maybe a talk by the Head of House.”

The idea of having one of his teachers, like Slughorn, discussing sex made all the blood run out of Regulus’ face and made him feel ill. Regulus was really regretting having come up here at all. Before he could formulate a reason to escape, the woman was reaching around him to grab a book off the shelf.

“Take this,” she said, handing him a small book called Sex and Sexuality, the Basics. Regulus took it because he didn’t know what else to do.

Regulus started to edge away from the woman. Any thoughts of polite conversation having fled his brain.

“Oh and this,” the woman handed him a book with a wink. Regulus looked down, it was How to Please a Witch. Regulus fled away down the stairs, books in hand. The woman followed him down the stairs, much to his dismay. She pointed him towards the checkout counter and he obeyed. He found himself purchasing the books and shoving them into the depths of his robes. While it was true that he had a huge lack of knowledge in that department, he didn’t want to think about it. Turning away from the counter he went back into the bookstore. He stopped in History of Magic: safe and dull. His eyes slid along the spines of the books, but he hardly took in any information.

Still, the name Salazar Slytherin caught his attention and he reached out to pull the green leather-bound book off of the shelf. He turned to the index and searched for ‘locket’. There was one page about it, so Regulus turned to it. There was a sketch of the locket, some of the details were wrong, but it wasn’t far off. Regulus turned his attention to the text underneath.

‘Slytherin’s locket is one of the few relics remaining from the Hogwarts founders. Hufflepuff’s cup and Gryffindor’s sword are the other two. Legend says that Ravenclaw had a diadem that added to her great wisdom, but this object has not been seen since the time of the founders and its existence is suspect.’

Regulus tapped his finger against the book, thinking. The three Horcruxes thus far had been a diary, which was emotionally important to the Dark Lord, the ring which was a symbol of his family’s blood status, and Slytherin’s locket which was one of the few things remaining from the great founder of Slytherin. Regulus doubted there were many objects like the diary that were emotionally important to the Dark Lord. He also doubted that a family that had fallen as far as the Gaunt’s had many other family heirlooms, though that should be investigated. There weren’t really other relics of Slytherin’s either. There were however relics of the other Hogwarts founders. Objects of great historical importance would appeal to the Dark Lord’s vanity.

Regulus snapped the book shut. There were plenty of books about Slytherin in his family library, he had actually found information about the locket in there before. There might be something about Ravenclaw in the library, though he doubted it. He would bet money there were no books about Gryffindor. So, he started to search the shelves for books on the other founders. It wasn’t hard to find books about Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, Gryffindors being as house obsessed as Slytherin and Ravenclaws being obsessed with knowledge and research, but finding texts on Hufflepuff proved harder. He’d found just two and was comparing their contents to see if he needed both of them when he heard footsteps coming towards him. He instantly stilled and looked up, but it was just Iset. She had several Twillfit bags held in her hand.

“Find something useful?” she asked with a smile. Regulus relaxed and smiled back at her.

“A few books about the Hogwarts founders.”

“Hogwarts founders?” Iset asked.

“I’ll explain later,” he said and the ‘when we aren’t in public’ was understood.

“Alright,” she said easily. I hope the books are here, I’d hate to have to go back to Knockturn Alley.”

“Let’s hope,” Regulus said standing up, holding a small stack of books about Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, and Hufflepuff. He felt the books tucked into his robes as he moved and had to fight a flash of embarrassment. He focused on the books in his hands, then at the bags Iset was holding. “Here, I can hold your bags and wait by the register.”

“I can manage,” she said.

“I’m sure you can,” he said, raising a hand defensively. “I'm just trying to be helpful.”

“Right,” she said with an apologetic look. “Sorry.” She handed him two of the bags and kept the other two. “I’ll see you by the checkout.”

Iset reappeared with four or five books in her arms. Two were slender, but one was big enough to be a dictionary. The other two seemed to be standard bound books. Regulus dropped his books on the counter next to hers. Iset fished the galleons out of the purse for the books before handing it back to Regulus.

“I’m afraid I’ve made a rather large dent in your purse,” she said as the worker wrapped up the books.

Regulus just laughed. “It’s nothing really. Money is something my family has plenty of. We should go, though.” Regulus said, growing more serious. Iset just nodded, the longer they were out and about the more likely they were to be spotted. They exited Flourish and Blotts to find a black dog sitting by the front door wagging its tail. Regulus just raised an eyebrow and headed towards the Leaky Cauldron with the dog in tow. He wanted to know why Sirius had turned into a dog, but since Sirius appeared calm, he supposed it wasn’t anything too dangerous. Still, it made him uneasy.

They walked to the Leaky Cauldron in silence. Regulus put money in the tip jar since they were using the fireplace without buying anything. He stepped into the fireplace and the dog crowded in with him. It was rather awkward to drop the floo powder with everything he was holding and a dog around his legs, but he somehow managed. A rush of green flame and many fireplaces later, he stepped out onto the green hearth rug in Grimmauld Place’s main sitting room. A few moments later, Iset came through the fireplace.

Regulus let out a long sigh. They were safe.

Keep reading on AO3

#good slytherins #regulus black #regulus lives #regulus deserved better #fix it #knockturn alley #I tried to write comedy guys #shopping #multichapter #fanfic #hp fanfic #fan fiction #harry potter #ao3 #ao3 link #chapter 11

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artificialqueens · 5 years

Text

Cruising for a bruising, Part 1 (Branjie) - Q-Tip & TheDane

Author note: Hello everyone, and welcome to our first collab! This is the first part of a multi chapter story, that we hope all of you will enjoy! You can follow us at @ArtificialQtip and @TheArtificialDane as well as find both of us on AO3, hanging out in the Branjie tag! A million thanks to @VeronicaSanders for betaing, and whipping our shit into shape!

“Drag ain’t paying you enough?“

“.. What?”

“Cause we’re on the same contract right? And I’m getting coin for being here.”

—–

Brooke was rinsing his shirt out, wringing the thin fabric in his hands, making sure it was completely clean before he hung it up.

It was their fourth day on the Atlantis cruise, he and Vanjie booked alongside a whole parade of Drag Race girls to spend 3 weeks in the Caribbean entertaining, dancing and getting drunk on board the world’s premiere gay cruise experience. Brooke had been hesitant to accept at first glance when the email had ticked in from his manager - as current reigning Drag Race winner he was asked for more things than he had ever been able to imagine, not even Miss Continental giving him any idea of the number of obligations he had landed himself in - but Vanjie had seen the contract line of ‘free drinks available for the duration of your stay’ in his own papers, and Brooke had known they were going, whether he wanted to spend 10 days on a boat or not.

So far they had spent time by the pool, thrown dollars at A’keria who had performed a stunning Nicki Minaj medley, hosted a cupcake class, seen Detox destroy the dancefloor, gone to a Raja Drawja, experienced Cracker’s comedy (though Brooke thought of it more like surviving) and gone to a cocktail hour in full drag. During the cocktail hour, Vanjie and Brooke had made out in a dark corner behind the bar like naughty school girls the moment they had a chance to get away. Vanjie body was so fucking sensual and hot as she insisted Brooke carried her, and she loved doing it. Brooke’s hand had been on her ass, their lipsticks smearing while they dry humped, neither able to truly come because of their tucks, but it had been the best kind of torture, Brooke still finding specs of glitter on his hands days afterwards.

“Watcha doing?”

Brooke looked over his shoulder, Vanjie standing in the door to the bathroom they shared, leaning against it like a fucking movie star. Vanjie’s red shirt was unbuttoned all the way down to the bottom of his sternum and showing his chest, his hair impeccably styled, the little bandana loosely tied around his neck the same color as his shirt.

“Just washing up. I’ll be there in a sec.” Brooke rinsed his socks, quickly throwing them on the towel rack. “You can just leave without me babe.”

“Drag ain’t paying you enough?”

“.. What?” Brooke turned around.

“Cause we’re on the same contract right? And I’m getting coin for being here.”

Vanjie smiled, and Brooke felt his heart flutter. Vanjie was so ridiculously attractive and Brooke couldn’t believe how he had gotten so lucky with his first actual boyfriend, the word still sounding weird in his mind, but Vanjie was worth it. He was the first person Brooke had met that he had even considered putting over his career, what he had called the true love of his life for as long as he had been an adult, but Vanjie was giving it a race for it’s money, and Brooke couldn’t pretend not to love it.

“Since you starting this laundry shit on the side.”

Vanjie gestured, and Brooke blushed, looking around the bathroom. He had hung up his t-shirts, all three of them drip drying from the shower rod, except the one he was wearing, his third pair of shorts and his bathing suit in the sink, his one hoodie still unused in his backpack.

“… No?”

“Just checking.” Vajie laughed, grabbing the band of his shorts and pulling him away. “Now come on, those cocktails ain’t gonna drink themselves, and I’m not waitin’ on you bitch!”

Brooke hadn’t spared the boy clothes he’d brought on board with him a single thought when he had thrown it all into a backpack, but if there was one fact he had learned from everything that had gone wrong in his adult life it was this very simple sentence. If he didn’t think of something as a problem - it usually was. That, and the growing uneasiness in his stomach, was the exact reason he was sure he was spiraling, and spiraling hard at that.

Brooke had never paid much attention to his boy wardrobe. He had never thought of his outfits for Brock as an artistic expression, had never related to any of the other reasons he had heard of why people cared so fiercely about what they wore. It was like he had known in the back of his mind that he would need all that energy and effort for Brooke one day. He could spend hours shopping online, looking at gowns and sketching things out either to make himself or to pay someone to construct without any trouble. Brooke was a work of art, each detail on her body placed there with care, precision and attention. Brock on the other hand?

Brock was happy as long as his boy self was covered and comfortable. That body was no more than a machine, carrying him where he needed to go, a container for his brain so he could make his sack of bones do the things he needed them to, whether that was doing a Grand Jete, dropping into a full split, walking en pointe, lip syncing on his head or spending an entire day in heels.

Brooke was watching Vanjie rehearse, Kameron next to him. They passed a two liter bottle of gatorade between them, taking swigs by the turn. He had struck up an unlikely friendship with Kameron, though it seemed like no one was surprised but himself. Kameron was a fellow Nashville queen, and while they had known of each other and even worked together, they had never gotten to know if each other this trip. Brooke found that it was easy to talk to the other queen, Kameron’s calm personality and their shared interest of bettering their workout routines giving them near endless supplies for conversations that could last hours if no one dragged them away. At times, much to their annoyance, they were forced apart by their respective significant others, Cracker often pulling Kameron aside when he was bored and left on his own. Vanjie was no better.

He spent so much time in drag, uncomfortable but gorgeous. So when he was just Brock, he prefered materials that allowed him to breathe, and allowed him to feel relaxed. He liked his shirts so worn in that they turned paper thin, shorts so used the material felt like butter, shoes practically walked to shreds. Sure, he was aware that he didn’t always look the most put together, but they were his clothes, and he knew they did the job.

Vanjie was doing a number, a remix with his infamous catchphrases scattered over the track. It was one of their fans who had made the track, and it had appeared in Brooke’s DM’s on Twitter one fateful day. Vanjie had been so excited he had practically bounced off the walls of their room the first time he heard it. He had FaceTimed his drag mother Alexis before he had even managed to listen all the way through, just so that she could hear it too, the two of them launching into the creation of choreography to go with it straight away. That had turned into a long night for Brooke, who had laid on their shared bed, the track playing on repeat for hours on end as Vanjie got all of his creative juices flowing. For days after he was haunted by the throbbing bass and “get those cookies,” bouncing of the walls within his head.

The beat of Vanjie’s song was loud and fast, fitting with his erratic movements. His moves were forceful, powerful, at once elegant and a testament to the unlimited energy that coursed within him. He looked amazing, the only piece of drag on him so far the heels. And the attitude, of course. There was always a particular attitude shift when he became her, and Brooke loved it nearly as much as he loved watching the reverse take place.

“She’s good.”

Kameron handed him the bottle of gatorade.

“She’s the best.”

Kameron smiled, and Brooke couldn’t help but notice what Kameron was wearing - a smart button up and black denim shorts. An actual outfit instead of the pregame comfort clothes Brooke prefered. Kameron looked nice.

In contrast, Brooke was wearing his grey shirt, a hole under the armpit that he had meant to get fixed suddenly embarrassingly obvious so he kept his arm close to his side, not wanting Kameron to see it. He loved the shirt he was wearing. He had had it on the first time he kissed Vanjie, and it was special to him, and a few holes couldn’t change that, though maybe it should have.

Brooke wasn’t used to feeling uncomfortable as a guy, even though he didn’t consider himself some great catch. He was true to himself, and that had turned out to be enough for the most part. As he sat watching Vanjie prance around stage, he let a long, frustrated sigh escape him. He sat squarely between people who made an effort, and even though he was a reigning queen, he had never felt more like a bum.

Slipping into Brooke Lynn’s skin after a day of anxiety itching under his skin felt like a blessing.

The majority of their season 11 sisters were backstage, getting ready for their gig that night. Ariel sitting next to Brooke as she put the final touches on her lashes. Brooke looked in the mirror when she was done, batting her eyes playfully and framing her face with her hands. Ariel rolling her eyes at her antics.

“When you feel your oats so hard you forget there are other oats there,” she said in a sing-song voice, and Brooke laughed vividly, red lips opening in a wide grin. She slapped the vanity table in front of them, the bottle of tequila that was placed there shaking slightly.

She was a few drinks in already, and they’d been passing that bottle around the dressing room since they had begun getting ready half an hour ago. The bottle was decorated with four or so different colours of lipstick, mixing into a unappetizing brown as they’d dried, and Brooke briefly wondered if making out with all of her sisters would produce the same nauseating color on her lips.

When Silky walked by, phone in hand, the camera pointed towards herself, Brooke grabbed her own. Brooke had never been hugely into social media, ballet taking up too much of her time, but after Drag Race, she had almost been forced online by VH1s staff of young hip interns. The key to an active fanbase was interaction with viewers, being accessible, and Brooke had never been one to turn down advice on success. She had taken to it like a fish to water, using both Instagram and Twitter like it was her second job, and in many ways, it was. Vanjie would sometimes help her out with getting the hang of everything, her boyfriend never more than two steps away from her phone.

Brooke picked up her phone as her laughter grew quiet, shooting Ariel a questioning look. A nod was all Brooke got and all she needed to know that Ariel was onboard. She opened instagram and launched a live, focusing the camera on her. She looked fucking good, stunning honey-blonde wig, red lips and her favourite red hoodie, bare chest underneath because of the heat, but mostly because she didn’t want the struggle of getting into full drag yet if she could avoid it.

“Hi guys!” Brooked grinned, waving her fingers and watching the viewer count rose steadily. She felt a surge of pride, her fans truly the best.

“Hiii!” Ariel smiled brightly beside her, leaning into the frame. “No one is going to be watching this. Not when the Silky show is on.”

“I know.” Brooke laughed, eyes fluttering to the queen on the other side the small space. “So I’m checking in for the day, we’re still on a boat, still floating around the-”

“We floating around Paradise!” Silky’s voice was loud as she abruptly entered Brooke’s frame, her own phone still firmly in hand. Silky’s eyes shifted between her phone and Brooke’s, before settling on her own as she continued to speak. “So I got three dicks and-”

“You got three dicks?” Brooke roared with laughter, Ariel close to tears next to her.

“I got three dicks in my inbox!” Silky continued undisturbed, kicking the leg of Brooke’s chair as she passed by. “They ready for a taste of this ganache!”

“Better with three dicks in the inbox than six on the dancefloor!” Ariel chimed in, sticking her tongue out as she tried to apply the last of her eyeshadow without being shoved over by Silky who was loudly telling her story of a Grindr hookup. “Just saying.”

“You would know.” Brooke elbowed Ariel, the other queen cursing her out loudly when the tiniest flicker of eyeshadow fell on her cheek at the action.

Brooke loved shooting these behind the scenes moments with her sisters, as she so rarely got the opportunity to really spend time with them. Her post Drag Race schedule was often so busy she barely even felt like she saw her cats. Sometimes she even felt like she barely saw Vanjie. Not that she got away with it; Vanjie was a lot louder than the cats when she was unhappy about something. The cruise, although she hadn’t been onboard - all puns intended - at the beginning, had turned out to be a true blessing in disguise.

“Who’s talking about dick?!”

Brooke would know that voice anywhere. The loud sound coming from the vanity that Silky has recently vacated on the other side of the room, Vanjie whipping around to look at the others. She was nearly done with her makeup, her lips a dark purple finishing off her look. Vanjie tapped her lips, a smile on her face, and Brooke felt it like a siren song to which she couldn’t help but reply.

“No one.”

Brooke rose from her seat, quickly heading towards her boyfriend. Brooke grabbed the bottle of tequila on the way, adding an extra sway to her hips as Vanjie watched her make her approach.

“You a lying slut.” Vanjie rolled her eyes at her. Brooke raising her brows and taking a swig from the bottle, nose scrunching at the horrible taste, but hey, she was on a cruise. She had to be at least a little drunk at all times. It was sea love.

“Hi Papi.” Brooke laughed, leaning over Vanjie’s shoulder so she was included in the shot, and gave her a peck on the lips.

“Mmh.” Vanjie deepened the kiss, Brooke giving a playful lick to Vanjie’s upper lip, which made Vanjie slap her on the shoulder.

“No!” Vanjie looked in the mirror, her lipsticked ruined. “You bitch!”

Brooke spared a glance to her phone, the messages coming faster and faster. The fans loved whenever she included Vanjie on her stream.

“Sorry babe.” Brooke leaned her head against Vanjie.

“Girl, I just did this.” Vanjie was complaining, adorable grumps coming from her, but she was smiling so Brooke knew she hadn’t actually fucked up. Vanjie gestured to her own face, a patch of purple smeared above her cupids bow. “I can’t believe you doing me dirty with this fucked up light and ruining my look.”

Vanjie took her lipstick off, Brooke giving her another color she accepted right away.

“I think you look perfect.” Brooke ran a hand through Vanjie’s boy hair, a move she would never have dared if she hadn’t known that Vanjie would be covering it with a wig cap in a matter of minutes. Brooke had messed with Vanjie’s hair once, and the dressing down he had gotten from one very angry tiny Puerto Rican made sure he had never even considered attempting it again. “Doesn’t she look absolutely perfect?”

“Who you talking to?” Vanjie looked up, smacking her lips. “This Instagram live?”

“Yes.”

“Follow me! Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, real life, at the grocery store who gives a shit, it’s all at VanessaVanjie!”

Brooke cracked up, Vanjie of course taking the chance to promote herself. She was the best PR manager Brooke had ever met, Vanjie launching herself into stardom, her boyfriend breaking 1 million followers before Brooke had, even though she was the one who had won Drag Race.

“You heard the lady!” Brooke gave Vanjie another kiss at her temple, leaving Vanjie behind as she answered a few comments, saying hi to fans and giving shoutouts to whatever country they came from, telling everyone that both she and Vanjie would love to go if they could get a local booker to fly them out.

“You all like my lipstick? Thanks! It’s Nyx Soft Matte Lip Cream in the shade Amsterdam - you could blow a man with this and still have perfect lips!” Brooke smiled. “And believe me…” she winked. “…I’ve done that bit of research myself.” The chat went insane, eggplant emojis and peaches getting thrown at her at an alarming rate, so Brooke launched onto the only comment that didn’t seem dangerously sexual.

“Yes it does match my hoodie!” Brooke smiled, pulling at the collar of her hoodie as she playfully poked out her tongue. “Thank you for noticing.”

Brooke was truly one of the luckier queens, her live streams usually free of drama and spectacle. Vanjie liked to tell her they were too pure and sweet, that she needs to ‘dirty’ it up. Lord knows Vanjie had tried her best to make it happen, making semi-clothed sneak appearances whenever she felt frisky, Brooke having to close her stream in a panic once or twice just to make sure her boyfriend’s dick didn’t end up online.

Brooke’s eye caught on a comment, her eyes narrowing as she read it. Thank god for her full-coverage foundation, as it almost hid her frown lines.

“Did I wear this hoodie on my last live?” She wondered out loud. Her eyes traveled the front of her body in a flash. She was wearing her favourite hoodie, the inside so soft and comfortable with how much she had worn it.

“And the one before that,” Silky breezed past her, lifting one hand to flick the zipper of Brooke’s hoodie. She turned to face the camera briefly, winking. Brooke huffed.

Brooke rolled her eyes at the camera, hoping her attitude transferred efficiently through the lens. She read the comments, her fans discussing loudly. It was amazing, really, how a single comment about her clothes evolved into an entire audience asking about her closet. And she had just been in such a good mood, too. “Of course I own other clothes!”

“Then why don’t you wear them?” Ariel muttered, and it was pure luck that Brooke even heard it. Now if she was really lucky, none of her audience caught that particular dig, but it went without saying that her life was not destined to be that easy, and soon she was flooded with comments along the lines of “shadeee” and one user even begging for a wardrobe tour. Brooke’s mind flickered to the t-shirts still drying on the shower rod, what a wonderful youtube video that would be. Brooke stuck her tongue out at Ariel, the camera catching her from the side as she extended her neck.

“I change my clothes every single day, thank you very much.”

“Does it count if you only have three shirts to switch between?” Ariel was smiling, her entire face lit up in obvious delight.

“Oh you wanna start bitch?” Vanjie cut in, and Brooke felt a second of dread, before Vanjie continued speaking, “Don’t you dare come for my man. I’m the only one who’s allowed to talk about his terrible wardrobe, besides, he still looking like a snack so who the fuck cares if he wears the same thing.”

“Obviously you don’t!”

The room erupted in laughter, and Brooke joined it, but it wasn’t quite the rambunctious laughter that she wanted it to be, the claws of anxiety sinking into her.

Brooke knew she was a late bloomer, that she took extra time to pick up on things, that he was often the last to get on a trend. It usually didn’t bother her. She knew who she was, but as everyone laughed at her, Vanjie even joining in she couldn’t help but feel like maybe, just maybe, she actually had a problem. That she was somehow not worthy.

Brooke was staring into his closet. Looking at everything he owned.

He had lain awake all night, listening to the sounds of the ocean. Vanjie’s soft snores kept him from spiraling completely, the only reason he hadn’t flipped out on the man in his arms, Vanjie even more of a handful when drunk. Brooke had helped him out of his makeup and outfit before they collapsed into bed together, Vanjie loudly declaring himself queen of the world after she had premiered her new remix for the first time, everyone chanting “VAN-JIE VAN-JIE! VAAAN-JIE!” as she left the stage.

“Brock! Come on. Breakfast is waiting!”

“Just give me a second!”

Brooke sighed. His choice not getting any easier with a loud and demanding boyfriend growing bored on the bed, Vanjie getting dressed so fast Brooke wasn’t even sure he had ever been naked.

‘How did you get here Brock Hayhoe? You’re 33, and you have no idea how to dress yourself.”

Brooke had no idea what to put on, but he ended up slipping on his white shirt, at least somewhat confident in what he saw in the mirror when he turned back to Vanjie who had obviously been filming him, his boyfriend laying in bed.

“Put the black one on.”

“Why?”

“I want some photos of us on this boat, and if my fans see you in one more white shirt they’re gonna think I murdered you or some shit and you’re just copy pasted into my feed.”

Brooke laughed, the sound short and harsh to his own ears. A laugh of defense.

“Sure babe. No problem.”

Brooke made a beeline for Nina at breakfast, leaving Vanjie behind at the pancake station the moment they stepped into the cafeteria. He didn’t turn around, knowing that Vanjie would be looking confused, and he could not try to explain what was going on right now. He was hungry, but more desperate than anything else, and Nina was the beacon that he was going to steer his boat to.

“Nina, I need your help.” Brooke dumped down, startling Nina while A’keria barely even looked up from her bowl of breakfast.

“What happened to Good Morning honey?”

“I don’t have time.” Brooke almost grabbing the croissant out of Nina’s mouth to get his attention, A’keria snorting. Nina had been his friend for more than 10 years, and he trusted him more than most, if not all the people in his life.

“Unless it has something to do with sex, I don’t want to hear it.” Nina said resolutely, picking the dropped croissant back up and taking a large bite.

“I need new clothes.”

Nina choked, coughing around his mouthful of pastry.

“Excuse me?” he said as soon as he had cleared out his airway.

“Don’t give me that look.” Brooke crossed his arms, watching his friend.

“You kinda asking for the look, besides, where’s your man at? I haven’t had anyone yell at me yet and you’ve been here for an entire five minutes. Has Vanjie died?” A’keria took a sip of his coffee, watching the entire thing with amusement in his eyes.

“A’keria, you’re not helping.” Brooke turned to Nina. “Listen, I really need your help.”

“You, Brock Hayhoe, want new clothes?”

“Is it that out of character for me?” Brooke wrinkled his nose.

“Kinda is, babes.” Brooke looked over to A’keria, who was stirring around the sad remains of cereal in her bowl.

Brooke couldn’t believe it had taken him this long to realize just how desperate of a situation his boy self was in fashion-wise. Everyone else apparently already knew, and Brooke felt like an awkward teenager, once again forgotten when common sense had been handed out. He hadn’t even considered it be

“Oh, come on sweetheart.” A’keria fixed him with a knowing stare. “You’re not that stupid.” She put her bowl aside, leaning in, as if she was telling Brooke a secret. “Now I ain’t opposed to a man strutting his stuff if he got it, and honey, you do, but what you’re going for is anything but planned. You’re very pirate chic, very cruise appropriate.” Brooke nodded, listening along with his full attention. “But fashionable baby? Hell nah.”

Brooke knew A’keria was right, and he wanted to change it. Wanted to change it for Vanjie who obviously cared so much about it.

“I’ll help you Brooky Poo. Don’t you worry. Auntie Nina will be at your service as soon as she finishes her croissant.”

#rpdr fanfiction #branjie #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #q tip #thedane #cruising for a bruising #s11 #canon compliant

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mojavehearts · 5 years

Text

Who Am I

Cole x Reader

Chapter 2 - Flashbacks

Candle light, I can sense it and I am at peace, body warm and comfortable in a bed that smells like me, that is dented where I lay in a shape I had moulded, but a soft smell radiated off my left side, it smelt like old leathers and...Vanilla and crushed elfroot?, I felt truly at peace unlike when I was in the white room or in the darkness I am somewhere that feels familiar to my body but my mind is still wounded, somehow. Still aware of myself yet I know not much else, my name, my childhood, the taste of mothers cooking. All things I could remember yet I didn’t know the people around me as my eyes open they look at me with hope, glistening eyes of worry and even pity.

It came back to me, my name who I was. But that was all, for me I feel as if it would have been better if I did not. The guilt of forgetting was clenching around my heart, numbing my body in it’s angry grasp. I feel guilty for not knowing them, it hits me hard coiling in my stomach, they knew me but yet I could not even recall their names.

That boy from before shrouded in my deep sleep. His scent, he was not there with the other people that watched me, my heart knew that he should be yet I knew nothing of him, not even a name, the ache of my heart was the only thing that told me, it had not betrayed me like my mind had.

“Who is he?” I say hoarsely, voice thick and grainy from the dehydration “who is who?” The strong woman from before says in worry and confusion, I frown. Of course if I didn’t know, these people who seem to care for me greatly would not either.

“I am... Y/N who are all of you?” I must keep my manners even if I could not remember a thing from when I was on my way to Haven they all turn to whoever is beside them, all showing different signs of realisation and sadness.

“I had wished amnesia wouldn’t have been the case,I was mistaken and I am sorry, I will check with the clerics, see to it that I can help” the strong woman says, she blames herself I can see it in her eyes dark and red, lack of sleep, her under eye area purplish and veiny.

With that said she walks away without telling me her name I look down at my hands and move my fingers slowly, turning my hands around to get back circulation then staring in wonderment at the small green glow in one of my palms “We know who you are, if anything we could tell you who you are better at this moment in time inquisitor, I guess recoup is in order yes?” Inquisitor? Is that what they called me?, what did it mean to be an ‘inquisitor’ I turn towards the voice, a woman, finely dressed and decorated her hair secured neatly, warm toned skin that seemed to be kissed by the sun. “I am your ambassador Josephine, if you have more questions after I have you read up on what I have complied since the conclave come to me or Leliana, I have great belief that you will regain your memory” she had to be Orlesian by her accent, that’s right I was at the conclave was I not, she writes on some parchment before bowing her head slightly and heading out the door after leaving some papers atop my bedside table.

“And I, would be Leliana, I am your spy master, I too have things that require the need for you to turn your attention to, all other things that had required your attention before hand will be put on hold, if there is anything you need come to me” I turn again to the other side of the room, hooded, shrouded in purples, she seemed very genuine for her job purpose, her hair reflected red in the dim candlelight, I frown and look down at my legs, guilt punching me harder with each forgotten friend “thank you” I say, softer this time, she throws me a quick smile, dropping papers beside Josephine’s before taking her leave.

“We should cut this short huh? Our friend has a lot to do, I’m Varric your roguishly handsome rogue the woman who left before is Cassandra, I guess you can tell she blames herself for your state right now but she’ll come around and talk to you, I wouldn’t worry to much” my head turns back up to meet the eyes of a dwarf and then to meet his chest hair I raise my eyebrow slightly at the choice of style he laughs softly, noticing my line of vision. “Even when you can’t remember a thing you still poke fun at me, glad to know you’re still you” he speaks to me with great respect and care we must have been good friends, I smile at this.

“I am The Iron Bull boss, but Iron Bull or just Bull, is fine too. I am in charge of the chargers a fine group” even during his introduction he speaks of his men?, he seems very dedicated and proud of them “we did so many awesome things together, like that time in the Western Approach with that dragon! Aw man! It was sick!” The rest of my forgotten friends either sigh, chuckle or roll their eyes, I slayed a dragon? Oh my.

“I am Cullen, I command the soldiers who fight for our cause.” He ends it there, fidgeting the whole time he spoke, his hair was so neatly done he definitely took a lot of time into it. He didn’t seem sure of himself “that’s all you have to say to her curly?, after all that worrying about her day and night?” Varric intercepted “that is not true I worried a perfectly decent amount!” The commander begins rambles in embarrassment and walks out still talking as someone else begins to speak.

“I am Solas, I believe you will need to come to me also on questions you may have about everything once you read Josephine and Lelianna’s documents” an elf, he definitely wasn’t Dalish but didn’t appear to be a city elf either, his voice was smooth and he was very well spoken,judging from the way he carried himself, he was intelligent and he knew it, I nod slowly smiling slightly. The guilt was becoming to much to bare but I needed to be kind, I could not throw a fit, no, not whilst these people who care for me a great deal have to go through me not remembering them.

“My dear, I am so sorry this has happened to you, I am Madam Vivienne de Fer, grand enchanter, or of course just Vivienne to you sweetheart, mistress to Duke Bastien de Ghislain” this woman was gorgeous, and she knew it too, soft dark skin that almost glistened like specs of the moon had touched the surface. Someone snorts loudly “way to introduce yourself, innit? You sound so funny “I am madam snufflefart and I lay with a married man who can’t get it up” it was the girl from before I fell asleep again, she smiles widely at me as if waiting for me to say something as well, but frowns after my confused silence looking down awkwardly at her feet “I- ugh I hate this, I’m Sera yeah? I help the little guys get the big guys, but not you, you’re good people quizzy” she looked slightly distressed by how things were, I smile sadly eyes beginning to glaze over.

“All this sap, I am not in a good position to be crying infront of everyone so I will, infact, be taking my leave after this, I am Dorian, your fabulously intelligent mage with impeccable style and grace, thank you” the man named Dorian quickly scurries off after talking so surely of himself, it must be hard for him to talk about how he feels. I couldn’t see much of him by the way he walked out but I could tell he had dark hair and dark skin, as if he was caramelised, oh caramel, I’m hungry now that I think of it.

A rough cough sounds from the other side of where Dorian had stepped out of the room, calling for attention. I turn and I’m met with a man who reminded me of a bear, well, a bear that was less hostile than those I usually encountered,his eyes stood out the most, piercing blue standing out against dark brown long hair and a thick beard, he seems slightly older than the rest, maybe he has just lived harder days, his eyes showed pain but also relief in them as he spoke, he seemed to be calculating what to say without seeming as if he was thinking to hard “I am Blackwall, I serve the Wardens and I also serve you, like Sera said you are good people, I am sure your current state will not change that” he was very sincere with his words, he means what he says fully even if he had to think it through.

“Someone is missing” I say suddenly out of nowhere, my words escaped my mouth before my mind could stop them, how would I know this? I could not even remember these people let alone another. “What do you mean Y/N” Varric says, confusion upon his heavy brow “I feel...I’m sorry, I- never mind it must have just been a dream” I sigh and run my hands along my sheets, I pause for a moment and look back to the people who had remained in the room, the Elven man, no, Solas looks away from me, as if refusing to meet my gaze. Did he know something, could he help me? before I can manage to get any words out I am interrupted by someone running into my room, a solider “all of you, you need to come see this, it looks like we have problem” the woman says, everyone exchanges glances and starts walking out at a fast pace Varric turns to me and smiles “you should come too might remember something, are you well enough to walk” I blink slowly and nod, slowly raising to sit up and then swinging my legs off the edge of the bed to stand swiftly, I follow my friends out the door studying as much as I could along the way to try and ensure a quick recovery, maybe I could remember. But I was quick to remember to ask why I have forgotten once the time was right.

We are outside, my eyes turn to the sky, what was that? It seemed green, angry it teared the sky and twisted around the clouds. Looking at it I remembered the emerald portal in my dreams but my thoughts were short lived as a woman began to speak with a solider holding the body of an unconscious man, his hat was too big to see his face I squint slowly, a weird feeling in my chest“I found this young man unconscious in the gardens he appeared out of nowhere! No one can tell me who he was so I asked to speak with the inquisitor personally” she was worried for this young man “I am sorry but the inquisitor is...She... is a bit under the weather right now” the strong woman, Cassandra says suddenly to her having come from another direction as us “Someone here must know who he is” the woman frowns deeply, harsh wrinkles from her eyebrows crease her face in worry, I look around my group to see if anyone had, my eyes shifting to how Solas was shifting his weight between his two feet.

“He needs medical attention why did you not take him to the healers?” Cassandra’s swiftly says, she was cautious of him “that is the thing they said there was nothing wrong with him, but he is unconscious, they said they couldn’t do anything for him, that I should instead find out who he is” the woman was visibly upset now, shaken “I have a son myself this boy, he reminds me of him, please if you can help him” I frown and my feet begin taking me towards them “inqui-“ Cassandra starts to interject but Varric puts an arm infront of her, body language telling her to hold on “I will try” I speak those words with hesitation I was not sure if I could do anything much I must try something the solider holding him slowly puts him down and I slowly sink to my knees, raising the boys hat, I look to his face my body seems to shudder harshly and my arms begin to convulse my head aches and I raise my hands to it hissing and the crying out in pain “inquisitor!” Cassandra yells out before my body falls onto his and everything goes black yet again.

Here I was again, slowly opening my eyes to the white nothingness, feeling the prickling burn of the light yet this time I didn’t feel so alone, I feel it a presence behind me, I turn around speedily yet I see no one, I turn back and gasp softly, a dark purple ethereal figure floated slightly in front of me she smiles

“You must be Y/N” her voice was like a dream like it was not real,it made me feel like I was underwater “who are you?” My voice mirrored hers coming out like vibrations “names do not matter here, what matters are memories, ones you need to find, I am sorry my child while I am here to guide you I can not make the trials that you will face here any less troublesome” she begins to float off beckoning me to follow, she waves her hand slowly over a spot on the white nothingness another emerald portal appearing “my child, you must face these dangers if you wish to become whole again, remember what you must do, and who you are now, I am sure you will return I have faith in you” the portal almost sang to me, filling me with the warmth of a song sang by a loving mother “I will return” is all I say still under a trance from the soft hymns.

I let the portal take hold of me entirely, entering it feeling my body feel weightless but also like a statue, stuck in place.

What was that, loud thumping trembling the ground beneath me, I try to balance myself as rocks fall out of nowhere harshly onto the ground below me, I hear war cries, escaping soldiers throats like if they had swallowed rocks, the rocks now coming out of them as they became ill, but no. All they did was fight, it was the Templar’s fighting against blighted versions of themselves, former bodies of their own. As I begin to start running towards them I see, myself, there with Cassandra, Solas and Varric by my side as we fought running towards the tower I follow quickly behind racing towards myself my legs becoming heavier with each sprint closer running up the stairs, a strange man stands there, he looked...sick, not Ill but sick like his mind had been twisted to pieces until he could no longer think like himself, he was darkness. He grabs the me I see and I try to scream but nothing comes out I reach out to myself and then.

Black, cold, the feeling of nothing, damp but also dry, my body was stuck in place begging for water but begging for a towel I refused to open my eyes, not yet.

Not yet.

I take a deep breath, opening my eyes slowly, suddenly flashes of memories hold my body, frigid, convulsing slightly, Templar’s fighting, flashbacks, a voice of evil and then, the boy from before fighting beside me against something big and scary. An envy demon? , why did an envy demon want me, what happened to me. What is wrong with the Templar’s?, I knew this boy, who was he.

I must remember.

The flashbacks stop my body slowly fading from wherever I was when I woke again, I was still where I was, slumped over the boy from before, time must work differently where I was not even a second had past, Cassandra softly touches my shoulder, I turn suddenly “I’m okay” I reassure her staring down at the boy

“I know him” was all I could say, standing slowly and turning to her “you couldn’t possibly, none of us know this man, unless you knew him from before the conclave there is no way” I frown at her words, I saw him there “he fought with us, the envy demon” I explain, surely she would remember now “we fought alone inquisitor...” she was worried about me now, more than before, was I crazy “I’m sure we know him, even if we do not we need to take care of him” was all I said before lifting him myself, struggling slightly until Cassandra offered a hesitant hand.

I will find out who he is, and why my heart beats heavily in my chest.

#cole dragon age #dragon age inquisition #dragon age #dragon age cole

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baekberrie · 6 years

Text

🌸him & her ➸ bbh pt.4🌸

Fluff, romance, high school AU

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Previous - Next

Baekhyun's eyes were attentively staring at his reflection in the mirror, mouth parted in awe while he took in al the new details. His hair felt shiny and silky smooth when he ran his fingers through it. He couldn't help but admit to himself that he was looking so much better. The cheeks looked sharper, his gaze more intense, more mature. This time he had done the effort to tuck his shirt into the pants, a thing that he had never bothered to do. He looked fit, slim, and the view of himself made for the first time a triumphant smile grow on his face. It was odd, but he actually felt like he was now somewhere comparable to Jongin. Just a few days ago he had been PinkiePie. And now? He looked like someone girls would give an extra glance at.

Baekhyun slid the round glasses on the bridge of his nose and started posing in front of the mirror, sending himself smoldering gazes; parting his lips ever so slightly to see if it would make him look any hotter.

The boy had never imagined that he could look so great, ever. He was having a hard time recognizing himself. Maybe it had been the pink hair giving a childish look all along. Or maybe it was the fact that he had never paid much attention to his looks until now that there was someone he actually wanted to impress. Before he could think twice, his hand had already reached out for his phone, dialing Jongdae's number. Only a couple of rings passed before the grumpy and sleepy friend spat out a "What." Usually, Baekhyun would have shot something of the kind back, but the excitement was too much for him to care that his friend was being rude.

"Jongdae, I actually look hot right now," Baekhyun muttered, his voice fazed as he hadn't been able to stop himself from staring into the mirror again, fascinated by his own reflection.

Baekhyun experienced the longest ten seconds of his whole life when all he got was an icy silence.

"Are you high?" Was the first thing Jongdae said and Baekhyun scowled heavily, cursing himself for having expected anything different from his best friend.

"No," He sighed, "I'm as sober as I can be at seven in the morning" he grit through his teeth only to have the other mate groan tiredly.

"Seven!? Bro, why'd you wake me up so early, seriously get a life." That sentence hadn't made much sense since in that case; it was Jongdae who needed a life outside his bed. Baekhyun just sighed again and ran an absentminded hand through his freshly dyed dark hair.

"Jongdae, it's Thursday. You should have been up an hour ago."

"Fuck you, Baekhyun." Baekhyun only smiled at that.

"Good morning!" He lovingly sing-sang into the speaker before ending the call and proceeded to get his bag from his room, heading to the kitchen right after where his mother was currently making tea. The scent of wild berries lingered in the room as the walked towards his parent, leaning over her shoulder to bid a greeting. "Bye mom, thank you for helping me dye my hair." He murmured and pressed his lips to her temple, having her smiling widely.

"Go now or you'll be late," The lady said in a mock- stern voice as she eyed her son with twinkling, affectionate eyes. Baekhyun heartedly grinned back and rushed outside before he would actually miss the school bus. He was slightly sweaty when he sat down against the clothed seat, his heart thumping nervously inside of his chest. Today was going to be different, he wanted to see your reaction to his changes. He did this only for you, after all, he hoped it would make you see him differently.

Baekhyun had to force himself from being so self-conscious because the throbbing heartbeat against his ribcage was making him extremely nervous and insecure, he was thinking way too much about the way he was dressed differently and how weird it felt, did he look weird as well? A deep sigh left his lips as he pushed the glasses further up, a little gesture he'd always do when he was nervous or shy.

It was only when he stood in front of the classroom door that he realized how right Jongdae had been every time he'd told him to get himself back together. It was only a hair color and a minor fix to his clothes, it wasn't a dramatic change. Yet it felt so different, he felt different. The last time he had black hair had been years ago.

Worry overtook him, what if he didn't actually look good in black hair? What if he looked weird with his uniform worn tightly, were his legs fine? Baekhyun shook the thoughts away and opened the door, telling himself that he would never know if he didn't show himself up first. He had hoped that you weren't there already, but he was only to be disappointed. Because when he entered, your eyes were already on him. You were dressed in a tight white t-shirt with a high waisted floral skirt. He swallowed the dry lump in his throat wondering if you were even human, how could anybody possibly look so effortlessly beautiful? You were so unfair to him. He had planned to act more mature today, braver, but how was he supposed to that when you were making his heart stutter.

You hadn't recognized him at first, in fact, you had to squint your eyes to make out who the black-haired male was. When you caught on the very familiar traits, you felt your eyes grow wider.

"Baek?" The named had come out a bit louder than you had intended, causing a few heads to turn into yours and Baekhyun's direction. You could already sense them starting to discuss the boy's new changes behind his back. On the other side was Baekhyun shyly scratching his neck, his head hanging low so that his bangs could cover his face. But it was useless because you had already seen the blush on his shiny cheeks.

Soon, he was seated next to you and you took advantage of the situation to take in every new detail, not thinking about the shameless way you were staring at him, making him feel incredibly small under your gaze. He found it so unmanly that his hands felt so clammed and sweaty, his legs were weak and his heart was beating way too fast for his own comfort.

Your eyes traveled his facial features, noticing how noticeably sharp his jaw was, his cheekbones were high with a natural glow enlighting the skin. Now that you looked more carefully, his body was fit, in fact, slimmer than you had ever expected, you had never considered him as the sportive type. The most truthful conclusion you could come up with was that he probably was naturally slim. You couldn't believe that you had never noticed these things about him... They were so obvious, why where you seeing this only when he had dyed his hair and put more effort into his clothes? You felt almost bad for having underestimated him. Until now you had found him absolutely adorable, but never had you thought that you would have to consider him handsome.

His hand went to rake through his hair and later on pushed his glasses up his nose again. He probably had no idea of how breathtaking he was looking and for some reason you were having a really hard time taking your eyes off him. It was just so hard to get used to this new image of him, with his pants folded neatly at the ends, his shirt tucked inside.

The specs on his nose gave him a really raffinate and professional look, although you would always think that the round glasses were what made Baekhyun, Baekhyun. It was what softened his features.

Regardless, you couldn't help but wonder why he would have dyed his hair, he had never really looked unsatisfied in your eyes when he had it pink, as a matter of fact, he had looked very happy when you had complimented it. Nor had it seemed like he minded wearing his uniform loose with those oversized hoodies over it. Expect for when Jongin was around, you could admit that he acted slightly odd when he was present.

After another while, you loosened your gaze from him and stared outside the window instead. And Baekhyun felt like he could finally breathe again. Behind, you could hear some of your female classmates discussing vividly Baekhyun's new style. Whispers repeating how cute he looked, most of all, different. One of them, Minji you thought it was, said something that triggered you more than it should have. Her high pitched whisper suggesting her friends that the theory that perhaps he liked someone and so changed for her. It sounded extremely cheesy but not entirely impossible either.

You sucked on your lip thoughtfully as you processed the words. For some reason, your heart felt like it was trembling In your chest as your brows formed a crease on your forehead. Suddenly you felt uneasy with the fact that he had changed. Was he going to get masses of students buzzing around him like those popular guys? Was he... Going to change, completely?

You almost jumped out of your seat when you felt a hand on your shoulder, but visibly relaxed when you saw it was only Baekhyun, your heart skipped a beat without your consent.

"Are you okay?" The boy asked you, his hand was incredibly hot and somehow you felt your skin burn under the fabric, hesitantly, you nodded at him.

A shy smile of relief appeared on his lips, "That's great then," he murmured, you looked down in your lap and wordlessly nodded, wondering why in the world you were feeling so shy all of sudden.

"So..What made you dye your hair?" You asked out of genuine curiosity, and Baekhyun seemed taken aback for a moment as if he hadn't been expecting that question from you. Still, he gave a sheepish smile as his cheeks came to life. His fingers were playing with some strands of his locks.

"Secret." He replied, his eyes sliding slowly from the hair between his fingers to your own eyes, and you didn't know if you were imagining it, but there was the slightest hint of a smirk on Baekhyun's lips and you felt a shiver run down your spine. A smirk? is this even the same Byun Baekhyun from yesterday?

Feeling a little disappointed you muttered, "Oh, okay.." For some reason, his grin widened and it stirred something inside of you, something that you couldn't describe. But it wasn't pleasant.

"What do you think?" You were puzzled by his question, Baekhyun was everything but a bold guy, but this time he was proving you wrong and it was making you feel confused. Had he really changed in the span of a day? Why was it bothering you so much?

Tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear you directed your eyes elsewhere.

"You look really nice actually, but I didn't mind your pink hair." You said honestly, feeling the urge to say the last part. And the smile that spread on Baekhyun's face made you forget about how confusing your heart was being. You figured that it would be worth doing anything as long as you'd get to see that smile. You couldn't help your twitching lips.

His cheeks were so red and you wondered if they were on their verge of exploding while he kept glancing at you from under his lashes.

"You also, look really pretty today- well you always do and-" Was that your heart-melting? There was a wave of relief crashing over you, this was the only Baekhyun you wanted. The shy Baekhyun that blushed while talking to you, the Baekhyun that couldn't look at you for too long without feeling shy. You didn't need him to change for anything. You didn't want him to change.

A chuckle escaped from your lips and he realized that he was rambling nervously again.

"Thank you," You said, placing your cheek on your palm as you graced him with a big smile.

***

The teacher's voice had become a blur in the background of your thoughts, for the first time ever you were having trouble listening to what was being said. Even though you had never been great with maths; you had always found it important to at least try to understand when the teacher was explaining. But this time, there was a certain person occupying your thoughts and for a matter of fact, he was sitting right next to you. His smirk kept replaying in your head and it was starting to plague you because occasionally you would wander back to him without even realizing it. It was like you had been put under a spell, feeling all too conscious about every little thing. You weren't sitting all too close to each other, but you still felt the need to shift your chair closer to his. To feel his shoulder brush against yours, to have a better feel of his faint scent.

The math book laid open in front of you and your notebook was indeed blank. You didn't understand this, not a single bit. With your lip caught in your teeth, you read the question and explanation all over again, however, it wouldn't matter how many times you read it, it just wouldn't make any sense. But right when you were ready to give up; you heard Baekhyun's chair scrape closer.

"Need help?" There was a knowing grin on his face that made you lift an eyebrow at him.

"Are you mocking me?" A giggle escaped his lips and you wished you could replay it all over again, everything he was doing, the smallest things were starting to have an effect on you and you didn't know what to do about it. It made your heart swell, the way he was getting more comfortable around you.

"Of course not, I just find it cute." He said and started scribbling explanations into your notebook. Instead of looking attentively at what he was writing as you normally would, your eyes pulled themselves like magnets to his face. His side profile so undeniably perfect, his scent wasn't strong like many guys would prefer to have it, furthermore, it was something between sweet and delicate.

Only when he leaned away, you realized that you had been staring at him so shamelessly, you could only hope for yourself that he hadn't noticed. Thanking him you picked up your pen, inwardly trying to get yourself together.. Stop thinking about Baekhyun, stop creeping.

"Baekhyun," someone called, your brows furrowed at the familiar voice, your teeth dug deep into your lip when you saw Minji and her friend showing their math book to Baekhyun, asking him for help.

"Could you help us here?" The girl said while pointing at one of the math problems, which happened to be the one you had been stuck on as well. You could only stare at the surprised reaction of the boy as a bitter taste spread in your mouth when his cheeks tinted with pink.

"I- uh," he hesitated, and for a moment you felt the urge to call out for him just to avoid seeing him talk to the two girls.

"Of cours—" He continued and straightened himself in his seat, the girls gave him expectant looks.

"Baekhyun!" Your lips moved before you had the time to think through what you were going to do, you inwardly screamed at yourself for having said his name so loudly. Baekhyun turned to you with big questioning eyes and the worst part of this matter was that you didn't really have an excuse to save yourself with. No matter how lame it was, it was your only option and so you pointed at your notebook, quietly asking him to explain it once again. His face softened when he saw the troubled look on your face, at that point he turned to face the girls again and apologized to them.

"Sorry- I was actually helping Y/n, please come back in a few," In the end, he declined kindly, and despite your actions; you couldn't even say that you were feeling better, your face was burning up and your heart was slamming against your ribs. You had just interrupted Baekhyun because you hadn't wanted to see him interact with other girls, and he had chosen you over them although he had already helped you. Shame and guilt filled you when you realized how childish you were being.

To not say less, you felt really embarrassed of yourself that day, you were always such a composed and calm person, most of the time you could control your feelings without any problems. But right now, you felt so confused, confused about the reason why your heart was hurting so badly at the fact that he was getting more attention from other classmates. Confused about the fact that it bothered you that he had changed looks. Confused about the fact that you were feeling so... Jealous?

You had no reason to feel such a strong thing, yet there you were, completely unable to help it. You hated it, the painful throb in your chest. The fear, the fear that he would change and eventually feel like hanging with you wouldn't be worth it- and realize that it's probably nicer to be around prettier girls and popular boys.

"Y/n," his soft voice called your name and you immediately snapped out of your thoughts, there was a glint of worry in his eyes when he faced you.

"Are you sure you are okay? You are spacing out a lot," Baekhyun pointed out and your heart betrayed you once again with a sweet flutter at the care dripping off his words.

" I'm fine, sorry,"

Acting normal had been a real task that day, you were feeling somewhat down, with your feelings all over the place, it was exhausting. You had never been the loud kind of girl, but it was noticeable when something was off with you because you would unintentionally stop talking. Apparently, you were acting way odder than you were imagining, because even Jongdae eyed you with a worried frown, probably wondering why you hadn't touched your lunch that day. After all, you would always gush about how important it was to eat and nitrate oneself.

But now, you couldn't really say that you felt like talking, in fact, all you wanted to do was forget about the fact that you had feelings, and hide under the warm blankets of your bed.

***

Jongdae was casually scrolling on his phone while Baekhyun laid sprawled on his bed, occasionally kicking the air when he felt frustrated with himself. He was trying to sort out his thoughts but they ended up confusing even more. A groan escaped his lips and Jongdae snapped his gaze to the other male, eyes big and startled.

"What the hell-" he kicked Baekhyun's leg.

"Jongdae, Y/n has been so distant, I feel worried." He sounded cheesy but he couldn't find it in himself to care, his chest was tightening at the memory of your worried frown and pursed lips. He swore that he could've done anything to see you smile, but at the same time, he was afraid that you didn't want to open up to him. It was all new to him, he had no idea how to act, how to comfort someone.

"Well, try asking her what the problem is, maybe she's sad," Jongdae muttered absentmindedly with his eyes still attached to the screen, and Baekhyun considered his words, he wasn't wrong after all. It was very probable that you weren't going to start talking about your problems on your own.

He wanted you to feel like you could tell him what was on your mind, if he could help you, he would do it wholeheartedly. He wanted to take it further than just helping you with the math equations.

"How do I comfort her though?" Now was the hardest question, Jongdae was at least as inexperienced as Baekhyun, but thanks to the good read he'd had some days ago, he had a brighter idea of something that could work.

"Dunno man, hug her or something." Baekhyun blushed at the suggestion, screw that, the bare thought made his heart race. Hug you? No way he could never do that, could he? What if you didn't want him to touch you?

Baekhyun rolled onto his stomach, leaning his head onto Jongdae's pillow.

The male friend slapped his ass, "If you fall asleep here again I swear Baekhyun-"

The next day was though for Baekhyun, the two of you didn't share any classes and it frustrated him as much as it worried him. He knew that the way you were acting the past days could have been something temporary and that perhaps today, you were already feeling better. But he needed to make sure that you were okay. It was hard for him to admit it to himself. That he wanted to be the one to make you feel better, and a little part of him feared that maybe someone had already done that. The thought made his heart squeeze. Maybe Jongin had been faster even in this case. Teeth digging into his lip, he asked himself why he always had to compare himself and make things harder than they already were, he just couldn't escape the insecurities.

The clock seemed to go three times slower now that his legs were itching to get out of that classroom. Baekhyun had already checked your schedule beforehand just so that he could see you when you finished your class. His foot was tapping continuingly on the ground while he tried to make time go by faster by doing the assigned exercises.

It felt like it had been forever before the bell finally rang, the loud noise of scraping chairs against the ground filled the room and Baekhyun left as soon as his back-pack was slung around his shoulder, not bothering to wait for Jongdae, the said male knew exactly where Baekhyun was heading, so he didn't bother to follow him either.

He was waiting outside of your current classroom, for a moment he considered peering through the glass window but he figured he would just make a fool out of himself if anyone saw him. Instead, he went with leaning patiently against the wall, fished out his phone to check the time. 5 minutes left, he thought to himself, taking deep breaths. Great, he thought, his face was heating up and as much as he didn't want it to, there was nothing he could do about it. It was only natural, he didn't know what to expect, were you going to be okay? What was he going to do if you were already fine? Had he been here in vain? Probably wasting your time.

Just when the worries started kicking in, the door slid open and he almost jumped at the sudden noise. Students were rushing their way out, many of them probably had a bus to catch up to. Baekhyun's eyes traveled onto every face, trying to find yours in the mess. But you didn't appear until the crowd was gone, in fact, he was only relieved that you were the last one to exit, that meant that the two of you would be able to be alone. Well, to be frank, the thought of being alone with you wasn't completely reassuring him either, but for today; he was going to forget about every single insecurity because your well being mattered more than him not making a fool out of himself.

Baekhyun had expected you to at least approach him, he was standing in front of the door and he thought that you couldn't possibly not see him. What made him confused though, was the way you met his gaze for the briefest of moments, lips slightly agape before you turned away and started walking in the other direction. A crease appeared on his forehead.

The boy was surprised by the way that he rushed after you without hesitating, grabbing your wrist, gently turning you around so that you could look at him. But you let him down when you seemed to feel like staring at the ground instead. Fingers were squeezing his heart painfully, but this was no time to be emotional. The sole fact that you hadn't left his grip was a sign for him to go on.

"What's wrong, Y/n?" His voice came out soft and low, barely a whisper. He could see the way your jaw clenched ever so slightly. Thinking through your actions, if you were going to tell him or not. Did you really not trust him enough to speak about these things? Or maybe he was just imagining it, maybe you weren't that far in a friendship yet. But you proved him wrong when a sigh left your lips and leaned your head against his chest. He felt his eyes grow wider, the heart picked up its beat again, extremely loud and painful against his ribs.

Y/n was leaning her head on his chest and it was a miracle that he was keeping cool for even a second.

"I don't know what's happening to me," You started sincerely with a long exhale, "I don't even feel like myself anymore." The words were very abstract and no matter how badly he wanted to know what was causing you to feel this way, he was happy with the fact that you were telling him. It was fine with him that you didn't want to say more than that. No matter the fast heartbeat of his, he could still make out through throbs that it swelled with affection.

He didn't know what came over him when his hand dared to leave your wrist to curl his arm around your shoulder with the other. Carefully drawing you slightly closer to him and you sighed pleasantly with your cheek pressed against his shirt. His face was hidden your hair, and he couldn't help but take notice of the fresh scent of your shampoo, the softness of your hair when it brushed his face. While you couldn't do anything else but love the way Baekhyun was so comfortingly warm and soft. You figured at that moment than an embrace wouldn't have been the same if it hadn't been from him.

You were glad that it was him hugging you, glad that for another time, you had him all for yourself. Selfish, yes you were aware of that, but it was so nice.

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hihi yes, this story still exists and so do I cx I hope you enjoyed it! It's been so long and I'm really sorry but there have been many things going on in my life so I had to yk, get away a lil.

Also, I thought that it was time to know what was going through Oc's mind, no? Did you like the chapter? Please tell me in the comments, it's always nice with motivations! Have a wonderful day loves, P.🌸✨💖

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